With all the crazy shit that's been happening, I thought I would have had more nightmares by now. I actually did have a nightmare last night. Obviously, it was about Kat biting me. I don't really remember what we were doing before she bit me, but it was a vicious bite. It was her pulling skin and muscle from my shoulder, right where I was actually bit. I just love when people try to tell me that you can't feel in a dream, because you certainly can. What I felt was fire. It was fire accentuated with needles. Millions of needles moving along the edges of the bite mark, like I was being tattooed by Satan himself.
I snapped awake at that point, thankfully not having to dream what would happen next. The first thing I did was inspect the bite mark. It was red, but faint. Tender, but not throbbing. I swear, it felt like it was burning like in my nightmare, but it must have been psychosomatic. The first thing I noticed after my shoulder was fine was Kat not in bed. I yelled out, "Kat?" but got no answer, so I got out of bed and went looking.
I found her in the kitchen standing in front of the sink. I said again, "Kat?" She said she was so sorry, and that's when I noticed the knife in her hand. I didn't know if she had already cut herself or not. I simply reacted and ran to her, grabbing her arm with the knife and flung her arm to throw the knife away as I heard the thunk of it sticking in the wall behind us. I checked both of her wrists, exhaling deeply as each one was whole. I kissed both of them and then I kissed her.
She said she had to do it. She loved me so much, she just had to. She didn't want to risk hurting me again. She wasn't feeling like herself, and then she told me she had a nightmare. It was about her biting Torsten, but he was already a zombie and the moment she did, she turned as well. The two of them went around eating people. She managed to have this horrific nightmare and woke up and got out of bed without waking me? I must have been out of it. Even though she volunteered to bite Torsten, I still wish I never brought up testing that theory on him...
I told her it was nothing but a dream. A bad dream. I had a lot of them, but all I could do was live and deal with them She said she was scared about losing her mind, like becoming Rat or Torsten. Now that she knew she could turn people by biting them, she didn't want to take any risks at all. I told her I wouldn't let that happen, and she asked how I could be so sure, and I said she'd just have to trust me. I had to remind her that she said she'd be the one to live for me after I was gone, that she was supposed to be the stronger one. I made her promise that she'd never try this again.
We went back to sleep but didn't really sleep. I felt her tossing and turning, so I tossed and turned as well. We both shared the same worries and understandably so. Finally, when we entered deep sleep, roughly six in the morning, Jonathan and Hector woke us up banging on the door. Apparently, we had company. I told Kat to stay in the room, lock the door and hide in the closet until I returned.
Four leathers were rapping on the windows downstairs. I can't figure these things out. They knew we were in here, yet they'd rather taunt us instead of break through the glass. It's like - this sounds crazy - they were playing with their food. Jonathan was armed with a two-handed scythe and Hector had a fire ax. I had Carmello's Alligator, which I was really starting to become fond of. It replaced my old reliable bat as my go to weapon.
Four against three, but four against three well-armed and experienced survivors. I was pretty happy with the odds. We lost sight of all but one through the window. We focused so intently on the one we did see that we were surprised when the other three crashed through the glass backdoor. The one leading the charge was a massive 400 pound woman. She smashed through the door, stumbled and fell over while the other two leaped over her as if competing in the Long Jump. Their speed was insane. They were on us before all three of us could turn around.
The tallest leather was the first to attack, and he reached out at Jonathan who only had enough time to react by ducking to the side. John tried to turn around with the scythe and slice the zombie - he didn't care where - and almost got Hector for his troubles, who now had his own zombie to worry about. Hector fell backward with the leather on top of him, but he rammed the head of the ax under its chin and that was enough time for Hector to kick it off. He had to duck yet again as John's scythe came sailing at him, right where John's zombie use to be. John was panicking, unable to get proper distance between him and the leather, so he was swinging wildly, actually more of a threat to Hector than the leathers.
The huge female leather got up from the ground with a nasty sloshing sound coming from her many folds. It charged at me without outstretched arms, not slowed down by her bulk at all, and I sidestepped her while swinging the machete in a downward arc in one sooth motion cutting off both of her hands. I swear to God she smiled at me, like she was saying, "Is that all you got?" and reached out to me again like her hands were still there.
In all the commotion, we didn't even notice the fourth leather break through the window it first saw us from. It went for Jonathan as he cocked back for another wild swing, missing his initial target for the umpteenth time, but connected with his newest target he didn't even know about! It was like one of those Pink Panther movies where the assassin tries to take out the inept Jacques Cousteau who isnt even aware of the assassin and takes him out by accidentally opening a door on him. I would have laughed if I wasn't so busy fighting a 400 pound zombie. John caught that zombie across the torso, cleaving it in two but almost as soon as the torso dropped, it started crawling towards his legs. Just inches before it could grab him, Hector brought his ax down on its head and screamed at John to look alive.
As Hector turned back to face his zombie, it grabbed his ax and butted him in the face with it knocking him down. It lunged on top of him where a whistling crescent shaped blade sliced the head off at the ears where it landed on Hector's chest. "Take your own advice!" John yelled back. I felt like I was in some kind of movie. John still had his own zombie to take care of and finally dispatched it by slashing upward as it leaped towards him, catching it by the crotch, the blade traveling up the spine until it exited from the face. It was almost a compete dissection.
As for Fatty and me, there was too much mass moving at me for me to take stab at her head. Every time I tried, she would flail her arms at me and I would only end up slicing off more of them. I waited until she charged again, and this time I charged at her as well. I jumped at her with my feet forward and arms raised as she caught me in the midair, bear hugging me with what was left of her arms. She cocked her head back and opened her maw to bite and I rammed the machete down her throat at at angle severing her spine. She fell forward on top of me, bleeding all over me and I yelled for help. I think I said, "GET THIS FAT FUCKING UNDEAD BITCH OFF ME!" Something along that nature.
I had everyone disrobe, including myself (remember to do that). We checked each other out just to make sure none of the leathers sneaked in a bite while we were fighting. We put our clothes back on and I went up to get Kat. She got out of the closet when she heard me open the door and ran to hug me. She forgot her leg was still trying to heal, so she cried out in pain. I put her back on the bed and just told her to rest.
We were going to burn the bodies but I came up with an idea. I remembered Rat wearing a leather's skin and suggested it might be worth trying to make suits out their skin as camouflage. Once we start traveling again, it could come in handy so we could just walk past the zombies and not have to fight them. It was a repulsive idea, but after some consideration, we decided to give it a shot.
Two things had to happen. Someone one had to skin the zombies and then someone had to stitch the skin into suits. John, Hector and I drew straws to see who would do the skinning. Johnathan got the short one, and I could have almost seen his face going green as a result. We got Kat involved for the next round of straws. I actually ended up with the short one this time, so I would be doing the stitching.
As much as I wanted to wash the gore off he skins, we needed the stench. If this was going to work, any approaching zombies were going to identify us first by smell. I made four suits with enough scrap left over from Fatty to patch up any tears that we might encounter from traveling. I wasn't looking forward at all to trying them on, but if it meant reducing the risk of being attacked, it was worth it.
We'll be getting back on the road tomorrow. I already have all our packs stocked as tight as possible with food and supplies from the ambulance. We couldn't find any gas whatsoever so it's back to walking. I just wish we still had Sandra with us...
Until tomorrow.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
October 19th, 2021
My theory was proven true today. What we learned back at Indianapolis we confirmed. Torsten Bergqvist turned at roughly 8 o'clock tonight, succumbing to infection brought on by Katerina's bite. The wound showed the same stage of decay as Timothy's did. Torsten was wracked by bouts of fever and nausea, coughing and bleeding from the eyes until he no longer could breathe from too much fluid in his lungs. His red eyes bulged and his eyelids closed. Several minutes later, they popped open and the zombie-like gaze framed his face. He was one of them now.
So that was it. We're cursed now. We're no different than Cheyenne or Rat. We are monsters. The only difference is we still have have our cognitive abilities. I had a dreadful thought. What if the vivensmortua virus will eventually turn us crazy? That would explain why Cheyenne began using sex as a weapon. That would explain Rat's feral behavior and Timothy's disconnect from reality. It most certainly would explain Torsten's psychopathic nature. Maybe. Or maybe we're just meant to go crazy from so much fucked up shit.
I gave the Alligator to Kat, but she was too distraught. Rage had left the majority of us. Now only sorrow and grief filled the hole it left. She just wanted to cry on the bed, so I took her back to the house. I returned to the cellar, the zombie Bergqvist now lying on the floor trying to break free from the chair. I righted him up and nearly got nipped, a sign of carelessness brought on by fatigue. I still wanted to torture him. I wanted to fillet every last ounce of his flesh and watch his zombie brain try to move his softening skeleton. But what was the point? I simply drove the machete down into his skull and then wrenched it free.
He didn't deserve a burial. He deserved a cleansing. I found a kerosene lamp in the basement which I had brought along. I unscrewed the cap and poured what was left of the fuel on Torsten's corpse. Taking one of the matches from the box I still had on me from the night before last, I struck it and flicked in on his body. I never burned a zombie before, and I found something new about them. Apparently, zombie blood is highly flammable.
After the kerosene burned itself off, after the fire fused the clothing to the skin, the skin began to burn away and the blood ignited. An intense blue light quickly spread from the corpse cloaking the entire body in a violent burst of flame. It was an immolation. I actually had to step back and hold up my hand against the light. The fire was ravenous, and loud. It was a like a starving dog who had jumped on top of a banquet table uninvited and began scarfing down every scrap of food on the serving plates, and then barking in warning at anyone who tried to take it down.
When the fire was out, the charred corpse was barely recognizable as something that used to be human. It was more like a rough silhouette drawn by a blind person. I have no idea why it burned so intensely. I could only guess that the virus produced some kind of volatile waste product that just so happened to be flammable. I grabbed a few tools, scythes, hatchets, anything that could be used as a weapon, and I left the cellar, not bothering to lock it up. I wouldn't be going back.
I checked on Kat and she was already asleep, passed out. I could see the wet spots in her pillow from tears soaked through and around her face. I sat down and brushed her hair. She laid still, no response. I kissed her forehead and got up and just paced back and forth. I never pace. I just thought. I thought about how horrible my life is. How horrible the lives of those around me are. I feel like there's someone writing my life out day by day getting some kind of sick pleasure of setting me up with hope that things just might be okay, and then smashing them.
I thought of Sandra, who we buried last night before we went to bed. I thought of how we failed to protect her. I thought of how scared she was, how helpless she was. I thought of her body being cut up! I cried tears of anger and I started punching the wall with everything I had! The drywall gave way and I punched through the walls, my knuckles scraping and cutting against the material. It woke Kat up and she pleaded at me to stop, but I didn't hear her. She got up and hobbled over to me with her crutches and tackled me to the ground with a hug and the rage bled from me as if being seeped up into the carpet.
My hands feel like they're broken, but I can still type, so there's that. Kat had to play doctor, and spent quite a bit of time picking out splinters and other debris from my knuckles. I felt guilty because she should have been sleeping, but then she told me that she was going to be my strength. I was always so strong for her, but now it was her turn. She told me it was her turn to take care of me.
Hector and Jonathan had heard my outrage and had checked to see if everything was okay. I told them what happened, and Kat had them get the bandages and alcohol from the dining room that we brought in from the ambulance. She gently poured the alcohol over my knuckles and it stung to high hell but I didn't show it. I looked at Kat and lost myself in her face, as dirty as it was. She also was the one who attended to Jonathan's gashes on his back from being whipped. She's like our nurse now. Her touch is extremely gentle.
After I was all bandaged up, Hector and John left us. I saw Kat yawn, so I helped her back in bed. She asked if I was going to join her, so I did. We talked about many things. Sandra. Us. Us as monsters. Would one of us turn crazy and hurt the other? Would John or Hector hurt us? She laid on her side, and I held her close to me and eventually, we just stopped talking. Both of us with so much to think about, we stared at the wall. We just listened to each other breathe.
Then she turned her face to meet mine and kissed me. She told me she loved me and to not think I failed Sandra. There was nothing I could do. If she herself died, there was nothing I could do. I told her if she died, I'd have to kill myself, and she put her hands on my face and told me, "Don't you fucking dare!" She said regardless who lives, we have to keep living for the other. It really seemed pointless, though. If I lose her, there's no sense in living without her. My life is dependent on her now. I don't know how she can expect me to keep living if she dies. She said she'd keep living for me, though. This proves to me that she's stronger than I am.
I kissed her and she kissed me back. There was a distant part in the back of my mind that said it was wrong to want sex when I'm supposed to be grieving, but releasing tension through sex is one of the best ways to relax in order to be able to rest, something we both direly needed. Kat was on the same page as me, and soon we had each other's clothes off and made love. It was a different this time than most other times. There was no passionate moaning or grunting. Just the sounds of our heavy breathing.
And then something happened that scared the life out of me. She detected my breathing becoming more rapid, so she anticipated me coming and with that anticipation, she began to climax herself and then she did something she never did before. She dug her nails into my back and she bit me on the shoulder. I immediately sprang off her, standing up on the bed and falling backward out of it. I stood up, still dripping semen and stared at her in shock. She realized what she just did and covered her mouth. I ran to grab the Solar Flare on the nightstand and held it to my shoulder and craned my neck to look at the bite. I gasped such a sigh of relief, I nearly fainted. She didn't break the skin, but I took no chances. I grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and sterilized my skin with it.
She didn't speak at all. Without even saying anything, I knew she was deeply sorry. She curled up in the fetal position and cried inconsolably. I tried to get in bed with her, but she recoiled and told me to get away from her, that she didn't want to hurt me. I just got in anyway and put my arms around her as she tried to slap me away. Finally giving in, she buried her face in my chest until passing out.
I tried to drift to sleep, but I couldn't. My mind won't shut off, so here I am, nearly one in the morning, writing this entry. I almost forget to do it, too. One last thing I want to add. I did fail Sandra. As much as Kat tries to tell me I didn't, I did. Earlier today, I checked the closet in the master bedroom and I found a stash of personal affects. I found wallets with credit cards and drivers licenses. I found jewelry; necklaces; rings. I found cellphones. These were the remains of people Torsten had been killing. Random passersby would stop at the farm in hope of seeking shelter or some form of help. They got chopped up as a result of trusting this man.
I should have checked that closet, checked EVERYWHERE before thinking it was safe. Had I done that, I would have known what to expect. I would have known that the person who most likely killed the family living here was still killing here. I haven't given you a survival tip in a long time, so here's a very important one. When you come across a house, you check EVERYWHERE before you settle in it! I didn't do that, and Sandra paid the price. We all nearly did. Now I'm sick to my stomach.
Until tomorrow.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
October 18th, 2021
I'm in shock I guess. Locked in a limbo of emotions. They're all fighting among each other, trying to gain purchase to exert their dominance and tell me what I'm feeling now. I've been staring at this tablet, this blank white space for an hour. I've wasted the battery. I'm using the other one. Thankfully, it was charged.
Before I get into what happened today, let me finish writing what I left off before the cellar doors opened. I've already typed in what I wrote on the paper from last night. When I stopped writing, it was because I heard the padlock being unlocked. The chains were pulling from their handles and a sack was being dropped on the ground as the gates were open. At that precise moment, I crouched and hid next to the staircase letting the darkness hide me. When this man, this human monster, came down the stairs, I lept up like a viper and swung at his calf with my scythe. His leg gave out and tumbled down the rest of the steps.
At that point, I didn't bother looking to see who he was. I bolted up the steps, closed the doors, fed the chain through the handles and locked the padlock. I ran to the house, but I found no one. I called out to them, Hector, Jonathan, Kat, Sandra. No response. I needed to know where they were. I wanted to grab Carmello's old Alligator, but the machete was no where to be found. I suddenly remembered I left the bat in the ambulance. That actually would be more fun to work with, so I ran back to the ambulance to retrieve it, then returned to the cellar after grabbing some twine I found in the house. It was time for an interrogation.
The keys were still in the padlock, which saved me from having to pry the handles off the doors. I wanted to keep him locked in there and let him rot, but I needed to know what he did with my people. I opened the door and stepped back as he immediately tried to lunge at me with a much larger scythe than I used to slice his calf muscle open. He tried to take another swing, and he hooked my bat instead. In turn, I swung the bat quickly to the left pulling the scythe out of his hands. The momentum brought him splashing down face first on the stairs. I hit him the head with the bat to knock him out, and then tied him down to a chair I found.
I waited for him to wake up, and he woke with a smile. He was crazed. He didn't know who he used to be. He was someone else now. He said his name was Torsten Bergqvist, obviously Swedish from his accent. He stared at me with eyes that were almost demonic. I immediately went to work on him, hitting him the flesh of his stomach, not too hard, just to let him know what was about to come. He coughed, then laughed and spat in my face. I started asking him questions. Where was Kat and Sandra? Hector and Jonathan? He laughed some more and we began developing a pattern quickly. He'd laugh with no answer. I'd hit his kneecap. He'd laugh with no answer again. I'd hit his other kneecap. The cycle continued with me batting random parts of his body.
Since the bat wasn't working, I reached for the corkscrew on the rack and said I was going to treat him like a bottle of wine if he didn't start talking. He remained silent, so I grabbed his head and jammed the pointed end of the corkscrew into his cheek and began turning. I felt the corkscrew bite on his teeth, but I kept turning. He began screaming, and I stopped. It was too painful for him to talk with the corkscrew in his mouth, so I forcibly removed it to let him talk. He told me Jonathan and Hector were chained up in the silo and Kat was locked in the bottom of a half full rain reservoir. He didn't mention Sandra, so I yelled at him, "WHERE'S SANDRA?! WHERE'S THE LITTLE GIRL!?"
He motioned with his head outside, laughing and spitting out blood. At first, I didn't know what he meant, but then he said, "The sack." The bat slid out of my hand hitting the floor, and my jaw would have too had it not been connected to my skull. Stunned with disbelief, I didn't know whether to kill this man outright or check the sack, but I immediately ran to the sack and froze solid as a block of ice. The sack had spots all about it, clearly blood seeping through it. My hands and arms were seized with tremors as I started to reach for the string. My fingers couldn't manage the task of untying the not, until I somehow got it undone. I opened the sack and there she was... sweet Sandra... artist of millions of beautiful flowers...IN FUCKING PIECES!
I must have uttered no a million times. I bellowed. I screamed so loudly out of pain, I might have been a wolf howling at the moon. Revulsion and sadness and sorrow and pain and anger and hatred and loathing and seething all lit up inside me like a boiler. My face stiffened, every muscle distorting itself from the raging pressure increasing deep down below I marched back down into that cellar like Hercules descending into Hades and picked up my bat and cocked it back so far, it was almost where it began, and I swung. I swung with the force of the Olympians and felt the crack of the metal into the bone of his jaw like a thunderbolt thrown from Zeus. He has no jaw anymore. He'd be lucky to have me finish the job. No, his punishment is only beginning.
I somehow managed to walk away from him, my anger still locked onto him as if it were a beam from a lighthouse guiding a ship in from sea. I had to check on everyone else. I headed to the silo first, and found Jonathan and Hector chained against the wall. I hoped their locks used the same key as the cellar doors, so I ran back to get the key and thank God it worked. They where not in good shape. They looked beaten by a professional boxer, and Jonathan looked whipped. Jonathan actually collapsed, so I asked Hector if he was okay enough to help me rescue Kat. He nodded, so we went to the rain reservoir.
The rain reservoir was built into the ground next to where the closest crop was to the house. I saw a grate and yelled down into it, "KAT?" No response, and then I tried again and again and on the fourth call, I heard her. I asked if she was okay, and she said was fine but she needed out. The water was up her chin and she'd been standing for so long. We got the grate open and I dived in, nearly going into shock at how cold the water was. Thinking Kat was down here for hours warmed me with anger. As I grabbed her and helped her up to the opening where Hector was, I noticed her cast was dissolving and the wrapping was coming undone. After Hector got her out, he helped me get out.
We all went back to the house, and I helped Kat dry off but I had no idea what to do with the cast. It was such a mess. I ended up getting some shears and cut the cast off her. I didn't like the fact that her cast was off, but it wasn't doing any good in that condition anyway. She's been in it for more than two weeks, though, and she reported no pain, so as long as she keeps off her leg, she ought to be fine.
Then I teared up as I had to let everyone know what that psycho did to our Sandra! Kat's cries were a mix of torment and outrage and my cries harmonized with hers. Jonathan was so stunned, he has no reaction, while Hector went violent, grabbing things and throwing them around the house, swearing every curse word he knew. That would have been me if I didn't have Kat to cradle.
No one wanted to eat. Hours passed by with us in that house trying to make sense of everything, but we had to do what we didn't want to do. We had to confront that monster in the cellar, the one who took Sandra from us, the Swede Torsten Bergqvist.
He seemed pleased to see us, as if enjoyed more company. His jaw lay hanging from the right side of his face, most of the bottom teeth scattered all over the floor in pieces, some of his upper teeth missing as well. His tongue hung out crookedly. Kat would have fired herself out of her chair as if it were a cannon had it not been for her leg, so she let Hector be the first to charge him. He jumped on him and punched him in what face he still had left, but then I grabbed him and yanked him off. Hector wanted more and actually took a swing at me because I was in the way, but I dodged and restrained him. I told him I had a plan.
We backed up so I could whisper among the remnants of my group, because I didn't want this piece of shit to hear what I was going to do to him. I told them I wanted to test a theory I had, and after hearing that, Kat said, "Let me do it. That son of a bitch is mine." So I let her.
We could have continued to cause him more pain. We could have stripped the flesh off his skin and rubbed lye on his exposed flesh. We could have split his bones apart and hollowed the marrow from them. We could have tied his intestines into knots and force feed him his own excrement. We could have done so many sick things to him, but his current state of mind is crazy enough that he'd probably enjoy it. So what I came up with is something I don't think he'll be able to deal with at all. What I came up with... is actually for science. Kat is my lab partner and Torsten Bergqvist is my lab rat.
I wheeled Kat to Torsten who was trying to so hard to smile but kept making a literal bloody mess of it. I pulled an arm free from his binding and he immediately tried to struggle now that it was free, so I snapped it at the elbow. He cried out in pain, but started laughing, which sounded sicker with his broken jaw. He didn't laugh at what happened next. I gave the arm to Kat, and she held it like one would hold a rack of ribs, and she bit into him. She bit until her teeth drew blood, and then she spat his blood into his face. His eyes went wide as he suddenly realized the hypothesis we were testing.
Now we wait, While we wait, we will bury a girl would could very well have been our own daughter. We say goodbye to the best part of this post-apocalyptic world that we're in; a truly gifted and unique flower. Kat made a tongue depressor cross as best as she could. Even though I said it was beautiful, we both know it couldn't do Sandra's justice.
Until tomorrow. It will be Torsten Bergqvist's last.
Before I get into what happened today, let me finish writing what I left off before the cellar doors opened. I've already typed in what I wrote on the paper from last night. When I stopped writing, it was because I heard the padlock being unlocked. The chains were pulling from their handles and a sack was being dropped on the ground as the gates were open. At that precise moment, I crouched and hid next to the staircase letting the darkness hide me. When this man, this human monster, came down the stairs, I lept up like a viper and swung at his calf with my scythe. His leg gave out and tumbled down the rest of the steps.
At that point, I didn't bother looking to see who he was. I bolted up the steps, closed the doors, fed the chain through the handles and locked the padlock. I ran to the house, but I found no one. I called out to them, Hector, Jonathan, Kat, Sandra. No response. I needed to know where they were. I wanted to grab Carmello's old Alligator, but the machete was no where to be found. I suddenly remembered I left the bat in the ambulance. That actually would be more fun to work with, so I ran back to the ambulance to retrieve it, then returned to the cellar after grabbing some twine I found in the house. It was time for an interrogation.
The keys were still in the padlock, which saved me from having to pry the handles off the doors. I wanted to keep him locked in there and let him rot, but I needed to know what he did with my people. I opened the door and stepped back as he immediately tried to lunge at me with a much larger scythe than I used to slice his calf muscle open. He tried to take another swing, and he hooked my bat instead. In turn, I swung the bat quickly to the left pulling the scythe out of his hands. The momentum brought him splashing down face first on the stairs. I hit him the head with the bat to knock him out, and then tied him down to a chair I found.
I waited for him to wake up, and he woke with a smile. He was crazed. He didn't know who he used to be. He was someone else now. He said his name was Torsten Bergqvist, obviously Swedish from his accent. He stared at me with eyes that were almost demonic. I immediately went to work on him, hitting him the flesh of his stomach, not too hard, just to let him know what was about to come. He coughed, then laughed and spat in my face. I started asking him questions. Where was Kat and Sandra? Hector and Jonathan? He laughed some more and we began developing a pattern quickly. He'd laugh with no answer. I'd hit his kneecap. He'd laugh with no answer again. I'd hit his other kneecap. The cycle continued with me batting random parts of his body.
Since the bat wasn't working, I reached for the corkscrew on the rack and said I was going to treat him like a bottle of wine if he didn't start talking. He remained silent, so I grabbed his head and jammed the pointed end of the corkscrew into his cheek and began turning. I felt the corkscrew bite on his teeth, but I kept turning. He began screaming, and I stopped. It was too painful for him to talk with the corkscrew in his mouth, so I forcibly removed it to let him talk. He told me Jonathan and Hector were chained up in the silo and Kat was locked in the bottom of a half full rain reservoir. He didn't mention Sandra, so I yelled at him, "WHERE'S SANDRA?! WHERE'S THE LITTLE GIRL!?"
He motioned with his head outside, laughing and spitting out blood. At first, I didn't know what he meant, but then he said, "The sack." The bat slid out of my hand hitting the floor, and my jaw would have too had it not been connected to my skull. Stunned with disbelief, I didn't know whether to kill this man outright or check the sack, but I immediately ran to the sack and froze solid as a block of ice. The sack had spots all about it, clearly blood seeping through it. My hands and arms were seized with tremors as I started to reach for the string. My fingers couldn't manage the task of untying the not, until I somehow got it undone. I opened the sack and there she was... sweet Sandra... artist of millions of beautiful flowers...IN FUCKING PIECES!
I must have uttered no a million times. I bellowed. I screamed so loudly out of pain, I might have been a wolf howling at the moon. Revulsion and sadness and sorrow and pain and anger and hatred and loathing and seething all lit up inside me like a boiler. My face stiffened, every muscle distorting itself from the raging pressure increasing deep down below I marched back down into that cellar like Hercules descending into Hades and picked up my bat and cocked it back so far, it was almost where it began, and I swung. I swung with the force of the Olympians and felt the crack of the metal into the bone of his jaw like a thunderbolt thrown from Zeus. He has no jaw anymore. He'd be lucky to have me finish the job. No, his punishment is only beginning.
I somehow managed to walk away from him, my anger still locked onto him as if it were a beam from a lighthouse guiding a ship in from sea. I had to check on everyone else. I headed to the silo first, and found Jonathan and Hector chained against the wall. I hoped their locks used the same key as the cellar doors, so I ran back to get the key and thank God it worked. They where not in good shape. They looked beaten by a professional boxer, and Jonathan looked whipped. Jonathan actually collapsed, so I asked Hector if he was okay enough to help me rescue Kat. He nodded, so we went to the rain reservoir.
The rain reservoir was built into the ground next to where the closest crop was to the house. I saw a grate and yelled down into it, "KAT?" No response, and then I tried again and again and on the fourth call, I heard her. I asked if she was okay, and she said was fine but she needed out. The water was up her chin and she'd been standing for so long. We got the grate open and I dived in, nearly going into shock at how cold the water was. Thinking Kat was down here for hours warmed me with anger. As I grabbed her and helped her up to the opening where Hector was, I noticed her cast was dissolving and the wrapping was coming undone. After Hector got her out, he helped me get out.
We all went back to the house, and I helped Kat dry off but I had no idea what to do with the cast. It was such a mess. I ended up getting some shears and cut the cast off her. I didn't like the fact that her cast was off, but it wasn't doing any good in that condition anyway. She's been in it for more than two weeks, though, and she reported no pain, so as long as she keeps off her leg, she ought to be fine.
Then I teared up as I had to let everyone know what that psycho did to our Sandra! Kat's cries were a mix of torment and outrage and my cries harmonized with hers. Jonathan was so stunned, he has no reaction, while Hector went violent, grabbing things and throwing them around the house, swearing every curse word he knew. That would have been me if I didn't have Kat to cradle.
No one wanted to eat. Hours passed by with us in that house trying to make sense of everything, but we had to do what we didn't want to do. We had to confront that monster in the cellar, the one who took Sandra from us, the Swede Torsten Bergqvist.
He seemed pleased to see us, as if enjoyed more company. His jaw lay hanging from the right side of his face, most of the bottom teeth scattered all over the floor in pieces, some of his upper teeth missing as well. His tongue hung out crookedly. Kat would have fired herself out of her chair as if it were a cannon had it not been for her leg, so she let Hector be the first to charge him. He jumped on him and punched him in what face he still had left, but then I grabbed him and yanked him off. Hector wanted more and actually took a swing at me because I was in the way, but I dodged and restrained him. I told him I had a plan.
We backed up so I could whisper among the remnants of my group, because I didn't want this piece of shit to hear what I was going to do to him. I told them I wanted to test a theory I had, and after hearing that, Kat said, "Let me do it. That son of a bitch is mine." So I let her.
We could have continued to cause him more pain. We could have stripped the flesh off his skin and rubbed lye on his exposed flesh. We could have split his bones apart and hollowed the marrow from them. We could have tied his intestines into knots and force feed him his own excrement. We could have done so many sick things to him, but his current state of mind is crazy enough that he'd probably enjoy it. So what I came up with is something I don't think he'll be able to deal with at all. What I came up with... is actually for science. Kat is my lab partner and Torsten Bergqvist is my lab rat.
I wheeled Kat to Torsten who was trying to so hard to smile but kept making a literal bloody mess of it. I pulled an arm free from his binding and he immediately tried to struggle now that it was free, so I snapped it at the elbow. He cried out in pain, but started laughing, which sounded sicker with his broken jaw. He didn't laugh at what happened next. I gave the arm to Kat, and she held it like one would hold a rack of ribs, and she bit into him. She bit until her teeth drew blood, and then she spat his blood into his face. His eyes went wide as he suddenly realized the hypothesis we were testing.
Now we wait, While we wait, we will bury a girl would could very well have been our own daughter. We say goodbye to the best part of this post-apocalyptic world that we're in; a truly gifted and unique flower. Kat made a tongue depressor cross as best as she could. Even though I said it was beautiful, we both know it couldn't do Sandra's justice.
Until tomorrow. It will be Torsten Bergqvist's last.
Friday, October 17, 2014
October 17th, 2021
I woke up to darkness. The last thing I remember was inspecting the barn while Hector was out checking one of the silos. I remember seeing basic tools in the barn like pitchforks and shovels when I felt someone grab me from behind. I remember feeling an intense pressure on my neck until I passed out. Now I'm here.
I can only guess that I'm in a cellar. I don't know if this is the same cellar I saw when we approached the house yesterday. I felt around in the pitch black for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes. I felt shelves and tables, a sink, tool racks and tripped over a pile of sticks where I fell and crushed a few of them. I felt a drawer, opened it and came across a box of matches. I lit one and to my disgust, those sticks were bones. Ribs, femurs, a couple of skulls.
Burning myself on the first match, I reached in the box, withdrew a second and lit it. I quickly scanned for a lantern or a candle and spotted a four-armed candelabra. All but one of the four candles were burned down to their wicks, so I lit the only one left, which is threatening to die out now as I'm writing this.
Speaking of writing, I'm writing on a ledger with a pencil that I found on the desk. I took the candelabra with me and began scanning the room. The table that I felt, it was stained with blood. The sink was discolored with some kind of fluid. The tool rack had a various assortment of tools from scythes to a nasty looking giant corkscrew. They bore the dark marks of bloodstains, too. It was seeing those tools that frightened me to my core.
Then I saw the doors at the top of the five step staircase and I raced to it. Knowing they'd be locked but trying anyway, the doors wouldn't open. I heard the chain banging against the doors in protest of me trying to ram them open. I was going to continue, but then the fear kicked in again and I stopped. If I drew the attention of whoever locked me down here, I may not ready for them.
This fear I'm feeling is new. I've been fighting off zombies for close to a year and a half. I've dealt with those menacing alphas, but those were threats that I could see. Those were things that I had experience with. Being locked in this cellar, though, not knowing who or what is on the other side is seriously freaking me out. Even holding this scythe I plucked off the rack gives me little assurance in being able to survive whatever comes through those doors.
And what kills me is not knowing what's happened to everyone else! I don't know if they're alive or dead, or if they're harmed or locked up somewhere else on this property. I haven't heard any screams, but who knows what that means. All I can do now is just wait. It really feels like that the zombies are no longer an issue. I think other survivors are going insane. I wonder if the virus isn't affecting our minds on some level.
The candle just died. I'm writing this in the dark only by feel. If I live to see tomorrow, I'm sure this page will be almost illegible. And now I'm really starting to notice the stink. I've smelled death before but not locked up in a stuffy cellar. It's starting to make me nauseous. I'm starting to hear shuffling going on outside Sounds like someone's dragging something.
I shoul
I can only guess that I'm in a cellar. I don't know if this is the same cellar I saw when we approached the house yesterday. I felt around in the pitch black for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes. I felt shelves and tables, a sink, tool racks and tripped over a pile of sticks where I fell and crushed a few of them. I felt a drawer, opened it and came across a box of matches. I lit one and to my disgust, those sticks were bones. Ribs, femurs, a couple of skulls.
Burning myself on the first match, I reached in the box, withdrew a second and lit it. I quickly scanned for a lantern or a candle and spotted a four-armed candelabra. All but one of the four candles were burned down to their wicks, so I lit the only one left, which is threatening to die out now as I'm writing this.
Speaking of writing, I'm writing on a ledger with a pencil that I found on the desk. I took the candelabra with me and began scanning the room. The table that I felt, it was stained with blood. The sink was discolored with some kind of fluid. The tool rack had a various assortment of tools from scythes to a nasty looking giant corkscrew. They bore the dark marks of bloodstains, too. It was seeing those tools that frightened me to my core.
Then I saw the doors at the top of the five step staircase and I raced to it. Knowing they'd be locked but trying anyway, the doors wouldn't open. I heard the chain banging against the doors in protest of me trying to ram them open. I was going to continue, but then the fear kicked in again and I stopped. If I drew the attention of whoever locked me down here, I may not ready for them.
This fear I'm feeling is new. I've been fighting off zombies for close to a year and a half. I've dealt with those menacing alphas, but those were threats that I could see. Those were things that I had experience with. Being locked in this cellar, though, not knowing who or what is on the other side is seriously freaking me out. Even holding this scythe I plucked off the rack gives me little assurance in being able to survive whatever comes through those doors.
And what kills me is not knowing what's happened to everyone else! I don't know if they're alive or dead, or if they're harmed or locked up somewhere else on this property. I haven't heard any screams, but who knows what that means. All I can do now is just wait. It really feels like that the zombies are no longer an issue. I think other survivors are going insane. I wonder if the virus isn't affecting our minds on some level.
The candle just died. I'm writing this in the dark only by feel. If I live to see tomorrow, I'm sure this page will be almost illegible. And now I'm really starting to notice the stink. I've smelled death before but not locked up in a stuffy cellar. It's starting to make me nauseous. I'm starting to hear shuffling going on outside Sounds like someone's dragging something.
I shoul
Thursday, October 16, 2014
October 16th, 2021
A few hours after I ended last night's entry, we reached Indianapolis, or at least the fence surrounding it. I now know where the military went. At first, we all cheered for joy when we saw the checkpoint station with armed guards in digital camouflage HAZMAT suits. We were halted before even being able to pull up to the gate. They ordered us all out of the ambulance and had us kneel on the ground. Kat had to lay down since her cast prevented her from kneeling. The guard pulled a device out about the size of a metal detector wand and a neon blue light pulsated from it. We were being scanned.
He picked up the radio from his shoulder and spoke into it. "Infected, all of them." Undecipherable chatter came from the other end of which the guard replied, "No, not alphas .... No sign of decay. ... They appear healthy, most likely carriers." Alphas? What the hell were alphas? Could they be the leathers? I tried to ask but was ordered to remain silent, and I complied.
We just let the guard finish talking on the radio, and he ended it with a, "Yes sir." I asked him could he tell us now what's going on? Can they help us at all? Are we allowed into the city? He only looked back at me, emotionless, a soldier trained to be uncaring in order to carry out its job efficiently. He said the city's under protective quarantine. No one carrying any strain of vivensmortua was allowed in. I had to ask again, we were all infected? He said yes, and called us carriers. Carriers....We're all carriers, just like Cheyenne; like Rat.
We pleaded for help, for supplies, for gas, for anything, but were met with rifles pointed at us. We were warned to go the other way, or they would fire. Hector tried stepping forward, and a guard shot at his foot and he shuffled back. We had no choice. We had to turn around. The military wasn't going to help us. We were beyond help. Whatever salvaged civilization was left in the middle of that city was off limits to us.
The fence's perimeter was 10 miles wide on all sides. I had to head back on I-70 to HWY 52 just to be able to get around the city. I wasn't happy about burning what precious gas we had left, but there was no way through Indianapolis. Being denied entry made me furious. We needed help but they threatened to kill us before they'd help us.
As I continued to drive, I got to thinking about what I heard. The alphas must have been their name for the leathers. It made sense. Alphas are usually the dominate, superior animals in the group. If it referred to something stronger and deadlier, I wouldn't want to know what. Then, there was us being carriers. That means anyone not infected with the virus, we can make sick by breathing on them, bleeding on them, and biting them. The realization of what we were took a deep toll on us.
Jonathan doesn't want to go to Idaho anymore. He doesn't want to find his friends because even if he did, he'd most likely get them sick. I started thinking about my parents. I couldn't go to them now. If they weren't already dead, I'd only infect them. I know they're not AB-, so I'm sure they would be infected. There's always the slim chance of them simply being immune to the airborne strain, and I reminded Jonathan of that, but he didn't want to take the risk.
Hector's position didn't change simply because he had no direction. He didn't want to go anywhere. He was just happy being with us. It was Sandra that I really began to be concerned about. She'll never have a normal life now. Any city we find with survivors, they won't let us in. She won't be able to play with other kids. She's not going to meet a boy, kiss and fall in love with and have a family with. Why are we even still alive if that's the case?
It was close to three in the morning, and we were nearly out of gas so we spent the rest of the night in the ambulance. I talked to Kat about what we should do. I felt aimless, hopeless, not knowing where to go now. She said the mountains would be the best place to go, even if my parents were there. We didn't have to find them if we didn't want to. Even if we did, we could simply wear masks or something. I didn't think that was a very good idea. You could be as careful as you wanted, but somehow, infection always finds a way. But she's right. It would be much safer to stay in the mountains. California would be our goal. We just had to get there.
We woke up to a herd of zombies outside our ambulance. They completely ignored us, some bumping into the van and continued walking as if we weren't there. They moved en masse in numbers I'd have to say were in the hundreds. There were draggers and freshies and leathers, which I guess are alphas now, and passed right by us heading towards the direction of Indianapolis.
We all kept low of the windows and simply listened to them go by. Sandra was scared, but made no noise. Kat crept up to me as I carefully raised my head up to see how many more zombies were still coming. Hector whispered to me and asked what I thought was going on. Why weren't they attacking us? Didn't they know we were here? The answer came to me like a light bulb. Smorgasbord. There was no point in paying us any attention. Considering what awaited for them, they wanted to get there as fast as possible.
"Everything happens for a reason." We were denied entry to that place, and we were better for it. Those poor people have no idea what's coming to them. "Everything happens for a reason." It was Johanna's favorite quote. She always believed that no matter what happened to you, how bad it was, there was a purpose. There was always a positive around the corner. Then I thought what life would have been like had Johanna still been alive. I would have loved her, sure. But then, would I have loved her the same as Kat? Maybe Kat was meant to be the one. I would have never met her, and Sandra as well, if the zombie outbreak never came to be. I regained my perspective.
It must have been at least two or three hours before the last group of zombies shuffled past us. I started up the ambulance and we resumed our journey down I-70 until we ran out of gas about 40 miles later. We're now in farm country. We grabbed all the supplies we could carry from the ambulance, and I put Kat in the wheelchair and we found a farmhouse not too far off the freeway. What we found in the house, though, was horrible. Two boys and a girl in the kitchen were shot in the head by a shotgun. The woman in the bedroom was also shot, but the shooter was no where to be found. The bloodstains looked to be many months old, though, so I doubt the shooter is still around.
Jonathan and Hector helped me clear all the bodies from the house and we dug graves for each them. At this rate, Sandra's going to run out of tongue depressors for crosses. After we finished with the graves, we settled in the house. First thing we did was check the pantries, but all the dry goods were being eaten by rats. Thankfully, though, they did have a cellar which housed many canned fruits. We had fruit salad for dinner tonight, and it was some of the best I ever had!
We took it easy for the rest of the day. Hector took out his playing cards and we played poker for a while, teaching Sandra how to play as well. She was a quick learner, and actually ended up developing a pretty mean poker face. I love that kid, I really do. We explore the house and the farm thoroughly first thing tomorrow. I wonder if they have a rooster that will wake us up...
Until tomorrow.
He picked up the radio from his shoulder and spoke into it. "Infected, all of them." Undecipherable chatter came from the other end of which the guard replied, "No, not alphas .... No sign of decay. ... They appear healthy, most likely carriers." Alphas? What the hell were alphas? Could they be the leathers? I tried to ask but was ordered to remain silent, and I complied.
We just let the guard finish talking on the radio, and he ended it with a, "Yes sir." I asked him could he tell us now what's going on? Can they help us at all? Are we allowed into the city? He only looked back at me, emotionless, a soldier trained to be uncaring in order to carry out its job efficiently. He said the city's under protective quarantine. No one carrying any strain of vivensmortua was allowed in. I had to ask again, we were all infected? He said yes, and called us carriers. Carriers....We're all carriers, just like Cheyenne; like Rat.
We pleaded for help, for supplies, for gas, for anything, but were met with rifles pointed at us. We were warned to go the other way, or they would fire. Hector tried stepping forward, and a guard shot at his foot and he shuffled back. We had no choice. We had to turn around. The military wasn't going to help us. We were beyond help. Whatever salvaged civilization was left in the middle of that city was off limits to us.
The fence's perimeter was 10 miles wide on all sides. I had to head back on I-70 to HWY 52 just to be able to get around the city. I wasn't happy about burning what precious gas we had left, but there was no way through Indianapolis. Being denied entry made me furious. We needed help but they threatened to kill us before they'd help us.
As I continued to drive, I got to thinking about what I heard. The alphas must have been their name for the leathers. It made sense. Alphas are usually the dominate, superior animals in the group. If it referred to something stronger and deadlier, I wouldn't want to know what. Then, there was us being carriers. That means anyone not infected with the virus, we can make sick by breathing on them, bleeding on them, and biting them. The realization of what we were took a deep toll on us.
Jonathan doesn't want to go to Idaho anymore. He doesn't want to find his friends because even if he did, he'd most likely get them sick. I started thinking about my parents. I couldn't go to them now. If they weren't already dead, I'd only infect them. I know they're not AB-, so I'm sure they would be infected. There's always the slim chance of them simply being immune to the airborne strain, and I reminded Jonathan of that, but he didn't want to take the risk.
Hector's position didn't change simply because he had no direction. He didn't want to go anywhere. He was just happy being with us. It was Sandra that I really began to be concerned about. She'll never have a normal life now. Any city we find with survivors, they won't let us in. She won't be able to play with other kids. She's not going to meet a boy, kiss and fall in love with and have a family with. Why are we even still alive if that's the case?
It was close to three in the morning, and we were nearly out of gas so we spent the rest of the night in the ambulance. I talked to Kat about what we should do. I felt aimless, hopeless, not knowing where to go now. She said the mountains would be the best place to go, even if my parents were there. We didn't have to find them if we didn't want to. Even if we did, we could simply wear masks or something. I didn't think that was a very good idea. You could be as careful as you wanted, but somehow, infection always finds a way. But she's right. It would be much safer to stay in the mountains. California would be our goal. We just had to get there.
We woke up to a herd of zombies outside our ambulance. They completely ignored us, some bumping into the van and continued walking as if we weren't there. They moved en masse in numbers I'd have to say were in the hundreds. There were draggers and freshies and leathers, which I guess are alphas now, and passed right by us heading towards the direction of Indianapolis.
We all kept low of the windows and simply listened to them go by. Sandra was scared, but made no noise. Kat crept up to me as I carefully raised my head up to see how many more zombies were still coming. Hector whispered to me and asked what I thought was going on. Why weren't they attacking us? Didn't they know we were here? The answer came to me like a light bulb. Smorgasbord. There was no point in paying us any attention. Considering what awaited for them, they wanted to get there as fast as possible.
"Everything happens for a reason." We were denied entry to that place, and we were better for it. Those poor people have no idea what's coming to them. "Everything happens for a reason." It was Johanna's favorite quote. She always believed that no matter what happened to you, how bad it was, there was a purpose. There was always a positive around the corner. Then I thought what life would have been like had Johanna still been alive. I would have loved her, sure. But then, would I have loved her the same as Kat? Maybe Kat was meant to be the one. I would have never met her, and Sandra as well, if the zombie outbreak never came to be. I regained my perspective.
It must have been at least two or three hours before the last group of zombies shuffled past us. I started up the ambulance and we resumed our journey down I-70 until we ran out of gas about 40 miles later. We're now in farm country. We grabbed all the supplies we could carry from the ambulance, and I put Kat in the wheelchair and we found a farmhouse not too far off the freeway. What we found in the house, though, was horrible. Two boys and a girl in the kitchen were shot in the head by a shotgun. The woman in the bedroom was also shot, but the shooter was no where to be found. The bloodstains looked to be many months old, though, so I doubt the shooter is still around.
Jonathan and Hector helped me clear all the bodies from the house and we dug graves for each them. At this rate, Sandra's going to run out of tongue depressors for crosses. After we finished with the graves, we settled in the house. First thing we did was check the pantries, but all the dry goods were being eaten by rats. Thankfully, though, they did have a cellar which housed many canned fruits. We had fruit salad for dinner tonight, and it was some of the best I ever had!
We took it easy for the rest of the day. Hector took out his playing cards and we played poker for a while, teaching Sandra how to play as well. She was a quick learner, and actually ended up developing a pretty mean poker face. I love that kid, I really do. We explore the house and the farm thoroughly first thing tomorrow. I wonder if they have a rooster that will wake us up...
Until tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
October 15th, 2021
*sighhhhhhhhhhhh*
Sorry, I had to type exactly how I feel right now. Just one massive defeated sigh. The good news is I didn't have to tell Timothy that we were excommunicating him from the group. The bad news is he died. He was going to turn.
When I woke up, I heard it. The excessive coughing, the sounds of Timothy's lungs trying to evacuate themselves. At first, I thought he caught my flu, but even I wasn't sounding that bad. I looked him over and he exhibited another symptom of turning, something that you don't see in anyone who actually has the flu; bleeding from the eyes. He had mere hours left.
I looked at his bitten hand, and the evidence was immediate. The wound was black, and the flesh surrounding the bite was turning green and yellow, oozing a milky brown fluid. No signs of infection was around his ear, as it was torn off and not just bitten. Timothy knew what was happening to him, but at the same time he didn't understand. He was bit by a human, not a zombie. I didn't understand at first either and then my eyes widened. I grabbed his good hand and told him to remember Cheyenne. His eyes widened as well. Rat was a carrier and could transmit the vivensmortua through bite. Had I known that, I would have killed Rat the moment I saw her. Although, now I'm beginning to suspect we could all be carriers...
I had everyone gather and told them what was going on. Sandra shrieked and started crying. Jonathan hung his head low, and Hector's sniffles betrayed his machismo. Kat hugged me tightly and cried into my shoulder. We stood around Timothy not knowing what to do. It was different at the hospital. Most of our loved ones were killed right away, and I was the one who had to finish off the ones who weren't. To see Timothy's health rapidly decline in front of our eyes was gut-wrenching. Suddenly, my concerns with him being untrustworthy were washed away. I just kept holding his hand trying to comfort him.
He started shaking to the point of almost convulsing, and he had me lean in as he wanted to tell me something. He whispered, "You know what you have to do." I knew before he even told me. I closed my eyes and nodded. I had everyone leave the room, and Kat held back her tears to be strong for Sandra, who ran to Timothy and hugged him tighter than Kat had ever hugged me. Sandra, trying very hard to speak through sobs, said, "YOU CAN'T GO, YOU SILLY MAN! YOU'RE TOO SILLY TO DIE!" Kat and I looked at each other. We had no idea Tim left such an impact on Sandra. He just put her hands on her shoulders and said it was going to be OK. He said he couldn't wait to see Heaven, a place full of flowers that wasn't as beautiful as the ones she could make. It was impossible for me to hold back after hearing such a heartfelt sentiment. The walls came down and I started crying myself. Tim, through a bloody cough, remarked at me, "I always knew you were a pussy!" I tried to chuckle, but it got caught on a sob.
I had to help Kat get Sandra off him, and everyone left the room. I grabbed the gun, ejected the magazine and counted the rounds. Two left. I didn't feel like using one on Tim because even though it was only two bullets, who knows how valuable they would be in the future, but there was no other way to give him a quick and painless death. I put the mag back in and cocked the hammer back. I kept trying to bring up the gun but my arm wouldn't obey.
Timothy reached out with his good hand and said, "Here, give it to me." I hesitated for a while, but he insisted that he wanted to do it himself. He said he wanted to be a man for the first time, to accept his own death, to be in total control of his life for once. As I started to think he was finally being serious, no more zombie fantasy bullshit, he null and voided my feelings by saying, "Besides, this is how a bad ass would go out!" Before I could even smirk, he swung the gun up to his temple and pulled the trigger. I jumped back, startled, not expecting him to shoot himself so suddenly.
The cries on the other side of the door brought tears back into my eyes. I took one of our blankets and covered Tim up with it. I walked outside and told no one to go in, that they didn't need to see it. I had them take occupancy in the next room, and I asked Jonathan for his help to move Tim's body outside. After moving Tim to the overgrown lawn, Jonathan retrieved the shovel from the ambulance, the same one we used to bury everyone else at the hospital. We dug a grave and placed Tim inside.
Jonathan went inside the school to collect everyone, and we had a funeral for Tim. Sandra had her signature flower decorated tongue depressor cross and she placed it into the soil of his grave. I told her to make another one, and she asked who was it for. I told her it was for Rat, the girl who attacked us at the library. I didn't tell her about it yesterday, but I decided to just get it over with and told Sandra what happened. She said she was going to make her prettiest one yet, and she did.
Jonathan, Hector and I then went to the library, shovel in hand. When we walked in and approached the spot where Rat was, we discovered her body was missing. There were no trails of blood leading away from where the stain was, so she didn't get up on her own and walk away. I don't think she would have turned into a zombie, because it was head trauma that killed her; the brain wouldn't have been able to be restarted. Rat must have been carried away by someone else. We instantly got the chills, and the thought of anymore children like Rat was scarier to me than a horde of leathers. We started to leave, but then I turned around and quickly returned back to where Rat used to be, and I laid Sandra's cross down on the bloodstain. It was all I could do.
We returned to the high school and I said I wanted nothing more to do with Columbus. If there weren't any objections, I wanted to get back on the road tonight. There weren't. We're currently on the road now while I'm writing this, with Jonathan driving us. We're going west on I-70 heading toward Indianapolis. We're still planning on heading to Idaho to find Jonathan's friends. We haven't made as much progress as I would have liked, because our gas is low and we've been stopping at every gas station not finding a single working pump. We've also been stopping at every abandoned car to try to siphon any gas we can, and we're lucky to get just a half gallon from the ones that have anything left.
The mood in the ambulance is pretty gloomy. Hardly anyone's talked to each other these past few hours. We're sick and tired of death. I've also been having horrible thoughts of just killing us all and saving the eventuality of turning into zombies or being food for them. I don't like thinking like that, but that part of my brain just won't shut off. I looked at Kat, and I kissed her mouth. I looked at Sandra, and I kissed her forehead. I held Kat with my left arm, and Sandra with my right. These two are the reasons why I need to keep living. I can't be selfish and deny them a possible future as bleak as it may be. I can't be weak and take the easy way out myself. I'm sorry, Kat. This is another one of those things I simply can't tell you. Again, if you happen to read this, I'm really sorry. I know you'll understand.
We're going to try to drive through the night. If we run out of gas, we run out of gas. With just the five us now, there's plenty of room in the ambulance to bunker down. I'm going to end this entry here as Jonathan looks like he needs a break from driving.
Until tomorrow.
Sorry, I had to type exactly how I feel right now. Just one massive defeated sigh. The good news is I didn't have to tell Timothy that we were excommunicating him from the group. The bad news is he died. He was going to turn.
When I woke up, I heard it. The excessive coughing, the sounds of Timothy's lungs trying to evacuate themselves. At first, I thought he caught my flu, but even I wasn't sounding that bad. I looked him over and he exhibited another symptom of turning, something that you don't see in anyone who actually has the flu; bleeding from the eyes. He had mere hours left.
I looked at his bitten hand, and the evidence was immediate. The wound was black, and the flesh surrounding the bite was turning green and yellow, oozing a milky brown fluid. No signs of infection was around his ear, as it was torn off and not just bitten. Timothy knew what was happening to him, but at the same time he didn't understand. He was bit by a human, not a zombie. I didn't understand at first either and then my eyes widened. I grabbed his good hand and told him to remember Cheyenne. His eyes widened as well. Rat was a carrier and could transmit the vivensmortua through bite. Had I known that, I would have killed Rat the moment I saw her. Although, now I'm beginning to suspect we could all be carriers...
I had everyone gather and told them what was going on. Sandra shrieked and started crying. Jonathan hung his head low, and Hector's sniffles betrayed his machismo. Kat hugged me tightly and cried into my shoulder. We stood around Timothy not knowing what to do. It was different at the hospital. Most of our loved ones were killed right away, and I was the one who had to finish off the ones who weren't. To see Timothy's health rapidly decline in front of our eyes was gut-wrenching. Suddenly, my concerns with him being untrustworthy were washed away. I just kept holding his hand trying to comfort him.
He started shaking to the point of almost convulsing, and he had me lean in as he wanted to tell me something. He whispered, "You know what you have to do." I knew before he even told me. I closed my eyes and nodded. I had everyone leave the room, and Kat held back her tears to be strong for Sandra, who ran to Timothy and hugged him tighter than Kat had ever hugged me. Sandra, trying very hard to speak through sobs, said, "YOU CAN'T GO, YOU SILLY MAN! YOU'RE TOO SILLY TO DIE!" Kat and I looked at each other. We had no idea Tim left such an impact on Sandra. He just put her hands on her shoulders and said it was going to be OK. He said he couldn't wait to see Heaven, a place full of flowers that wasn't as beautiful as the ones she could make. It was impossible for me to hold back after hearing such a heartfelt sentiment. The walls came down and I started crying myself. Tim, through a bloody cough, remarked at me, "I always knew you were a pussy!" I tried to chuckle, but it got caught on a sob.
I had to help Kat get Sandra off him, and everyone left the room. I grabbed the gun, ejected the magazine and counted the rounds. Two left. I didn't feel like using one on Tim because even though it was only two bullets, who knows how valuable they would be in the future, but there was no other way to give him a quick and painless death. I put the mag back in and cocked the hammer back. I kept trying to bring up the gun but my arm wouldn't obey.
Timothy reached out with his good hand and said, "Here, give it to me." I hesitated for a while, but he insisted that he wanted to do it himself. He said he wanted to be a man for the first time, to accept his own death, to be in total control of his life for once. As I started to think he was finally being serious, no more zombie fantasy bullshit, he null and voided my feelings by saying, "Besides, this is how a bad ass would go out!" Before I could even smirk, he swung the gun up to his temple and pulled the trigger. I jumped back, startled, not expecting him to shoot himself so suddenly.
The cries on the other side of the door brought tears back into my eyes. I took one of our blankets and covered Tim up with it. I walked outside and told no one to go in, that they didn't need to see it. I had them take occupancy in the next room, and I asked Jonathan for his help to move Tim's body outside. After moving Tim to the overgrown lawn, Jonathan retrieved the shovel from the ambulance, the same one we used to bury everyone else at the hospital. We dug a grave and placed Tim inside.
Jonathan went inside the school to collect everyone, and we had a funeral for Tim. Sandra had her signature flower decorated tongue depressor cross and she placed it into the soil of his grave. I told her to make another one, and she asked who was it for. I told her it was for Rat, the girl who attacked us at the library. I didn't tell her about it yesterday, but I decided to just get it over with and told Sandra what happened. She said she was going to make her prettiest one yet, and she did.
Jonathan, Hector and I then went to the library, shovel in hand. When we walked in and approached the spot where Rat was, we discovered her body was missing. There were no trails of blood leading away from where the stain was, so she didn't get up on her own and walk away. I don't think she would have turned into a zombie, because it was head trauma that killed her; the brain wouldn't have been able to be restarted. Rat must have been carried away by someone else. We instantly got the chills, and the thought of anymore children like Rat was scarier to me than a horde of leathers. We started to leave, but then I turned around and quickly returned back to where Rat used to be, and I laid Sandra's cross down on the bloodstain. It was all I could do.
We returned to the high school and I said I wanted nothing more to do with Columbus. If there weren't any objections, I wanted to get back on the road tonight. There weren't. We're currently on the road now while I'm writing this, with Jonathan driving us. We're going west on I-70 heading toward Indianapolis. We're still planning on heading to Idaho to find Jonathan's friends. We haven't made as much progress as I would have liked, because our gas is low and we've been stopping at every gas station not finding a single working pump. We've also been stopping at every abandoned car to try to siphon any gas we can, and we're lucky to get just a half gallon from the ones that have anything left.
The mood in the ambulance is pretty gloomy. Hardly anyone's talked to each other these past few hours. We're sick and tired of death. I've also been having horrible thoughts of just killing us all and saving the eventuality of turning into zombies or being food for them. I don't like thinking like that, but that part of my brain just won't shut off. I looked at Kat, and I kissed her mouth. I looked at Sandra, and I kissed her forehead. I held Kat with my left arm, and Sandra with my right. These two are the reasons why I need to keep living. I can't be selfish and deny them a possible future as bleak as it may be. I can't be weak and take the easy way out myself. I'm sorry, Kat. This is another one of those things I simply can't tell you. Again, if you happen to read this, I'm really sorry. I know you'll understand.
We're going to try to drive through the night. If we run out of gas, we run out of gas. With just the five us now, there's plenty of room in the ambulance to bunker down. I'm going to end this entry here as Jonathan looks like he needs a break from driving.
Until tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
October 14th 2021
I was left to sleep in as everyone woke up and ate breakfast. I think I woke around 11 to 11:30 in the morning and for all intents and purposes felt a lot better. I tried some dry cereal and was able to keep that down, so I decided I was going to go with Jonathan and Hector to check out the medical center and the library. Timothy said he wanted to come along as well, but I told him we needed someone to stay back here with Kat and Sandra. At first, he protested but Jonathan pulled me to the side and said that he wouldn't mind staying back and watching the girls. He also said since I couldn't trust Tim with any weapon, it would make no sense having him stand guard. He was right, so I told Tim he could come along. That seemed to raise his spirits.
We set after the medical center first, but there was no need to explore the building once we saw what shape it was in. It looked like it was bombed to rubble. The weird thing about all this was the surrounding area looked untouched. If there was some kind of war here, the medical center was the only target. To think that a place that's supposed to help people becomes the only target of a bombing is just... unfathomable.
The library was just ahead, an old stone building about three stories high. We walked in through one of the busted front doors, and what we saw was chaos. Books were strewn about, defiant of their once orderly position on the shelves. Toys were out of their boxes, yet still looked played with. Computers and keyboards were lying in pieces, begging barefoot masochists to step on them. This was a huge library, and it looked well used.
I found the adult fiction section, while Hector took off to look for magazines and newspapers. Timothy went to the nonfiction section, my guess is to see if there were any books on zombies. I needed something that was science fiction or fantasy, not too serious with a good sense of humor. I caught myself nearly trying to find a librarian to ask for recommendations when I suddenly remembered where I was: in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
After grabbing a couple of books, one called Zordath: King of Light and another called The Lazarus Conspiracy, I went to find the other two to see if they found anything good. Timothy found a book, waving a copy of Max Brook's Zombie Survival Guide, but said he already read it a thousand times. Figured as much. Hector said the library didn't have any Playboys, and my only response to that was, "Really?" Then we heard shuffling.
The shuffling came from above us on the second floor. We slowly went up the stairs and began to look around for what caused the noise. More shuffling came farther down from where we heard it the first time, and I cocked my gun while Hector prepped the rifle. Before anyone had time to react, Timothy was struck in the head by a flying book. He fell over and the rest of us took cover behind some shelves.
"GO AWAY!" shouted whoever threw the book. I shouted back that we weren't going to hurt them, that we were only going to take a few books. It's not like they're expected due back at any time, and that made the person even angrier. It hopped on top of the shelf from where it threw the book and yelled again. "MY BOOKS! BELONG TO ME, RAT! GO AWAY!"
It called itself Rat. I had to hazard a look at this Rat to see what I was dealing with. It had the stature and build of a child, roughly Sandra's age, yet I couldn't make out if it was a boy or a girl. At first, I couldn't believe it, but Rat was wearing zombie skin! It looked like it came from a leather, and it was wearing it just like leather! It was so demented, so disturbing, but Timothy would later tell me it was actually a brilliant camouflage technique. His theory was that zombies identified each other by roughly scanning and smelling the quality of outer flesh, and by wearing zombie skin, you practically were invisible to them.
Rat's clothes were also impossible to tell what their original color was, so discolored with dirt and grime and age. Its stance was something almost feral, like it had been raised by wolves or jackals. The longer we hid behind these shelves, the more agitated it became. Rat was making it clear to us it didn't want us here, but I tried rationalizing with it anyway.
"Surely, we can just have a few books?"
"NO! RAT'S BOOKS! GIVE BACK OR I KILL YOU!"
Timothy then pulled out a candy bar, came from around the shelf and held it out to Rat as an olive branch with his right hand. He was slow and cautious in his approach to Rat, but I softly yelled at him to stop moving. Rat saw the candy and jumped back a bit at first, but then crawled along the top of the shelf to Timothy, Tim wiggling the candy bar to Rat like a bone to a dog.
Lightning fast, Rat grabbed Tim's hand and bit into it, tearing the flesh away from his metacarpal and Tim howled in pain. At that point, I raised up and fired at Rat, who had already jumped of the shelf and took off. Tim sank down against the shelf and Jonathan and I dumped our books and took after Rat but couldn't find it. It doubled backed on us and we heard another cry from Tim. When we returned to him, we found his left ear ripped raggedly off.
"LEAVE NOW OR I KILL ALL OF YOU! NO BOOKS!" it snarled at us. I yelled back at it that we were leaving, and we helped Timothy up. Just as we were walking to the stairs, Rat jumped on my back, jamming a pencil in my shoulder, and I reached behind me grabbing it and reflexively threw Rat over the railing of the second floor. It landed on its head with a crack and laid still. Jonathan trained his rifle on Rat as I helped Timothy down the stairs, his blood dripping on my clothes mixing with my own.
I lowered Timothy at the base of the stairs as I walked over to Rat with my gun out. I kicked the body over on its back and crouched over it, ever so cautiously. I pulled on the zombie mask made from the leather until it came off ... and revealed a girl. She looked very similar to Sandra, same hair color and facial structure. I noticed the pool of blood slowly gathering underneath her head, yet still felt for a pulse. Nothing. I killed her. Timothy got up and walked over to her, hocked and then spat on her following up with a kick to her already broken skull. I immediately got up myself and punched him square in his nose, breaking it and causing him to fall backward. Jonathan rushed over to hold me off Tim as Tim yelled at me, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU HIT ME FOR!" We left, not bothering to go back for the books.
Timothy doesn't get life anymore. He has no understanding of what just happened. For him to so callously spit on a girl's body like that, a girl who was so mentally disturbed from probably living on her own for who knows how long. it means I can't trust him around Sandra. I can't trust him around any of us. I feel bad that he got attacked, and we patched him up, but he's not someone this group can rely on any longer. I would tell him tonight that he needs to go his separate way, but I'm afraid of what he might do to us in our sleep, so I'll tell him in the morning.
I finally felt good enough to sleep with Kat, and even though we haven't showered for days, I miss the smell of her. I told her what happened at the library, and she hugged me tight, waiting for me to cry, but no tears came. She asked if I felt bad for killing her, and I did, but I didn't feel bad about protecting my own life. I kept running scenarios around in my head, what I could have done differently but I decided that no matter what I did, Rat would have tried to kill one of us anyway she could. I treated her like a rabid animal, something I had to kill, yet didn't get any enjoyment out of it.
She asked why we just left her body there, and I honestly didn't know. The whole situation was just so bizarre, the only thing any of us thought to do when it was over was to just leave. Kat said she deserved a burial. It wasn't her fault we got attacked. She was made crazy by the world and she probably didn't have anyone to live it with for some time. Of course, she brought up the fact that she was someone's daughter, and wouldn't her parents - if they were still alive - feel better knowing we buried her daughter? I told her she was right. We'd make that a duty to do tomorrow. We would bury Rat.
I've only been in Columbus a few days and I'm ready to leave. It has not been pleasant at all. I've been sick most my stay here. Timothy nearly kills me. Timothy kills some stranger without giving him a chance to defend himself. I kill a young girl, in self-defense, after I get stabbed with a pencil. Now we're going to be one member less tomorrow. I knew all that luck we had on the way here came with a price.
Until tomorrow.
We set after the medical center first, but there was no need to explore the building once we saw what shape it was in. It looked like it was bombed to rubble. The weird thing about all this was the surrounding area looked untouched. If there was some kind of war here, the medical center was the only target. To think that a place that's supposed to help people becomes the only target of a bombing is just... unfathomable.
The library was just ahead, an old stone building about three stories high. We walked in through one of the busted front doors, and what we saw was chaos. Books were strewn about, defiant of their once orderly position on the shelves. Toys were out of their boxes, yet still looked played with. Computers and keyboards were lying in pieces, begging barefoot masochists to step on them. This was a huge library, and it looked well used.
I found the adult fiction section, while Hector took off to look for magazines and newspapers. Timothy went to the nonfiction section, my guess is to see if there were any books on zombies. I needed something that was science fiction or fantasy, not too serious with a good sense of humor. I caught myself nearly trying to find a librarian to ask for recommendations when I suddenly remembered where I was: in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
After grabbing a couple of books, one called Zordath: King of Light and another called The Lazarus Conspiracy, I went to find the other two to see if they found anything good. Timothy found a book, waving a copy of Max Brook's Zombie Survival Guide, but said he already read it a thousand times. Figured as much. Hector said the library didn't have any Playboys, and my only response to that was, "Really?" Then we heard shuffling.
The shuffling came from above us on the second floor. We slowly went up the stairs and began to look around for what caused the noise. More shuffling came farther down from where we heard it the first time, and I cocked my gun while Hector prepped the rifle. Before anyone had time to react, Timothy was struck in the head by a flying book. He fell over and the rest of us took cover behind some shelves.
"GO AWAY!" shouted whoever threw the book. I shouted back that we weren't going to hurt them, that we were only going to take a few books. It's not like they're expected due back at any time, and that made the person even angrier. It hopped on top of the shelf from where it threw the book and yelled again. "MY BOOKS! BELONG TO ME, RAT! GO AWAY!"
It called itself Rat. I had to hazard a look at this Rat to see what I was dealing with. It had the stature and build of a child, roughly Sandra's age, yet I couldn't make out if it was a boy or a girl. At first, I couldn't believe it, but Rat was wearing zombie skin! It looked like it came from a leather, and it was wearing it just like leather! It was so demented, so disturbing, but Timothy would later tell me it was actually a brilliant camouflage technique. His theory was that zombies identified each other by roughly scanning and smelling the quality of outer flesh, and by wearing zombie skin, you practically were invisible to them.
Rat's clothes were also impossible to tell what their original color was, so discolored with dirt and grime and age. Its stance was something almost feral, like it had been raised by wolves or jackals. The longer we hid behind these shelves, the more agitated it became. Rat was making it clear to us it didn't want us here, but I tried rationalizing with it anyway.
"Surely, we can just have a few books?"
"NO! RAT'S BOOKS! GIVE BACK OR I KILL YOU!"
Timothy then pulled out a candy bar, came from around the shelf and held it out to Rat as an olive branch with his right hand. He was slow and cautious in his approach to Rat, but I softly yelled at him to stop moving. Rat saw the candy and jumped back a bit at first, but then crawled along the top of the shelf to Timothy, Tim wiggling the candy bar to Rat like a bone to a dog.
Lightning fast, Rat grabbed Tim's hand and bit into it, tearing the flesh away from his metacarpal and Tim howled in pain. At that point, I raised up and fired at Rat, who had already jumped of the shelf and took off. Tim sank down against the shelf and Jonathan and I dumped our books and took after Rat but couldn't find it. It doubled backed on us and we heard another cry from Tim. When we returned to him, we found his left ear ripped raggedly off.
"LEAVE NOW OR I KILL ALL OF YOU! NO BOOKS!" it snarled at us. I yelled back at it that we were leaving, and we helped Timothy up. Just as we were walking to the stairs, Rat jumped on my back, jamming a pencil in my shoulder, and I reached behind me grabbing it and reflexively threw Rat over the railing of the second floor. It landed on its head with a crack and laid still. Jonathan trained his rifle on Rat as I helped Timothy down the stairs, his blood dripping on my clothes mixing with my own.
I lowered Timothy at the base of the stairs as I walked over to Rat with my gun out. I kicked the body over on its back and crouched over it, ever so cautiously. I pulled on the zombie mask made from the leather until it came off ... and revealed a girl. She looked very similar to Sandra, same hair color and facial structure. I noticed the pool of blood slowly gathering underneath her head, yet still felt for a pulse. Nothing. I killed her. Timothy got up and walked over to her, hocked and then spat on her following up with a kick to her already broken skull. I immediately got up myself and punched him square in his nose, breaking it and causing him to fall backward. Jonathan rushed over to hold me off Tim as Tim yelled at me, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU HIT ME FOR!" We left, not bothering to go back for the books.
Timothy doesn't get life anymore. He has no understanding of what just happened. For him to so callously spit on a girl's body like that, a girl who was so mentally disturbed from probably living on her own for who knows how long. it means I can't trust him around Sandra. I can't trust him around any of us. I feel bad that he got attacked, and we patched him up, but he's not someone this group can rely on any longer. I would tell him tonight that he needs to go his separate way, but I'm afraid of what he might do to us in our sleep, so I'll tell him in the morning.
I finally felt good enough to sleep with Kat, and even though we haven't showered for days, I miss the smell of her. I told her what happened at the library, and she hugged me tight, waiting for me to cry, but no tears came. She asked if I felt bad for killing her, and I did, but I didn't feel bad about protecting my own life. I kept running scenarios around in my head, what I could have done differently but I decided that no matter what I did, Rat would have tried to kill one of us anyway she could. I treated her like a rabid animal, something I had to kill, yet didn't get any enjoyment out of it.
She asked why we just left her body there, and I honestly didn't know. The whole situation was just so bizarre, the only thing any of us thought to do when it was over was to just leave. Kat said she deserved a burial. It wasn't her fault we got attacked. She was made crazy by the world and she probably didn't have anyone to live it with for some time. Of course, she brought up the fact that she was someone's daughter, and wouldn't her parents - if they were still alive - feel better knowing we buried her daughter? I told her she was right. We'd make that a duty to do tomorrow. We would bury Rat.
I've only been in Columbus a few days and I'm ready to leave. It has not been pleasant at all. I've been sick most my stay here. Timothy nearly kills me. Timothy kills some stranger without giving him a chance to defend himself. I kill a young girl, in self-defense, after I get stabbed with a pencil. Now we're going to be one member less tomorrow. I knew all that luck we had on the way here came with a price.
Until tomorrow.
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