Maybe if I slipped Eric a tranquilizer to see if he succumbs after sleeping. Although, I can’t be completely sure he’s even been exposed. Given enough time I might be able to test this theory, and if something has happened to Jude and Timothy then we will have plenty of time, as I don’t see another way for us to get out of here. We have enough food for a few days at most, and there might still be some in the kitchen, but unless some authority, some savior appears, unless the tide turns or the effects eventually wear off, we will die here.
From the journal of Timothy Lorne
12/25/2012
We tried to keep busy, loading up all the weapons so we would be ready, you know, when we figured out what we were going to do. Joe showed me how, it was pretty easy. I’d used a shotgun before, when I was a kid. My dad had taken me duck hunting, once, but he got drunk and was never invited out again. He did that, a lot.
But the loading only kept us busy so long. Then it was up to me to try and talk to Joe, keep him up to date, keep him remembering. I talked about the boat, where we would go. How we could fish and collect rainwater and go down to the Bahamas where no one was infected and the women were beautiful and everything would be great.
We had already been in here at least an hour I guess, maybe longer, it had seemed like forever, and I wasn’t sure how he was holding up. Every once in a while he would just stare at the nutters, with his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure something out. Plus, it was really hard for me to talk over all the noise they were making. God damn those things do make a racket.
Every once in a while one would try to squeeze through, even though you could hear bones popping and it had to hurt like a muddy fucker. So I would take ’em out with sweet Suzie, you know, to save ammo. We had a decent amount but I was guessing Joe decided not to shoot our way out cuz we wouldn’t have enough left to get us to the boat.
Joe had pointed the boat out to me back in the hospital and I thought it was a swell idea, even though I’m not real crazy about the water. Now you think growing up around the Massachusetts coast and all I would love it but I had just never learned to swim, wasn’t interested, that’s all. But I just had to keep from falling off the boat, that’s all, until we get wherever we were going.
I’m sure they had a plan for where to take it, maybe an island somewhere where we’d be safe. Course I couldn’t understand what they were saying so I didn’t know the rest of the plan once we get to the boat, but it made sense, an island. Or maybe to find a bigger boat and cross the ocean, see if the Europeans are doing OK and not affected. I wasn’t sure, some of the people on the news looked foreign, so I didn’t know for sure, if they would be OK. Didn’t really want to cross the ocean anyway, just find a nice island with bananas and coconuts and stuff and live there, like Gilligan’s Island.
Joe started eyeing me, looking confused and a little irritated.
He tried talking to me and I tried telling him I couldn’t understand him. He pointed to his lips, not sure what that meant. Then he looked at the crazies, and he pointed at them and started yelling something at me.
It looked like he was asking a question.
“I have no idea what you’re saying Joe, I have brain damage.”
He was quiet for a while so I tried talking to him.
“I have brain damage Joe, and so do you, so your memory is messed up. Everyone has gone nuts but us, not sure why, but those people ain’t people no more. They’ve gone crazy, they want to kill us and eat us. The rest of our people are back in the hospital waiting for us. Joe?”
He just stared at the crazies, blank. Then he looked at me and suddenly he was pissed. Was he infected? Was he gone? I hadn’t seen it coming.
He jumped and grabbed me by the collar and slammed me against the wall. Damn he was strong. And he started yelling something and pointed at himself, I think he was saying his name wasn’t Joe.
“I know your name’s not Joe, but I don’t know what it is because I can’t understand you. I can’t understand anyone. I’m sorry, I have brain damage.”
He pushed me and let go. Then just sat down and stared at the infected, looking more hopeless than I had ever seen anyone look.
“Joe?”
He grabbed a gun and pointed it at me and yelled something. I knew what someone yelling shut up looked like, I had seen it plenty of times before. I shut up.
Ah, then he noticed the guns.
From the journal of Dr. Montgomery Gates
12/25/2012
There was a black dog in the corner, broad chest and red mouth, staring at me, just staring, then it smiled, a rye smile, it smiled and winked and lunged and I jerked awake.
I had been sitting up, so I couldn’t have been out longer than a second or two. I had just taken more uppers so I couldn’t take any more right now, but the lack of sleep was getting to me. The lack of sleep and the waiting. Waiting for some sign from Jude. Waiting for them to get back to rescue us. I tried to keep busy again, reading through what I had, but that was hard so I watched the affected, pacing back and forth from cell to cell to stay alert. If the phrase didn’t get me, this not sleeping just might. Just might drive me insane.
I started writing down what we would need to do, in case I wasn’t around later to help. Cassie or Eric would have to handle things as best they could. There might be more food in the kitchen, then maybe in the other buildings. Water was still running but we should still keep filling up our supplies. I didn’t have much else. I left instructions for the tranquilizers in case they wanted to put the affected in our cells down. Told them how much to use in their food to knock them out, and how much more if they wanted to kill them. It was more merciful than letting them die from dehydration, though I’m not sure they really feel anything. Of course I didn’t say it, but if things get too bad, they can always use it on themselves. Is that what it would come to, for them, for me? Is this how the world ends? How many others are left? A few brain damaged individuals? Some insomniacs? Some drug addicts who haven’t slept in days? Or would they be dead by now anyway? Wouldn’t we be if we weren’t safe in here behind bars? While they were out there, attracted to us, the unaffected, like moths to a flame? Perhaps some untouched lost tribes in the Amazon, perhaps they would be the root of a new civilization. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
I suppose nature would take over. Our buildings would collapse. Elk running through the streets, hunted by tigers and bears and wolves. Wolves. Black wolves. In the corner. Staring at me.
Fuck. I was almost out again. I maybe have to risk more uppers soon, better to have a heart attack than fall asleep and succumb to the phrase. The phrase.
From the journal of Timothy Lorne
12/25/2012
He started crying. OK, not crying, but there were tears in his eyes. He was still staring at them, and they were still yelling at us, wanting to get in, to get us. And then he got on his, on his damned knees, and put his hands together, and I knew he was praying. I didn’t know he was religious, and maybe he wasn’t before this, but something like this, I suppose it could bring it out in you. Or the other way around, I suppose it could really make you hate God, to see the things we’ve seen. Maybe he even thought he was in hell. I couldn’t blame him, trapped in here, blood and gore all over the floors and bars, insane mutilated blood covered freaks trying to get in at us from all sides. If this wasn’t hell, what was? Maybe this is where it came from, a sickness from hell. Or maybe some sort of hell speak, that’s why the schizo’s ears were covered, why I wasn’t affected, ’cause I couldn’t understand. And Joe couldn’t remember. But what about the Doctor and Ponch and the others? I don’t know, but maybe that’s it, a demon language that drives people insane. Like when those people in little small town church’s start talking crazy and roll around on the ground.