by Samie Sands
I guess I’ll do the same.
***
It’s not really like waking up, it’s as if the sun has been struggling to make its way into my eyes for hours and my body finally gives in and lets it in. Every time it does I have to look around to work out where I am once more, all the while desperately trying to recall what may or may not have happened while I was ‘out’.
Is that the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu in the distance? I should know that really, I’ve visited the museum on more than one occasion, but now that my brain isn’t what it once was, it isn’t that distinguishable from anywhere else.
I hate that, it means I’m almost gone.
I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that I haven’t been able to feel my heart beating for ages, but now it’s all I can think about. Where’s it gone? Is it just so faint that I can’t hear it? How can I possibly be going on without it?
What’s going on?
There’s a stirring in the crowd, a reaction to something. I want to join in, there’s an intense powerful need to include myself in the mass, but my motor skills are failing me. It’s as if I’m trapped in concrete…
***
Dust fills my lungs with every breath I inhale, but I can’t stop sucking it in regardless. My body is drowning in it, becoming overwhelmed by it, but I don’t stop.
Maybe I’ll die, maybe this will be my way out. Somehow the idea of taking control over the end isn’t as terrifying as just letting it happen. And who knows, maybe I’ll come back in another lifetime, one that isn’t so horrific…
“Are you okay?”
The voice—and this time I’m sure that’s what it is—speaks far too kindly to me, much nicer than I deserve. I want to locate it, but all I can see is sandy dust, clouding up my vision.
“Here, let me help you up.”
I’m tugged upwards, a sensation that feels incredibly strange to my new body. As my arm is yanked and my body follows I feel stretched, like I could just fall right apart. I must be on the ground, that might be why I don’t know what’s going on around me. Maybe I’ve been trampled, and that’s why it hurts so much. That easily could’ve happened when the crew of others surrounding me left me behind.
They aren’t here, so that makes a lot of sense, I suppose.
Or maybe something else happened entirely, I have no idea. There’s no point hurting my brain, using the rest of my energy on something so useless.
“Oh, you’re hurt.”
It takes a while, but the person connected to the voice eventually comes into focus. She’s human, I’m looking at an actual human face for the first time in forever.
And she’s stunning.
The contours of this woman’s skin are incredible, she has the raw beauty of someone who, well, isn’t sick, dead, inhuman. I want to reach out and touch her, but I’m terrified that I’ll freak her out, so I just wait.
Wait, and watch.
I stare deep into her hazel eyes and watch for her reaction. Time ticks past, nothing happens, but I continue to wait. I finally feel patient, at ease, peaceful even, prepared to stay in this same position for as long as it’ll take.
“Are you...you look ill?”
She nears me, showing none of the fear that she probably should considering what I am. I try and convey some emotion with my eyes, to let her know that I mean her no harm, that all I want is to be put out of my misery. I want her to do what I’m not brave enough to, I would like it if she killed me before I become a danger to anyone else.
I just don’t want to hurt anyone, I spent my whole life refusing to harm even the smallest creature. If I could go out in the same way then at least I’d have that small victory.
“You’re so alive looking, so beautiful. I just want...”
And then her hand touches my skin, and I watch intently as she visibly flinches. Maybe I don’t look terrible to her, but I must feel it, I must be crispy or grimy, somehow disgusting. She doesn’t pull back though, she remains right where she is, examining me as if I’m something from a museum rather than a threat to her life.
“I’m so lonely,” she confesses morosely. “All I want is someone to be friends with. Someone to survive this hell with. I know it can’t be you, I know that unfortunately, it’s too late for you, but I wish...I just wish…”
***
What the?
What just happened?
One minute, I was listening to that lovely woman talking to me as if I wasn’t something to be feared, and it felt nice. I was aware of what I was the whole time, it was a huge effort to keep myself in check, but still...she was kind. That kindness touched me deeply in my soul.
And now…now I have no idea what’s going on.
I sniff the air lightly, noticing a new scent there, one that I feel a deep yearn for inside. I don’t know what it is, but I need to find out. It’s tantalizing, sitting thickly on the end of my tongue, luring me in, wanting me, clawing at my chest.
It’s downwards, it’s something on the ground, the place where I was laying the last time I had any awareness. My nostrils still work, even if nothing else does. Maybe a little too well.
Slowly, I look. I try my best to ignore the red clumps on my chin, the back ooze from my wrist, the hole in my chest. Those parts of me are something else, something I don’t want to consider, something I’ve been doing my best not to accept.
And then I see it.
The remains.
The lumps of leftover flesh, the hairs strewn across the dry ground, the one lone finger taunting me, reminding me, confirming what I’ve become.
It’s her.
This is my fault.
I did the one thing I really didn’t want to, with the only person I needed to live.
The woman, the one who spoke to me, who gave me a semblance of life, if just for a second lies beneath me. The beautiful, lovely looking woman with dark hair, gorgeous skin, and deep brown soulful eyes is no more. She’s gone, I’ve taken that away from her.
I’ve stripped her of life in the most inhumane way possible.
I’ve killed her, I’ve destroyed her, ripped her apart and eaten her. I’ve selfishly done the one thing I swore I never would. I’ve ended a human life. I’ve murdered, I’m scum, nothing better than the monsters I used to run for back when I was still alive.
My body falls to the ground with shock, it hits the dusty road with a horrifying thump, shattering the bones inside me, and I weep. Or at least, I would weep if I had anything left inside of me to cry out, if I wasn’t totally bone dry. Instead, I lie there, waiting for insanity to claim me, or waiting for death.
I no longer care which one comes first, as long as one of them gets me.
I might not be able to die with the one part of me that I wanted to hold on to, but I can refuse to move again until some darkness claims me.
I can have some control over myself…I need that…I don’t want to give in…I can’t.
florida
Dear Jon,
How long has it been? Far too long now. So much has happened, I don’t even know where to begin. There’s so much I want to ask you too, like where were you when all of this happened? What did you think? Did you instantly think of me, the way I did you...or was your head somewhere else entirely?
Why did I have to be on holiday when this happened? Why couldn’t I have been in Michigan with you, then I’d know exactly what happened, and I wouldn’t have to write this stupid letter? And in Florida too, of all places. A seven-hour flight away, probably a day or more by car. I’m stuck here and all I want to do is get back to you. You and the rest of my family.
I tried you know, I really did. As soon as the Lockdown was announced, as soon as the quarantine was set up, I headed to the airport and tried my best to get back. The only problem was everyone else was doing exactly the same thing, it was like a freaking nightmare. Maybe it would’ve been funny, had it not been so tragic. Millions of people, cramped into one place, yelling, screaming, panicking. I couldn’t stand
it, you know how I hate big crowds as it is, but I stuck it out, I stayed with it because I wanted to get home, I wanted to be with you all again.
But then the virus hit there too, really bad and fast. Luckily I escaped, but only just, and I raced back to the hotel while I waited to find out what would happen next. I was alone by then, I’d lost all my friends. I assumed they wouldn’t be far behind me, that soon enough we’d all be back together, but I was wrong. No one came, nothing good happened, things just spiraled further down and down into the state I’m in right now.
The dead are wandering the streets, killing anyone that crosses their path, there is no other solution, everything seems to have collapsed, and I’m stuck here thousands of miles away from everyone I love all by myself.
What’s the point?
I want to survive, I really want to be a survivor, but what’s the point if this is all there is? Do you think it’ll ever get better? I’m not so sure. How can we ever come back from this? How can we kill off all the monsters roaming the streets when there are more of them than us? Their numbers grow every single day, whereas ours diminish. This actually could be the end for humans forever...
Sorry, I sound really morbid, don’t I? I’m going on like I’m about to die myself. I do want to remain positive, I do want to think that I’ll see everyone again, it’s just hard. I even miss my job at the office, how mad is that? All I ever did was make snarky remarks about sign making, now I’d give literally anything to see that stupid printing machine that jammed every single day. The thing that used to give me nightmares now features in my dreams.
I don’t know why I’m writing to you really, I can’t imagine that the postal service is up and running in among this insanity, but I guess I need a way to get some of this madness out, I need to feel close to you somehow. I just...I miss you so much.
Damn it, I’m sorry. Let me just sort myself out...
Love you,
Jen.
Hey again, Jon,
There, much better. Sorry about that, I don’t know what came over me. Although that silly mini breakdown—where only a few things got broken, honest—did make me realize that it’s time for a change. I’ve been sitting up here on the fifth floor of this hotel for weeks, surveying the nightmare unravelling below. Sure, I’ve left this room to search for other people, and to steal food and drinks, but that can’t last much longer.
If I remain here, nothing will ever change, except maybe for the worst. If I go ‘out there’, yes I might die (I write bravely, whilst screaming inside) but at least things could be okay. If I focus on the ‘could’ part, on the tiny, minuscule chance that I’ll see your face again, then I might just about be able to work up the bravery to actually do it.
Not today though, today is too soon.
I want to be one of those people who makes a decision and snaps into action, but self-doubt creeps in all too quickly, like a vicious string knotting its way throughout my body. No, I’ll get one more night of sleep—or sort of sleep, I don’t think anyone has rested since this all happened!—then I’ll go. That way I can be better prepared. I can plan, I can know exactly where I’m going to head.
Who knows, by some miracle I might find someone who knows how to fly a plane, I might get back to you again after all. You just...you better not be dead. That would seriously suck, for me to defy all odds, to get back to Michigan, just for you to already be dead. That would serious piss me off!
Anyway, time to get planning. I’ll write again soon, I’m quite into this whole letters idea now because I can just show them all to you when we’re finally reunited. It saves me the hassle of reliving it, explaining it with words. I guess it’s cheating, but I’m totally okay with that.
Love you always,
Jen.
Plan
Come on, Munson. What are you going to do?
Leave hotel. Go where? Find people? Find friends—I wouldn’t even know where to look for them. Find someone that can fly a damn airplane! That’s the main thing I need, if I could do that, then everything else will be a doddle.
• Water
• Food
• Shelter when necessary
• More clothes, if possible
• An escape, a way home.
That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Oh my God, Jon,
You will not believe what’s happened to me, I can barely get my head around it myself. I left the hotel, early in the morning (I know, I actually followed through with a plan. If that doesn’t tell you how bad things were for me at that hotel, nothing ever will!) and I made my way down the streets. I didn’t even really know where I was going, nothing looks the same now that it’s all...dead. Anyway, I did it. I might not have know what I was doing, but I did it anyway.
I was scared, absolutely petrified, but I managed to get through all of that. What does that tell you? I must be growing as a person or something, yay me!
So, I made it down the street, and almost right away I bumped into a guy...a real guy, an alive one. At first we both stopped and sort of stared at one another in shock. I didn’t know what to say, it’s been so long since I actually spoke to someone else, my tongue sort of tied itself up in my mouth. Then, after a couple of seconds, I became very aware that I look like hell at the moment, that I haven’t washed or done anything to make myself look decent in forever, which made me even more awkward around him. It didn’t even seem to matter that he was in the same state, paranoia had crept in and that was the end of it.
I felt gross, and that made it impossible to think about anything else. You know how I am.
“What are you doing?” he eventually whispered to me. His whole body trembled—can you actually imagine someone being frightened of me? No, me neither, but he was!
“I...I...” of course I stammered like an idiot, I’ve never been one to look cool. “I’m just trying to get away. I want to find people.” Until I said those words aloud, I didn’t realize how true that was. I just don’t want to be by myself anymore, you know? I’ve never been great at being alone.
“I have people. Want to come with me?”
So, of course I went without even thinking about it. I would have gone just about anywhere with him at that moment, I couldn’t have gone back to being alone after having a real life conversation, and he brought me to somewhere new. I wish I could take a picture of it, in a weird way it’s kinda beautiful.
This group of people have taken an old, little known, abandoned airfield which apparently dates back to World War Two, and turned it into something of a home. Okay, so there are certainly no home comforts, it’s all tents and sleeping bags rather than hotel beds, but the huge fence around it makes it safe, the people here make it a happier place, the fighters here look after the group and the runners—such as Ryn, my friend from the street—mean people can eat.
Everyone has a role, and I’m sure that soon enough I will too.
Don’t worry, I haven’t given up my dream of getting home, just because I’ve now found people. That will always be my number one priority, there isn’t anything more important to me than you and my family, but for now this will do. For now this helps me live. For now...I actually feel happy.
I miss you, I hope to be home soon.
Love you forever,
Jen.
So, Jon,
Today I met the leader of this little group, the brains behind it all, and I have to say I’m a little surprised. I don’t know what I was expecting really, but Michell (Michell Lynn VanArsdale to be precise) is just so...funny. Like, she makes this whole horrible situation seem not quite so bad.
At first I was a little afraid to meet her. Ryn told me that she’s ex-army, very gothic-looking, and with a temper that could keep the best of them in check. I had horrible images of her hating me in my mind, of her kicking me out before I could even get to know the place. I feared she’d sense that I’m pathetic and that would be that, back to a life of never ending loneliness.
I couldn’t have
been more wrong. I don’t know if Ryn was trying to wind me up, but Michell is incredible.
She had this plan all along, if the world went to hell. She’s seen enough, experienced too much of the world to understand how unprepared the Government really is for a disaster of this proportion, so she had a backup plan, just in case—luckily for all of us.
She has long, red hair which I can tell used to be highlighted but that’s all fallen by-the-by now, considering, and she’s got these really intense hazel eyes that I felt were boring into my soul as we spoke. I assume she has a couple of decades on me, I’d say she’s in her forties maybe, but I instantly felt a bond with her. I like her, I like her a lot.
Yes, she might be gothy with her black clothing and massive boots, and sure she phrases things a little weirdly (“You will be protected, milady!”), but that doesn’t mean there’s any reason to fear her. She’s the best person I’ve met yet, I trust her with my life.
Well, actually I suppose that’s what I’ve been doing ever since I got here. I didn’t really think of it in that way, but now that I’m no longer by myself, I’m trusting all of these people to keep me alive. I just hope that goes both ways eventually, and that I don’t let anyone down.
I haven’t had much time to think about you today, or anyone else, and I feel bad about that. I’ve spent every other day doing nothing but, so it’s a little weird. I guess it’s just having noise around me, chatter, people wanting to get to know me. It’s kind of intoxicating. I want to know all of them too, I want to know how they managed to survive the outbreak, what they think will happen next, what their future plans are...
Anyway, I better go. Dinner is served—how crazy is that, it’s the end of the damn world, yet dinner is served!