We are still alive. All of us, mercifully. I wasn’t able to write last night, and to be honest, I’m writing this entry on a tiny amount of borrowed time.
It occurs to me that it is Saturday night. If the world hadn’t fallen apart in June, I wonder what I would be doing right now, instead of fighting off what appears to be an unending siege of the fucking living dead. I wonder what Cassie and I would be doing?
She’s dead. I think we’ve proven that. I haven’t dreamt of her, or anyone else since that night. Probably because I haven’t really slept at all since then. We are benefitting from our marginal success in fending off the zombies. Oddly enough. Christ I am tired.
I need to keep this short. Or take frequent breaks to go shoot more of them.
The entire night of the… 3rd? Whenever my last entry was, we sat awake in the upstairs rooms watching the crowd build and build until every single open yard of space had at least one zombie in it. There had to be five hundred of them. Just as I said before there was…. AFK.
Banging on the front door again. One of them managed to climb over the mound of bodies and tumble down the pile against the front fire door. I had to lean out the second floor window with the .22 pistol to kill it. Thankfully we have an abundance of .22lr ammo. We desperately need another damn .22 weapon though. The way we’re pumping rounds through the two we have, the barrels are not going to last if we make it through this.
Sigh. I’m having a hard time making heads or tails of everything right now. Based on what Patty, Abby and I talked about the other night, I know Cassie is dead. Dead but not gone apparently. I haven’t revisited my writings about my dream since I wrote them. I get the feeling a lot of emotion will hit me like a truck, and I need to stay sharp until we get through this. If we get through this.
Yesterday we made the decision to reinforce all the windows and doors with the wood I had in the basement. There wasn’t much raw material available, but we had a few 2x4s, and one sheet of plywood, and using a kitchen knife with a serrated edge, we managed to quietly score the sheet enough to snap it into smaller sheets to cover the areas we felt were most likely to get hit hard. It was a good decision. The windows in the living room downstairs were broken this morning when the undead reached them. The bodies are stacked high enough now outside that a few of them have managed to walk across the top of the pile and get to the windows. I never accounted for bodies being stacked that high. I guess that was a mistake on my part.
This is a nightmare Mr. Journal. It is the worst thing you can imagine to watch them come, one after another, over and over, reaching, clawing, and scratching. They’re trying to get inside to kill us, and either we will have enough bullets, or we won’t. I hope running away is an option if that happens. I think we have enough bullets to last though.
The crowd is much thinner outside now, but that’s not what worries me most at the moment. Dimly inside I have the strong feeling we will survive this. I don’t think this, no… that’s not what I am trying to say. I FEEL like this was not an attempt on our lives. This siege.
I know that might sound stupid. They certainly are trying to kill us in here. Gunshot. AFK.
Patty shot one trying to climb the deck on the side of the Hall. Haven’t seen them try to climb before. I hope that’s not a new thing they’re gonna start. Fuck that noise.
At any rate, what I am trying to say, is that there is a.. I don’t know, a feeling about this that I can’t shake. I just get the impression that if these things really wanted in to kill us, they would’ve done it already. Why would they wait for us to fire on them before rushing the building? Why are they all holding books? Why did it take them this long to get here? Why March 3rd?
Wait a second.
January, February, March.
At three am on the third night of the third month I have a dream of three people sitting in a white room.
I am suddenly more afraid of that train of thought than I am of the undead outside. Someone or something is trying to send us a message. I need to get through this, and figure out what that message is, or the next time the undead come, I get the distinct impression they are not going to wait for us to fire on them first, and they WILL get in here. I am reminded suddenly of that zombie with the watch.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three taps. Motherfucker.
Mike from Westfield will be here on the 7th. We need to get this handled before his people drive onto campus and get caught up in what’s happening. Gilbert is at his house being as quiet as possible. He said over the radio that there are just a few outside his house, but they are standing outside, almost as if they are keeping guard on him. He told me through the windows he can see that there is one or two of them on each side of his house. Like they’re keeping him inside. Focusing on us here.
That’s not creepy or anything.
More fucking gunshots from downstairs. I gotta go.