Project Red Survival Journal
Entry #9
June 23rd, 2039
Something has gone terribly wrong. I don’t have any proof yet but my gut is telling me things are spinning out of control and the government is lying to the public to try and keep us calm. Was lying, I should say. CNN stopped broadcasting this morning at around 9:30 a.m. and they were the last of the television markets still on the air. Now there is nothing but static and white noise on every station, and the radio signals went dead a few days ago.
The last programming I saw was a badly pieced-together documentary explaining how the bio-engineered nanobots had been created using microscopic computer chips fused with genetic DNA from some small creature. I can’t be positive but I don’t think they ever revealed exactly which type of bug they took the DNA from. Not that it matters much, I guess, but at the time I remember wondering if the program had been edited and several minutes of information conveniently removed. It didn’t make much sense but I had a feeling I was right. Why bother, though? What did they have to hide?
After the documentary, things got even weirder. They cut to a live feed from CNN headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia but there was no one in front of the camera. I kept waiting for the producer to cut to a different feed or run some other pre-taped program but nothing happened. Ten seconds went by, then half a minute. It was as if the studio was empty, or maybe everyone had gone home and just left the camera running. After nearly five minutes of dead air, an old grey haired man with small beady eyes shuffled into view and sat down on the corner of the wooden desk to take center stage in the news studio. He was rake thin and practically drowning in his baggy clothes. His exposed head and hands were also covered in numerous red cancerous growths but he had a constant smile plastered on his face that no amount of sickness seemed able to wipe off. Who was this guy? He had a CNN tag on his chest and although it was a little blurry, when I moved closer to the T.V. I think his name was Jim something. Jim Argen…something; the last part of the man’s name was lost in a fold of his baggy sweater. Whoever he was, surely he wasn’t one of CNN’s newscasters. Couldn’t be. Hell, the old bugger had to be close to eighty years old. Maybe older. He’d walked onstage from behind the angle of the camera though, so for all I knew maybe he was the cameraman; or used to be. I had no way of knowing but I had the feeling that maybe he was the only one left at the studio. Some old diehard who’d worked there his whole life and now, even when the world was falling apart around him, stubbornly refused to go home.
I never did find out. Old Jim just kept sitting there smiling into the camera until the picture cut out and the network went static. After that I had no contact with the outside world at all. No T.V., no radio, no noisy neighbors, no nothing.
What the hell is going on?
A couple of days they’d said. Three or four tops. The skies would clear and people could go about their regular lives while the nanobots worked their invisible magic from the inside. Lying bastards. They’ve fucked things up good this time.
Real good.
When Tim woke up the next morning, naked and sweating beneath an old wool blanket, it took him a moment to figure out there was something different about his surroundings. Something had changed and it wasn’t until he got shakily to his feet and walked over to the dining room window that he realized what it was.
Outside, the sky had turned back to blue.
Incredible as it seemed, it was true. Beyond his plastic sheets, the world seemed to be returning to normal. Maybe the scientist had been right after all. Their time frames had been off a week or so, but still, here was finally the potential proof Tim had been waiting for. Trouble was, he couldn’t really see out the window to see if things were back the way they used to be or not. The thick layer of plastic obscured everything. He couldn’t even tell if anyone was outside in the park.
The urge to tear off the protective sheet was incredible, but Tim stopped himself in time and sat down to think things through first. The last thing he wanted to do was unseal his room too early and contaminate his sanctuary with bugs. In his mind, he could picture millions of microscopic creatures straight out of a science fiction movie hovering outside, just waiting for their chance to get inside and attack him. Even though he was sweating, the thought made him shiver.
Fucking Nanobots…
No way. Opening the window was out of the question. At least until he had more proof than a blue sky to go on. An idea flashed into his mind about how he used to coat the windows of his old apartment with plastic to keep the cold weather out in the winter. Someone had shown him that if you took a hairdryer and blew warm air onto the plastic, it magically stretched tightly onto the window frame and became almost transparent. The plastic on these windows was much thicker than that old stuff he’d used, but there was a chance it might work the same way. Worth a try, at least.
Hurrying to the bathroom, Tim grabbed his old hairdryer from under the sink and ran an extension cable over to the wall plug on the far side of the room to fire it up. Careful not to put the nozzle too close to the surface in case the hot air melted a hole through the plastic, Tim soon had the window stretched taut on the frame and he could finally see outside again for the first time in ten days.
Outside, Lasalle Park looked pretty much like it always had, except there was still a thin dusting of red powder covering the ground. It looked like someone had snuck into the park and coated all the grass and trees with sticky cotton candy. The sky was incredible though, the most amazing crystal clear cloudless sky Tim could remember and staring at it brought a huge grin to his unshaven face. At least until he realized that there was nothing moving in it. He studied the skies for several minutes but never found a thing. No birds, no bees, no airplanes, no nothing.
Turning his attention back to the ground, Tim was convinced there was nothing going to be visible there, either. On first glance he was right. Where were all the people? Surely if they’d all been cooped up the last week and a half like him, they’d be dying to get out there and move around on such a beautiful day. The kids at least would be out bombing around in the park, right? Apparently not.
Then Tim heard a dog bark below him and it was music to his ears. He leaned forward to press his head close to the glass so he could see straight down closer to the side of his building, eager to see at least some sign of normal life.
That was when he screamed.
Project Red Survival Journal
Entry #10
June 24th, 2039
I woke up in Hell this morning.
That’s not me trying to be symbolic or overly dramatic either; I’m being dead serious. Things are worse than I could have ever imagined. Far worse. I don’t know exactly what the scientists have done but I think they’ve destroyed the world and everything in it. The sky had miraculously turned back to blue today and I’d just begun to hope this nightmare was finally over, but then I heard a dog bark and looked out my dining room window for it. I wish I hadn’t, for what I saw outside on the red grass was something I can hardly wrap my mind around, much less describe. It had obviously once been a cute, cuddly pet, but where before its body had been covered in soft shaggy fur it now was sealed within a series of red shell-like plates interlocking like medieval armor. Its head and throat were covered in red sores so thick I wondered how it could still see and breathe. Its withered legs were more like burned sticks and instead of running like any normal dog might, the poor animal could no longer carry its own weight and was pushing itself along the ground on the scaly carapace of its bloated belly.
The dog-creature’s pathetic barks echoed like gunshots in the early morning silence, and unfortunately I wasn’t the only one to hear them. It didn’t take long to draw a crowd. I don’t know if I even want to try describing to you the scene that unfolded below me in the park after that. Seriously, you’re better off not knowing but I think I’d be doing a disservice to whoever eventually reads this if I don’t at least try and make you understand how bad thing
s have become.
Hundreds of people from my apartment building, the surrounding neighborhoods, or wherever began to gather in Lasalle Park again. I call them people but that’s only because I can’t think of any other word to label them. There are no adequate words for what they’ve become. These people, these things who used to be human beings walked, slithered, and crawled out of their homes on long spindly limbs that stuck out from hard red bodies, bloated like gas-filled balloons similar to that of the deformed dog. Most of their heads had large weeping deformities that encased their entire skulls in smooth red domes that from my vantage point above looked like shiny motorcycle helmets.
For a few minutes they simply congregated, communicating in a series of guttural grunts, strange clicks, and high-pitched hisses. I’d never heard anything like it before but they sounded almost alien in nature, like the gibberish dialogue for some bad science fiction movie. When the poor dog-creature started yelping in misery again, the human-things pounced on it and began tearing into its scaly hide with their elongated teeth and razor sharp claws. The masses made short work of the unfortunate animal but once the smell of death was in the air, the creatures who had recently been my friends and neighbors began to turn on each other, their bloodlust ravenously awakened. The fight was relatively short but incredibly violent and gruesome. From above it seemed like there were no allies or teams; it was every creature for itself, biting and tearing at anything within reach until more than half of the original number of creatures lay dead or dying, mutilated on the gore-drenched grassy field.
And then the feeding began.
That part I’m not telling you about. No way. Trust me; some things are better left unsaid.
Tim spent the following few days living in fear, terrified one of those creatures had heard his scream and might come looking for him. When none did, he relaxed a little but still stayed away from the windows during the day and was forced to leave the lights off during the night so no one would know where he was hiding.
On day fifteen, the electricity went out anyway so there were no lights to put on, even if he’d wanted to. His air filtration system was shot too but electricity was the least of Tim’s problems. He was nearly out of food and worse, he only had half a jug of water left to drink. When that was gone, Tim had no idea what he would do.
He wondered if things were this bad all over the world. They probably were. Had to be, really, if he thought about it logically. The world government had coordinated Project Red around the globe and if the scientists had screwed things up here in America, odds were they’d royally fucked up everywhere, right? Of course they did.
Fucking Scientists…
Then Tim was struck with another thought, one so sobering it literally sent chills down his back and forced him to sit down for fear his legs might give out. What if I’m the only one left? The only human? Crazy as the notion was, the more he considered it the less insane it began to sound. I mean, how many other people out there are so bug phobic they’ve sealed themselves in plastic? Good question. Was there anyone out there on the planet as fucked up as him? He had no way of knowing but he seriously doubted it. Even if there were people who hadn’t stood outside for the bombs like they’d been told (and surely there were many), unless they’d taken extreme precautions like he had, the microscopic nanobots would surely have found their way into their homes and ultimately, their bodies by now.
Was he the last man on earth? Was he? It said in the Bible that the meek would inherit the earth, but Tim had never dreamed it would come down to a singular meek, him, Timothy Meek, the good book had been referring to. This thought made Tim burst out laughing, startlingly loud in his silent apartment, and the fact that he didn’t care who—or what—might hear him was his first true indication he was losing his mind. He wondered what had taken him so long to finally snap.
Two days later, just as Tim was sitting at the dining room table swallowing his very last gulp of tepid water, he noticed the growth developing on his left forearm. It was red and scaly and hard as rock to the touch. Frantically, Tim jumped to his feet, stripped naked, and checked the rest of his body but there were no other crimson sores to be found.
Not yet.
Tim sat back down at the table and began to cry.
Project Red Survival Journal
Entry #13
July 3, 2039
This will be my final journal entry. I apologize for my last few entries; they were just the scribbling of a bitter, scared man. I’m feeling better today; a little anyway, and I’ll try wrapping this up in a way that makes more sense. I can’t go on any longer. Living, I mean. My food and water are gone and worst of all I have many more large red welts developing on my skin. My left hand is already hooked and withered and basically useless to me trapped within its rigid shell. My writing hand, my right, isn’t much better and I steadfastly refuse to go look in the mirror to see what has become of my face.
I thought I had the room sealed, I really did, but I suppose I’ve been kidding myself all along. Really, what was I thinking? There’s just no way to completely seal a room air tight enough to keep the nanobots out, not when all you have to work with is heavy plastic and a few rolls of duct tape. It was predictable right from the start that I’d be contaminated along with everyone else; I just managed to prolong things, I guess.
For the record, I’m not angry at anyone and I don’t blame the President of the World Council. Hell, he was just doing what he thought best. At least he, along with the rest of the council tried to save everyone and for that I am somewhat grateful. Doesn’t mean I’m not pissed off, but what can I do but accept things as they are? I have no idea what will become of the world or the new breed of human creatures that we are all becoming. If they have the capacity, maybe it will be one of them who finally ends up reading my account here on these pages. Who know? All I am certain of is I have no desire to become one of them. I can’t stomach the thought of that. My body is metamorphosing at an incredible rate, the nanobots continuing to work their secret dark magic inside me as I write these last few lines, but while I’m still in control of my body and mind I’ve chosen to stop this nightmare before it reaches its inevitable conclusion. I know suicide is a coward’s way out, but I’m okay with that. Death is the only choice I have.
I won’t…I mean I can’t…become one of them.
Tim finished writing and closed up his journal. In his heart he knew it was a sadly inadequate collection of entries and didn’t come close to explaining the horror of what had happened outside of his walls but he’d done his best to try and make some future inhabitants of earth understand what had become of the human race. Tim sealed the book inside two zip-lock freezer bags and left the journal sitting in the center of the dining room table.
Standing on spindly red legs, he lurched his way over to the kitchen countertop and dug through a drawer of junk until he found what he was looking for: A real estate business card with a picture on it of a pretty blonde-haired woman smiling up at him. Moving to the phone, Tim carefully punched in the phone number printed on the woman’s card and hoped she’d not only be home, but still be capable of picking up the receiver. Someone answered on the fourth ring, or at least knocked the handset off onto the floor. Tim could hear a series of wet clicking noises, and the sound of heavy, labored breathing.
“Wendy?” Tim asked, knowing she couldn’t answer him but refusing to die without at least trying to finally speak to the woman he’d fallen in love with from afar. This might not be the Wendy Harding he remembered and had desired all these years but Tim hoped there was enough humanity left in her she might somehow still understand his words. “It’s Timothy Meek from upstairs in apartment 412. I’ve never had the courage to tell you this but I’ve always thought you were the prettiest woman I’ve ever met. I know things are all screwed up now, but I was just wondering if there was any way you’d consider coming upstairs to meet me. I don’t know why, but I think I’d like that a lot. What do you think?”
There was no response. Just more heavy breathing.
“Apartment 412, okay? Come up and say hi, Wendy. Please…”
Tim hung up the phone and went directly into the living room to start tearing off the semi-transparent sheets that had been all he’d seen of the world for so long. Within minutes he’d removed all his hard work and was just rolling the plastic into a big ball when suddenly there was a loud knock at the apartment door. The pounding, which was more of a thud-scrape-thud than a real knock, startled Tim but didn’t surprise him. Steeling his nerves, not knowing what he’d find but knowing this was how his life would end, Tim took a deep breath and opened up the door.
Outside the door, a massive five-foot-eight red bug stood looking in at him. This was the first time Tim had seen one of the creatures up close and it was only now he noticed the tiny flickering antennae on top of its head and realized what animal DNA the scientists had used to graft onto the nanobots. Unbelievable, but it all made perfect sense really. Everyone had always said they’d be the last creatures alive if the world was stupid enough to engage in Nuclear War. They’d escaped that particular end of days scenario, but somehow, through no real action of their own, these creatures had still managed to come out on top of the food chain after all.
Plain and simple: They were survivors.
The thing that had once been Wendy Harding shuffled into the room with teeth and claws ready, and as hideously deformed as she was Tim still found himself strangely attracted to her. Maybe it was the growing creature within him, or maybe he’d just finally gone completely crazy. Instead of running away or trying to protect himself Tim simply opened his arms and waited for her deadly embrace.
Piercing the Darkness: A Charity Horror Anthology for the Children's Literacy Initiative Page 37
