Mom, Dad:

It doesn’t look as if this will reach you, but in case it does, I want to let you know what’s happening. Some kind of disease has swept our ship and is turning people into monster-movie zombies. Guns don’t seem to hurt them much, and about the only thing that seems to knock them down is crushing their skull. I know you don’t like it when I fight, but … well, when the choice is between letting someone get eaten alive by these things or killing someone who might possibly recover, I kind of have to deal with the immediate problem. It’s just a real mess.

Anyway, it looks like the disease probably came from one of the islands near here, if not the port we left from. A coast guard boat just came by, and it was being driven by these sick killers. I’m amazed it managed to reach us: the people I’ve come in contact with all seemed monster-movie zombie dumb, as well. At least one of them must have retained enough to steer. He didn’t do it well, but a coast guard ship is pretty good at catching up with anything. Now, assuming we don’t /sink/, we’ve got at least one smart zombie to deal with. Oh, and a crew steward who seems to be from New York City — rude as hell, and unwilling to listen to anybody who has a clue.

If we can work together, I’ll probably see you later. If not, we’re likely to sink. I hope I get to see you so I can refuse to give this to you, but if not, I do want you both to know I love you, and really am grateful for all you’ve done for us.

Until then…
Kevin