6/11, Wednesday.
Chris and Sarah found another
store with food left in it today and apparently it’s still close enough and
calm enough to make regular day trips to. Yay for not starving, I guess.
I was looking over my small
book collection today and I realised how much knowledge must’ve been lost since
the outbreak. I can’t imagine most survivors see paperbacks as anything more
useful than tinder now. Anyway, that got me thinking, and I feel like I should
put my story in here, in case anyone finds this. I mean, if it’s going to be my
diary and all, why not?
So… my story. I’m going to
start at the start, by which I mean the day this all started. Who we were
before doesn’t really matter anymore. I was at home when the outbreak hit my
neighbourhood. I was watching TV with my Mum, Dad and my little brother, Luke.
More accurately, I was watching a blank screen while Dad tried to figure out
why it’d suddenly died on us. All of a sudden we heard a bang, loud and close,
a small explosion really. We all looked at each other for a moment before going
out to check if one of our neighbours had wrecked their car or something, but
that wasn’t it. Down the end of the street, four houses were on fire. Someone’s
gas had exploded, that was the sound. And they coming out of the houses, on
fire, and screaming, and bloody… We
ran over to them, obviously, yelling out for help from the other people who
lived on our street, but they were already dead. They collapsed, blackened
husks, but even then I could see the gouges in their clothes, their flesh.
Scratches and bite marks, human bite
marks, slowly bleeding out onto the pavement. I think at this point Dad had
called the police, but I never found out. I was crying, trying to stop Luke
from seeing, turning him away. Mum had gone up to the nearest body and was
checking for a pulse when… they all started moving again, slowly, like they
were just waking up. Mum went to lean in and talk to them or fucking check
their pulse, I don’t know, and it bit
her, tore a chunk out of her fucking neck. Mum shrieked and stumbled away. Luke
was crying, but I don’t think he really knew what was going on. I don’t even
think I was screaming anymore, just crying and babbling incoherently. The only
way I could’ve been of less use is if I’d tripped Dad over as he grabbed Mum
and started putting pressure on her neck. He tore a strip off a strip of his
shirt to bind it but there was just so much blood and the cloth was instantly
soaked and I looked back at the burnt people and… I think that’s the image
that’s going to stay with me forever as how the outbreak started. The charred,
shrivelled corpses had got up fully and were staggering towards us, some of
them still smoking. Behind them, the fire was catching over houses, a storm of
angry reds and oranges and black, great plumes of smoke leaping away into the
sky. Other neighbours were on the street
now, but I don’t know when they got there. Someone took me by the shoulders and
I let them take me away from there, away from the snapshot of horror and death.
We got back into the house and
locked the doors. Dad carried Mum into the dining room and lay her on the
table, telling me and Luke to go get the first aid supplies. Luke was bawling
now and refused to move, so I did as Dad said, stumbling into the bathroom and
getting everything I thought we might possibly need, thinking I was actually
being useful for the first time that
night. I came back into the dining room and… Mum was dead. Even without the blood
dripping from the table, Dad’s posture told me. He had his head down, eyes
closed and I could tell from the shaking of his shoulders that he was crying. I
dropped the stuff and fell to the floor with it. I just didn’t have the energy
or the motivation to do anything anymore.
And then Luke… poor, little
Luke… he starts poking her. “Mama?” he goes, “Mama what’s wrong?” And he’s
looking up at Dad, and Dad’s trying to move Luke away and I’m on the floor
useless and Mum moves. Dad immediately lets go of Luke and leans over Mum,
whispering her name and I see her lips part and I was sure, I was so sure I
heard her breathe his name, but then she clamped down on his neck, just like
what happened to her except she’s not letting go, and I think at this point Dad
just stopped struggling and let her tear out his throat.
I actually pinched myself,
convinced it had to be some kind of nightmare, and when that didn’t work I dug
my fingernails into my palm, but I still didn’t wake up. I lay there, curled
into a ball, sobbing helplessly as Luke stepped closer to Mum. I tried to call
out to him, but nothing was coming out. What used to be my mother grabbed him
and I just lay there crying while my Mum eviscerated my father and my brother,
my baby brother.
Mum’s corpse fed on Luke for
about a minute longer, before my impotent crying drew her attention. She looked
at me and… there was nothing left of her. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused,
and I knew right then that this wasn’t going to end. I wasn’t going to wake up.
Mum slid off the table and started walking towards me. I managed to sit up and
push myself backwards, begging her to stop. I don’t think I actually believed
she would, but I didn’t know what else I could do. My back hit the door to the
kitchen and pushed it open and I finally stood up, though by the shaking of my
legs I knew I probably wouldn’t last long. I fell through the door and slammed
it shut behind me, leaning against it to support myself. For a few seconds, the
house was quiet enough to hear some sounds filtering in from outside, muffled
screams and birdsong. Then my choking sobs were interrupted as Mum hit the
door, groaning in that awful way they do. I screamed at the sudden noise and
almost fell again, but managed to stay standing. Suddenly realising that my
dizziness had a lot to do with my hyperventilating, I tried to breathe in
through my nose and out through my mouth. After a few more shaky seconds, she
hit the door again, but this time I was ready for it. As soon as I felt the
pressure on my back recede, I pushed off and ran to the front door, colliding
with a doorframe on the way. I fumbled with the lock, my hands shaking too much
to manoeuvre the key. Eventually I managed to get it in the keyhole and
unlocked the door, bursting out onto the street.
I’d been so focused on getting
out of the house that I hadn’t even thought of what to do now. There were about
twenty people along the road, and well over half were the lumbering corpses
we’ve all come to know so well. I watched as one of my neighbours killed
another with a knife and then get mauled from behind, the infected dragging him
down into the dirt and tearing strips from his arm.
Headlights suddenly blinded me
as a car came hurtling down the street, running over four or five infected as
it came. I don’t know if it was because I’d lifted my arm to block the light or
just sheer dumb luck but the car squealed to a halt next to me, the people
inside throwing the door open and shouting for me to get in. I didn’t even
think, I just jumped in, pulling the door shut behind me. Through the window I
saw Luke stumble out of the house. He saw the car and stretched out a hand to
me, the bone of his arm exposed but for what ragged flaps of skin remained.
That was the last time I saw him, or any of my family.
I don't think I can write any more of this tonight. I just... I gotta go.
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