What’s Happening?
I am writing this by flashlight. I am in the basement behind the furnace hiding beneath a blanket. I don’t know what is happening. John went to the store about two-thirty this afternoon and never came back. I called his phone but there was no answer. At Four- thirty I decided to get in the car and go look for him, I mean, how long does it take to buy a loaf of bread, some parmesan and a jar of olives? When I opened the door to the garage, I heard a scream; no, not a scream, more like a shriek coming from The Taylors’ house across the street. There were gunshots and screams all throughout the neighborhood. I walked to the end of the driveway to see what was happening. I heard footfalls and saw Mrs. Cooper running toward me. She had lost one of her house shoes, and her housecoat was loose, flapping in the wind, her pale, blubbery body quaking with each step. Her face was so contorted I almost didn’t recognize her. She held her hands out in front of her as if she were sleepwalking.
“Cindy, I said, “What’s wrong?”
I don’t think she saw me her eyes were red and glassy with fear.
“Cindy!” I yelled.
She passed by at a full run, her breath ragged breath ripping the air.
“Cindy!” I called again, as she passed.
With a slight turn of her head toward me. She called in a raspy voice, “Run!”
I looked up the street and saw a crowd of people coming at a full run. People were stumbling over each other. When someone fell they were trampled underfoot. Nobody stopped to help them. Some men in the front of the group saw me from half a block away and started waving their arms.
“Run!” they said, “Get out of here!”
That’s when I went inside. I tried to call 911 the line was busy. I turned on the TV. There was a guy in a uniform saying something about sheltering in place before the screen went dark. I went through the hall closet and found John’s twenty-two. It had only three bullets in it. Only John would leave a gun half loaded. He’s never been an all or nothing guy. I tore everything out of the closet but could not find any more bullets.
I closed the curtains and locked the doors and sat in the living room, listening to the screams and sirens and gunshots until it got dark. Around seven-fifteen, I thought I heard someone at the back door and I grabbed the diary off the coffee table and came down here. If I don’t make It through the night, at least Jen and Tom will be able to read my last words.
Just now there was a breaking of glass and a terrible noise upstairs. People are walking around up there. It won’t be long until they find the basement door. Jen and Tom, and John if you’re still here, I love you with all my heart. Kiss the grandchildren for me and tell them I love them. I only have two bullets to fend off whoever it is. I’m saving the last one for me.