Journal Entry #14

"In Memory of,"
April 2, 2011

As I entered the room that overlooked the lake, I found him. He was slumped down over his rifle, unresponsive; his face pale, his eyes dilated. I could barley find a pulse on him. I immediately radioed into the others on watch that night that David was nearing death.

Michael Ashcroft was the first to get to us. He helped me carry David the short distance to our house when we realized there was no way we could get him all the way to the Coopers. We put him down on our kitchen table and I had Michael go get his father and Michelle Cooper, the former ER Nurse. Your mother had been playing with her video camera, unable to fall back asleep after I inadvertently woke her upon leaving to take watch. She would later record what happened that night.

Michael was quick to arrive with Mrs. Cooper in tow and she diligently tended to David. The wound on his arm had become terribly infected and smelled something awful. After checking him over, she told me the obvious, that he was in bad shape, his pulse was racing, his skin clammy and severely dehydrated and that his arm would likely have to be amputated. I had since charged up the generator and plugged it into the main house line. It was nice being able to use switches and lights again. Those annoying red and green glows that emanate and persist from every electronic instrument in the house were a comforting sight for once.

Michelle and I both timidly agreed that we would go ahead with an amputations attempt. With no hospital and limited medical supplies, a gangrenous limb could mean certain death. An amputated limb didn’t do much to increase the odds. Michelle and I set about our task of finding suitable tools: a fresh hack saw, some razors, sutures and so on.

While we were waiting for the pressure canner, our make shift autoclave, to reach its optimal two-hundred fifty some degrees, your mother, who had been keeping an eye on David called us in with an urgent and excited voice. David had begun to come around, the first signs of full consciousness he had shown since Michael and I carried him in.

I was in a suspended disbelief when he first lunged at Michelle. Looking at the video later I realize that what seemed like five minutes was really only a few seconds. I forced my way through his grip on Michelle, pushing her to the side and forcing David on the ground. I saw that same, familiar hollowness in his eyes that I had seen in every infected so far. Somehow the pistol that rattled in my hand managed to end his torment. In hindsight it may not have been the best of decisions; the clean up was not pleasant but there was surprisingly little blood considering the trauma inflicted. It was thick, like dark honey or syrup. Not coagulated, just very thick and heavy. We are still hesitant to enter the kitchen for fear of contact with any….pieces…we may have missed

We’ve walled off that half of the room with duct tape and plastic sheeting and have moved much of our food and cooking equipment into the hallway leading to the bathroom. This has cut down our living space on the ground floor by nearly half, forcing an already cramped and irritated family to be that much more so. You were sleeping until the gun blast, but your grandmother was good about taking you into her bedroom and comforting you through out the confusion. I am thankful that neither you nor she had to witness it. I’m not sure she could handle anymore as she’s become quite…delicate…as it is.

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