Words of Advice

November 17, 2017

Eureka, California

Dear Diary,

Is that how you're supposed to start these things? 

Whatever -- I'm leaving this record behind in hopes that someone, someday, will be able to read it. Hoping against hope that we can somehow turn the tide and humanity wins. If so, tell our story, because I'm sure we'll be long gone.

...I can't believe it's come to this. Yesterday, my friend Jess and I were planning our Friday night plans. Today, I shot her in the face before she had a chance to bite me.

Unless the others haven't been bitten and come back with reinforcements, it's only a matter of time before we're next. Morbid as it is, my only source of comfort now is that I die from the infection before I turn into one of those things. They've broken through our primary and secondary defensive walls, and now we can't escape. We're huddled together in the bunker, but we're truly trapped like rats. We're running low on food and supplies. Morale is even lower. One of the old timers told us to keep a spare bullet, just in case. 

Mike thinks they can smell fear, not fresh meat like everyone else says, and that's why they're coming for us. I told him to shut up because he was scaring the children, but I can't help but think he is right. 

The waiting is the worst part; it's as if they know there's nothing we can do. I'm startled by shadows. Every tiny creak and whisper make me jump. If Mike's theory is correct, I guess letting us stew in our own juices makes us a tastier meal. I can imagine them growing in numbers, surrounding the bunker just in case we try to run, shuffling along by dragging their feet like they do in the old horror flicks. I used to laugh at those B Films. Now, I've never seen anything more terrifying. 

My message to you: I know it's only a rumor, but take the vaccine while you still can. I wish that I had. What's the worse that can happen, it kill you?

Sincerely, 

...does it matter?

P.S. God help us all.

P.P.S. Drink the good stuff.