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Before I start, I should tell you a few things. A little background never hurt anyone. I don’t know what you might have seen before, but I do know that this is worse. We call them demons. Do they look like it? No. Are they demons? I don’t know, and I couldn’t care less. It’s one word that fits them and the way they act, and when you’re fighting or running to survive every day – mostly running, if you know what’s good for you – you don’t exactly have much time to spare for creative naming.
What are they? Well, I can’t answer that, but I can tell you what I’ve seen. They’re everywhere, ever since we arrived. After finally wiping out the small number we found in this place, it only took a few days before thousands of them arrived. We didn’t stand a chance, really.
They look like us, I’ll give them that much. Well, similar enough that you need to be close by to tell the difference. Far too close. They look warped, somehow. More legs, more arms, more eyes, that sort of thing. Maybe that’s why they move at about twice our speed and see so much further. Sometimes, they just seem to know where I am, I don’t know how they do it. But I don’t know how they use half the things they carry around. They’re certainly well armed. Too well armed. They seem to move in large groups, a luxury I don’t have these days.
And, most of all, they’re bloodthirsty. For some reason, they hate us. They attack on sight, and they do it well. I’m the sole survivor, as far as I can tell, but it hasn’t stopped me from hoping I’m wrong. It’s happened before. I wish I knew why they were attacking, but I guess all that matters is that they are. I’ve learned not to care about the reasons, along with a lot of other things.
What else can they do? Well, they can keep their plans secret, I know that much. They talk to each other, yes, or at least they seem to, but I can’t make out a word of it. Of course, any planning is overkill, at this point. They outnumber me a couple thousand to one. I’m not sure how I made it this far. They can’t seem to make any sense out of what we say either… but that doesn’t help a whole lot these days.
And we’re another matter entirely. I’m sure we had names, once. That’s one of the strange things about coming here, though – another reason I wish we never did. None of us remember our names, or how we got here. But that doesn’t matter much now.
I think I hear them coming this way.
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If there’s any kind of advantage here, it’s that we’re stronger than them. Stronger and less fragile. And they also never seem to look the right way – hang on to the ceiling, hide behind something. When you don’t have a weapon, you do what it takes. You get creative. Wait for one to move apart from the rest of the group – you can never take them all at once. Didn’t stop some of us from trying, of course. It’s not pretty.
You know, I used to teach this sort of thing to anyone I found. Not many people around any more. So right now, that means you.
Everyone has their methods for dealing with them. Or had, anyway. Me, I go for the neck. Stop them from breathing, and you’ve just stopped them from calling anyone. Cruel? Maybe, but you learn to do what’s needed in times like this. One of them had a hammer. It has its uses, I suppose, but I don’t want anything that makes me slower than I am now. They’re fast enough already.
It’s time I left, anyway. There’s going to be more of them, soon enough.
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I’m not sure what this building used to be. I can see shelves, bottles and cans everywhere. It certainly took long enough to find this place. Empty, as far as I can tell, but I was outside for hours. Exposed, unguarded. An easy target, in short. Now, none of them caught me. Not this time.
And that’s where the bad news starts, diary. As I’m sure you know, they got you. Leather, paper… none of it lasts when some idiot starts a fire. Fact is, most of me didn’t either. I’ve got a few nasty burns, but I’ll survive. I’ve survived worse. I just wish the crows would stop staring at me. They know what’s going to happen as well as I do – I just haven’t admitted it yet.
I’ve found a marker in this place. I guess I’ll keep my diary wherever I go, since there’s no paper here. Walls, floors, anything will do. I suppose it doesn’t change much, does it? After all, I found you lying around on a desk somewhere too, diary. It won’t change much. Not really.
At least there’s food here. We need food. Some of us – quite a few, but I guess they thought it was the easiest way – thought it would be best to just eat whatever we can catch. I still haven’t had to do anything of the sort, and if I can stay here, I’ll never need to.
Did I just say that? If I can stay here? I swear, this optimism is going to get me killed. Well, like I said, I’ve found a good place to stay at. I don’t want to end up like the rest. Having to live on what they “hunted” made them strange, somehow. It did something to their heads. Sure, they were all here, just… strange. It doesn’t matter, anyway. They didn’t make it. For some reason, I have. So far.
I guess I better look around, find a can ope
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One of them managed to sneak up on me with a fire axe. I suppose I’ll just have to pretend I never liked my left arm anyway. How am I going to fight back with just one arm? I don’t know. I guess I probably won’t. As luck would have it, I’m left-handed. Hard to write now. Found a small gun, might help.
Best weapon? Legs. Running away. Speaking of which, more of them coming this way. Bye, Diary. See you soon.
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Leaped out of second floor. Should have given it more thought. Somehow, they didn’t find me, but I’m hanging here now. Small ledge, safe for the moment, writing on the wall. Getting down? That’s going to be difficult. Wish me luck, diary. Wish me luck. I was never a good climber. Losing an arm isn’t going to help. Still hurts. I hope it won’t get infected.
Who am I trying to fool, diary? You or me?
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I made it I made it I made it. I’m finally here. I’ve been here for two days, resting. I think this used to be a house. Large. Comfortable. Safe. I’ve barred the door, stacked furniture behind it. Locked the window. Helped myself to what I found – tasted of mildew.
Why am I still writing? I think I know. Do you know? Well, diary, it probably looks crazy to you. No hope of survival, no book, nothing like that, so why am I keeping a diary? To talk to. It’s the closest thing I get to peace, now that I’m the last one left – I know I am, I haven’t seen a single one besides me. I don’t have anyone else to talk to, to see, to hear. Just a diary. I keep a diary to stop myself from going mad. It won’t be pretty when it happens, and it won’t help me last any longer. Sometimes, though, I think I’m slipping a little anyway. What do you think, diary?
It’s been months. Too many months. Why are they still after me?
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The arm stump was getting a bit funny. And by funny, I mean “ooze and infections” funny. Which isn’t funny at all, really, but we get our humour where we can. Anyway, I dealt with it. I don’t know if a blowtorch was the smartest way around the problem, but it’s all I could come up with. It seems to be alright now, as much as a scorched arm stump can be alright.
You know, I have to wonder what’s going to happen after this. Say I lie to myself for a moment, say it’s all going to be fine, and I’ll find a way out of here. I still don’t remember anything. I’m the only survivor in this place. Everywhere I look, the world’s full of creatures that would kill me on sight. What then? If I escape, what happens? Where do I go?
Some days, “and they lived happily ever after” just doesn’t cut it. But that won’t stop me from trying, will it now? Just keep trying, that’s what I always told the rest. Soon as you’ve stopped trying, you’ve given up. Once you’ve given up, you’ve lost everything. The way I see it, I’ve got enough people trying to stop me, why help them by stopping myself?
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I found out that I’m not alone here. Couple rats, ants, that sort of thing. Somehow, they were just like the crows outside. Sure, there was food here, but they weren’t interested in that. I can’t speak for the ants, obviously, but the rats that saw me looked hungry. Like they were going to wait for as long as it took.
Whoever used to live here happened to have a hard hat around. That’s going to do wonders in case anyone decides to crack my skull open. And, given the way this has been going, they will.
Time to keep exploring this place. Who knows what I’ll find next?
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I found the rooftop, that’s what. I’ve taken to going up there, once in a while. Fresh air won’t kill me, and it always helps to check if anyone’s around. They are, sometimes, but I’ve avoided being noticed so far. I filled out the rooms with notes, diary, as I’m sure you know. Notes, ramblings, I can’t make sense out of half of it once I’ve written it. The rest is all to do with maps I’ve seen. How to leave, where to go. I’m trying to come up with a plan. I think I’m almost there. There just might be a way our of here. And then? I don’t know. I’ve seen a harbor, maybe I could take a boat away from this madness. One of those small islands, maybe.
The house has seen better days. I got attacked in it today. Well, a few shots took care of the first one. An old-fashioned leap from below a sofa got another, and the last few…
Well, maybe I had to burn a few spray cans. Maybe the room isn’t quite the same. Maybe there’s a huge hole in the wall opening it to the outside. So I might have caught a gas pipe in the fire. Can you blame me?
I don’t care, really. The more time passes, the less I care. About anything that’s not survival, anyway.
Someone’s going to come looking for them, soon. I need to run somewhere else. There’s just an old warehouse nearby, but that suits me fine. Small, confined, but more importantly, dark, with only one entrance to guard. My kind of place.
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Dear diary. It isn’t. When I said one entrance, I didn’t know that also meant that it’s the only exit. This building has no windows. That means if I get trapped inside, there’s no way out.
Guess what? I got trapped inside. Weapons? Lost them, ran out of bullets… either way, they’re gone now. Bare hands used to work well enough, but now that I’m down to one hand, I doubt it would help much. I looked around a little. Found a Swiss army knife someone must have left behind, and a stale sandwich. It won’t do, but nothing seems to these days.
You know, I can hear voices out there. I think there’s at least twenty of them. They’re not coming in, of course. They know they just have to wait, sleeping in turns, watching the only way out I could ever take. Fair? Fairness doesn’t count for much now, apparently. I guess it’s just a matter of how long I can hold out on what little I find here. It’s not exactly a castle, but a siege is a siege.
I’d just like to thank you for hearing me out, diary. I’d be lying if I said it’s been fun, but being able to talk helps. Sorry about the fire. It’s been a long run – I’m not sure how long, ever since the days started blending together – but you’ve helped. Now, I know this looks pretty bleak. We’ve seen worse, though. Remember that time I was sitting on a ledge a floor and a half up in the air? Or the time I got my arm cut off? Tough times, sure, but we made it. We can deal with this, right?
I’ve been looking while I write. There’s nothing here. It’s all pieces of plastic – parts for something or the other. Something I don’t need and can’t use, not that I’m bitter. It just had to be a warehouse full of useless old things, didn’t it? I guess this is going to be a short siege after all. I can’t hold out forever, but at least I can do the sensible thing and wait until night.
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Well, this is it. Me and them, them and me. Had to happen sooner or later, right? With any luck, I’ll be real quiet, they’ll be sleeping, I can finish off anyone who’s still awake, and then I’ll bolt. Then I’ll get somewhere safe. Out of here. Get a boat. Like I said, we’ve seen much worse. I’ll manage.
I guess that’s about it. No need for any lengthy goodbyes, I won’t be long. Time for me to go face the music. I’ll see you in a little while, diary.
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Two minutes later, the sole surviving undead walked out of the warehouse to meet the mob. Of the thirty-two, only eight were asleep.
Twenty-seven minutes later, the last part of the diary was found, and assumed to belong to one of the human survivors.
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