**This journal entry page is dotted with small drops of water (teardrops perhaps), some ink is smudged but still readable**

Day Six

If you are reading this, then these could be my last words, well I guess any day could be, but I am in a forest west of Berezino, the town I just barely escaped. A creep had entered the cafe I was hiding in overnight. He ambushed me, sinking his teeth into the sleeve of my leather jacket, his arms continuing to flail and hit me. A right hook from the monster connected with my head... Sorry, I can't believe I compared this fucking creep to a boxer. Anyway, I wrenched free, reached my pistol on my belt and shot. Again, and again and again until its head was a bloody pulp, I looked up to see a mirror on the wall, I didn't look at it for long, but remember thinking 'What a wreck.' Blood was seeping from a cut on the side of my head, caused by the bony knuckles of the infected on the floor. Those shots had stirred a sleeping horde; I had to escape, quickly.

I lost the mob chasing the sounds pretty quickly, the challenge was getting out quietly and unseen. I stuck to the gardens, the alleys and the dark corners the sunlight had not yet penetrated. I reached the fringes of town and arrived at the edge of the woods. I kept on running deeper and deeper into the forest until I ran out of energy. Then I remembered the bastard bit me... I pulled up the sleeve of the leather jacket, there was bruising, but the skin or the jacket wasn't broken, I think I was safe. The cut on my head was another matter. Weeks ago whilst I was on the boat I had heard of stories over the radio of people getting infected without bites, through the infector's own blood entering the body. I didn't even know how long it took for a person to turn, for my father it was a couple of hours, I can't remember exactly how long. I opened my water canteen, dipped some toilet roll with the water (down to 3 sheets left, need more or I will have to resort to going commando and using tree bark) and dabbed the cut to clean. I used my only plaster left to cover the cut (I've been using them to prevent and treat sores / cuts from handling my tools), the stinging sensation was sadistically welcoming.

It was only now I realised I was lost in the woods, I didn't have any way of knowing exactly where I was. Looking at the map, I can head west and I should reach a dirt road eventually, and from there I should have a better chance of locating where I am.

I remembered why I am here today walking through the forest that someone else reading this will not know. I had won the lottery back home in England, well over a year ago now. I quit my boring office job and bought the yacht that me and my father had dreamt of since my childhood. God. Our family weekend trips to Southend seem like a lifetime ago now. I would trade everything to be 10 years old again. I have reached a dilemma about fate and destiny, is this the price I pay for spending a year having an extravagant lifestyle? Considering what has happened, can winning the lottery be called a bit of good luck?

That money is useless now, trapped in a bank account that can't be accessed. And even then it's value is now the same as ordinary paper. If I never had bought that stupid yacht, if I had not won the god damn lottery, I would be at home. And although I could have easily died from the apocalypse back home, at least I would have been surrounded by family and friends. And my wife, 2 months pregnant would not have drowned.

I found the dirt trail, this country is host to a beautiful forest, and extraordinarily some of the wildlife is thriving still. The odd deer prancing about, rabbits speeding off through the grass. Before the apocalypse, I would have come on holiday here. After a short rest, I went on to pass two towns, both overrun, nothing eye-catching. I avoided them, I have a weeks' worth of food and drink at a stretch so I can high tail it to the north-western airport via the central farming towns that may contain the military. Tonight might be colder than usual, or maybe it's me feeling weaker, I don't know. I've founded an abandoned petrol station, one lone zombie (they wore the petrol stations uniforms, poor guy died doing their job) finished silently with a hatchet to the back of the head.

There is a sign above me where I am sitting, 'No Fuel' and evidence of a fight, against who I am not sure, but there aren't any bodies around. The locals must have got desperate and scrambled for the last drops of fuel, it is probably why there are many cars just lying in the road, many just ran out of gas and ran for the hills. It seems no one made it out. Despite the ridiculousness of the notion, I have this sinking feeling that those creeps from Berezino might still be chasing me. When does one of these things give up the scent of prey? Would they walk for miles and weeks like birds migrate for winter? All these questions, and never any answers. The one vital question I aim to answer still stands. Is anyone out there?

Day Seven

I was unable to write this morning, I overslept! I'm fucking pissed, I have wasted three hours, today I am heading further west, I am so close to the central towns now, the roads signs telling me it is only 1 km away...

** The next paragraph you read is hastily scrawled, but you can still make out the words. **

I am writing this atop a hill overlooking the first town, what I see before me is shocking. A helicopter, on fire. Plumes of smoke rising from the crashed wreck embedded in the ground. Fresh explosions are going off every ten minutes or so as some more fuel is ignited. Most of the crew seemed to have survived the crash, for all the wrong reasons. Their infected bodies stumbled across the field, as if nothing had happened. And to my curiousity, strewn across the ground were boxes, crates. Possibly supplies.

Well I got out of there quickly, it took me half an hour to crawl over to it. I flinched at every bang, I felt vulnerable following yesterday's challenges. But I urgently needed medical supplies, the hits over the past few days and the journey so far had taken a toll on my limbs, and I was in agony.

The crew had wandered off once I reached the supplies, there were some bandages, some food and painkillers, of which I took as much as I could carry. I looked down at my watch, well one I had found anyway, I still have 6 hours or so before nightfall. I also realised what day it is today. I've been here one week, it's depressing really. I've barely scraped by, and there are (dreadfully) many more weeks to come. I'm heading towards the next town now.

Tents. A couple dozen of them layer out in a line, one or two creeps dotted the compound, dormant. I descended my safe hilltop into the vipers nest below. Like the Berezino base, the results were enlightening, rows and rows of bodies were laid out in open space, quarantine paraphernalia littered the compound. No sign of the base being attacked, from the outside anyway. The barbed wire fences and the entrances were still intact, but the tents were damaged, and the inhabitants obviously dead. I found a smoke grenade in one tent, but not much in the way of supplies I could carry.

Dusk was approaching as I neared the end of the dirt road leading to the airfield. It took a good hour long trek to get, including a rest and wash in a lake. I didn't realise how dirty my clothes were, it's unfortunate I couldn't take a proper bath in it, the last place I want to die is sitting naked in a lake. But even dirty stagnant water was welcoming after a week sleeping rough. I followed the tall perimeter wall around to the gated entrance, manned by a security guard facing away from me.

Rifle slung around my chest I pulled the gate open as quietly as possible and entered the booth with a hatchet. I struck him down, his infected groans dissipating after I pierced the skull. I wrenched the hatchet out with my foot and carried on down the road towards some large aircraft hangers.

Loitering on the runway were a large mob of creeps, military and civilian garb. Looks like these survivors didn't survive. It seems these headquarters were overwhelmed with people, and they couldn't sustain it. And it seems the infrastructure couldn't protect them either. I entered each hanger, checking for any supplies amongst the litter. They were devoid of aircraft, most likely already in far off countries, or scattered around the country much like the crash site from earlier. I kept low and near the bushes and grass. Across the runway is the air traffic control tower, it's entrance barred with giant concrete slabs, completely shutting of the door for intruders. And also anyone inside.

I'm sitting in the fire station overlooking the air traffic control tower, the stars twinkling above as always, unaffected light years away from us. The control tower has a ladder on the side of the building, maybe the people inside escaped. Well some of them. I can't see a great deal, but there are bodies in there.

Overall I have been left disheartened over the past week. This eventuality was always in the back of my mind, but I clung on to the fact that there are people out there, that both me and my family have a chance at survival. But I don't think there is anyone anymore, it's silent. Or the survivors are doing a bloody great job of being silent, the only place I haven't checked is deep in the forests. Civilisation has truly fallen. Too much has happened. All I can do is get as much sleep as I can and decide where to head tomorrow. I bet my nightmares will involve forests now.