Extinction-chapter one

To whoever is lucky or unfortunate enough to find these scripts, this is what I have been through. If someone managed to find this lead “time capsule,” buried six feet below the ground with a dead body, I am truly sorry to have unleashed this upon you. For you have, in all sincerity, opened Pandora’s box. Listen to what I have to say or burn it, I have no preference, for I died a long time ago.

But this is my story.

This, this is how it all began.

Some time five years ago, someone wondered “If the human population were to decrease by 100%, would the worlds pollution decrease by 100%?

“If humanity were to die out, would the animals and lands we have been crushing grow once more?”

Its been four years since someone unleashed a deadly disease onto mankind. A disease known only as “Z.” A disease with a 99.97% fatality rate. A disease that does not just kill its host, but forces it to kill others. A disease that destroyed civilization as we know it.

It’s been three years since the world went to hell. Since the government stopped trying to fight the hordes of the undead gathered outside their doors, since they gave up and fled to their own private bomb shelters, not knowing that it was already too late for them. Its been three years since I fled with food for five years, and enough weaponry to take out what was left of the world’s population in a few hours.

It’s been two years, seven months, three days and four hours since I’ve heard a human voice.

It’s been six seconds since I’ve seen a zed.

It’s hell out here. And I want out.

Four years ago. August 27th, 2013. Day one of the outbreak.

It’s six thirty in the morning, I have been up since three when I realized that my girlfriend had yet to return home from “gurls nite,” as she wrote on the note I came how to at two thirty in the afternoon. I know she has been cheating on me. And I think she knows that I’m cheating on her. So we maintain an awkward relationship, officially together but just strangers sharing a house at home. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for a month now. The bed feels too warm.

It’s weird; she would have usually been home by now. Normally she gets home by two AM, but apparently “gurls nite” is going to last a bit longer this time. I sit up on the couch and rub my fingers with my eyes, pressing my palms to my chin. I flick on the TV and as it starts to turn on I head to the bathroom to relieve a six-packs worth of beer. I hear yipping and Caroline’s dog, Mr. Fluffles (poor dog) comes bouncing up the stairs to meet me as I go down. I smile and pet his head, then gently attempt to kick him down the stairs so I don’t trip over him and break my neck. He bounces(on his feet, not his head) down the stairs and yips off. I head into the master bathroom and stare into the mirror. The person I see there looks sad to see me. His eyes have sunken into his skull, grey coting his sockets and cheeks. His dirty, sweaty black hair hangs close to his skull, swaying slightly as he holds onto the sink for support. A day’s worth of facial hair clings to his chin, he cannot seem to grow any hair on his upper lip, which does not matter to him. His dirty black NYPD shirt still hangs from his chest, and a bottle of beer hangs loosely from his hand, half full of alcohol. He takes a swig from it then slams it on the sink counter, and then hurls into the toilet.

I start to make my way downstairs when I hear moaning coming from the door. I sigh and then stumble down the steps to let Caroline in. My “girlfriend” seems to be scratching at the door, begging to be let in as she moans in what sounds like hunger or pain. I reach the bottom of the steps and see Mr. Fluffles yipping happily at the door, his tail steadily thumping on the ground.