Last

I thought I was prepared. 

I'm not. 

Our water only lasted us a month. It goes quick when you're with five other people. We didn't realize how quick. 

The food lasted a little longer, but even now I can feel my stomach aching from soon-to-come starvation. I feel like it's only so long until we lose someone to it. We closed ourselves off from the outside; too scared of the disease that could kill us. The boarded doors and windows couldn't keep out the rats. They're bad company. If we weren't so worried about getting infected, I'm sure someone would've eaten them by now. 

I started this journal to keep a record of what's happening, my sister told me it was a bad idea, and now I see why. But it's probably the only thing keeping me sane. 

My sister thought we could prepare for the zombies, but you never see them coming. First, they're in a country far from you, then they're reports of them in your country, and then your state, and they keep coming and coming until your city is quarantined. Some people leave. Others try to fight. The last hide. And you don't want to be the last. There's nothing but insanity waiting for us.