Together, we can break the world record for longest book. When this challenge gets the necessary number of entries, it will expire and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. Feel free to build from existing entries or write something radically different.

Dear Daughter,

Hell.

I don't know what to write. Or why I'm writing. I guess I hope someone sees this before I die. It's late and it's pretty bad out there.

Who am I kidding? It's terrible.

The constant fear that one of them might get you. I heard it started here. It's a small island and we're going to be gone in a few days. I've seen them. They don't look any different from us, not like those in the movies. They just walk stiffly and their eyes, they're soulless, dead.

Not empty but crazed.

The street outside is empty, illuminated by the lamppost. God, I hope they come soon. The helicopters, I mean. The other countries are supposed to help us, but they're afraid too. If it starts in another country, it's practically the end. There's no turning back.

I'm hiding now. Wherever this place is. There's another guy here but he's sleeping. It's my turn to keep watch. My daughter's head rested on my lap, bringing back some hope. My wife's out there, alone. I hope she makes it.

It's only been a day, but many are gone. The army's waiting for backup and there's nothing I can do but hope.

I don't know how long this will last, I don't know when I'll see another zombie again. I don't know if Riley's even alive. Jesus. I don't know.

It's getting desperate up in here. The footsteps are coming closer. I can hear them while I'm writing. It's definitely another zombie. No sane person would walk the streets at night during the apocalypse. I don't know many things now, but I know two. One, a zombie does not fight with other zombies for food. Two, they can sense two things, humans and zombies.

Oh and last thing? I know it's going to turn away. The footsteps are growing fainter.

I'm gonna have to close this entry soon, I have to go. I'm sweating although it's 25 degrees in here. My right arm's hurting and I'm starting to bleed through the bandage from all this writing.

Well, the bite mark doesn't hurt that bad. It just stings. I have to go out now. I sense more zombies.

I hope I can still come back tomorrow. If you see me, and I don't look at you like a father?

Run.