DATE ONE: Aug. 25th , 20-
(Or at least that’s what I believe the date is,) Carlos was better at keeping the dates straight then I was. I’m an artist for crying out loud not a calendar. I shouldn’t even bother with this here journal but now that Carlos is dead I thought it might be…
I thought it might be best if someone cared about what happens. Or at the very least kept a journal about what happened. Carlos’ journal, in the six months since he started it, took up hundreds of pages of paper. It was the length of a regular novel. When he used up all the regular paper he went to books and used a Sharpee to write over the words printed on page; that didn’t go over so well. One day he tried to re-read some notes of what he had already written and got lost in thought; he was mixing his notes and thoughts with those of high school biology. We had a good laugh over that one.
Before he died he was down to paper towels and toilet paper but I tried talking him out of the toilet paper. That was a rare commodity these days. I told him next time we went out that we’d get lots of paper so that at least one of us was the responsible one. That one of us was keeping a record. When I had him here… when I could hear his voice…the journal seemed like a lost cause. Now that he is gone it’s the only thing that keeps me going. I re-read his words and its like he’s right here sitting next to me. His dank smell because he hadn’t taken a shower or bath in a month. His obnoxious laugh that sounded more like a snort. Like he had something stuck in his nose. Yeah I miss it. I miss him.
Once the bug’s got a hold of you you’re gone. The rate of incubation, as Carlos was so found of putting it, is shorter then when the bug first surfaced. Once Carlos got the bug it took three days for him to turn instead of five like before. It’s getting worse out there not better. I don’t know how much more time I’ll be able to hold out.
Now that Carlos is gone I’m beginning to hear things. Or not hear things. It’s a little of both. It’s not like I haven’t gotten used to Their moaning at all hours of the night. That – you get used to, but I no longer hear anyone else out there. Before, we’d hear the occasional person screaming for their lives or for help. It passed the time and reminded us that we weren’t the only ones left, but now…nothing. Before Carlos died we hadn’t heard another soul for weeks. Maybe we were the only ones left uninfected. Maybe I’m the only one left, now.
I also started hearing Clara. Well, not really hearing. Her mouth would open but no words would come out. I never told Carlos this but when Clara first came to me when I was wide awake I knew I was probably losing my mind. I told Carlos about Clara when she first started to appear. He just thought it was depression. She died over eight months ago and I’m still haunted by her. When she first appeared it was out of the corner of my eye or in the reflection of a mirror but now things have changed. Now she opens her mouth and even though I can’t hear what she’s saying she’s speaking to me. Right now I’ll just continue ignoring her because I fear the day when I can actually hear what she is saying.
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It was a routine snatch and grab. Carlos and I had already ransacked most of the empty houses in the neighborhood and now we had only the neighborhood grocery to rely on. McLellen’s – I guess because some guy named McLellen owned it. The first time we grabbed from there, there were ten of Them just hanging out around the place. “Deaders” (Carlos liked to call them xombies. He always liked to pretend that our world and the fantasy world were melding into one. He wasn’t the most stable of individuals but he was my best friend.) aren’t exactly smart. It’s true what they say in the movies – they always return to places that are familiar. Routines that are repetitive.
When we walked into the store some of them were pushing around shopping carts and shopping. Others were stocking shelves. Well, not really stocking but making a mess of themshelves. It was a surreal sight. Watching them is always a surreal sight.
The first time we visited the store it was easy to kill them all since there were so few of them and they were spread out. It was easy killing deaders; they’re stupid. They repeat themselves and act like newborn children. They’re only dangerous in groups. Or when there is only one of them and It’s hiding.
On our first trip we strung up the corpses around the place like scarecrows. If you don’t already know, for some reason the deaders don’t like to approach places where their own are on display. It’s got to be some type of instinct or defense mechanism. Whatever it is it seems to work for the most part, or so we thought.
This time around something was different. Something had changed.
Carlos and I snuck in through the back of the store so that we wouldn’t be seen by any stragglers in the front (Carlos stole the key on that first trip so now we had free reign whenever we needed). There was too much stuff in the store to even attempt to take it all on the first try but it made a perfect place to visit when we needed stuff.
Canned goods was first and foremost. If it was canned or bottled it wasn’t contaminated. We weren’t sure what started the plague and we weren’t taking any chances. For some reason the electricity was still on in the store but not in the houses on our block, so, frozen foods were next. We only took what we could use since it would go bad within a few days without electricity. Carlos liked to think that some good-natured humanitarian was still running the grid. He was probably in a better situation then we were.
The day was looking up and it was looking even better when Carlos remember the most pertinent item on the list – paper. He scrammed over to the school supplies isle and that’s when all hell broke lose.
He said, “Hey man. I’ll have plenty of writing material now.” I remember it well because it was the last time he ever spoke with such joy. Such hope for the future. We didn’t know that there was a straggler stocking the shelf on the other side of the school supplies isle. The scarecrows had no affect on It. Before Carlos knew it the straggler had grabbed his arm and taken a huge chunk out of his hand. By the time I heard his scream it was already too late.
You see, a straggler is a special kind of deader because it doesn’t travel in the pack. It’s singular and harder to notice because they don’t tend to stick out which is exactly what this one was doing. Even with the scarecrows out front, nothing will stop a dedicated straggler from doing its job. It was stocking the shelves minding its own business until Carlos disturbed the shelf. The diner bell was rung.
We rushed our asses out of there quick as thieves. We took everything we already had in bags and high tailed it. There was no use crying over spilled milk. We screwed up. We let our guard down and now Carlos had to pay for it. We forgot the one rule of this new world. In this world without end – don’t EVER let your guard down because in that moment when you believe you are one hundred percent safe that’s when the bug’ll get you.
That’s when the bug will get you.
“I’ll have plenty of writing material now.” Those were the last coherent words he spoke to me. What then followed were three days of delusion and fever and then death.
I didn’t burn his body like I should have. He’s currently hanging outside. A scarecrow, so I won’t ever forget him. Carlos. My best friend since elementary school. Carlos Ramirez.
And at least now I have real paper to continue what he started, which is making sure no one ever forgets what happened to the world. So that I don’t forget.
