Kyle, and Transcript #4

We’ve been biding our time and surviving off everything Kyle has, in here, but it’s not going to last us for that much longer. At least, it’s not going to last us long enough.

We think everyone may be dead. Or, undead, as the case may be. It’s mad. It’s totally crazy.

They shamble. They’re weak. They don’t seem to have much drive. They don’t even have the will to survive, much less wrench us apart to kill and eat us, the way Anthony is convinced they want to. If anything, it’s worse. They’re trying to get to us just to get to us.

They’re looking for uninfected people. We watched it happen, Wednesday. Melissa’s next door neighbors had been doing the same as us, it looks like, but they tried to leave too soon. A dad, a mom, a pre-teen girl. They were armed with hockey sticks, frying pans – like that was supposed to be enough.

The Wasted Ones dragged themselves over to them, and crumpled when they were hit. I heard the little girl shriek every time she struck one down. Then she’d shriek louder, because they’d get back up.

They were bitten. All three of them, and then the Wasted Ones just wandered away. Dragged themselves, in some cases. Literally, trying to grab fistfuls of asphalt and ripping apart their dried-out skin as their legs were hauled after them.

The disease, if that’s what it is, is taking effect faster now. The family of three is already dead. Or, on the cusp of death. Pseudo-death. I don’t even know what to call it.

This is the rough transcription of the conversation happening behind me:

AT: We can’t wait it out in here forever. We’ll start looking like them soon.

MB: Leaving would be reckless, we agreed.

KS: What alternatives have we got?

MB: I. I don’t have an answer.

AT: Small town. We all know it like the back of our hands, right, what if we go quick?

MB: But for what? Food, and then we come back and hide out here?

AT: …Good point. We need a long-term plan, this is dumb.

KS: Long term plan. Like…killing the Wasted Ones?

MB: Kyle.

KS: You were thinking it. We’ve killed a couple, we can kill more. It’s like Anthony said, they’re not living, anymore.

AT: We’ve got guns. One bite and it’s over, but still.

MB: …We don’t have enough bullets.

KS: I’ve got a baseball bat.

AT: Headshot rules. Smash in the brain with a bat, that’s just as good. Plus, every party needs a melee fighter, for when they get close. You sure you wanna handle that, man?

KS: Yeah, I’ve got it.

MB: That’s three of us.

AT: Leigh!

LT: What.

AT: What kind of w– are you typing?

LT: I want a record of everything. Even if no one believes us, there should be a record.

KS: (he’s talking over me) – can’t just kill everyone, anyway, record or not, we’ll go to prison if any of those useless CDC fuckbags see us –

LT: The clinic.

MB: You want us to go there? …Do you really think that’s wise? That’s where a majority of the sick people were being taken.

LT: I need their records. This is driving me too insane. There has to be something in the toxicology reports that we missed, or, I don’t know. Some link between the patients. And, this whole thing, being transferred by bite – there has to be something that was missed. If it’s an infection, there will be signs. I have to look at the charts again.

KS: …What’ll you do if you find something?

LT: I don’t know. Call someone? Tell the CDC people?

MB: The CDC would have looked over the reports, too.

AT: Not if they don’t care.

LT: I have to try. I’ll go by myself, if none of you want to risk it.

AT: Don’t be dumb. No one’s splitting up, that’s the first rule.

KS: When do we go?

MB: Anthony and I will figure out a route to take. Quicker is probably better, right, Anthony?

AT: Yeah, not like heavy traffic matters anymore.

MB: You two should look for more weapons around the house. We’re not going anywhere until everyone is armed.

KS: Think I’ve got a few bats, but I’ll see if I’ve got anything better in the basement.

LT: Okay. Just let me finish this, and we’ll go.

Anthony and Melissa started looking over the map on my brother’s phone. Our phones are still working, incidentally. If you’re wondering why we haven’t called for help, we have. No one comes.

My best hope, right now, is that someone reads this and tries to get to us.

But that won’t happen.

I like privacy. I didn’t put my location, on this blog, or in my profile. And I still won’t.

No one can help. Not in time – we’re leaving too soon, and I really don’t think it would matter anyway. The most help anyone could lend us are an extra pair of hands to kill more of my neighbors.

And then they’d probably get the bite, too, and that’d be just another Wasted One to deal with.

Forget help. I have to help us. I have to help me, because no one else can, or will. I’ll figure this thing out.