The Last Words

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/25/2012

We ate and drank a bit before implementing the next part of the plan, we were going to need our strength for this. After some good lucks from the rest of the crew Tim Tom and I headed back down the stairs and to the delivery truck. They keys were hanging in the dock for the vans, and the delivery truck already had them in it, so they wouldn’t have a problem getting out of here when the time came. We had to wait a bit to make sure no affected were too close to the gate, then I ran to open it and Tim Tom started up the truck and drove through before I closed it up and jumped in, and barely in time.

Of course, the noise of the truck brought them right to us, so I took the wheel and just started plowing through them, there wasn’t much else I could do. The truck was big but I still worried about busting a tire, but we made it through the crowd just fine and I gunned it to get over to the State Police station, having just looked at a map before we left.

Another pack was heading our way but we had some momentum now so we got through them no problem and soon we were at the station. The windows were at about the right height, as we thought they would be, so I backed right up to one of them, the back of the truck actually hitting the wall, then pulled up just a hair and we both leapt up and headed to the back.

We pulled the door up on the back of the delivery van and saw we were in luck, the windows weren’t even barred, we could just bust the glass and be in, and that we did.

I wasn’t surprised to see we were alone in here, but I was still relieved. I figured all the troopers would have been called out to deal with the riots, and I was right, but someone was here. As soon as we entered I could hear them, and braced myself to go check as Tim Tom started looking for guns and ammo. They were locked up in one of the cells, emaciated, mutilated, but still angry as fuck. Affected, definitely, and it looked like they had been eating each other to stay alive, there were bones and dried crusted blood on the floor. Three of them were left, and two bodies were in the other cell, already dead. Just like our affected upstairs, they had mutilated themselves out of rage and boredom and who knows what else and why they really did it. None of them had much hair left and they were all missing ears, and some of their noses, and had clawed at their own faces before gnawing the fingers down to pulp nubs. Christ almighty.

I left them to go help Tim Tom finds the guns and some ammo. I knew we didn’t have much time, the affected would have followed our truck and would be trying to get in here any minute now.

And speak of the devil, I could already hear them, banging the truck. Banging hard. I got a bad feeling and tried looking out and the truck was really rocking. I couldn’t risk them turning it over so I went around to a different window, and fired a couple of shots with our newly acquired ammo. Glock .45s, nice, I was glad, 9mm wouldn’t have done shit to these psychos, but a .45 would have a much better chance of taking them down. And we also had some 12 gauge shotguns, as I had expected, glad to see that they hadn’t all been taken out to deal with the riots. We had enough guns and ammo for everyone in our crew, with a few left over. Now let’s just hope they know how to use them.

The shots worked and got them to start coming around the building but one of them saw Tim Tom through the windows and didn’t even hesitate, it just came right through the glass. Fuck.

I quickly loaded the shotgun and handed it to Tim Tom and armed myself with the .45 and started shooting, aiming right at the head since I was close and a good shot. Of course, that drew them all right to us, and they started on all the windows and doors.

We started running back to the window where the van was but they were already in over there, and even after several shots they weren’t thinning out, more just kept coming in the window and then the door- stupid glass door. We were getting surrounded real quick. I grabbed the bag of guns and ammo as Tim Tom was blasting away at them with the shotgun and I motioned him to follow me. I didn’t love this idea but I didn’t see another way.

I had already seen the keys and grabbed them as I led him to the cells and opened one while he kept them back, barely, with the shotgun. We got in with the guns and slammed the door as they were right on us, and one of them grabbed my shirt and starter pulling. I turned and shot him point blank in the face then we were in and the door was closed.

We got all the way back to the wall and looked out at the bars and the small army of affected on the other side of them, reaching through, trying like hell to get to us. The leftovers in the other cell were at it, too, screaming and moaning like we were the last things left on earth to eat. One of them got his head through the bars and I shot it, but decided to stop and think before using any more ammo. It’s doubtful they could get their whole bodies through.

We rested, neither of us talking, just trying to catch our breath as I assessed our situation. It wasn’t long before I saw it, outside the bars, the affected stomping all over it. I knew immediately what it was but felt my pocket where I had kept it anyway. It was gone, and that was it out there. My journal.

Crap!

I tried shooting the affected near it, hoping I could reach through and get it if I cleared a spot, but it wasn’t happening. As soon as I shot one another took its place, and even if I could shoot more it was just out of reach. I was even stupid enough to reach my arm through for a second, trying to get at it, but they were right on me, a steel grip on my arm and other arms reaching for me before a mighty yank pulled me away. Tim Tom, he had grabbed me and pulled me back asking, “Are you insane? What are you doing?”

I pointed, trying to explain it to someone who couldn’t understand my words, much less how important that journal was to me, “My journal, it’s out there. I have to get it, I can’t…”

“Your journal, I know, I see it.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Joe, I see it, OK. You can’t get to it, OK. It will be OK. We’ll get it if we can later, and if we can’t you can start writing in mine, to remember.” He reached for his, “Oh damn, mine’s in the van. But it will be OK. I’ll help you remember. We just need to get out of here right now.”

I settled down. He was right, if we could get out soon, maybe I could get it back.

I got as close as I could to the bars but still just out of reach and aimed carefully before shooting one in the head, then another, then another. But they didn’t thin out at all, more were just waiting out in the station to take their place, and the dead were quickly torn apart and devoured and more living stepped right up, not at all afraid of the gun, not knowing or caring that they could die. It wasn’t long before I realized it was futile, the gun shots would just attract more. Who knew how many were already in the station, and there were more outside the barred window of our cell, a lot more. How many were on this island? Would I have enough ammo to kill them all?

I stopped shooting and sit down, leaning back against the cool concrete wall. Tim Tom sat next to me.

“Well, now what?” he asked.

I shrugged, I wasn’t sure. The others would be waiting for us to come back for them, so we could all leave together after I handed out the weapons. What were they going to do now? Could they see the crowd at the station?

We waited, quietly, just watching the affected trying to get through, yelling and moaning and chanting, but not in unison, I guess all of their concentration was on us.