The dead can’t swim… right? Well, that’s what my best friend and I thought anyway. When the world erupted into chaos (of the recently deceased and now reanimated variety) we made the trek from our apartment to what we believed to be our safe haven.
Dead shit settles on the ocean floor, or at least that’s what they told us in my college biology class. Yeah, well fuck you science, that fact didn’t hold up. Those waterlogged bastards are down there regrouping! Settle…not likely. Apparently, they aren’t the kind of lie down and take it, zombies.
Also, we conveniently managed to forget the fact that while all the land dwellers are having free for all buffet style dinners on their neighbors, the sun still continues to rise, the world still turns, and the ocean keeps rocking those tides like a bitch, along with those deep-sea diving face eaters. Those damn zombie-crustaceans don’t even need the brainpower to pull off a doggy paddle, the ocean’s natural current has got it covered.
My brother just couldn’t be an insane prepper like a normal person?! Nope, he had to go let Uncle Sam blow his mind and join the coast guard, which leads us to our current predicament…trapped on this steel catacomb called a submarine, while death is literally marinating in the water around us. My brother better watch his back if I suddenly catch the munchies for human brains.