The Last Words

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/25/2012

I was reading my journal, remembering the only way I knew how. I had treated Tim Toms wounds while he was out, using our shirts to wrap them and stop the bleeding. Wasn’t’ much more I could do right now. Then I started reading, catching up. Ignoring the demons, the affected. I had started to think of them as demons in the last hour or so, while my memory was going and I was trying to make sense of what was going on and I couldn’t. At first I thought maybe this was an Iraqi prison, and these other prisoners were just insane. Maybe they were experimenting on them and had given them something or driven them crazy. Or maybe this was some kind of mind game, brainwashing, like sleep deprivation or something, and they were trying to make me insane. Break me so I would talk. Then I realized how grotesque they were, and started thinking they were demons. And I was in hell. In hell because I had never believed. Had never believed in a God. And for a while there I did, I believed, and I begged for mercy, begged for forgiveness. And, hell, maybe I still do. For how long, who knows? Can you have religion when you can’t remember being religious? Could a soul be saved that didn’t remember its own sins?

I was reading, and then writing, and thinking about these things I had no place pondering upon under these circumstances, when I heard something. It sounded like an engine. I noticed a few of the affected in the back had left, to go see what it was. I wasn’t at the point in my journal where I knew if anyone else was left. And then I heard a siren, a loud fucking siren, and more of the affected went to see what the ruckus was.

And then the wall fucking moved behind me. They must have come in quick because I had barely heard the engine before it hit the wall. When it hit some of the wackos must have been in the way because brains and blood came squirting through the barred window on the wall above us. Then the truck pulled forward and backed in again, hitting the wall and crushing a few more affected.

Tim Tom was up by this time, “The delivery van!”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Then the back door slid up and open and there was a tall guy with glasses — he looked like shit.

“Doctor!” yelled Tim Tom.

“My God,” the doctor said, “you’re both still alive.”

This must be Dr. Gates, he was in my journal.

“Well, it took you long enough,” I said jovially because I really didn’t know how long it had taken them.

“Sorry, we thought you were probably dead until we heard the gunshots about 40 minutes ago.”

Tim Tom looked at me and shrugged. That’s right, the journal had said he wouldn’t understand us.

“It was Tim Tom,” I told the Doctor, “he was getting the journal for me.”

“Oh, yes, you remember me, don’t you?”

“No, but I’ve read about you.”

“Ah well, not much time now, they’re trying to get in the truck. We still have the welding equipment, do you think that we can cut the bars with it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

And older women, wild looking but pretty, brought the welding stuff up.

“Sally!” Tim Tom yelled. “Where’s Ponch?”

The Doctor tried to explain by cupping his ear, we could still hear the siren.

“Who do you think is driving the cruiser with the siren on that drew them away?”

Tim Tom figured it out while he was grabbing the welding equipment and getting what he could through the bars. The helmet wouldn’t fit so he just snapped off the visor.

“Oh, is that him in the police car?” Tim Tom asked.

The Doctor nodded then looked at me.

“Seems that Eric was also a car thief as well as a drug dealer and meth maker.”

“What about the rest?” Tim Tom asked.

The Doctor looked grim. “We’re the only ones who made it.”

Tim Tom saw his face and knew what he had said. “Marcus even?”

The Doctor just shook his head.

Tim Tom looked sad for a sec but a loud bang on the van reminded him he didn’t have time to mourn right now. He started cutting the bars with the welding equipment, pulling the tubes through as best he could. It was a bit awkward because the whole tank couldn’t come through, but he was making good time which was good because more of the affected were coming back, collecting at the bars and it sounded like banging on the sides of the van.

“Oh, here,” I passed a couple of the .45s through the bars, “Do you know how…”

Cassie pulled the top back to see if there was one in the chamber, then slipped the clip out to see if it was loaded, slid it back in and was ready to go.

“You scare me,” I said. “So you know how to use a gun?”

“Why do you think I was sent to the forensic ward before getting over here?”

“Oh.”

She went to the front, rolled down a window and put the gun right up to the bars we had welded on the outside and shot the affected that were right up against them. It might attract more but at least it seemed to distract them from rocking the van.

Timmy had two bars down and was moving fast. The Doctor had passed me the map we had made so I would remember what to do and was catching me up as best he could over the welding and the chanting and the screaming and the groaning, “so we are going through the sewage treatment plant to get to this tugboat. Now, there are fires there and there that we will have to get around, and then hope that there aren’t more.”

I studied the map, committing it to memory as best I could. I knew at least that I could remember it long enough to get us there unless something stopped us.

The siren came closer and attracted them away again and then screamed back off into the distance.

“You said you could probably work the tug.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “I can, I learned that before my injury.”

“OK. We hadn’t really discussed it but we could try some of the islands along the coast, just to rest for a while, and maybe we could see if Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket is clear and find food and shelter there for a while, and maybe another boat.” The Doctor had some good ideas.

Tim Tom had all the bars out now and the doctor splashed some water from a bottle he had packed on it to cool it down. “I packed all the food we had and as much water as we can carry.”

“Great, now take these.” I handed him the big bag of guns.

“Wow, quite a haul.”

“Yeah.”

I motioned to Tim Tom to go through first.

“Tim Tom, weld a few holes in the side, big enough…” I used my hands to point to the side and then circled the end of the shotgun, “for this.”

“Make holes for the shotgun?”

“Yes.”

I handed a gun to the Doctor, “you know how to use this?”

“No.”

“Just point and pull the trigger. Cassie will show you how to reload.”

“Everyone ready?”

Cassie had two guns, the Doctor had one, and Tim Tom was holding a boom stick in his good hand. It had a pistol grip and he was big and strong enough that he could probably shoot it with one hand and handle the kick. Guess we’ll find out.

“OK, let’s do this.”

I jumped in the driver’s seat and we were off.