I'm too tired to keep writing, so I'll just stop now, and try and get some rest. Perhaps a bottle of Merlot will aid me.
Sunday, June 15 I now know that nobody will be coming for me. The city is in chaos, and from what I gathered on the radio last night, the whole planet might be done for.
Some sort of infection, some disease that makes people lose their humanity, makes them violent, and murderous. That explains the attack from the other day. I just hope that I didn't become infected myself, after getting all of that blood on me.
It won't matter if I did, though. The world is over. Done. Finished. Civilization wiped out by a microscopic speck of matter. It's absurd to think of.
I wonder if any place is uninfected. Is there a safe haven somewhere? Probably in the jungle, or something. Papua, New Guinea, or Borneo, or maybe the Himalayas.
Somewhere isolated. Some tribal villager in the middle of the jungle is probably going on with his day to day business, with no idea that the rest of humanity has been wiped out.
I've been staring outside, all day. Besides some destroyed buildings and cars, and some scattered debris, there's nothing to signify what's happened. I can see no bodies, alive or dead. And I don't think I will. Or, rather, I hope that I won't, because it will surely mean my death.
Not that my death isn't imminent, anyway. Even if I survive this outbreak, what will that make me? What will I do for food, when everything processed and canned is expired and gone? What will I do for water, for... What will I do?
Live in the forest? Become some kind of woodsman, some modern day Tarzan, collecting berries and slaughtering game? I wouldn't know how to survive. I am the quintessential modern man. I think I know everything, but when it comes down to what really matters, I know nothing.
And even if I could survive, would I want to? What's the point, just to linger on forever, idling my time away, by my lonesome self?
This line of thought is depressing. I'm going to stop for now. I'll write again tomorrow, if I'm still alive.
Monday, June 16
I saw my first uninfected person today. Actually, it was the first person I've seen, since the outbreak.
It was a woman. Probably in her late twenties, or early thirties. Kinda cute, but on the whole, rather plain looking. She broke into the house across the street, and I haven't seen her since. I was tempted to call out to her, but thought it might be a bad idea. Don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention.
Since then, I've been doing nothing but staring at the house, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. Just the idea of another survivor fills me with hope.
My creativity has come back, too. Fresh inspiration has filled me, and I've written three new poems. Well, not actually written, per se, but composed them in my head. I haven't actually had a moment to stop and write them. I'm almost afraid to leave the window, for fear that I'll miss what's happening. I'll write them down tonight, before I go to bed.
Tuesday, June 17
Still no sign of the woman. I assume she's safe, but who knows. Two new poems today. I haven't been this productive since... ever. Too bad my agent's probably dead, and there's no chance of publication. The last one in particular may have been my best work yet.
Anyway, I'm tired, and off to bed. More writing will come tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 18 I saw the woman again. She crept over to the neighboring house. I watched her carry bags of food back with her. Looting. I'll have to do the same, soon enough. Thank god I went grocery shopping last week.
The food is starting to wear on me, though. All my produce has either been consumed, or spoiled. There's plenty of canned and bagged food, but... it's just so... bleah. Some poet, can't even describe what I'm trying to say.
I'd kill for a strawberry. Fresh, ripe, and juicy... Now I'm hungry. Time to eat.
Thursday, June 19 I'm going to meet the woman today. I've finally decided. I'll leave after lunch, and sneak over to the house across the street. The need for human contact has never been so strong, and I've always thought of myself as a bit of a misanthrope.
Wish me luck, journal. I hope she's nice.
Tuesday, June 24 She's dead. I tried to save her, I really did, but it was too late. And what do I know about first aid, anyway? The blood, oh god, the blood, it just kept coming, flowing out of her. I could see the life drain from her eyes.
I loved her. Silly, I know, to claim to love someone you'd just met, by I did. Maybe it was just the basic human need for another soul to spend time with. Who knows.
Now I'm alone again. Still can't believe I escaped. There were so many of them. They descended on us like locusts, a swarm of bodies, and then, just as quickly, they were gone.
I hid in the attic until they had left. I felt like a coward. No, I still feel like a coward. I feel like I should have fought them, that I should have avenged her death. Instead I just hid. Hid, and fantasized about leaping down the ladder, heroically slaying the infected beasts left and right, letting loose a victorious battle cry as I stood atop the mound of dead bodies.
What have I become?
What kind of man am I? And now I'm back in my house, alone, staring out the window. The house across the street is trashed now. Every window broken, the doors all kicked in. I wonder when the same will happen to my house, when the horde will come for me.
Wednesday, June 25 I think I've become an alcoholic. That was fast. Since her death, I've been drinking all the time. I need the drink. The prospect of cold sobriety fills me with dread.
I sleep all the time. And when I awaken, I drink some more, and shortly after fall back asleep.
I'm surprised I'm even writing right now. Surprised I can hold a pen. No matter. Back to sleep.
Thursday, June 26
I can't keep doing this. Something's gotta give.
Friday, June 27 This is my first sober moment in days, so I'll use this time wisely, and write. This will be my final entry, dear journal. You've been my only companion in these dark days, except for my brief time with Molly, before her death. I've decided to end my life. There's nothing left worth living for. All my poems will go unread, all my songs unsung, all my paintings unseen. All my dreams undone.
I hope it'll be painless. I have quite the pharmaceutical collection. A combo of Valium, morphine, and a mixture of sleeping pills should do the job quite nicely, couple with a bottle of something tasty and alcoholic. Maybe it's finally time to crack the good bottle of Merlot. No use saving it for celebrating my publication. The publication that will never happen, even posthumously.
It's times like this that make me wish I was religious. That I believed in something. The comfort people must feel, when they die, thinking that they really are going on to a better place. I could never believe that, though. When I die, that's it, the end. Just nothingness.
Wish me luck, journal. I'll need it.
Goodbye, dear friend.
Forever gone,
Nicholas Offdenson Nick wiped the tears from his eyes as they dripped onto the page. He already could feel the effects of the drugs kick in and knew it wouldn't be long. Still sobbing, he watched the last rays of the sun dip beneath the clouds and the brilliant hues of red and violet faded into the fresh night sky.
His eyelids grew heavy and he felt no fear. It was time. Darkness washed over him and all was still.
Chapter Nine
In the Dark
Clive watched the candlelight flicker as the flame dipped down into the molten wax. It fizzled for a brief moment and went out. He sighed and used the remaining candle to light another.
“We're going to be stuck in the dark, soon.” He whispered to the rest of the group. “ It is not the darkness I am afraid of. It is them.” Amir pointed to the door. He shifted uncomfortably and lowered his head to the ground, peeking under the door. “It looks like it is night outside. What time is it?”
Clive unfastened his watch and threw it to Amir. “I don't need it anymore. You can have it.”
Amir thumbed a butt
on on the watch and for a brief moment his face glowed in the neon blue light. He squinted to read the numbers and let go of the button. “It is time for me to do my prayers. Please, don't disturb me.” He walked over to the corner of the tiny back room and knelt down, touching his head to the floor. Whispering quietly, he arose in exultation and lowered himself again.
The rest of the group sat around the room, nestled in the back of the pharmacy. Luc popped open a bottle of pills and took three. Clive eyed him and started to say something before he stopped. He reminded himself that he wasn't a cop anymore, wasn't anything but a frightened, helpless man. It wasn't his business, if somebody wanted to take drugs without a prescription. Hell, I should take a few myself, he thought.
He picked up the bottle that Luc had set down and examined the label. Codeine. Painkillers. After a moment's hesitation, he put the bottle back down and leaned back against the wall. Looking around the room that had been his home for the last couple weeks, his eyes settled on Alice. She laid curled up in the corner, back to the rest of the group.
When he had first arrived in the pharmacy, ammunition nearly depleted, he had been in a state of panic. Until he met Alice. She was hiding underneath the counter, crying. When she saw Clive standing there, gun in hand, the relief he saw in her eyes made him feel stronger. He knew he'd have to be strong, for her. He had to protect her. To serve and protect. That was his duty and he'd live up to it, even if his job no longer existed, in the aftermath of the outbreak.
If he could save just one person, just one, it would validate his existence. Make him feel whole.
Amir stood up, finished with his prayers. “I think it is time for a meal. Is everyone hungry now?”
Luc nodded, rubbing his belly. “I'm starving. Let's eat.” Clive walked over to Alice. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. “It's time to eat now.”
She shook her head and remained still. “ You have to eat something, come on.” He roused her again and she rolled over, crawling over to the center of the room.
Dinner consisted of a bag of corn chips and peanut butter sandwiches. The group ate silently, staring vacantly at nothing. When they had finished, Luc spoke up.
“We're running out of food. We'll need to leave soon to gather more.” Clive shook his head. “Not yet. I wouldn't risk it, unless absolutely necessary. Too
dangerous.”
waiting.” Luc's English was clumsy sounding and he rolled his R's with the characteristic French accent. He smoothed over his hair as he talked and looked at Clive again.
“Tomorrow.”
“We should leave tomorrow. No sense in
Clive shook his head again. “No. If you want to go tomorrow, you go alone.” Luc looked to Amir. Amir also shook his head. “I agree with him. It is too dangerous to go, and we have food yet for another few days.”
Luc slumped down, defeated. “Fine.” He muttered under his breath. “Cowards.” Amir's eyes flashed with rage and he raised his voice. “I am no coward! You are young and foolish and I will not tolerate your disrespect.”
Clive motioned to Amir. “Calm down. You're being too loud. Don't want to draw any attention.”
Luc smirked, and popped another couple pills, washing it down with a swig of gin. “Want a drink, Amir?” He grinned, gesturing to the bottle.
“Sorry. I do not like the words of this man.”
“You know that I do not drink.” “ Oh, too bad.” He grinned again and took another drink, sighing with an exaggerated sense of satisfaction afterwards.
Amir's fists clenched and he closed his eyes, whispering a rapid string of prayers. A loud scream echoed outside and they all froze, staring in silence at the door. The tiny back room suddenly felt unsafe, like they were trapped, awaiting slaughter. Clive quietly drew his pistol and ejected the clip. As he had done every day, several times a day, he checked the bullets and slid the clip back in. It clicked softly and he pulled back the hammer.
A scuffling sound was heard in the front of the pharmacy and Clive raised his gun, pointing it towards the doorway. Footsteps slowly approached and everyone sat, eyes locked on the door. They waited with bated breath and the footsteps continued their approach. The figure outside paused and a scratching on the door filled them with dread.
Clive kept his gun aimed and ready, his trigger finger shaking unsteadily. After a short moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the footsteps sounded again, heading away from them. The tinkling of glass signaled the body's exit of the building and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Clive reholstered his pistol and wiped the sweat from his brow.
He turned to Luc. “You see? Still too dangerous outside.”
Luc swallowed hard and nodded. The night slowly passed, tension so thick in the air it was almost palpable. After some time, everyone finally drifted off to sleep, but they were constantly startled awake by the screams and howls outside, leaving everyone tired, as they had been for the past weeks. Nightmares plagued all four of them and the slightest sound outside struck them with terror.
Amir was the first to awaken. He hit the light on the watch and saw it was dawn. After he performed his morning prayers, he cracked open the door and let the dim sunlight trickle through. It was a pleasure for him, to see the natural light. So many days of sitting in darkness, with only candlelight to see by, left him thirsting for the sun.
He cautiously crept out the door and walked to the shattered front window. Poking his head out slowly, he scanned the street. Empty. He walked outside and stared up into the sky. Clouds lazily drifted across the horizon, wispy and light. Lost in admiring the beauty of nature, the screech that echoed down the road snapped him to attention and he darted back inside, closing the back room door firmly behind him.
With the closing of the door, Clive bolted upright, the sleep already vanished from his eyes.
“What's wrong?” He whispered to Amir.
“Nothing. Be calm, my friend.” Clive gave him a suspicious look and nodded slowly. Boredom quickly set in and Amir went back to sleep. Clive, however, stayed awake, unable to get any rest. Thoughts raced through his head and he wished again that he could sleep as easily as the rest.
Indeed, all Alice seemed to do was sleep, only waking to eat. He was deeply concerned for her; she seemed extremely depressed. Not that he could blame her. Who wouldn't get a little depressed, in this situation? Still, her sadness left him feeling weak and useless. She no longer looked at his with those shining eyes, filled with relief. Instead her gaze was blank and lifeless. Her faith in him had faded and he hated that. It was the only thing that kept him going strong.
Now there was nothing to do but wait, huddled in the darkness. He felt like a rat in a cage, waiting to be taken out and fed to the hungry python. Sighing, he leaned over and started eating a bag of chips. Breakfast of champions, he thought, chuckling silently as he did.
He missed his old breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast, four strips of thick, juicy bacon. The thought made him salivate and he popped another chip in his mouth.
His life had once been a never-ending routine, and it made him feel stable and safe. Now the old routine was broken and a new one took its place. It was a routine of tedious waiting, and sleeping, and more waiting, until death finally came.
He took another bite, crunching loudly and he heard Luc stir. The sound of pills shaking in their bottle filled the room and Luc popped a couple more before laying back down. Luc's growing drug dependency also concerned Clive. Everyone needed to stay sharp, for an attack could come anytime. But it wasn't his place to tell Luc what to do and he sighed again.
It would be another long day and Clive already knew how everything would unfold, if all went according to plan. Another day of tedium, another day of darkness. Another long, long day.
Chapter Ten
Decisions
Isaac eyed the board, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully. After some deliberation, he extended his hand and slid the bishop over two squares. John and Paul sat on the other
side of the board and whispered into each other's ears, before finally capturing the black bishop with their pawn. A rapid sequence of exchanges occurred and the three men were soon looking over a nearly empty board.
“Checkmate.” Isaac said. Paul knocked over his king. “Good game. No, great game. I haven't been beaten so thoroughly in years. You got some sneaky tricks up your sleeve, old man.”
Isaac smiled and bowed. He then turned, walked to the cupboard and drew out a can of green beans. “We're down to three cans of food.”
Paul sighed. “Great. Just fucking great. Now we're going to have to leave, out into this suburban jungle and carry food back, risking our lives to do so. And I was in such a good mood before.”
“ No use complaining about what needs to be done. Yes, we have to go, and yes, it will be extremely dangerous. So instead of
complaining about it, let's plan it out
completely and reduce our risk of failure.”
John nodded. “The question is, though, where do we go? The grocery store is surely emptied by now and the convenience store was already looted by the time we got there.”
The three sat in silence for a while, deep in thought. The overcast sun filtered through the drawn curtains, dimly illuminating the floating dust motes. The place was even filthier than before, with a sink full of rotting leftovers and uncleaned dishes. Dirty laundry lay either scattered about the floor or were still being worn. Clean clothes and dishes seemed of little importance, with death constantly hanging overhead.
Paul spoke up, the first to break the silence. “How about Barney's deli? They have a small section of dried goods, and -”
“And it's too far away. What is it, a little over a mile and a half? Bad idea.”
“Well, fuck off, I don't hear you coming up with anything.”
The Outbreak Page 4