Humanity Scar (Journal 1): Last Words, page 1
part #1 of Humanity Scar Series
Humanity Scar: Last Words
(Journal 1)
By Monique Nicole Doucette
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Monique Doucette, Author
Photography, William Torres
Without you, this book would not exist:
Pre-Reader Club Members:
Miss Mox, Miss Tonie Johnson, Miss Hesp, Miss Jewl, Laurie, Miss Lil, Miss Mel, Miss Nix, Miss R. Johns, and Miss Outside
Special thanks to these special ladies for their help with editing
and extra encouragement along the way:
Laura E. Wondolowski (inspirational muse extraordinaire),
Mimi “Fister” (editing rockstar),
Crystal Kemper (extra help with pitch editing),
Kelli Stephens (you always have my back),
Joy Hayworth (helpful and awesome)
Sarahlee Hansen (amazing detail oriented editing diva)
With extra special thanks to:
My fiancé and love, William, for help with photos, editing, and all the legal stuff
Jess, for being a super powered cheerleader and encouraging me every day
Amanda, for editing, reading and inspiring. You have done more to make this story a reality than you realize. This is especially for you
I love you all.
May we survive whatever comes next.
Scrawled on a piece of toilet paper:
My name is James Faulkner. I never thought I'd be writing my last words on a piece of toilet paper. But I think I'm going to die here. I can hear them outside and it's only a matter of time before I am one of them. I am starving to death. I've been here for a week and the last of my food was gone 3 days ago. I have water here, but it's probably poisoning me since I keep throwing up. I lost my family a week ago and there was nothing I could do but run. I don't want to end my life a coward, but there is no hope anymore. If anyone reads this, please remember me. I loved my wife Angie and my son James Jr. They are in heaven now. I know they're not locked in those bodies still... they can't be. Those empty shells are outside right now... if they were alive, I'd let them in.
Remember me. Please.
45th Day, 3:30 PM
I found this stuck to a bathroom wall with chewing gum.
I wonder why he stopped writing.
The door to the park bathroom was off its hinges, so my guess is that he was forced to stop. I wondered if he got away or if he was the one I had to smash in the head repeatedly with my crow bar.
I didn't stay long after I found it, but for some reason, here it is in my pocket.
That's when I started to see them. People's last words. Scattered everywhere I looked.
The discarded stuffed animal. The woman's purse. The lost tennis shoes. The cracked pair of reading glasses. The ripped up pages of a novel blowing by. Crushed mp3 player. Tangled up hair ribbons. Deflated soccer ball.
The last pieces of someone’s life... the last thing for anyone to remember them by.
And this is why I'm writing now.
It might really be the end of the world. What's left? Humanity has become a scar on the surface after an ugly festering wound. The disease lies beneath the skin, waiting for a chance to erupt again. It's always there lurking, waiting, devouring.
How much can the scar protect? How many of us are left? And of those that still breathe, how many actually deserve it?
I'm alone. I was with two others, but they are lost now.
I will start from the beginning... when I have time.
I have to keep moving. It's not as safe here as I thought.
46th day - 8:30 AM
One of the worst things about it all is that I have to keep moving. I can't make myself comfortable or buckle down anywhere for too long. It's inevitable that I will get surrounded and that's the worst thing that could happen. If I have learned anything it's that I need to have at least one extra escape route, travel light so that I can move quickly, and never allow myself to get surrounded.
So all I've done for the last week is move. I don't have much in the way of supplies so I have to scavenge every day. That means I can only stay in most places for a few hours, 4 or 5 at most to get some sort of sleep. Often after I wake up, the place has garnered attention and it is too dangerous to stay any longer.
It's a mistake to think you can buckle down and "outlast" them.
How can you outlast something that has no end? Something that doesn't need to eat or sleep or get bored. What then?
How can I expect anyone to really understand these "last words" that I'm scribbling into a notebook like a lunatic?
Maybe I'm underestimating you. The only way someone could forget this would be if hundreds of years had passed and there was no history of this left.
No history. I can't let that happen. I have to make sure that there is a history. Maybe that's the real reason to keep writing.
If things ever get better, we can't simply forget what has happened. Someone has to start keeping track so that... we can never find ourselves in this position ever again... and if we do, we know how to get out of it.
But I have to be honest, it doesn't seem like it'll get better.
I can't give up. Things have to get better.
Right?
In the meantime, I think I'll start my own history. Maybe it'll help someone.
I would keep writing, but I think I have to move again. I can hear something outside and it doesn't sound happy.
I'll come back later.
I have a story to tell.
47th Day - 4:30 PM
I think I should be ok here for a while. I’m in a small office building near the back of a complex. Nothing seemed to be lurking in the area and there was a broken window. I’ve covered over it with some flattened cardboard boxes, but it won’t keep anything out for very long.
Inventory:
2 granola bars
1 box of raisins
3 packages of ramen noodles
1 half gallon canteen of water
1 toilet with water still in the reservoir tank
4 matches
1 crowbar
1 backpack
I don’t have much in my pack because I had to leave a large sack of food behind yesterday. It was just too much to carry and I needed to run away as fast as I could to evade the group of monsters that had found me. I can only hope to double back to retrieve it, but I'm not sure that would be so smart. See, I have a hypothesis on how these things operate. If they are left alone, they seem to follow a pattern, almost as if they are recalling familiar places. If there is any sort of noise or stimulus, they follow that. If they smell something alive, then they pursue it without stopping until they either get what they are hunting or something else pulls them away.
I think they've been pursuing me, but I've been good at evading them so far. I can't really say how many, but I don't want to get surrounded because I am following a pattern that they can recognize.
I'm safe for now, so I think I can write a bit today.
I said I would start from the beginning. So here I go.
It's hard. There are just so many terrible things to write down. So many upsetting memories. On the one hand, I don't want to remember what happened. I want to forget the past as if it never happened. But staring back at me from the other hand is the cold hard truth that I will have to recall my memories if I'm going to survive. The mistakes of others have become lessons for me to learn. If I falter for even a millisecond, it could be me teaching the world what not to do next. I would rather teach others what they should do to survive.
Writing things down almost makes them seem more real. I keep looking at the blank page with this pen in my hand and I wonder if I can even write what the last few weeks has been like. I don't want to believe it's real. I want to wake up and start another boring day in my boring life. I want to wonder what I'm eating for breakfast because I have a refrigerator full of food. I want to worry about which gas station I'm going to because the 20 dollars in my pocket has to last me all week. I want to ponder texting back the annoying boy I went out with one time who has latched on to me like a leach because I let him feel underneath my shirt. I want it all to go back to being simple and annoying and dull.
Does it make you wonder why I even bother to survive? Why do I keep fighting? Well, if these are to be my last words, then I shall be as honest as possible. I survive because I have to. I don't want to die. I don't want to feel my flesh being eaten off of my bones. Most importantly I don't want to come back from the dead and become one of them. I know why they always saved one bullet for themselves in the movies and books. It's as simple as not wanting to turn into a zombie. It's either alive or dead. The gray area is not an option. I want to stay alive. I want my hope for a future back. It's been lost, but I know I can find it again.
Before my life lost hope, everything was normal. It was a Thursday evening. I was standing on the underground train, speeding towards North Hollywood, California. I had my headphones on and I was listening to classical music. It had been one of those terrible days at work, where everything that could go wrong absolutely did. I missed a deadline and was chewed out by my boss. My computer got a virus because I was surfing unauthorized websites. I deleted
But the world had different plans. The train stopped at the station and the lights suddenly turned off. The other passengers rustled around me, fidgeting in discomfort and mild irritation. I reached into my pocket and turned down the volume on my mp3 player. There was an announcement: "Please stay calm, we are having some technical difficulties. We will resume service as soon as possible."
The doors to my car were closed and the air conditioning had turned off. It was getting uncomfortable and people were grumbling to each other. A line of people standing outside of the car looked impatiently in at us as if we were the ones causing the delay. Would the doors open? Would they be allowed on the train? After a few minutes the doors slid open and we were instructed to evacuate the train. I could smell the acrid burn of metal against metal. I thought something might be wrong with the brakes on the train. It was confirmed that we would not be going anywhere for a while. I moved through the crowd towards the wall behind the elevator. It was the only clear space left and I needed to get away from the sweaty heat of everyone crammed together on the platform.
On my way there, I saw a man that I couldn't stop staring at. His shoes were shining in the dim light and he held a briefcase. At first glance he seemed to be as normal as everyone else standing around the station. However, from the neck up he looked terrible. His eyes were rimmed in a sickly greenish black, as if he had been punched in the face repeatedly. His mouth hung open and a thick yellow drool was making a slow descent down his chin. He seemed to be staring at nothing, even as people pushed and moved past him. I moved further away into the darkened corner and stared at him, ready to move out of his way if he should decide to turn towards me. He disappeared inside of the crowd.
I adjusted the bag on my arm, scanning the area, trying to keep an eye on him. He was tall enough that I picked him out, standing a few feet from the first place I had seen him. A space in the crowd seemed to open around him and I watched as his case slid from his limp fingers to the floor with a muffled thud. He didn't even look at it as people hopped out of the way and swerved to avoid it on their way to the staircase that was further up the platform. He just kept staring ahead, his body swaying as if he could hear some unheard music.
Other people began to notice him then. The empty space around him grew larger as they started to realize he wasn't well. One woman grabbed her son and almost dragged him away from the man in terror. The little boy screamed and the man looked toward him almost eagerly. He started to move towards the loud high pitched sound. The area got eerily quiet as everyone around stopped to look at the strange drooling man. I think I heard him groan something right before his legs buckled beneath him. It sounded like he told them to get away. His arm flailed out and snatched at an older gentleman who was making his way to the elevators. He grabbed him and pulled him to the ground.
It almost seemed like he was sorry until he pinned the old man down by his head. He seemed to be digging his fingernails into the terrified old man’s cheeks. He just stared down at him as if pondering the streaks of red that had appeared. I was horrified that the man had drawn blood that quickly. I watched as the yellow drool seemed to increase in volume, splashing down onto the bewildered victims face, mixing with the blood in a terrifying display. I was shocked and appalled. I could feel my heart pumping into my chest. I glanced around and saw that several people were running from the platform, up to the streets.
Someone was pulling the drooling man off of the older one screaming that he was crazy and needed to back off. The drooler just let himself be thrown to the side, his entire body went limp and he didn’t move. His skin had gone this amazing shade of gray within seconds. I felt paralyzed; there was nothing I could do. I didn't even realize I had stopped breathing until my instincts told me I was going to pass out. I felt a cascade of pins and needles all over my body, concentrating on my toes as I gasped for air. I needed to get out of there as fast as I could. I tried to move towards the staircase, but the platform was so crowded with people any real progress was impossible. With a loud whistle, security personnel made its way into the fray. They told us to stay put, and immediately went to tend to the two men who lay sprawled in the middle of the floor.
Blood was everywhere and it was as if the entire room was screaming with the terror of it. My sudden attack of claustrophobia intensified. I was getting nauseous and panicked, looking around frantically for some sort of escape route. The attempts by security to get people to calm down were weak. If everyone was going to be kept down there, they wanted to know what had happened. It was obvious the drooling man was unconscious; someone even screamed out that he was dead.
Just as the paramedics made their way to the scene, an alternate train arrived. I knew I had to get on it... nobody was going to keep me in that crazy place. I found myself crushing inside of the door just as it was about to close. The car stayed still just long enough for me to see the paramedic shake his head and place a white sheet over the face of the drooling man. They directed their attention to the older gentleman who had a bleeding cheek and obviously needed more help than the dead man would. The train began to move just as the sheet twitched. The dead man had moved his head. The sheet fell off. His eyes were open. Hadn't his eyes been closed? His fingers moved into a fist and then released. Maybe he wasn't dead?
If only that were true. Yes, technically, that man had died on that platform. He just wasn't the kind of dead we were used to. I got home and showered for half an hour. I cooked dinner before I turned on the television. An emergency news broadcast had taken over almost every station, even the cable networks. There were reports of outbreaks of an unknown illness all over the country. The origin of this strange disease was determined to be from numerous hospitals located throughout the country. As a precaution, almost every medical facility was being assessed as having the contamination and subsequently quarantined. They were shutting down entire city blocks surrounding the facilities.
It didn’t stop there. Employees were even being sequestered in their own homes. They were searching for missing hospital staff and had been showing a stream of pictures, names and possible locations. There was a press conference from a local law enforcement agency that said if we came into contact with any of the individuals we were to immediately report their location to emergency services. We were not to engage them in any way. He then went on to report about the local citizens we needed to look for.
A slide show of pictures began to play as he read off the names and work locations of the missing people. They mentioned a hospital in downtown Los Angeles before showing 4 employees that were suspected of carrying the virus. I wasn’t sure if I would know any of the people they were mentioning when suddenly his picture came up, engulfing the screen. I stopped chewing my food. It was the drooling man.
48th Day - 8:58 PM
I really hate being alone. I used to enjoy it. The peace and solitude. I could do anything I wanted without expectations or worrying about what anyone else needed. Now it's as if the loneliness just sucks the life out of me. I had to stop writing earlier because I had to move again. I think one of them must have been a tracker or something in its pre-dead state because I could swear I recognize the group of them following me.
Right now I'm sitting on the balcony of an apartment on the third floor. It’s about 4 blocks from my previous hide out and I should be okay for a while. Thankfully the weather is temperate and I don't mind being outside. I don’t want to go inside because the apartment is full of corpses. Lucky for me they are the kind that won't move anymore. I'm hoping their terrible stench will keep the monkeys that have been following me around at bay.
I wish I could have stayed in the office building. I had a good supply of water from the toilet tank. As gross as that sounds, I am really upset for having to leave it behind. One of the hardest things to come by is water fresh enough to drink without too much fuss. I can’t always make a fire to boil it. Drinking untreated water is a huge risk. However, a toilet reservoir is one of the best places to get water that is relatively safe to drink as it is. I was able to fill my canteen before I left, but that's not enough to survive on.
