6 March 2010
21:01
I suppose…I can continue to use this journal to record what I'm up to here. It's difficult to find anything else to use. Paper seems to be a limited commodity, along with a lot of other things we'd taken for granted before this apocalypse.
The military doesn't precisely run the compound, but its influence is heavy. Breakfast is at 06:00 without fail; lunch at 12:00, and then dinner at 18:00. Every meal is served with military efficiency, and lasts only about an hour. The food is likely military grade—it's certainly drier than what I'd gotten used to. But then, I've been used to fresher food, mostly meat, brought to me by my Hunters…
No. I can't think of them anymore.
After each meal is some activity or another. Mostly, these activities involve maintenance of the compound and its inhabitants, self-defense, exercise and even education. When I can, I take part in the exercise and maintenance roles. I've been taught to sew with or without a machine (power is intermittent here, so we've needed to learn to do without), so I help to make our clothing. I also help to cook; I'm not the best, but at least I'm not the worst, either. I even help with some repairs.
But because of my occupation prior to the outbreak, my most significant contribution is medical. I was outright assigned to the med-bay due to my expertise and my work with CEDA. Partly, my duty is to treat the injured when we take in any, whether new arrival (and there was at least one since I arrived, too), patrolman, or someone who wasn't paying attention around the compound. I can't give medication, but at least I can operate when it's needed.
My primary function in this new society is research. CEDA's previous studies are crucial to this project. But I quickly found, after I was given my assignment, that "this project" is not a cure to the Infection. No, there is no curing this disease, I'm told. Instead, the research is into methods of killing the zombies without needing to get close, or rendering our cities unlivable. There's even a plan for next week to capture one of the Infected to experiment on.
Of course, I'll be in charge of that expedition. Being a veterinarian, and having studied the Infected, I can read their animalistic behavior, making it easier to capture a live, healthy specimen. I'd be in charge of its care, too, outside of the experiments.
If there is a higher power out there…I hope to it that my Pack has gone far, far away. If one of them were to be captured…
No. No more thinking of them. If I think of them, I miss them, and if I miss them…
Just no.
At any rate, I work until well into the night. My only free day is Sunday, primarily because no one is running anything but the meals. I may, however, continue working anyway. My attempts at social interaction have been few and far between, and awkward to boot. I wasn't this bad prior to the Infection, but after being alone for so long, I've found I've lost touch. So, with no one to spend my free time with, I can concentrate on myself and my work.
And the more I work, the less I will think of what—and who—I'm missing.
From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.
Author's Notes: Wait, what? Final chapter so short? Garnet turning away from the Pack? This seriously can't be it!
Don't worry, folks, it's not. I love writing, and I love writing for you guys, so I decided to separate the final chapter into, well, more than one. So here's part one. Part two ought to be up just as quickly. Enjoy!