My name is unimportant, but what I do is. I’m a member of an elite unit you’ll never hear of. We contain incidents of all kinds. Not only do we deal with the physical issues, but also keep the information from the public. It’s better that way. It keeps people from panicking and maintains order.
I found a notebook on my last mission. Even though it violates the rules, I owe it to the author to tell his story. I know it’ll be written off as a conspiracy theory or some crackpot Reddit post, so there’s no real danger. I think…
It reads.
Here I sit, in this moldy god-forsaken cell, awaiting my unfair death sentence to be carried out. I can’t stand my neighbors. They’re noisy and they stink. It’s my own fault. If I hadn’t been responsible and tried to help I wouldn’t be here right now. Ironically, doing the right thing has doomed me. It all started a long time ago in a golden age that I like to call, last week.
***
“Good morning, Mrs. Watner, you’re looking as lovely as ever,” I said.
For someone who looks so old that even the Mummy would turn tail and run from. I thought.
“Why, Jonathan, aren’t you sweet?”
“Thank you, Ma’am. Will that be paper or plastic?”
“Paper of course. We can always grow some more trees, can’t we?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
And maybe one day soon we’ll use some for your coffin.
The old crone drifted away, flashing her huge diamond ring and mink coat. I never understood why she bothered to come to the grocery store when she could have her servants do it for her. And then it hit me. This was her way of staying in touch with the commoners. Of proving to herself that she’s still human. I can’t blame her too much. If I was obscenely rich I’d want to flaunt it too.
Uh-oh, looks like Mr. Burges is headed towards Jane’s register. I’d better go help.
“Jane, you have an urgent phone call in the office. I’ll cover for you.”
A wave of relief washed away the panic that had flooded her face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, touching my shoulder and sending warmth through me.
“Humph,” Mr. Burges mumbled, leering at her as she went. “Take away the only good part of my day.”
“Good morning, Mr. Burges. Are you having a party?” I asked as dozens of cans of Sterno rolled down the belt, followed by ten boxes of matches, and five cases of bottled water.
“Never you mind what I’m doin’,” he growled.
I struggled to stay upright from the stench of alcohol that wafted from his mouth.
“Yes, sir. That’ll be one hundred fifty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents.”
He grumbled something that I couldn’t make out as his gnarled fingers reached into his pocket and pulled out two brand new hundred-dollar bills.
I handed back his change and said, “You have a nice day now.”
He shot me a look of scorn mixed with pity that I would expect to see a hunter give to wounded prey.
“Humph,” is all he said as he scuttled out through the door.
As I watched him go with the same look of scorn and pity, a man stumbled in the door. He wasn’t remarkable in any way, but something told me to keep an eye on him. He was of average height and size, but he shuffled instead of walking. The look in his eyes was vacant. As if the lights were on but no one was home. He shuffled past me just as Jane returned to her register. She shot me a look of gratitude with just a hint of affection, but I was too focused to acknowledge it. As if mesmerized, I drifted behind him, trying to remain inconspicuous as he slowly made his way to the pharmacy section. I turned the corner and there he stood, swaying back and forth as though driven by a nonexistent breeze.
I approached him and said, “Can I help you?”
As he turned toward me I could see scratches on his neck and a hint of dried blood under his jacket. He stared at me with those empty eyes. Instinctively my hand slipped behind my back and grasped the handle of the knife I carried with me for just such an occasion. I set my feet and prepared for him to lunge at me.
This is it. I thought. Twelve years of working in this menial job have finally paid off. I’m in the right place at the right time to stop the outbreak. I just need to be sure or I’ll spend the next twenty somewhere much worse.
I pulled the knife out just an inch when he cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry. It’s my wife. She isn’t feeling well.”
I slid the knife back into its sheath and said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can help you find?”
His vacant eyes drifted back to the shelf. He picked up a bottle of Midol and a pack of tampons.
“These should do.”
He tried to force a smile and shuffled past me towards the checkout. But something was still nagging me about him. I went back to the registers and bagged groceries while he waited in line. When he shuffled through the front door I mumbled something about needing carts and followed him outside. He had parked at the far edge of the lot, but even part way there I could see the car he was heading for was rocking back and forth and sounded like someone was pounding from inside. As I approached I saw blood smeared all over the window and the face of a large woman pressed against the glass. I was thirty feet away when he reached the car and unlocked the door.
“DON’T!” I screamed, reaching for my knife.
But he had already pulled the door handle. She exploded out of the car and launched herself at him. He fell backward and she began devouring him like a starving lion on its prey. She clawed at him and ripped out his throat with her teeth, making a geyser of blood. He tried to cry out but all that came was a bloody gurgle. I shook off the shock of the pure stark reality of the situation and took advantage of my opening. I held my knife over my head, closed my eyes, then swung as hard as I could. I missed on the first try and only managed to slice off her ear. Needless to say, that got her attention. She ceased gorging on him and turned towards me.
“Shit!”
I tried to ready myself in a defensive stance but she lunged at me, growling. I held the knife in front of me and she impaled herself on it. Unfortunately, it sunk into her neck. The force of her impact knocked me onto my back. I nearly lost consciousness when my head bounced off the pavement. My vision swam as she snapped her bloody teeth at me. I held her at bay with the knife that was still lodged in her throat, the same knife I would need to kill her. After a quick moment’s thought and a frantic plan, I shoved my forearm into her chest and yanked my knife free.
I lost ground in the process and felt her teeth scrape my nose as I swung the knife around and buried it in her ear. It looked like a movie on pause. She stopped with her mouth frozen open, then slowly rolled off of me. I sat up as best I could, stared down at her, pulled my knife out, and shoved it in his ear just before he turned.
“FREEZE!” Came a yell from behind me.
I turned to see three police cars with lights flashing. Six officers all pointed their guns at me.
“Drop the knife, get on your knees, and lace your fingers behind your head!” the officer said.
“Are you kidding me? I just saved everyone,” I said, incredulous.
“Do it now or we will shoot you.”
My knife clattered to the ground and I did as I was told. In a heartbeat, I was cuffed and stuffed, riding towards the station.
***
“Third-degree murder? Are you nuts?” I yelled at the attorney seated across the table from me.
“That’s the best I can do. You brutally murdered two people in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses.”
“They weren’t people anymore.”
“Let me guess, you thought they were … “
“Yes, I did, and they were.”
He threw his papers into his briefcase and started toward the door.
“I’ll register an insanity plea if you want me to.”
“I’m not insane. You have to listen to me. We can stop it. Find out who those people were and where they came from. The police in that town need to be alerted.”
He paused and rolled his eyes.
“I already know who they were and where they’re from. Michael and Sara Weston. They lived right here in Frost Creek. They both worked at the hospital. She was a nurse and he worked in maintenance.”
I slumped in my chair. It’s over. There’s no way I can stop it if it started in town.
The guards took me back to my cell, where I sat in quiet desperation, trying to decide what to do next. I took the tablet and pencil that I’d been given when I was booked in and started writing this as a bit of history. Right now it’s just so I can keep the events straight in my own head. I’ll call it, ‘Dear John, a letter to the undead’.
By the time I’m done writing this, there won’t be anyone left alive to read it. It only started yesterday, when my life was still uncomplicated and boring. When I was done writing, my wrist hurt. Logging down the demise of humanity will do that.
I tried to warn the officers when they would pass my cell and at mealtimes. It became a litany.
‘Is there anything strange going on in town?’
‘Do you have enough food, water, and ammo at home?’
‘Is your family someplace where you can protect them?’
My concern was met with scorn and even alarm. I guess they felt threatened by my questions, I don’t know why. After a while, the officers came through less and less. That was when it happened. My cell window looked out towards the truck stop. I was laying in my bunk when I felt as much as heard the explosion. I jumped up and stared in shock at the tanker truck that was in flames, sending black smoke pouring into the air. Five minutes passed, then ten, and still, no fire trucks had arrived. With little wind, the smoke had settled at street level, making visibility near zero.
An hour later the wind picked up and blew away the haze just enough to see the sun riding low on the horizon. That’s when I saw them. They were shambling through the haze. Unfocused, with no direction, they just came. I watched with a helpless detachment, knowing that there was nothing I could do about it. I heard the first gunshots minutes later.
They shambled into the cellblock two and three at a time. It didn’t take long for them to smell fresh meat. They surrounded my cell, reaching through the bars like groupies at a rock concert. Thank God there’s a wall behind me. I watched in hopeless fascination as the inmate in the cell next to me got too close to the bars and was torn apart.
So here I sit. The putrid scent of death and decay is overwhelming but no more than the knowledge that I could’ve stopped this or at least warned people if I hadn’t been arrested. The least I can do is write this letter to whoever might be left alive to read it. So that they might know how things began and it might help them in some small way.
Day two: I can honestly say that this is the first time I’ve ever even entertained the thought of drinking out of a toilet. Thirst is driving me mad though and the sink is unfortunately located right next to the bars. My ‘guests’ have not gotten bored and moved on like I thought they would. If anything, they seemed to have doubled in number. On the plus side, all the growling and jostling kept me awake so that I wouldn’t have to worry about being grabbed in my sleep.
No, I can be sure I’ll be awake and alert so that I feel every set of teeth as I’m slowly devoured. It’s always good to think positively. One of the deputies has made his way to the front of the cell. The keys to the cells dangle tantalizingly from his belt. I’m hypnotized by them. I could go insane just thinking about the possibilities. But the fact of the matter is I know I would be dead before I shoved the key in the lock. It does make me smile though knowing that the walking dead are too brainless to realize that they literally hold the key to my demise.
Day three: I did it. I’m not proud of it, but the overwhelming thirst drove me to it. Unfortunately, there’s not much left in the bowl. I flushed to see if the water level would rise again, but it didn’t. I’ve kept the bowl clear of contaminants though. I have taken some small measure of revenge against my future killers by relieving myself in their open mouths. I’ve become a fairly accurate shot too. I stand just out of reach and then fire away. They do draw back from it, but I don’t know why. I’m sure it doesn’t even register in their dead brains. It’s still strange though. The ones that I hit don’t return.
Day four: I can’t stand the relentlessness, overwhelming, crushing thought that I am powerless. That at some point I will succumb. I’m going to try to grab the keys. I don’t know what I’ll do from there, but it’s clear that help isn’t coming. If I want to survive, I’ll have to do it on my own.
Day five: This will be my last entry. I can’t believe what a fool I was. Even though I was able to grab the keys, I paid for it dearly. Two of them got a hold of my arm and bit right through it. I wrenched away with all my strength, screaming in sheer agony as my injured arm ripped away from my body, leaving them with a snack and me with a bloody stump. I’m bleeding out as I write this. I haven’t even tried to stop it. I’d rather die this way than be ripped to pieces by these creatures. At least it’s on my terms, not theirs. If someone finds this, I hope that something in these pages will be of some help. I only wish it could be more. Maybe by keeping these creatures distracted here someone else will have a fighting chance to escape. I hope so.
Goodbye.
***
I destroyed the notebook. Standard procedure.
Contain the threat, contain the information. That’s what we do.
It was a big deal locally, but we were able to keep it out of the national news. We told the public there was a toxic gas leak that made people sick, but it was being contained. The explosion at the gas station was covered as a random accident. It did help us with cleanup though. Nothing like a giant fire to throw all the undead bodies in.
I salute this unfortunate soul for his brave sacrifice. I just wish we’d been called in sooner. We might’ve been able to save him.