I'm not sick

Food makes me feel so nauseated. But I keep it down.

Water makes me gag. But, I keep it down.

I’m not sick.

Mind over matter. The toxicology came back clean.

Toxicology came back clean

I was bitten. I’m not worried.

I’m not worried, because I grabbed as many files as I could carry, and just finished going through every single one.

They didn’t miss anything. Toxicology came back normal. All bloodwork doesn’t show ANY sign of something wrong. And they’re all victims.

I bet mine is normal. I think I’m going to be fine.

Mind over matter. I’m going to be fine.

Melissa and Anthony are debating on whether or not they should kill me. I can hear them in the next room.

Kyle is defending me. He says I’m strong enough to beat it. Mind over matter. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else. With his grandfather gone, Anthony and I are probably the closest things to family he has left. No parents, no grandparents, just a couple of kids he grew up with.

Mind over matter, that’s all this is. Because the toxicology came back clean.

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.

Transcript #3

KS: You’re typing? You’re seriously fucking typing?

AT: Leave her alone!

KS: What the fuck good is typing gonna do us, Leigh?!

LT: There should be a record. There has to be a record.

MB: No one will believe this.

AT: I would.

KS: You bought a gun ‘just in case’ the zombie apocalypse is real.

LT: Stop.

AT: And would you fucking look at that – I was right. Do you seriously know how to use that?

Melissa is loading shotgun shells into her antique rifle.

MB: Yes. It should still be functional, I’ve never tried it out. I do know that it’s not only decorative.

KS: Great that we’re all so fucking prepared.

LT: Stop.

KS: What in the name of… What are we supposed to do? You just. I just. You killed my Grandpa.

AT: Your grandpa was already dead, you know he was dead. Leigh was at the clinic when he was pronounced, Kyle, he was honestly gone.

LT: It’s true.

KS: Not gone permanently.

AT: Look outside. He’s not the only one out there, and I’ll bet my ass they all died, too. They wasted into walking corpses, and now that’s exactly what they are.

KS: Shit. Fucking shit. Fuck. Leigh, will you stop typing?!

MB: Everyone needs to just keep calm. We have to be practical about this.

AT: Couldn’t agree more. We’ve got food in here, and the CDC should-… Oh, fuck…

LT: What is it?

AT: The quarantine. God damn it, what if they’re trying to wreck us?

LT: Wreck us?

AT: Like R-E-C, Rec. us. Like Quarantine? The movie – they might just be containing, they might not even care if we make it out of this alive…

MB: I’m sure that isn’t true. We can hole ourselves up in here until they’re gone, at the very least. Then we can get back to your house, evacuate Mr. and Mrs. Tran…

AT: We can’t.

LT: What?

AT: We can’t go pick up family, Leigh, it’s too dangerous.

LT: Are you shitting me? You’re talking about our parents!

AT: It’s already setting in, for mom! You saw! I. I don’t want to give up either, but that means we have to stop everything, not.

Anthony is having a difficult time speaking.

AT: We can’t get distracted. That’s how people die. If we want to help them, we have to rely on someone figuring out what the source of all this shit is, and putting a stop to it. It’s no good, otherwise. We’ll just get bit and die, too.

KS: …Leigh? What do you want to do?

We’re all silent for far too long. Anthony was frozen, for a little while, but resumes picking up more boxes to stack in front of the windows. Melissa is helping him.

LT: I don’t know what to do.

KS: I know.

LT: This doesn’t seem real.

KS: I know.

LT: I can’t live with myself if I let our parents die.

AT: Leigh…I think mom’s already dead. I think if we hang around any longer, we’ll be dead, too. And I know that mom would kill herself before putting us in danger, Leigh, you know that. Leigh?

LT: Maybe, but I

AT: I’m sorry, Leigh, I’m really, really sorry.

I have a hard time typing. Anthony is hugging me, and my vision is blurred.

Mrs. Booker

Anthony has a gun. He says he bought it online, with my credit card, just in case. Explains why my card was compromised.

He has a gun, and mom won’t get out of bed. Mom’s sick. She’s like the others.

We think she’ll turn out like Mr. Sauber. But there are worse things.

Mr. Sauber is dead. Dead, but he’s still walking around.

He’s outside, and was trying to get into Kyle’s house. Trying, until Anthony shot him.

He shot Mr. Sauber in the back, and he swore. He kept shooting until Mr. Sauber’s head was nearly unhinged from his neck. He’d blown a hole so deep through it that his head had almost come off.

He’d been aiming for the back of the head. He said sorry. Not because he shot Mr. Sauber. Because he missed the first few times.

Mrs. Booker didn’t call the police. She ran outside, but she didn’t call. She was the only one to run outside. Not even my father came to check what was going on. He didn’t call the police, either. I don’t think. They didn’t come, anyway. No one’s coming to help.

We’re barricaded inside Kyle’s house, all of his stuff is packed up in boxes, and no one is coming to help us.

Transcript #2

MB: So you’re just going to type everything I say? Oh. Silly question, you’re already typing. Okay. This is a little unnerving.

AT: Just ignore her, Mrs. B. I guess I just ask questions? Is that all you want me to do?

LT: Basically – I’ll chime in if I want you to expand on anything.

AT: If you don’t feel like answering, though, just give us the teacher-glare and we’ll back right off.

MB: (She laughs; in my opinion it sounds weak) Alright. Fire away.

AT: Mr. Booker was in great health before, right?

MB: That’s right.

AT: When did he start presenting symptoms?

MB: A couple of days before we went to the clinic. I got home, Wednesday evening, and found him just inside the doorway. Just sitting, staring at nothing, really. He told me he’d fallen, but we’ve been married for five years. I know when he’s lying to me.

AT: He was lying? About what?

LT: Anthony-

MB: It’s okay. I presume you’d know, anyway – the bite mark, on his shoulder.

LT: What?

MB: You didn’t know?

LT: No… Please go on.

MB: I would have thought it’d be in his medical record… I think he was chased up our driveway, and someone bit him. It wasn’t very deep, but the mark was there. I was petrified, I told him we should go to the clinic immediately, get him some antibiotics. He, um, he said they wouldn’t help. He was listless, I didn’t really- I didn’t know what to do, other than to help him get up, make dinner. He didn’t eat anything, and that’s when I was becoming even more afraid. I kept insisting we should go, he said he didn’t want to trouble anyone. Then, um, I called the next day. And, when I got home, he hadn’t moved from the bed. He’d just skipped work altogether, and hadn’t moved.

LT: There was nothing in his file about a bite.

(The rest of the conversation wasn’t relevant and didn’t last for much longer. Melissa started to get upset, and Anthony turned the conversation to other things; school, her massive collection of antiques, in particular an old rifle they stopped making in WWII, according to Anthony. Afterwards, we returned home to make it back before curfew. I’m glad we did. I can hear the late residents throwing an argument outside.)

Anthony

I’m not likely to help much of anyone. The science is interesting to me, but I don’t get people as well as I get facts and books. I’m not great at emotionally being there for people, which – weirdly – my brother Anthony is way better at. Our parents baby him for it, but it’s sort of like he babies them right back. He says he can read me too, and would spoil me if I weren’t so spoiled already. So, he’s still capable of being a jerky teenager.

Still, I kind of wish I were more like him, sometimes. Not the laziness or the academic failure, and definitely not the time-wasting zombie-killing hobbies, but the ability to make people smile. I went to go tell Anthony off for playing his stupid game too loudly and told him it was giving Kyle a headache…and somehow, Kyle wound up playing with him in co-op mode and left with the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen on him all week.

I’m considering taking him with me, tomorrow, to talk to Melissa Booker. I honestly hate to do it, but work hasn’t slowed down even remotely – I’m being shafted with ridiculous hours and working at least one shift per day. I say that because sometimes I work until 6 AM and am coming back into work for 4 PM the same day.

It might be awkward – I think Mrs. Booker actually teaches art, at his school – but Anthony’s agreed to it so long as I don’t change my mind. He’s expressed some wild theories about what’s going on, which hasn’t been helped with one of the more recent developments.

The town’s plague has got the attention of the Center for Disease Control – I think. They’ve put into effect what Anthony’s calling an ‘unofficial quarantine’; there’s a curfew for everyone who doesn’t have clearance to be out, and they’ve closed the roads leading out into the city. They haven’t come right out and said so, but they’ve made it pretty clear to the people who’ve tried to take their loved ones to the hospital – they’re expecting the clinic to handle it all, and we aren’t even equipped to find out what ‘it’ is.