So is this my choice: a slow tortuous spiral into madness and death, or a quick ramp up into a raging psychosis, which will also surely lead to death, or worse, the death of others at my hand? This is, of course, not something I shall decide tonight, but it will be weighing on my heart and mind as the nights continue to come and sleep continues to haunt my door. But, for now, I must study, I must stay strong and try to find a way to save these few people who can still be saved. Maybe, if Eric continues to be immune, I can find a way to emulate his sleep patterns, however unhealthy that might be. It could at least give me a little more time to figure this out, maybe find a way to combat it.
I’ve read studies of a drug that has been used to decrease the intensity of a memory. It is not altogether forgetting, but perhaps, at least, a step in the right direction.
From the journal of Jude Guerrero
12/25/2012
This morning was more confusing than most probably are, thanks to the smoke. As I woke up, the sight of my comrades blowing up in a helicopter above me my last memory, I started coughing and my eyes starting burning because of a thick, acrid smoke in my room. Of course, to my mind, this made total sense, as the chopper had just been shot down, but as I felt for my gun and tried to reposition and assess, I realized I didn’t have a gun, I wasn’t in uniform, and I wasn’t on a roof.
Then some big hairy mook says, “mornin’, Joe.”
“Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is Joe?”
“I don’t know what you just said,” he grinned, “but I have the feeling it wasn’t very nice. Read your arm.”
So I did, and my journal, and went through the ritual I must go through every morning. Then I saw my other arm.
Holy fucking shit.
Of course, I didn’t believe it at first. Who would? But then I read my journal, the cliff notes I keep, and finally read about me writing about how I probably wouldn’t believe it. And there it was, in my own handwriting, in a style that was definitely me, the fucking world was ending, or for all I knew, had already pretty much ended.
And I’m dealing with this shit, and the big guy says, “hey, want some breakfast?”
I don’t know why, but I immediately like this guy.
“Sure, what you got?”
Forgot, he had no idea what I was saying, but he answered correctly anyway.
“Hope you like beans, cause that’s what we’re having.”
A Doctor came up, “Jude, glad you’re awake. We need to talk about this smoke.”
“Is this place on fire?”
“No, no, it appears to be coming from Manhattan. The wind shifted during the night.”
“So, Manhattan’s on fire?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, have you read your journal? Are you all caught up?”
“Just the cliff notes version.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, Manhattan, the Bronx, pretty much the whole city around us.”
“Where are we?”
“Wards Island. Safe for now, but we’re going to need to tighten up this floor as much as possible, see if we can keep the smoke out. The wind is shifting so it’s not as bad now, but it can always shift back.”
As we’re stuffing cracks with towels and sheets the Doctor starts talking to me, “with this smoke, we’re going to have to consider the possibility that we may need to find a way off the island. Even worse than the smoke is the possibility of something here on the island catching fire, especially the sewage treatment plant.”
“Sewage treatment?”
“Yes, right on the river over there. It takes up a good chunk of the island. There are quite a lot of toxic chemicals and flammable gases to consider; methane, co2, nitrates. I’m really not even sure what else.”
The wind had shifted and the smoke was clearing so we moved to that side to see the plant.
“Do you think there is a barge or something that they haul the waste away with?”
“It would make sense. Let’s take a look.”
And there it was, even better, it was an unmotorized barge attached to a tugboat.
“Hot damn,” I exclaimed.
“What?”
“A tugboat. I can get us out of here on that thing.”
As we are looking out at a possible solution, we saw another group attacking survivors trapped in a car out on the freeway. The freeway was completely covered in cars, people trying to flee the city when it all went down I guess. It looks like someone had been trapped in their car, living off whatever they had in there, afraid to leave because of the affected that were crawling all over the place, and they had finally decided to try and make a run for it. They hadn’t made it very far.
“There’s even more today,” the Doctor observed.
“More of the wackos?”
“Yes, running from the fires in the city. Plus just more affected probably than yesterday. Who knows how bad it will get before it gets better.”
“You think it will get better?”
“I don’t really know. I know they’re like animals, dumb but ferocious. But they were human not that long ago. The question that remains to be seen is are they smart enough to survive, to thrive, to find food and water? Or, will they die out?”
As we were watching them move about in packs a roar came from the end of the hall.
We went to look and I heard the chant before I even got there. A pack of affected was at the gate, trying to get in. And they were chanting together.
“…two horned valley trout bear…”
“How did they find us?” the Doctor asked me.
“Don’t know. Maybe they just happened to find us. Maybe they smell our food.”
The affected we had moved to the rooms at the end of the hall were all chanting with them, chanting the phrase at the tops of their lungs, seemingly delighted to finally find a pack, maybe even thinking they would be rescued.
“Can they get in?” Seriously, why was he asking me?
“No, that gate looks strong and not enough of them will be able to get on it at once to force it open, the hallway is too narrow.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“But, we do need to make sure our people are safe from the chanting.”
“Everyone, cover your ears. Earplugs on, now, go, now, now!”
And as if that weren’t enough, the world exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
From the journal of Jude Guerrero
12/25/2012
It was huge, and close. I felt the shock at the same time that I heard it. Luckily, no heat though, so we were safe…ish.
“What was that?” Cassie asked, guess she could hear it even with her ears plugged and head wrapped. Or maybe she felt it.
We looked at where flames had suddenly roared to life, the plant. The sewage treatment plant.
“Damn,” I said. The smoke was billowing away from us, for now. “Well, Doctor, you called it.”
“Yes, unfortunately, I did. It was only a matter of time; gasses building up, sewage still flowing in, and no one there to stop it or vent the gases.”
“Well, how long do you think we have?”
“Not long. The fire will spread, there is plenty of fuel there. And the wind could shift again at any time, sending toxic smoke right in our direction.”
“Shit smoke, great. You know what this means?” I asked the Doctor.
“Yes, we’ll have to get to the boat. I suppose there is no other way.”
“We’re going to need vehicles and we’re going to need weapons. Any ideas?” I asked the group.