Day Zero

Happy fucking birthday to me, got to spend most of it on a plane and waiting in line for my TSA check. I don’t know what’s going on this year, when I flew home for winter break it was no big deal but this time it was a major pain in the ass – all kinds of questions like if I’ve been sick or been around anyone who was sick recently. I spent my winter break in Toledo, everyone I know has had a cold in the last month including me. Can you believe those fucking perverts strip searched me??

Anyway, break went about as well as expected – my parents are still upset I chose to leave the state for school, but I just had to get out of there. Uptight and neurotic is no way to be. But, I’m back in the valley now – cut out early, so I’m crashing with a few of the girls from the service until the dorms open up for the semester. It’s actually kinda nice living with girls that talk about more than boyfriends and their GPA.

Already got two dates lined up for tonight, so I’m thinking new iPhone after I pick up my books and make the first payment on my tuition.

(written in pink ink at the bottom)
R. Dwyer – Mariott, 7p
♥ Danny – Mill Hilton, 9p overnight

***

Day 1

SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK SHIT

I can’t. I don’t even know what to write right now. This is just so fucked up I can’t even think straight. Everything was going good with Danny then this morning he went out to get some ice while we waited on room service and he just didn’t come back.

I think he’s dead. He has to be after the fucking psycho that came after me. I locked myself in the bathroom with my bag, I was just gonna leave when I heard the door but when I opened it, it wasn’t him at all. Now, there’s I don’t know what… some crazy meth head or something slamming himself on the bathroom door and I’m so scared…

Please, don’t let me die today. I can’t die. Not like this.

(there’s a bloody fingerprint and several ink-test spirals where the pen is clearly drying up and then it continues in pencil)

I killed him. I’m so so sorry… I didn’t mean to. I was scared! I just couldn’t get away and he was biting and me and clawing and I’ve seen some fucked up tweakers but this guy looked like he wasn’t even alive. I just grabbed the first thing handy and it turns out those big expensive lamps are a pretty good weapon.

I need a drink.

***

Day 10

Christ, that drink was a bad idea. Everything is a bit of a blur of tequila and road time, but the shit has hit the fan in a big fucking way. The infected… that’s what everyone’s calling them on the news, when you can get news… are running wild and I know the streets aren’t safe anymore. The girls… I don’t want to think the worst, but when I try to call every number in my contacts isn’t picking up.

I went back to the Hilton a couple days ago, probably would have died there all in hopes of getting the bag with a change of clothes and this notebook if it weren’t for a couple of guys I met on my tequila adventure. Bob and Tom are all right, I think… I know I don’t normally hang out with the tattoos and leather type but they said they’ll take care of me until this thing blows over. I was able to buy more booze and some food and water without making too big of a dent in the cash I made before it went to shit, but I’m just as afraid of it running out as I am of the infected pushing us out of Phoenix.

***
(several pages are ripped out and a large smear of blood covers a blank page before the next entry)

Day 36

They weren’t all right. Nobody is all right now. Being a senior psych major didn’t prepare me for this shit, but now all I can do is suck it up and deal with things the way they are. The last month doesn’t matter. None of the lies matter.

Tom’s dead now. I was okay providing “services” in return for my protection and food, there’s no such thing as a free ride… but what he did wasn’t just fair trade. He beat me, hurt me in so many ways and last night I couldn’t just lay there and take it while Bob watched and jerked off like a fat fucking coward. Bob ran when I shoved Tom’s knife through his own throat. And then I ran.

I’m alone now. I tried to take Tom’s motorcycle, but turns out all I know how to do is kill it. I guess that’s for the best, the cash is starting to dwindle and gas is a precious commidity after the first waves of desperation that first week. You can still buy it in the shops that haven’t been looted but they’re getting fewer and far between along the I-10 westbound.

That was about… I don’t know, maybe forty miles ago? Indio, I think. One of those shitty small towns that could have been on the Arizona or California side for all it matters.

***
Day 71

It’s been a long time… a month feels like a lifetime these days. News has been slow, and even when I find somewhere with power there aren’t many reports that say anything I didn’t already know. The dead are winning.

They’re winning, but I’m still alive. I’m not proud of the things I’ve had to do lately, diary… it’s not like it was before when my body paid the bills and kept student loans out of the picture, this is survival and if surviving another day means a blowjob in a bathroom stall with a disgusting pig then it’s what I have to do. Anything to make it another twenty miles, or let me tuck away a little food or some cash to get me anywhere safe while people scramble to pretend that we’re not all dying.

Hitched a ride west with a family I met on the road; mom, dad, couple of scared little kids. They took me up the coast for only the value of pulling my own weight before one of the little ones got sick. I cut out at Santa Cruz while they were sleeping and found a little bodega in what seems to be a safe neighborhood for now, but I know I won’t be here long.

The owner’s name is Sandy, between the homegrown weed and what she makes in trade I know she’s smart enough not to let me crash in her spare bedroom for long no matter how much I’ve tried to convince her I’ll pull my weight for room and board. I know you can’t trust anyonee these days, but it’s hard to turn down a hot meal and a real bed when you’re down to a couple hundred bucks and traded your last pack of smokes for a couple cans of tuna. Some people around the neighborhood have been talking about some island up north and I think that’s why I really started writing again. I’m going to go with a group that’s leaving in the morning, but anything that sounds too good to be true usually is. As long as it’s not as bad as the cities are right now, it can’t be too terrible.