Journalist's Journal

The government is always releasing information and reports.  So many people review these pages, it's doubtful any part of the original writing is left when it reaches the public view.  What if there was an ongoing event that the public was clamoring to hear about?  Who would write about what was happening?  I couldn't help but wonder how someone would record their thoughts about what was going on outside of the reports they knew would be seen and edited by government officials.

I have decided to keep this journal because more of the story needs to be told than is in the public record. Recent events have filled headlines across the country for weeks. Rampant violence in city streets. The central neighborhoods of small towns razed to the ground. It seemed to happen all over the country at once. Within a matter of weeks, Governors from nearly every state were dispatching their National Guard troops and requesting help from the Military.

The Federal Government sent troops to aid the local agencies. The President, in an attempt to improve her public image, hired a number of civilian writers to embed with the troops in the streets. My entire responsibility was to write down what I saw so it could be reported from a civilian point of view instead of some government mouthpiece. The idea was to appear more transparent than many previous administrations. Since everything I write is filtered through the high muckety mucks before it is released to the public, their activities are as transparent as a brick wall.

One part of the official statements that I have an issue with is the comments that the incidents are being contained. How can you contain something without knowing what is causing it? I was filing a report in the communications tent when I overheard an officer on the radio. Some scientists at a lab had failed, again, to locate the exact cause of the change in people. I'm not a doctor so I didn't completely understand everything that was said, but I did manage to catch a few words. Neurons, degradation, and adrenaline all stuck in my head as important to the conversation. It took longer than normal for me to process and flag my report. I intentionally delayed things so I could hear more of the conversation than I should have. While I didn't understand everything, I was able to determine that nobody had any kind of control over the situation.

Yesterday was my first encounter with people influenced by whatever is happening. I know none of this will make it to the public, but I have to record it anyway. I was put with eight soldiers to patrol an abandoned neighborhood. All of them were armed with machine guns, I was equipped with only my pen and a notepad. An APC carted us and a few other soldiers into the town. Our assigned patrol was the closest to the camp that is our headquarters, so we were the first group to unload. Once the APC was a couple of blocks away, everyone's attitude relaxed considerably. We weren't on an official military patrol, we were a bunch of friends chatting and strolling down the street. Jokes were passed around and cigarettes were lit. Everyone with a gun had it hanging loose with the safeties on. Nobody was ready for any kind of action. That's why we were all struck so hard by the ambush.

I don't know if the pack had planned the attack or we happened to walk into them as we rounded a corner. Either way, two of the soldiers were severely injured before we fought back. I dropped to the ground and kept my eyes open to see as much as I could. It was my first time to see what we were really up against. My first chance to see what the reports I had been writing and filing were truly about. My first view of what all of this was about.

As the attackers came at us, my first impression was one of a group of sweaty bodybuilders. Muscles rippled over muscles. Pecs flexing and pressing through tank tops and t-shirts. Calve and thighs busting the seams of tiny shorts. Skin stretched almost to the breaking point. Meaty hands swinging at the helmeted heads of the soldiers. Inhuman roars came from the attackers' mouths as they charged at us. These beasts were the embodiment of everything dark in the human soul wrapped in a bulky flesh. This is what the government says it has control over. The soldier that had his arm ripped off by one of the attackers might disagree with that. Fortunately, we managed to kill all of the animals before any one of our group was killed. It was a long walk back to the rendezvous point with the APC. The soldiers were all quiet, except for the occasional groan from the man with the shattered thigh bone that was leaning on my shoulder as we moved through the streets. A pair of medics treated the most severely injured soldiers on the way back to headquarters. Once there, I was given a packet of data from the other patrols to integrate into my report. I put the raw information in with some of the impressions I got from the attack I saw with my own eyes. I knew that not all of what I had to say would make it to the public. However, I added a few things that probably wouldn't make it past the censors just in case.

Weeks went by and I wasn't sent out on any more patrols. I was able to speak with soldiers as they came back. Many of them were injured. From what they told me, they had been attacked like the group I had been with. It did seem like fewer and fewer soldiers were coming back injured. There was no way for me to be able to tell if it was because there were fewer attackers or the soldiers were just more aware. Either way, word around the camp was that we would be moving along before too long. I was having lunch with a particularly lovely female soldier when she mentioned the duration of her orders. Apparently, their mission here was to eliminate all of the “infected subjects” before moving on to the next town and do it again. Lather, rinse, kill, repeat. With me as the happy writer telling everyone what was happening in the best light possible.

Would you want to know the truth behind an ongoing tragedy or are you fine with knowing only what someone else wants you to know?

Waking the Dead

I recently saw a picture of a unique headstone.  The epitaph engraved in the stone got the gears in my mind whirring.  While I haven't done a zombie story before, I thought I might give one a try.  Sort of.

There was no way of knowing anything like this would happen.  Although, looking back, it should have been kind of obvious.  I had gone in for my annual employee-mandated physical.  The doctor declared me alive and fit enough to continue working.  All of my vital signs were good and the tests they ran on my blood all came back just fine.

The company paid for a catered lunch for everyone.  It was largely a bribe to make sure we all showed up for our physicals.  It was also a chance for the company to have a captive audience while someone read off all the announcements they wanted to make us aware of.  Of course, hardly anyone paid any attention.  We had already received these important announcements in emails, through notices in the break room, and in our weekly meetings with our supervisors.  Everyone just kept on eating and talking to each other while some poor soul droned on about safety initiatives and corporate goals achieved.  In more than 15 years with the company, I can gladly say I don't think I ever heard a single word that was said by the announcer at these lunches.

This year something new finally happened.  The corporate speaker said the doctor's office that had just finished with us had a request to make.  A young and attractive nurse walked up to the stage at the front of the conference room where the lunch had been served.  She said that a research lab had recently been approved to test a new flu vaccine on humans.  Since all of our basic health statistics was now on file, the doctor was offering $200 to anyone that wanted to be a test subject for this vaccine.  I figured I would go for it.  I just had to get a small needle in my arm and I would have plenty of money for beer at the bar without my wife complaining about me dipping into our grocery fund.  Why not, what could go wrong?

For the first few days, everything was fine.  I didn't feel any different.  Just my normal self with the normal aches and pains of a normal life.  Until the day I woke up in the morning with pain in my toes.  It almost felt like my toenails were trying to slice into my toes themselves.  At the same time, my toe bones were trying to press themselves out from the inside.  Fortunately, this lasted less than two minutes.  At first, I figured it was just a cramp or something.

Over the next couple of weeks, the pain spread from my toes and up through my body.  It was enough to wake me up each morning, but didn't last long enough to have any impact on my day.  My wife kept urging me to go see our doctor.  As long as I could keep working and hanging out at the bar after my shift, I wasn't going to bother.  What harm could a little bit of pain do anyway?

My wife finally got her way and I went to see a doctor when the pain reached the top of my legs.  For about three minutes I just laid in bed.  I probably could have moved my legs, but I didn't want to because of the sheer amount of pain coming from them.  Every muscle was irritated by the skin around it and the bones underneath it.  The bones were being squeezed and compressed by my muscles.  My skin seemed to be outraged by everything and wanted to let me know about it.

Even though I had called my family doctor, not the corporate one that did my physical, right away, his first appointment wasn't until three that afternoon.  Just like all the other days, the pain had faded shortly after I woke up.  There was nothing for my doctor to detect.  He still gave me a full examination to be sure.

A few days after that, I woke up with pain from my shoulders down. I carefully rolled over to look for support from my wife.  She wasn't there.  She had called the doctor before I would wake up.  He was coming into my room as I laid there, curled up in the fetal position.  Every part of my chest screamed in agony at me.  The doctor did as much of an examination as he could with me in a tight little ball.  He did manage to draw some blood despite my immobility.  After a few moments, like every other day, the pain faded and I was able to continue with my day.

The day after that was the most painful morning of my life, literally.  Every part of my body was screaming in pain.  My hair trapped between my head and the pillow was quivering in agony.  My earlobes burned with the sound of my very heartbeat.  My eyes burned as though I was staring at the sun, even with them closed.  I would have screamed but my lungs hurt too much to expel the air necessary.

My wife called an ambulance and our doctor.  She came into the bedroom in a worrying fit as I was about to pass out from the pain.  I barely managed to roll over and look at her.  As my mind started to retreat into darkness to escape the extreme agony, I managed a slight grin and whispered to her, "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

Unfortunately, the ambulance didn't arrive before my escape into the darkness became a complete retreat.  They declared me dead.  A funeral was held a couple of weeks later.  I can only guess it was a beautiful ceremony since I wasn't exactly in a position to see it myself.  Per our agreement before we were married, my wife had my final words to her engraved on my headstone.  It is probably one of the more unique phrases in that particular cemetery.  It is much more memorable than the typical "Beloved son and father." or "Loved by all."

I have no way of knowing how long I was in the coffin.  I just know that I was suddenly awake and aware.  None of the progressively expanding pain that had plagued me near the end of my life.  Just a sudden sense of being awake and in darkness.  A lot of darkness.

I felt above me and pushed against the lid of my coffin without realizing I was in one.  I sat up and looked around.  I should have been in a panic and freaking out about waking up in a coffin above the ground of a cemetery.  I was a little surprised at how calm I was feeling about it all.  I realized two things at about the same time.  First was that my body was oddly intact for someone that was in a coffin.  The second was that I couldn't tell if it was early morning or late afternoon since both horizons glowed as though the sun was just out of view.  Apparently something very interesting had just happened.

Zombies have been the mindless villains of so many stories, why not have one as a hero?  On a side note, is there a unique phrase or quote you want on your headstone?