by Samie Sands
Frankie won’t stop crying, I feel like I want to die too, and Steve...he’s just strutting around like he owns the place. The power has gone right to his head.
I think I need to talk to him, calmly and constructively, to try and get us out of here. I’m scared as all hell to face him, but Frankie won’t do it. Plus, this really is my responsibility.
It has to be me.
Carol
Dear Diary,
Okay, I’m going for it. I’m ready. At least, I think I am. I need to do it soon before I totally bottle it.
Carol
Dear Diary,
Did that go well? I have no idea? I’d like to think it did, Steve was calm, for the most part, although that heavy breathing thing he did freaked me out a bit, but I’m still alive and I think he’s going to try and shoot at the door, to use the bullets trying to get us out. When he’s ready, of course, this all has to be very much on his terms.
Still, I can’t complain, it has to be better than nothing.
The next thing I need to do is try and get Frankie prepared. I know she’s an emotional mess and I really do understand why, but she needs to get herself together if she’s going to make it out there. We’ve all been weak in here, we’ve panicked like nuts when we’ve had to face just one virus victim.
We need weapons, to try and fight off the ones that will undoubtedly surround us the second we get out. We need to at least have some way to defend ourselves. We’ll also need to pack up our supplies too, or at least as much as we can carry.
This is bug-out bag time. That’s something I can get my head around. If I just focus on that for a moment, then all will be okay. I’ve already started on my own, I just need to get Frankie up to scratch. Steve...I don’t know about Steve, I think he can do whatever the hell he likes, as long as he gets us out of here.
Carol
Dear Diary,
It’s happening. It’s really happening. Any minute now, Steve will do what he can to blow the lock off the door, exposing us to the big wide world. I honestly don’t know if it’ll work, there’s certainly no guarantee, but it feels good to be actively trying.
The thought that I might actually get back to my family is almost too much to bear.
Time to pack this diary up now. I just hope this isn’t the final time I write in it.
Maybe it will be though...and if so, then I suppose a profound goodbye would be a good idea. The only problem is I don’t know what to say. The whole damn world has ended, what can you say about that?
Carol
Dear Diary,
The shots have dented the door, now we’re kicking the living hell out of it trying to get out. I don’t know why that update is important, but it just feels like it is.
Carol
Dear Diary,
There’s one crack, a tiny space barely big enough to fit our heads through, but it allows us to see as far out of this bunker as we can from here. The thing is, I expected there to be monsters banging down the door, trying to get in, to attack us or whatever...but there isn’t.
From what I can see there isn’t anyone. None of us have yet discussed it, but I’m sure Steve and Frankie must be as freaked out as me.
What does any of this mean?
After a rest, once we’re all ready to fight the heavy, metal door once more, we’ll surely find out.
Carol
Dear Diary,
The world...it isn’t what I expected, it isn’t what any of us thought. All I can remember is the infection ravishing through the city, killing hundreds of thousands of people, but now it’s more like a ghost town. We’ve seen one or two of them in the week since we escaped, but most of the are dead on the ground, nothing more than a pile of bones and rotting flesh. Certainly not a danger.
We’ve walked towards the tower, just because it’s the most central part of the city and if there’s any kind of gathering then I’m sure it’ll be there, but upon arrival, I can see that was a mistake. There isn’t anyone.
Carol
Dear Diary,
Steve has gone now too, this is all too much for him. He took off, his gun in hand, leaving me and Frankie alone. She’s miserable, and that’s getting worse with each passing second, which leaves me in total control. One of us needs to be, so what can I do? There’s no plan to follow, no mission that needs to be completed, all we can do is hope that we find other people.
I know who I want to find, but I really don’t want to get my hopes up too high. If the entire world has become this ghost town, then there’s little chance of anyone being left. Me and Frankie probably don’t have much time ourselves. I guess we just keep on going until then.
Carol
Dear Diary,
Isn’t there a refugee camp around here, or something? Shouldn’t there be some kind of Government facility? I’m getting increasingly frustrated as Frankie gives up hope. Between us, we’re falling apart. We have run of the city, with the infected all dying out there’s barely a threat anymore, but what’s the point of having control when you don’t want it?
All I want is people.
Carol
Diary,
I can’t give up.
I won’t give up.
The whole world is stacked against me but I refuse.
Maybe this is a test.
Carol
Dear Diary,
I don’t think Frankie’s going to live much longer, she keeps refusing to eat. I didn’t realize just how skinny she’d become until I saw her top rising up just a moment ago. Her ribs are poking through her skin. All I want to do is help her, but clearly she doesn’t want it.
If she wants to die, and in such a terrible way too, then there’s nothing I can do. I can keep on trying, which of course I will, but still. Right now it feels pretty hopeless.
Carol
Dear Diary,
I need to get out of Canada. I want to get back home, to my real home in Independence. This whole ghost town nonsense is sending me insane. Frankie’s gone, she actually went a while back but I’ve only just been able to work up the courage to write about it. She went, it was absolutely horrible, she left me alone, and now I’m slowly turning into a mad person. It’s almost as if I can feel myself going insane.
Maybe that means I’m not crazy because surely I wouldn’t know if I was? Then again, I’m not sure of anything anymore, so it really doesn’t matter.
I’ve tried to find people, I’ve looked all over, but it’s as if I’m the only God damn person left on the planet. I haven’t even seen any sign of Steve. It’s just me and my thoughts...and they aren’t pretty.
I’ve been walking, in what I hope is the right direction. I just hope I find some people when I eventually get there. I hope America is in a much better state than Canada. I keep dreaming about going back to something of a real life. It won’t ever be the same, I know that much, but anything right now would work.
Once I get to America, everything will be okay...it has to be.
Carol
venice
Life used to be so different, I used to be a whole other person, my existence was something else entirely. I don’t quite know what happened to me, I’m not really sure how I became this.
Actually, that’s not totally true, I do know, I know all too well what happened, the end of the damn world. Before this virus unleashed hell on everyone, before people starting changing into something totally inhuman, something cannibalistic...zombies, for want of a better term, that’s when I was me.
I lived in a nice house with my wonderful husband, John, I was enjoying my retirement, life was warm, comfortable, happy. Okay, maybe every now and again I would wish for some excitement to be injected into my existence, but I never expected this. I did assume that our trip to Italy would help spice things up, but I didn’t know quite how much.
When John suggested it, talking about some possible business opportunity that’d come his way, all I could see in my mind was the wonder of the Venetian canals, gondolas, art muse
ums, I thought it’d be wonderful, I bragged to all my friends about it.
Now I wish we’d never come.
Even if this virus is a worldwide issue, rather than an Italian one, I’d much rather be at home where I know people, than here. If we’d been among friends and family, then we’d have been able to deal with it in a much calmer manner. We never would’ve ended up here.
Then maybe John would still be with me.
When the chaos exploded, we were at the Piazza San Marco, laughing and giggling like a couple of schoolkids as the pigeons landed on our arms. I was high on life, happier than I’d ever been before, maybe that should’ve been my first sign. Maybe I should’ve guessed then that life as I knew it was about to end.
All I can remember after that is blood. Screaming, yelling, fighting, and lots of blood. I don’t even really know what happened, especially not to John. One minute he was with me, holding onto me for dear life, the next he was gone. If he hadn’t vanished, then maybe we could’ve escaped together, but I couldn’t leave without him. I needed to know that he was safe.
I waited, I hid and I waited. During that whole time, I had no clue what was really happening, but I didn’t care. John was out there looking for me somewhere, I just knew it. All I had to do was wait for him.
“Hey, are you okay?” When a warm and comforting voice finally came to my rescue, I was totally gutted to realize that it wasn’t him.
“Oh, thank you, I’m fine, just waiting for my husband.” My initial instinct was to act standoffish, which maybe I should’ve stuck to. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
“Well actually I’m rounding up the rest of the survivors of the attack, we’ve got a little group of people not too far from here. Maybe your husband is there, waiting for you?”
As I glanced at him, drinking in his piercing hazel eyes and dark features, I realized that he was probably right. John was sensible, if there was a smart option available to him he would take it.
If only I’d been smarter.
“Okay, take me to him.”
I followed the man, who I would later learn was called Dave Suscheck—or, at least that’s what he told me—far much further than I should’ve. The warning signs were there for a long time, but I chose to ignore them out of sheer desperation. I was so keen to see my husband that I would’ve gone anywhere.
That’s how I ended up here.
As I glance my eyes around the cold, dirty, small cell that I’ve been stuck in for God knows how long my heart sinks once more. Remembering John has helped me to survive this far, but it never lasts because he’s out there somewhere—hopefully still alive—and I’m in here with no hope of escaping.
As it turns out, this situation has brought the absolute worst in Dave, he’s become an utterly insane person. Maybe he always was, and this just helped him to unleash that, I guess that’s just something that I’ll never know. He’s the sort of person that I can’t fight off either, even if I wanted to escape. He’s tall and muscular, incredibly strong.
And now he has a bunch of sicko helpers on his side, making it even more challenging.
“Time for The Games!” I hear someone yell out in a singsong tone of voice. “You verses the morti che camminano. Who will it be today?”
An icy cold terror splashes over my face and waves through my body, but I don’t allow myself to react visibly. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing works; if I cower into a corner, I get chosen, if I sit proudly with my head held high, I get chosen, if I do nothing, I get chosen, so the latter is preferable. At least that gives me the false sense that I have some dignity left. As the first of many women brought here, I need to at least have that.
The Games are the worst thing about this place because they can literally be anything. I’ve suffered one-on-one fights with the infected, with pitiful weapons to help get me through, degrading, embarrassing act designed purely for our humiliation and their amusement, and fights to the death. Okay, so I was only involved in one of those and I somehow managed to get away without doing any fighting, but I still had to witness it.
The girl who killed the other person has died since...suicide, or so I heard from the whispers of one of the guards. I don’t blame her, I know she had to do it, I know that it could’ve so easily been me, but I guess she just couldn’t live with herself afterwards. I’ve considered opting out myself a few times in all honesty, only I’m just too much of a wimp. I just can’t seem to actually go through with it. I guess that’s also because a small part of me still holds on to the silly, naïve dream that I’ll be able to find my way out of here and back to John again. Maybe he isn’t alive anymore, maybe even if he is neither of us will be the same and it’ll be a bittersweet reunion, but I have to dream about something. It’s the only way that I stand a chance in hell of surviving.
“You,” I hear, and my heart thunders in my chest. I clasp my hands together and fiddle anxiously with my fingers. Maybe today will be different, maybe they’ll give me a break, maybe I’ll get a bit of luck for once. “You and you.”
I don’t even have to spin my head to know that I’ve been included, his voice is too near to me to be pointing at anyone else. It’s me again, I’m being dragged up, my life thrown into danger, and all to keep these vile animals smiling. How the hell is that fair?
Why, oh why did I have to follow that horrible man into this nightmare? Why didn’t I just stay where I was the whole time? I might not have survived but it’d be better than this.
I take in a deep, ragged breath and force myself up onto my unsteady feet. I want to flip out, to finally lose it, to take some damn action, but I won’t. I’m too afraid to do anything other than I’m told. I’m the perfect little prisoner.
“Well, come on, hurry up.” The man grabs my arm and yanks me violently from my cell, throwing me against two bodies who look just as frail and scared as me. “Dave won’t wait around forever.”
Dave, the man who stole me away and brought me here, the man who created this sick, twisted place, the one who haunts every single one of my nightmares. He’s the one I want to kill the most. I want to take a knife and drive it right into his heart. Then I want to laugh at him as he dies, just so he knows what it feels like. I didn’t used to be such a sick, twisted person, but the constant humiliation has made me feel that way.
We follow behind, as we walk I keep shooting anxious glances at the other girls, but clearly, they aren’t feeling as rebellious as me because their eyes are fixed on their shoes, right where they’re supposed to be. People have been killed for much less than glancing at someone else. I probably should be behaving too, but for some reason, I don’t want to anymore. I want to rebel...I just wish I didn’t have to do it alone.
This is a nightmare! I want to scream and yell as the idiots, to make them see some serious sense. We should all be working together, trying to rid the world of infection, not wasting time doing this, this is madness!
“Well, in you go.” The man shoves us all forwards, and we find ourselves in the room smack bang in the middle of the prison, that they’ve specifically designed for this exact, sick and twisted purpose. “Let The Games begin.”
I can’t take this anymore, I just can’t do it. The fear, the sickness, the horror of it all. It’s absolute hell. My eyes flick from side-to-side, my heart pumps hot, violent blood around my body, I shake so hard I fear my bones might snap. I just cannot keep on going through with this, I need it to end before it absolutely kills me.
The first zombie staggers through the door, snarling, snapping, clawing the air. It wants us, it wants to bite us badly, and if we don’t find something to take it down soon, at least one of us will be claimed. I wish I could yell out, to get some help from the others, but we can’t talk to each other. The last thing they want is for us to make friends, that could lead to a rebellion or an escape. This whole thing is very carefully crafted so that can never happen. If I was caught even trying it, I dread to think what’d happen to me.
A fate a whole
lot worse than death.
I stagger backwards instantly, my survival instinct kicking in. I’m not sure that feature of me is useful really, it won’t let sacrifice myself even when I think it’s the best idea. It keeps me going, even though I would be better off dead.
I need to find something to defend myself quickly, especially as I can hear the door clicking open and another dead one falling through it. These guys must have a cage full of them somewhere, like pets, ready to be unleashed upon us whenever they’re bored.
As I spot the second one it makes me feel sick to my stomach, it’s in a terrible state. Black blood dripping noisily to the ground, chunks of flesh falling as it moves, so my bodily damage that I’m not even sure if it’s male or female...what the hell happened to this zombie?
I hate to remember that these creatures used to be human, that they once had lives, loves, joys, anguish, families themselves, because it makes it that much harder to kill them when the time comes. It makes me want to weep for what they’ve lost, and also out of sheer jealousy because they don’t have to endure this hell. Their brains are switched off whereas mine is still way too active.
My back hits the cage wall and in an instant, someone shoves me back in. I spin around, ready to send a pointless glare, but before I get the chance to something connects with my skin and everything jolts with shock inside of me.
“Help me,” I hear a hiss. “Save me.” It’s a girl, another one of the ones who was shoved in here with me, and she’d giving me an intense panic-stricken look. I’m so shocked to have someone speaking to me that it takes me a while to answer. “I’m bleeding.”
I glance down at her arm to see blood pumping rapidly from her, cascading down her body. Instantly I’m transported back to a time when none of this was real, when I was in my surgery fixing the bleeding limbs of animals. I can almost hear the new wave music playing lightly in the background to calm me down.