The Tale of a Survivor

"My name is Connor O'Roddell. I am 23 years old, and I just graduated from college, studying journalism at post-secondary universities and received high honors. I had such a bright future. I really did.

"Three months ago, I moved from Chicago to the small Midwestern American town of Raccoon City with my fiancée Ryana, having been promised a job at a local newspaper facility. It wasn't until I got settled in, that I learned of the cannibal killer attacks the following summer. I read the news archives. Horrifying... and the supposed incident at the Arklay Mountains Laboratory. Something about an explosion, and the subsequently ending cannibal murders. For a while, there was peace. There were no more sightings of the rumored killers or their trained attack dogs. Eventually, people started coming back out into the streets after sundown and some even daringly ventured into the forests. It was peaceful; everyone came back from those darkened ventures. Then, there was one who did not return. Then another. And another. Eventually, sightings of wolf-like creatures with slimy, blood-slicked hides and exposed tissue. The sewers became silent, and the waters would run red with the blood of city workers. All of a sudden, the city wasn't so peaceful. It was on one chilly, cloudy day, in late September (or early October, I can't remember… the days are so blurry…) that it all happened, and the lives of thousands ended to the sound of muffled shrieks and of spilling blood.

"It was 8 O'clock in the evening when I heard the first screams. All I… I was just eating, and all of a sudden there was this… this blood-curdling shriek, followed in rapid succession by so many more. So many more…

"Then came the sounds of gunshots, and car crashes and explosions. As I crept over to my window, I was gripped by one of the most horrible sights I had ever seen. Dozens of people in the streets, some police officers, some civilians.

"Or, at least, they looked like civilians. They were covered in blood, torn-up clothing. Some of them didn't have any limbs or even faces, exposing the dark, gritty muscle and bone underneath. Some seemed still about their wits enough to run from the dead people. Were they dead? I don't know… living people certainly don't shuffle hungrily towards others, with half their skin ripped off, and act like they've almost starved to death. Living people also tend to die when they've suffered countless gunshot wounds.

"My life was perfect. I was in love for the first time, I had a job and I was loving every minute of it. This wasn't supposed to happen. Regardless, here I am, with pen in my sweating hand and paper in my lap. There's a gun at my foot, loaded, but I only have two clips salvaged from dead (or undead…) officers. I'm writing this in hopes that whoever finds it can use any information I write down, God forbid I never need to use it. If I survive, I need a real vacation. Fitting that I have more to write about in the past few days than I have in my entire life. This is my story, and this is my life as of three days past."