Journals of the Damned (Book 1)

by GJ Zukow

  Survivors I thought. An organized group of survivors! I wanted to rush straight out and let them know I was here. I didn't though, however much I wanted to. Instead, I scrutinized them through the binoculars before I committed myself to approaching them. I'm glad I did. All of them showed the signs of the "Scarlet". They weren't red yet, they looked as if they had only recently been infected. All of them had the small red patches on their exposed skin. How that could be I had no idea. Had the parasite mutated? Had they been hiding in some secure facility that purified the air and kept the eggs out, only to be driven out by hunger to risk infection? How could it be that only within the past week or so had they been exposed to the deadly contamination?

  Allan didn't have the benefit of my binoculars, nor did he have the self control to stay hidden and observe the strangers before rushing towards them.

  Allan ran towards them waving his hands in the air and shouting wildly. I watched as Allan rushed closer and saw the lead Humvee's turret swing towards him. Those that were inside looting ran out as I heard Allan shouting to them that he was immune and uninfected. Allan slowed to a stop seeing the fifty caliber gun pointed at him.

  One of the group yelled at the others to go back inside and finish getting everything they could, that he would take care of this. Allan stood there, uncertain now and hesitated for a moment until the leader of the group smiled widely and waved him over.

  The only weapon I had in arm's reach was a handgun. I wanted my rifle but didn't want to leave and grab it, wanting to see how this would play out. I knew that any shot I made from here with the nine millimeter would probably miss. The most I could hope for, if I had to shoot, was to scare them and make them take cover.

  Allan stopped in his tracks once he got close enough to see them clearly and then he ran. Immediately they started firing at him. They whooped and the boss man jumped into the Humvee as the fifty caliber spit fire and hot lead at Allan.

  I couldn't tell if Allan was hit or not, he was out of my sight in no time. As soon as he disappeared from view the Humvee drove after him.

  In our six plus months of living in the deserted town we had come across a number of decent vehicles. My favorite was a truck that somebody had spent a lot of time and money on. It had been modified with a nice lift kit and sported some big-ass tires on it. It had a manual transmission with four wheel drive and was capable of going almost anywhere. It was one of those extended cab models with a shortened, covered payload bed and a sturdy roll bar.

  I had no idea where Allan would run to but I knew eventually he would come here. I grabbed as much of our stuff as I could and hurriedly started putting it all in the bed of the truck. All the time I heard the infected gleefully shouting between bursts of the machine gun fire. As long as they fired I knew Allan was still alive. As I tossed the last of our stuff in the back and started the truck I heard them driving down the block behind us firing wildly into the neighborhood. Allan burst in through the back door and shouted for me to get my stuff. I revved the truck and clicked the remote that opened the garage door yelling to Allan that I was way ahead of him. We were going to have to get out of town quick and I let Allan drive as he had much more experience driving than I had.

  We had a small lead on the raiders, and a small amount of surprise I think. Allan drove like a mad man, over lawns and between houses as we made our escape. At first the raiders kept us in sight but they never got any good shots off at us. Allan chose rough ground and a winding path through the neighborhood, ensuring that the bouncing ride threw off the aim of our pursuers. They did manage to place a couple of rounds into the truck but they missed shooting us.

  By the time we were out of the town itself and into the more dispersed houses we managed to keep out of their immediate sight but I knew they could still hear the sound of our engine. It was only because we knew the lay of the land that we did so well in escaping. We had spent months hunting and looting the town and knew the best way around. The raiders didn't.

  We drove through an area that looked like it was firm ground but was, in reality, a boggy, muddy piece of land. The truck, with its wide, oversized tires designed for driving in the mud, drove through the marshy land with barely a problem. The heavy Humvee didn't follow us past that. In no time even the sounds of the machine gun receded.

  We were still too spooked to get on a main road, not wanting to run into our pursuers again so we stuck to back roads. We weren't even sure which direction we were headed in and after about twenty miles Allan asked me how come the gas tank was on empty. It was full when we fled I assured him.

  We were coming into a larger town as the engine started to sputter in its last gasps of fuel. When that happened we ditched the truck in the backyard of somebody's house, hidden from view of the street. I check the bullet holes on the truck and sure enough, there was a small hole where a slug had grazed the gas tank.

  We were on deadly ground again. The undead ghouls were all around and as soon as we found a suitable place to hole up in we did so.

  Night has come again and the darkness is forcing me to stop writing. Tomorrow I'm going to have to start the search for a better safe house and provisions again. We were almost out of food in the last place and would have soon had to do this anyways. I just don't like being forced into action. At least we escaped.

  Monday, October 28, 2013

  Finding a better place to hide in turned into an impossible task. A legion of the undead have wandered in and surrounded us.

  To make matters worse they know were in here. How, exactly, they know we're here I'm not sure. There were plenty of them around when we scavenged and looted on the first days. We were careful about not letting the flesh hungry zombies spot us, but with so many around I suppose it was inevitable.

  The abominable undead claw, bang and tear at the house trying to gain entry. Since we were spotted and they know we're in here anyways we've been forced to demolish the interior of the house. Every spare board, plank and piece of wood has been hammered and screwed up to the windows and doors. No matter how much we fortify this place, eventually it will be breached. It's just a matter of time. I can cling to the hope that someone will draw off their attention or try to save us but the chances of that happening are slim to none.

  We managed to gather some food, so at least we're OK on that front but it will not be enough for any protracted siege.

  Sleep is hard to get with all the fear and sounds of the undead beating on the house. When we do finally close our eyes it's only because we are so stressed and tired that we pass out. Even when I do get some shut eye I can't sleep for very long. I feel like they will batter down our defenses soon.

  If this is the end then so be it. I am determined to make a good account of myself before I go. I'm going to save a last bullet for myself after I kill as many of the damned monsters that I can. I've stared into the hollow darkness of the barrel of my weapon. I'm prepared for when the time comes that I may have to commit suicide rather than being eaten alive. I'm sure I can pull the trigger.

  Book Two

  Allan's Journal

  1

  My name is Allan Russell Phillips. To my knowledge I am the last living survivor in the greater Orlando area. While I am sure that there must be more, holed up in some secure location, I have no knowledge of them. I wasn’t always alone, there were others with me, but one by one all the others have joined the ranks of the dead. Most of them still walk. It’s been just over a year since the Scarlet pandemic swept the globe. Even though it didn’t turn people into “zombies” outright, the dead started rising just as the epidemic was receding. Cause and effect in my mind. Of course I could be wrong though, and if anybody (hopefully) in the future is reading this then they will have a better understanding of just what the hell really happened.

  I’m not sitting down and writing this because I’m a scholar or a historian, I’m doing it because I want to leave something behind. Time is running out for me, along with food. Eventually I’m going to starve to d
eath here.

  I could try to find another place to hole up, but there are so many of them outside now. Sometimes I think the sheer weight of them outside will collapse the walls and they’ll come busting through, so much so that I spend a lot of my waking time just ensuring the building is secure.

  My paranoia has become so obsessive lately that I find myself doing nothing but checking the doors, windows and perimeter over and over again until I finally pass out from exhaustion. Even sleep is no longer any refuge, filled with horrible nightmares. Waking up from them is bad too. Most times when I awake it’s in a paranoid delusion that they have gotten in and are about to find and eat me alive.

  Writing this will, with any luck, take my mind off of the endless cycle of paranoia that has gripped me. Psychologically it may help to calm me, allow me to better come to grips with what has happened. Death doesn’t particularly scare me, (no more than most people anyways) it’s the walking undeath that does.

  When I get to the final stages of starvation, and the end is for certain anyways, I’m gonna take my .38 and blow my brains out. Although I’m ninety-nine percent certain that I won’t rise from the dead, I was never bitten, nor did I catch the Scarlet Fever, I will make damn sure that I won’t come back as a zombie.

  Until then though, I’ll tell you my experiences, as I remember them, starting from when I first heard of the Scarlet Fever.

  2

  It was another hot and oppressively humid central Florida late summer day. I don't remember what day it was exactly, (even back then when things were normal it didn't matter too much to me what day of the month it actually was) but I do remember it was sometime in the latter part of August. I know it was in August because that's the height of the slow season for cab drivers.

  The students from UCF and Rollins were for the most part, still on their summer break, having gone back home from wherever they came from. The "snow-birds", (who migrated from their homes up north to sunny Florida for the winter) hadn't even started to return. This was compounded by the fact it was the hottest part of the year down here, and it was also the rainy season. Nobody who knows Florida weather decides to spend their vacation in a hundred plus degree sauna. The rotten economy didn't help either, people without jobs don't take a cab unless they absolutely had to.

  Anyways, it was around that time that I started to hear of a new flu going around, like every year. I really didn't pay much attention to it though. It seemed every year the CDC and the government blows everything out of proportion and issues dire warnings for people to get some new flu shot. Swine flu, Bird flu, blah, blah, blah. To most of us it was just another effort for the government, in collusion with the pharmaceutical companies to sell more product to the public.

  This strain supposedly came out of North Korea, or so they speculated, as no news ever comes out of that crap hole except propaganda. The South Koreans were the first to officially report it, followed by the Chinese and then it rapidly spread throughout the whole of Asia and the rest of the world. The quick spread of the disease and the fact that about ninety percent of the population was affected by it was the most alarming aspect of it.

  It was quickly dubbed "Rat flu" as the local rodent population always suffered mass casualties wherever it turned up (at the time that seemed like a good thing to most people. Nobody likes rats). In humans though, it was a relatively mild flu, with a short duration and, for the most part, people responded to it like it was an allergy (like dust or pollen). The symptoms lasted about a week or so, but unfortunately that was only stage one of the disease. As the Rat flu spread around the world, and then just as quickly died off, the government warnings for children and the elderly to get their yearly flu shots died off with it.

  The CDC admitted that they still hadn't actually identified the virus, but they would continue to research it.

  "Whatever," was what I and most people thought. It seemed that it was just another knee jerk overreaction, as there were no actual deaths related to it.

  Soon after the Rat flu died off is when things started to take a really bad turn for the worse. First the animals went insane and then the disease entered stage two, and everybody who contracted the Rat flu automatically ended up with "Scarlet fever".

  I'm going to stop writing for the day. I'm worn out and constantly tired now. I have to make sure the barricades are still holding before I can try to get some rest...

  3

  Last night was bad, really bad. It was by far the worst night of my life. Around 3:16 am, according to my watch, I was startled awake by the sound of a transformer or something exploding. There was a huge flash of light followed by numerous secondary explosions and I swear I could hear the electricity arcing.

  I hesitantly made my way to one of the small windows, in what I suppose was the CEO's office here on the second floor of "Orange County Tool & Die". All the power was out. It was out as far as I could see. Granted, I could only see through a couple of small windows but it was pitch black out there. There was and is, no hope of the electricity coming back. The only light was a small glow to the west and I suppose that means whatever blew started a fire.

  I think I broke down last night. I had never been afraid of the dark, even as a kid, but since I've been closed up here I've used the desk lamp as a night-light. That weak little patch of light reassured me that I was safe. Without it I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I kept thinking that they had breached my make-shift defenses and were shambling around downstairs, slowly working their way up the stairs to the offices here. I know now it was just the normal sounds of the building, all buildings have their own creaks and moans, but I was not used to this one’s peculiar sounds. I was too afraid to actually go downstairs and investigate. No way was I going to go down there in the dead of night to face down the undead of the night. I huddled up in a corner of the couch and basically sobbed and pleaded with God, the Gods or whomever would listen to my sad little prayers to let me escape this prison.

  It seemed like it took an eternity for dawn to break. When it finally did, I fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

  It is now early afternoon as I write this. There is a heavy smell of smoke in the air. To the west, where there was just a small glow in the darkness last night, I can plainly see buildings burning. Oh god I hope it doesn't spread and come this way. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! I don't want to die!

  I didn't pick this building to hole up in on purpose. At the time it seemed the most secure one I could get to, the old one having been over-run. Jannie died in that one. This one was close, the zeds were everywhere. A building made of solid construction blocks and steel doors. Windows only on the second floor where the rotting fuckers couldn't reach or look into.

  I thought I could hide in here for a day or two and then move on. They must have seen me come in here. I swear there was only a couple that could have possibly even seen me come in here, but the next day they had literally surrounded the place. Every day there's more and more of them. How the hell do they know I'm in here? How the fuck are they growing in such numbers? Are they communicating somehow?

  Dammit, I only have a few days worth of food left. I guess my options are limited now. I can hide in here until either I starve or die of thirst (the water went out last night too, no power to run the pumps to pressurize the water lines I guess), die by being eaten alive trying to escape or by burning to death if that fire spreads any further. Suicide may be a mortal sin but I think I'll risk hell after death rather than this fuckin' hell on earth.

  I know I've gotten way off track here... I'll get back on track and write again about when the chaos started and the Scarlet fever brought down mankind after I check something out. I might be able to get out of here after all, if things go right for once.

  4

  I remember sitting in my cab at a BP station when things started to get weird. A squirrel literally started ambushing people. I first noticed it when it leaped out of a tree and started biting a middle aged, slightly overweight woman. She scre
amed hysterically as the "tree rat" viscously latched onto her head and just started to rip apart her scalp. As the poor woman screamed, she was practically running around in circles in the middle of the parking lot, flailing her arms. Every time she would try to yank the insane squirrel off of her head, the squirrel would bite a huge chunk out of her hand.

  Everyone who saw this was completely taken aback, and initially everyone involuntarily backed away from her. My initial reaction was shock, my jaw dropped, and I watched the scene unfold mouth agape.

  It didn't take too long before the disbelief of the situation wore off and a nearby older guy with graying hair, who had been pumping gas into a beat-up old Ford pick-up, ran to help her. His first attempt to grab the crazed thing failed, as the woman was by now completely hysterical and weaving around the lot. The guy rushed towards her again in his attempt to help, and at the same time the woman, who by now had blood literally pouring from her head and hands, stumbled right into him. They collided, but her rescuer managed to get a grip on the thing. The impact with the man sent her tumbling harshly to the ground while the mad squirrel came away from her head clutching a huge tangle of dark brown hair. I could see in the well intentioned guy's eyes a momentary pride that he had gotten the monster off of the woman. That look was completely erased in a sparse second as the squirrel turned on him. Pain showed plainly on his face as teeth and claws sunk into his hands. He added his screams to the woman's, who by now was sobbing while screaming. The rescuer, now victim, reacted by shaking his hands around wildly, throwing the creature to the ground.