It happened. It finally happened. That one thing we always feared, only worse. I don't know how much news of this has gotten out of the of the UK, but you all need to know.

I'll start at the beginning, or, what I assume to be the beginning. It started a week ago, I was watching the news, and the headlines mentioned something about a satellite crash landing in Scotland. I thought this was interesting, so I watched, in the hopes of it being interesting, and I'm glad I did.

It was an exclusive. The BBC news crew were the only people on the scene, other than the farmer who saw the crash. The farmer was holding a crowbar, and was obviously planning on opening the largish satellite up himself. That was his first mistake. The satellite had a visible US flag on the side, but apparently, nobody had claimed ownership of the satellite, and the farmer claimed it as his salvage. Then it happened. He opened the hatch, and it was immediately obvious something was wrong. Not only was the satellite almost empty, but it only contained (visible at least) one thing. A gas canister, which was labelled with a lot of warning signs like; "toxic," "radioactive," and, "irritant."

That’s when I noticed the quiet hissing in the background. It was leaking; probably a side effect from the crash, and it was taking its toll on the newscaster, who was coughing a lot. This being said, she managed to finish her segment and the news carried on as normal. I talked about it with a few friends of mine, who said they too heard the hissing sound, but thought it was just the camera. Maybe it was just my imagination, but something about it made me cringe...

Anyway, skip forward about a day. Business as usual for everybody. Then, I read in the paper that a state of emergency had been declared in Scotland, and people in England had been advised not to travel there by the World Health Organization. That's when I started getting scared, and I could tell others were feeling the same. Everybody was panicking, buying food and other supplies, some were even boarding up their windows. But the news had said nothing about it. It was a mutual feeling, we all knew something was coming. Then, two days later, a state of emergency was called over the entire UK. We didn’t know what was happening, here in Sheffield everything was normal, no extra police, we were just told to stay inside, which of course nobody did, because nothing was happening. Most of the TV stations were cut, as was our internet access. We only had one station, which was a 24hr news station that was most likely government run. It wasn’t the BBC or Sky news, I can't remember the name of it, or even if it had one, as I didn’t watch it much.

As somebody who would consider himself an "urban explorer," I had walkie-talkies with channels to my friends around the city, and enough equipment to get me around in the dark if the power went out. I also stocked up on food, and moved the fridge and other essentials upstairs, just in-case I wasn't going to be caught out.

Four days since the initial newscast happened and I started hearing about riots in town. I knew it. It must be zombies right? I'd heard running or shuffling outside, then. My twisted mind had got it right... right?!

Oh, how wrong I was!

Well, I guess I was partly right, people were attacking each other, quite violently. Ripping of flesh, crunching through bones; but not as unaware shambling zombies, or even as fully sprinting zombies. They were completely aware of what they were doing, They chose to do it. And they weren’t incapable of holding a knife or weapon either, or communicating, or remembering their past lives. I've been inly loft ever since I saw one of them running down the street, half of its right bicep missing. My fridge, freezer, and water supplies are all up here with me. The tins of fruit have kept me going. It's been about a week since the newscast, and I'm so glad I brought my laptop, the internet is back up, and I can communicate with someone who isn’t one of them for once. I just need to keep them from biting me, maybe some leather clothes? They should help, in case of emergencies... I hope.

They broke through my door yesterday. They must have known I would be up here, though they haven’t figured out where I hid my modem yet, or where the spare loft key is hidden, but they know I'm here. They much have heard my footsteps as I walked around. They sit downstairs eating cans of fruit. I left down in the rush to get up here. They aren't zombies, they're humans. What is going on? None of this makes sense.

Yesterday a helicopter flew over with a megaphone shouting the message, "It's okay, they have gone. You can come outside now."

I stayed inside; I wasn't fooled by them. My neighbours, however, took the bait. I could heard their flesh being ripped apart, their screams of agony...

I just have to stay here. I can't let them bite me, or let their blood or saliva come into contact with my blood stream. So no heroics. I'm just going to sit here and wait for rescue.

They keep telling me it's not too bad. How I wish it wasn't. My neighbour keeps telling me she knows where my spare key is. I hope she's lying. The only thing I could never figure out was, they didn’t bite my neighbor. I saw the whole thing from my window. They just tore her right arm off and threw it away. Maybe that explains why they keep trying to stick their mouths through the cracks in the side of the door... Maybe its airborne? I need to seal up the door , I think, But then again... maybe it's not too bad after all.