Desperate Hours

Hello. If you’re reading this, things have gone seriously wrong in the world and those of us who were able to escape into an underground bunker are attempting to survive.

Coordinates: 29.4909640976 X -98.4882335449201

Please know that I’ve tried desperately to remain as levelheaded and alert throughout the lead up to this disaster, but I have failed at times. From the moment that rumors swirled of an attempt to poison the world, I immediately began emergency proceedings according to the agreed-upon steps. Out of the original 26 members of the group, only 10 made it in, along with others who gained access at the last minute. This will serve as my daily diary.

Day 1: Food was originally left out and not sealed properly. In our haste to try and get set up as quickly as possible, we failed to seal the containers properly and this caused bacteria to destroy at least 40% of our edible food. Honestly, we would be better off now if we packed the damn Twinkies that everyone fought over about whether we should pack because they would still be around. As soon as people started getting sick, I immediately discovered our mistake and threw the spoiled food into the incinerator. So far, we have 12 people who are either seriously ill or in the process of recovery. The worst case is a 74-year-old, Mr. Shanks.

Day 2: Since day one we have been fighting with the computer system. Somehow, it’s been programmed to make decisions on its own and we have extraordinarily little control of it. I’m sure it was that programmer, Lou, with Data Systemic who insisted he could make sure we were covered, and no virus could penetrate it. I suspected his arrogance might cause a problem and I will take total blame for the results. I will keep fighting it to try and monitor our situation to the best of my ability.

Day 3: Mr. Shanks has died. I was just informed that after taking a turn for the worst, he succumbed to a Norovirus infection according to our medical professional, Dr. Parham. I have seen his wife, Mrs. Shanks briefly but she is being taken care of and watched by Marilyn Baker, who has a degree in psychology, but admits she hasn’t practiced in years. Without a clear understanding of what to do with someone once they die down here, we might have no choice but to also use the incinerator. I hope to have a memorial but I’m also leery because only a few people knew the man and I’ve heard grumbling amongst the others that they don’t care to get to know anyone, just to survive. I was able to retrieve some emails, most of which are junk. I have a feeling I will even miss the junk emails after a while of no communication. Still trying to log on to the video monitors in capital cities.

Day 4: My dog, Buster, has gone missing. I don’t suspect foul play but there are so many tunnels down here, I don’t know if I’ll have time to try and find him. I’m hoping he will come back when he’s hungry. I will have to ration his dog food to the best of my ability because I was unable to store a big supply. I really need Buster now, because of my situation. He is the only being that reminds me of home. My wife and son didn’t make it to the shelter entrance in time to join us. I can only think they are dead, but if I think too long about it, I forget about my responsibilities here. I cray at night, in my cot.

Day 5: Somehow Mrs. Shanks was able to get off on her own, and she has been found, having taken her own life. She left a note saying she had no reason to survive without her husband. I’ve tried to keep this within the few leaders we have but I’m afraid everyone has heard of the tragic event. Marilyn is incredibly distraught, blaming herself for the suicide but I am attempting to calm her and assure her that she only helped. This leaves us with 34 survivors, 21 females and 13 males, 6 are juveniles and the rest being adults. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of ending my life, but I also have a spark still lit. I keep hearing Lisa’s voice in my head, urging me to go on.

Day 6: The day began very calmly, until, John Barrett, a survivor in his 30’s, came to me with a list of grievances. Mr. Barrett believes that the couple, Bembe and Aleja Perez, should be separated from the rest of the survivors. This is his opinion because he believes, Cuba, their country of origin, is the country that released the virus. I have attempted to remain calm and I have placed myself in front of the couple on numerous occasions, even moving their beds back toward my corner, but the anger in his eyes, makes me think we will have trouble. After getting to know the Perez couple I have learned that Bembe prophesized this event several months ago. That is why he is with us, having escaped from Cuba. I was also told Bembe means prophecy in Spanish. I desperately need him around to help us figure out what we can do to try and survive the strain.

Day 7: I was finally able to take control of the computer system but, honestly, I think that has made things worst. I can’t find a response anywhere. I’m sure there are other survivors but I’m having a terrible time trying to find anyone. I can log on to security cameras with views in each capital. There are many dead bodies littered around the streets, most in terrifying positions. I’ve had to shut it down on a few occasions to avoid anyone else seeing, but I’m not sure how long I can keep it under wraps. The cameras in London are the only ones I have hope for. There are small signs of them being updated. Are there really no survivors in the states? My God, what has happened? If we are to begin society again, we will have a hard time of it. I can’t get people to agree on what to eat, let alone, who to mate with.

Day 8: I’ve been stabbed in my upper left shoulder. One of the survivors chased me down a corridor as I was looking for Buster. I turned quickly and saw the blade as it plunged into my left shoulder. Just as it entered, Buster came from the shadows and leapt at the man’s crotch and I’m afraid he is dead after bleeding profusely from that area. At least the Doctor informed me there was nothing more he could do for him. Once my shoulder was wrapped up, I hurried him out of the general area and placed him, hidden, until I can notify his next of kin. This man, John Taylor, had begun another faction on the other side of the bunker. Survivors who didn’t like me being in charge or at least didn’t like living by rules. I know we’ll have to attempt to enter that side of the bunker and I’m afraid we’ll have to be armed when it happens. I don’t think they will take the news of their leader bleeding out, too well.

Day 9: I believe it’s a Sunday. At least it feels like Sunday. This is the day of the week that I would normally be at home after attending church with my wife and son, Wilson. I know when we sealed off the entrance, there was no chance to ever see them again. I am lost without them. If I close my eyes sometimes and I swear I can see Lisa walking toward me with a basket of wildflowers. And I remember helping Wilson with his high school geography test, the night before the virus was let loose. That morning, I told him I believed in him and I knew he could pass anything. He never had a chance to find out the score. Is this worth it? Who am I living for? I’m planning on attempting to walk over and meet with the other faction. I will ask for level heads and peace so we can all try to survive together. God help me.

Day 10: What has happened to our plans?  All our meetings and plans that we implemented when the World Health Organization sent out the distress signal. The other faction apparently smuggled in explosives and set them off on the main entrance. We could feel the explosion all the way at the other end of the shelter. They honestly believed that things weren’t that bad outside. I tried to seal off the other section as soon as I could but I’m afraid it was too late. As soon as the breach occurred, we lost 18 members, the ones closest to the entrance. That would leave us with 14 that I attempted to seal off in another section of the bunker. 6 of the 14 began to show symptoms of the virus and we attempted to seal them off as well, but I’m afraid we all might have been exposed. There are 8 of us now, in the far east corridor, huddled against the wall with only emergency lights and a loud siren from the blast. Buster has just laid his head down on me and I suspect he will be the only survivor, as dogs can’t catch the virus. I have printed this diary and placed it in his collar, and I will make sure he can get outside. I hope he finds someone, so people will know what happened here. My lip feels heavy and I’m struggling to stay awake. Please know that I’ve tried everything within my power to Prehunkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkbbbbbbbbbbbvusvuuuuuuu…………………..