“Why, Mum?” I mutter, unable to contemplate that she just wouldn’t know who I am, that she could just do that to me.
The next time I open my eyes, Pete’s face is close to mine. So close that I manage to get a really good look at him. He’s covered in blood, his face his full of purple grime. He’s green, but pale at the same time almost as if he could vomit at any moment. Has he killed someone? Is that what he’s been off doing? Maybe he saw what happened to me, and killed my mum. He’s backing away from me, muttering under his breath. “No, no, no.”
I try to speak, to plead with him to help me, to stay with me. I’m frightened. I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been before. I’m going to change; I’m going to become a zombie. I’m going to die. I need to accept these facts but they’re unbearable. How do you tell yourself that you’re actually going to cease to exist and there’s not a single damn thing that you can do about it? It’s insane; it feels as if it’s happening to someone else, anyone else. Just not me. Is this what an out of body experience feels like? I feel like I’m floating on a wave of sheer torture. It’s making me sick, but I can’t get off. I’m struggling and fighting, but something is pinning me down, keeping me locked in one place.
Everything I was thinking about before this happened no longer matters. All of my wild plans, my silly worries, none of it will transpire. I have no future. My time, my life ends here. Right here in this moment. I’m too young for this. I had so much promise, so much potential. I was finally becoming someone worth something. I was becoming invaluable to the human race. Now look at me. I’m going to die before I can even live. I’ve fought and achieved and now I won’t get to reap the benefits of everything I’ve done. I’m done for, I’m a goner. I’m dead. I want Pete’s arms around me, I want him to hold me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay.
Even though it isn’t.
I allowed my own stupidity, my own emotions, to kill me, just like everyone I criticised before. I’ve received my comeuppance and it’s a terrible thing. Everyone always used to say that karma was a bitch, and now I’m proof of that. I hate to be the evidence of such a cliché, and yet here I am.
Pete is gone, long gone. I can just about see him in the distance. I must be lying on the ground because everything looks wrong; it’s all distorted, sideways. I can hear him shouting, but I can’t understand the words. None of that matters anymore. Nothing. The pain, it’s too intense. I didn’t know it was possible for every single atom in your body to hurt like knives stabbing. I want to die. I want to die right now.
Oh Emily. I need you now more than ever. Where are you, Emily?
End
DR. JONES
Where am I? What’s going on?
It’s dark. It’s really dark. I can barely see to write. Why am I even writing? Surely there isn’t any point. I guess I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve written for so long. I guess I always thought if I died, someone could read it, publish it, and let others know the hell I’ve had to suffer. Is that vain? To think anyone would be interested in what I have to write? I don’t know. It’s vain to think I had any worthy ideas I’m sure, but a small part of me still does. How can I still think I’m important after all of this?
What happened? I can’t really remember anything. I think I got knocked out pretty quickly into the proceedings. I think, I don’t know. Did the plan work? Did the three infected get into the boardroom? Why don’t I know? Why can’t I remember? I need to get my brain working. I need to recall the events. If it didn’t work, then we’re all fucked. If it did, why am I here? And where am I?
It’s too black. It’s dark. It’s dark.
* * *
Where’s Jason? I miss Jason. We’ve been together for so long that the empty space he’s left behind is big. Too big. It’s so dark here, and without him I’m actually frightened. I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do with myself. He’s like a missing limb.
Where am I? What’s going on? Why can’t I remember what happened? Everything hurts. Everything aches. Was I beaten? Am I infected? I don’t know anything. Come on, brain, don’t fail me now! I need you. I need to know what happened. I need to know if my revenge worked out.
Ashley. Where’s Ashley? Did I do what I was supposed to? Did I kill her? I would remember if I had, wouldn’t I? I’d remember ending my wife’s life. If I didn’t then I’ve left her to continue being abused. I’m a fucking loser that deserves nothing more than death. I didn’t even do what I was supposed to. I let my wife down. And my daughter. I know for a fact that I never got to her. I never saved her from this nightmare, this hell hole.
Ashley. Dear God, Ashley, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a shitty husband right until the last moment. I didn’t even put you out of your misery. I
need
them to be dead so they can’t do anything else to you. Are they dead?
* * *
This room is damp and smelly. I’ve been trying to find something sharp
—
glass maybe?
—
to slice my wrists with. I’ve been down here for hours, maybe even days. I need it to stop. I want to end this. I need to end this on my own terms. I don’t want to be controlled anymore. The board has stripped me of everything. Every single thing. My life is my own; I need to be the one to end it. I need to be the one who decides when I die. I can’t stand the guilt, the constant worry. I want to take the easy way out.
I think it’s safe to assume that the plan failed and I’m being held captive in here. The more I think about it and try to remember, that’s the only logical conclusion I can come to. I’m scared. So unbearably frightened. What are they going to do to me? They won’t just kill me. They could have done that already, no they’re going to make me pay. They’re going to do worse to me than they’ve ever done to anyone. I’m going to be a special case for torture.
I’m so fucking scared. So scared. The anticipation is worse than anything. This, right now, is more difficult than if they were right here in front of me, slicing my head off my neck.
I know what the monsters are capable of and I don’t want it, any of it. I can’t cope with the thought of it. The expectation, the waiting. I need to die. Knowing that death is your preferable option is awful. If I’m dead, they can still do things to my body, but my mind, my soul, my personality will be somewhere else entirely.
I need to die before they come down here and destroy me. How can I die?!
Please, if there is a God, please help me die. I need you, I’ve never needed you before, but now I do. Please help me end this, and escape from here.
* * *
I’m so hungry. My throat is dry. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. I keep sleeping, or passing out, I’m not quite sure. I feel weird. Tired all the time. I could be losing myself to exhaustion, I don’t know. I’ve never experienced this kind of deprivation before. I don’t know anything anymore. Maybe they’re just going to leave me to die. Leave me to starve like an abused animal. It’s awful, it’ll be agonising, but considering what they could do to me, I have to be glad I suppose. I wish it would be quicker, you know?
The pain is immense. I don’t want to cope with it anymore. Is this what the victims of AM13 felt like? Am I experiencing what they went through? How ironic that I wanted
them
to feel it, and I’m suffering it instead. I’m about to become just another mindless victim of this fucking virus.
This needs to end, but I no longer have the energy to end it. My wrist hurts and instead of conserving my energy, I’m wasting it writing it all down. What does that tell you? I know too much. I just know…
It’s all just…
* * *
Melody. Oh God, Melody, I’m so sorry. I let you down.
I let you down.
I let you down.
I love you; I love you and your mother so much. You’re my world. I need you here. I wish you were here with me. Oh Melody, I’m so sorry for everything I did. This is my fault, you know that, don’t you? Your mum didn’t leave you, I made her disappear. If you have to blame anyone, make sure it’s me. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Why did any of this have to happen? You are too young for such loss, for such misery. You need to carry on and build a better life for yourself, I couldn’t do it but you can.
I don’t think I’ll last much longer and I just wanted you to see what I do. I might die here, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not fit for life, I’m too—
Anyway, I’m not good anymore. I’m bad. The world doesn’t need badness anymore, there’s too much of it. I’m bad. I’m one of the worst. I didn’t start out that way; the badness sort of crept up on me. I didn’t even see it happening. I didn’t even know I was becoming evil until it was far too late. I don’t know if it was the science that sent me to madness or if it was the board members. I don’t want to blame anyone else anymore. I’ve accepted that I’m to blame for everything bad that’s happened. I’m sorry, Melody, your old man isn’t a hero, he’s a villain. No child should have to accept that.
I feel like I can see things. Nice things. Pleasant things, it’s such a lovely change from all that I’ve been through. Are they real? Maybe they’re in my head. My head hurts. It’s so full of…things. Am I crazy? If I am then it’s better than being sane. This is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. It’s all finally coming together.
I think I can see you now. Is that you, Melody? I’m over here.
I’m here.
I’m here.
* * *
Is it over yet? Am I done?
I think I’m dead…I could laugh manically with exhilaration. It’s finally happened. I’ve finally died. I’m probably going to hell though. If heaven and hell even exists. I’m not destined for eternal happiness. How can I be after what I’ve done?
I’m bad, aren’t I? I’m one of the worst guys there are. I deserve eternal damnation, don’t I? Don’t I?
Am I done? What’s that I can see? Is it a light? A door opening? A person?
Has it happened yet?
ALYSSA
The pain didn’t last forever. In fact, I can barely remember the pain at all anymore. I almost wonder if I imagined it. Maybe I was just frightened, and what I thought I felt was a by-product of that.
The virus is consuming me quickly, really quickly. I’m slowly completely losing myself, becoming just another empty vessel. I assume it must have been the fact that my neck was bitten. I bet Emily would theorise that because it was close to my brain, it reacted with me quicker. Or something like that.
I never thought it would be me. I was
so
close to surviving the zombie apocalypse, it’s so frustrating. I see dead zombies everywhere I go now, and it’s quite depressing knowing that someday that’ll be me. I remember being certain that I was fully equipped for the zombie apocalypse. I assumed that I’d be the best person, the one who’d survive it. How wrong can one person be? Although maybe being like this is preferable that what I will become. A bunch of dead mush on the floor for someone to scrape their shoe along.
Just look at me now. I’m revolting. I stink; my skin is so grey that it’s almost black. Occasionally bits of me fall off. I turn around to witness the trail of flesh, grime, and organs that leave me. Everything is almost gone already. In the rare moments when I can still experience a glimpse of myself, this whole thing becomes too much to bear. I hate this, I despise everything about it. I desperately wish I could turn back time and go back to my life. The one I had before. Not before the apocalypse, but with Emily. That’s when I was happy. That’s when I was settled. It’s such a shame that I’d only just discovered myself, just to lose myself all over again. How ironic to die just as I’d finally found a life.
When I first started to feel myself turning, I made myself get up and I walked with purpose until I found my mother—the woman that did this to me. I tore her to shreds, the way I should have done before she got her disgusting teeth into me, making me what I am now. Nothing, in fact I’m less than nothing. Nothing would be preferable to this. She was easy to destroy. Ripping her limbs from her body, leaving her a pathetic, shambolic mess. It was simple. Frustratingly easy, I could have done it when I was alive, she still would’ve proved no challenge for me. If only I hadn’t allowed myself to get sentimental...what a fool!
After that, I had no idea what to do with the rage and the bloodlust that was slowly becoming my entire personality. I needed to redirect, to find something new to focus on. I needed a mission, in the same way I did before I was bitten. I needed a purpose; I guess that part of me will never leave.
And I’ve found it.
Occasionally I stand outside the RAF base, waiting for Pete to show his ugly mug. I’m going to kill him for what he did to me. I’m going to make him pay. It’s his fault I got bitten, that I lost everything. I was only outside because of him, and he had the audacity, the indecency to leave me behind, to go through all that torture by myself. I think about all of this, getting myself so impatient and enraged waiting for him to appear.
I’ll make him regret the day he ever met me, never mind the day he left me to die. What I did to Mum is
nothing
compared to what I’ll do to him. I plan his death over and over, changing the details as I do. Some days I want to force him to watch me devour his intestines, to make him suffer painfully. Other days I want to merely bite him and detach his limbs as I watch him turn. Then he’ll be like me, but with even less control. He’ll be desperate to act in the way that I am, but without the ability to move. In that scenario, I watch him become just like me with glee. I make him see what he left me to endure.
But then time passes, and I forget myself for a while. I’ve ‘woken up’ in many places. Some I don’t know, and others are very familiar to me; the church and the B and B. When I’m outside the building that I spent the time inside by myself, in complete and utter solitude, I wonder if any of the rest of it
really
happened. I have a vague memory of being bitten by one of the residents that I found here when I first arrived, dishevelled and saddened from the disappointing airport trip. I recall lying in one of the soft, plush beds, changing painfully. I remember ambling down the dusty path, losing myself, arriving in the town to join the zombie army.
I don’t know if that’s real, or my other memories are the truth. I’ve always had a very vivid, overactive imagination, so realistically I’ll never know. I guess if I did die at the B and B, that would explain why I never found E. But it also leaves me with no enemy, no one to target my negative emotions towards, so I just refocus my hate and think of Pete’s stupid face. The one I’m going to rip off his body when I finally get my hands on him.
Plus, it also means I invented everything that happened with Emily. Is that possible? Could I really have invented the whole thing? That seems one step too far. The entire relationship was so far removed from my usual self; surely I couldn’t have made it up. The feel of her lips is still raw on my skin, it must’ve been real. It just had to be.
I’m hungry. So very hungry. I spend most of my time lusting after human meat. But there isn’t any here. None at all. I can’t smell a single person. There aren’t even any animals left to feast upon. Unfortunately, due to the lack of humans, it seems the zombies were surviving off of them for a while. Maybe that’s why they’re dying out. Nothing left to sustain them. I know I certainly feel weaker by the second.
Or maybe it’s simply the fact that we’re all falling to pieces. Our bodies disintegrating before our very eyes. I suppose our ailing bodies can truly only take so much. It’s not like we could continue to survive with absolutely no skin or flesh left on our bones.
Now that I think about it, Lexi really did get off easy. What I did to her saved her this misery. Any guilt that I felt deep inside is gone. She got herself infected and I killed her to save her from this shitty life. If I was a weaker person, I’d have ran and left her to disintegrate into this. It isn’t fair that there isn’t anyone to put me out of my misery. Then again, if I’m struggling to go on with AM13 coursing through my veins, my little eight-year-old sister would have suffered more than is even worth thinking about. Maybe I needed to suffer this, so she could die. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it’s the way I feel from time to time.
All I care about now is lasting long enough to avenge myself, to kill Pete. I hate him with such a passion and I refuse to end up a mush of skin and bones, trampled into the ground, just like the others, until he’s gone. When he’s gone, nothing else matters. I can go, happy with my achievements.
Well, maybe not
happy
. I’ll never be happy again. I’ll never be alive again, so how can I be happy?
And if I find out that Pete is simply a figment of my imagination, then I have no purpose left. I have no reason to live. I might as well just die the pathetic, lonely death that I know is coming to me anyway.