A macabre infestation
Nothing could have prepared us for the news we received yesterday. Some were so shocked by the facts, their faces, pale, like candle wax. Some cried, shunned their responsibilities. I can’t blame them.
Get out while you still can, save yourselves, this is hell.
I agree with the media. Why try to avoid full scale panic? The situation warrants it. Having the public flee suburbia has made it possible for us to infiltrate the areas that are affected the worst. Can we really rectify this situation on our own? I don’t suppose the UN will let us rot that easily.
They told me that his area is riddled with the virus. Many didn’t get out … alive. What made them attracted to this place? Was it the closer proximity of the houses? Infection would spread faster. Still, it’s quiet enough. Eerily so. Apparently, quiet enough for that wax crayon eating moron, Taylor, to go looting. I’m surprised his little clique managed to restrain themselves through Sutton Coldfield … it took them till Wylde Green to develop the balls to do it. What’s the point? If those three make it out of here alive, there’ll be hell to pay from the Staff Sergeant.
There aren’t as many of these things on the street as I thought there’d be. Just as well. Though they seem to have a kind of rigor mortis, they’re still a handful when they get close. I’ve seen a few civvies taken apart in close combat by them this morning. My god, who’s sick idea was this? Thinking of the noises… the screaming, the dull crack of bones, inside, ripping the very flesh they lie in… and the… no! We have a job at hand. We need to secure this area and eradicate any threat.
Then I saw their bodies in the alleyway, were they people? Or those … things? It hit me. I knew what we ... no... they… were doing. This place is now a ghetto. Those damn newbs are still ransacking that house. We’re Nazis. I can hear them nearly 100 yards away! As families like my own are literally torn to shreds by a product of our own paranoia, the very solution to the problem we created is raping the public… what have we become? I’ve lost count of the inaccuracies that have cost more innocent lives than those … bio weapons have taken.
Who do they think they’re kidding? They’re no weapon. They’re abominations. And why develop that technology in this highly populated country? They should’ve done it where they intended to unleash it.
Heh. My first commanding officer warned us of other officers like me. Was he right to? Is it so wrong to question our actions? It’s the squaddies’ job to follow orders without thought for themselves, isn’t it? Isn’t it the officer’s job to do the thinking? I … don’t know anymore. Should I even be here? I’m not sure I should be a part of this… it’s madness.
I hear those loathsome runts taking pot shots into stray monsters in the main road. I hear those awful groans as the rounds make contact. Just … get out here and let’s move on … please! Their noise makes my blood curdle!
Yes, I understand now. They’re after the alcohol. I bet they’re already drunk. That’s why they’re acting like pigs! Yes! That’s it. They’ve dulled their nerves, that’s how they put up with it! Perhaps they aren’t completely retarded, after all. No, I would never drown my sorrows normally. I solve my problems with direct actions…
yet I find myself sneaking through a broken window, in a house that was a home twelve hours ago. I promised her I wouldn’t … go back there. I promised them all that I could keep it together… there is a metallic smell in here, like death. A macabre dance to the sound of scream has left a trail through the house. My heart pounds so. Not for the fear of them… the anticipation of the find… I will find some. They won’t care. Am I over justifying my behaviour? No one cares! If I come out alive I’ll be a hero anyway. I can drink my way to victory! Hah, no one will know! Not food, no, no… not what I want… they’ll think I got attacked alone… who keeps bourbon in a drawer?! They’ll think my lowlife troop abandoned me…