Survivor

April 7, 2016

Nobody knows anything anymore. In what is only hours, large parts of the population have become infected. They rage. They kill. They bite and infect. As if that were needed. Apparently, whatever changed them is airborne.

Still, people barricade themselves inside their homes. Some have taken their boats to sea. I don’t have a boat, so I’ve locked myself in at home, too. I think my neighbors have done the same. I hear their baby crying all the time. It seems so loud in the stillness that has fallen over everything. It grates on my nerves, I admit, but they are young. What a terrible time to have a child.

Otherwise, everything is silent. I occasionally hear muted padding from the apartment above me, but apart from that, the silence is overwhelming. I’ve considered going out there, but I don’t dare. Many of the infected have died, but the disease still spreads.

April 8, 2016

My ears twitch at every little sound. No more sound from above. I'm scared.

April 9, 2016

A voice inside tells me I should feel more. Am I in shock? I don’t know. I feel dirty and sweaty, but I don’t dare run more water than I need to survive. Somebody could hear.

April 10, 2016

The crying stopped. Silence covers everything like a blanket. I looked into the mirror today, and hardly recognized myself. That voice inside keeps telling me that this is not how things should be, but it fades before I can ask it what that means. Hardly any infected last more than a few hours. I have decided that staying here is futile. I will go out there. I'm different. The baby’s parents are still lying in their apartment across the hall, and I’m hungry again already.