Journal:Wilder Van Wilde

Pre-Outbreak

The question is: who isn't he? Wilde's life before the outbreak was going in many different directions: he was a brilliant songwriter with 3 Demo CDs in the works, the front-man of an up-and-coming Funk group, "Avidase", and the bastard son of the great writer Osmond Van Wilde. He performed regular gigs all over Malton, occasionally heading over the town border to Morehamwood to play at nightclubs for extra cash. He got more lays than a mattress, and on a good day consumed several ounces of flavored vodka.

When the outbreak happened, Wilde was recording his latest hit in the studio. The power suddenly went out, rendering his electric guitar useless. After twenty minutes of Immediately, police officers from the DEM herded Wilde out of the building, separating him from his band members. He was placed with many other civilians outside of Buckley Mall, where it was believed that a military search-and-rescue helicopter would come and pick them up. Several hours later, Wilde continued to wait. Despite the tragedy unfolding around him, Wilde kept his attitude positive. Several years of hard alcohol and meditation had rendered him practically useless with a weapon, so he grabbed a tennis racket to protect himself and began playing acoustic guitar inside of the mall. He was expecting large crowds of people coming to see his awesome funk music. Nobody recognized him.

Then, the mall's PA system crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. The military has determined that the landing area near the mall is unsafe. As such, they have asked us to keep you here until further notice. That is all".

It was the worst moment of Van Wilde's life: authority had won.

And it wasn't over yet.

Van Wilde's Journal Entries

August, 2009

Dude, this is bullshit. First they want us to stay in the mall, so I left anyways, and then they tell us we can't come in because we might "break the barricades"? Fuck the DEM, man! Fuck em all!

So now I'm holed up in some fucking hospital or whatever. I grabbed as many first aid kits as I could, you know, in case I got hurt. I looked around a bit...there's some messed up stuff goin' on outside. Lots of people who are really injured, and there's some kind of...what do you call 'em...they're like voodoo zombies outside the mall. One of 'em bit me, but I smacked him with my guitar. They're right: Gibson customs are fuckin' durable!

I swear I saw Paul the other day. He just looked at me and didn't even touch me. I smacked him over the head; I think I hurt him, so I fixed him up with a bandage. It's like these zombies have a mind of their own. Speaking of zombies, I wonder where the other Avidase guys are. I've been looking all over outside Buckley for 'em, but they're a no-show.

Wish I had a shotgun or something...

-Wilder