Last Entry

My name is Sabrina. I am a writer from Madison, Georgia. This is my journal.

Entry one; The Beginning of The End:

It has been eleven months since patient zero walked into a Savannah, Georgia hospital with an unknown illness. Patient zero presented with a high fever, lesions on his skin, and bouts of anger. As soon as the story hit the news, the internet went wild of stories of the impending zombie apocalypse. The doctors and nurses tried to sedate the guy so he could be treated and they can try to find out what was causing the illness. Any sedation medication they gave didn’t work. He practically destroyed his room during his freak out. Not only did he do thousands of dollars in damage to the hospital emergency department, but he injured multiple hospital staff by hitting, scratching, and biting them. The story turns even more tragic when the police were actually called in to deal with this, now psych patient because nothing the doctors were doing was helping. The police shot and killed him when the patient tried to attack the police officer sent in to help. Turns out the dude was a druggie and did high quantities of bath salts.

The real issues started happening when the bitten hospital staff workers started showing signs of illness common with what patient zero had. The internet blew up again. How was this druggie spreading his bath salt addicted rage to others via a bite? Well, I only have what is suspicion. No one knows the true reason since the world went completely dark a few months later when what was deemed the “#bath salt bite” by Gen Z’s started spreading country wide, then world wide. Suspicions of what made the #bathsaltbite contagious was that the high bath salt content in patient zeros brain caused a contagious autoimmune disorder.

Entry two; Savannah:

As a writer I scooped up the story and started writing as much as I could about it. I had to get in the trenches and get all the juicy details before any other scheming writers could. So, against my husband’s better judgement, I went to Savannah. I had to see ground zero. I had to see where the end of the world had started. Savannah, a once bustling city, was now a war zone. Buildings crumbled and hurricane sirens blared, warning all who remained uninfected to stay indoors. I couldn’t believe my eyes. After the news and social media went dark there was no way to see the catastrophe that was the major cities. Being tucked into the country side of rural America, it was easy to remain disconnected from the world. I took pictures and wrote notes in my note book. I stayed about an hour before I saw an infected woman. She was very sick looking. Lesions on her skin, an almost rotten look. I stood frozen when her dark eyes locked on me. We both stood eyes locked on each other, one looked in fear, the other as a predator. I only started to run when she did. She ran at me and I tried to out run her, her animal like snarling sounded ever close behind me.

I swerved and dodged broken down cars and debris, she barreled over the obstacles. I ran into a dead end at the doors of a bared door of a bank. The glass of the bank door was broken but the bars wouldn’t budge. I scrabbled for something to protect myself but there was nothing as she leaped at me from off a car. All I could was crouch by a bent-up iron rod fence and pray. I was cowering with my head on my knees waiting for the impact of her landing on top of me. After a few seconds of nothing, I looked up and saw her snarling and caught by the iron rod fence, it protruding through her thigh. She still reached for me, her arms flailing. I scramble away until I feel the cold bars of the bank against my back. I hyperventilate with breaths of relief. Just as I caught my breath, I felt cold hands grab my arm through the broken glass and bars and pull my arm into the bank. I try to pull away, screaming and yanking savagely to no avail. I scream even louder as the sharp bite pierces my forearm. My arm is released and I see the chunk of flesh missing. I move to the concrete wall away from the bars and grasp my arm with my hand to attempt to stop the bleeding. My screams settle and fatigue sets in. I take my phone out of my back pocket, I’m surprised it was still there. I open my notes and with my good hand I start to type out this journal entry. My other hand, still bleeding from the wound, goes to my neck where I feel heart-shaped locket. In the locket contains pictures of my husband and my son.

Entry three; Last Entry.

I don’t recall the news ever saying how long it took the infection to set in once someone was bitten. It doesn’t really matter though. There is no treatment. This is my last entry. It always figured I would get more entries if went to Savannah. More research equals more entries. Guess I was wrong. Anyway, if for some reason, my phone is found, I want my family to know that I love them, that I was I thinking of them, and I’m sorry. I should have never left for the city. I am feeling okay, but very tired. I can see my eyes becoming a jaundice yellow in the background of the phone as I type this. If this is found, please send to 454 South Aven………….