I privatized some journal entries because I wasn't sure if I should reveal them to the world. But the laptop's running low on batteries and we haven't got a new generator to replace the older one, so the energy's just for the basic stuff. I figure if anyone's alive out there and they see this, I gotta keep the blog updated so they know if the Settlement is still a safe haven, or if we've killed ourselves off.
I can't lie though. New York ain't the safest place to be, even before the shit hit the fan.
Anyway. My leg's okay now. They let me tag along nights again, but instead of sticking to just three people like usual they insist on keeping it to four. They mean well, but I can't think of it as anything except a big "You fucked up" sign plastered across my forehead. I can't take it back though.
Got no one to blame but myself.
Mitchell said that this apocalypse was God's prank on the world. I told him April Fool's was over and no one's laughing.
"Don't need to be funny to be a practical joke," he said. I thought practical was a poor choice of words, but he didn't seem to share that opinion. He just shook his head, tossed a bag of chips and a bottle of sprite in my lap, and left me alone.
God. I hate soda.
So this lady, Allison, is kind of... round. And she came by around lunch time. She leaned in close, and she told me something that she shouldn't have told me.
Allison is sick. And no one knows. Knew. Obviously I know, now. Thing is, she's a diabetic. And I don't fucking know how she's still coherent right now. I don't even remember what diabetes is, to be honest.
What with the mother fucking zombies I'm sorry, Jimmies, out there, I think I can be forgiven for forgetting.
She asked me to look for some extra meds while I'm out with Anatole and Mitchell tonight. I was like, sure. Sure. No problem.
Soon as she was gone, I went straight to our personal doctor, Becca. Told her what Allison told me. Oh, man. Becca. She's a short woman, caps out at around 4'11" or so. Couple inches shorter than me, and very very Chinese. Like, I don't think anyone else really understands her when she talks due to her heavy accent.
She damn well had a conniption. I sidestepped out of her way and let her holler and scream across the fifth floor. Hilarious.
Or, well. I thought it was hilarious. Right up until Dr. Becca came back and told me to keep look out on peels or she kick my ass.
So everyone knows Allison's a diabetic, and now it's my job to scavenge for electronics and meds.
He's like. Five. Or four? Something like that. Sneezing like Old Guy Edward, but he's got a fever and he looks a little green around the edges. I know that sounds weird, people don't actually turn green when they get sick, but man. This kid. I don't know.
I don't even like kids. But his constant god damn coughing and sneezing and sniffles make it hard to get some shut-eye.
I haven't written in a while. I've been keeping busy.
I don't really have an excuse.
My therapist says I should write but I haven't been sleeping well. It's kind of hard to write sometimes.
It doesn't have to be important, he said. So. I don't know.
Let's try this. Fancy bullet points.
- twenty people, including me, in one of the ... newer apartment buildings off Queens Blvd
- took out the first and second floor staircases, so... the zombies jimmies have a hard time reaching us, but we have rope at the ready for any live people who need to come up
- I keep watch at night with Anatole and Jacob. Mostly we just walk around on the second floor and make sure anything that's somehow managed to climb up is shot down and thrown out a window
- kids: sara, mathew, cory
- teenagers: sammy, xander, talitha, peter, jose, danielle
- uni students: arnold, me, anatole, jacob
- "adults": mitchell, raymond, allison, becca, jessica, johnathon
- old guy: edwin
I'm supposed to be sleeping. My legs hurt. I'm gonna. I'm gonna go for a walk. Or something.