Tales of the Derry Plague by Anselmo, Ray (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

But she felt like she should have some record of this crisis, something she could show someone else if she ever found someone else. Or to leave for future generations (if there would be any) or alien archeologists or evolved rodents or whoever came along on Earth. It was an instinct, a reaction, more about emotion than thought. She wanted some legacy, however paltry. Was that so bad?

“No, it’s not,” she decided. She opened the book, printed and signed her name on the first page, then flipped to the second and added the date. After a moment’s thought, she wrote:

Day 20 of the Apocalypse

Day 1, of course, was the day she got sick. It might be self-centered, but her self was about all she could center on right now. Give her someone else to care for and she might center on them; for now, she was all she had.

This is a record of my experiences during and after the worldwide pandemic of August of this year. The first pages will be catching up on all my activity in surviving and in acquiring supplies to continue surviving over the previous 19 days. Further entries will cover future activities.

It seemed so formal – her writing style hearkened back to college term papers. But she wasn’t looking to sell this to a publisher, so who cared? She kept writing, filling page after page with remembrances of being sick, recovering to find a changed world, dealing with the bodies of her fellow residents, finding and preserving food, the power and water shutting off, and generally reworking things to serve the needs of (possibly) the last person left.

By the time Kelly was done, she found she’d filled a third of the book – though it wasn’t a large book – her hand was cramping and she was hungry. She opened the Doritos, drank some water and flipped back through her scribbling. She hadn’t left out much, just some of the crying and depressive jags. It was as comprehensive and honest as it needed to be, she supposed. She went to the next untouched page, wrote tomorrow’s date and Day 21 at the top, and set it back on the table.

That left LaSheba’s journal, and she realized she’d been subconsciously putting it off all this time. Part of it was the old taboo about reading someone’s private writings, especially a friend’s – that was a good way to end a friendship. Of course, LaSheba was way past the point of caring. Her soul was in Heaven or wherever souls went if they went anyplace. Her body was in a burnt pile on the beach. She wasn’t going to haunt her about this.

Another part, though, was that the last few days’ entries would be a chronicle of her, her friends and everyone around her dying with no logical explanation. If that didn’t push some emotional buttons, Kelly would be surprised. She wasn’t sure she wanted her buttons pushed. And there was no guarantee there would be a scrap of useful knowledge to be found. LaSheba wasn’t a scientist or a doctor, and certainly not a survivalist – she was a farmer’s daughter from around Fresno who worked at a grocery store.

But looking into it was a Thing She Could Do. It might have some helpful information after all. And it was a loose end. By reading it, maybe she could get some closure she didn’t have regarding her coworkers. Maybe she could honor their memory …?

Maybe it made no sense at all. Maybe it didn’t need to. But she knew it would bother her if she didn’t, and that was what finally got her to pick it up and open it.

The front page read “VOLUME 14.” So LaSheba had been doing this for some time. She hadn’t bothered to look around the party of five’s place when she found their bodies, or when she bagged and removed them. It had almost been too much for her to do that. Maybe if she felt the need, she’d go back and see if volumes 1 through 13 were sitting around.

The next began with a date, June 27. “So this will only cover a little over a month.” She felt a little less bad about that – at least she was only prying into a few weeks of her friend’s secrets. Though as she read, she didn’t find a lot of secrets. Minor stuff about work, songs she was listening to, goings-on among the roommates, the occasional mention of a date with someone named Amar who lived in Mill Valley. She didn’t seem too serious about him.

Kelly only showed up three times in the entries. The first was on July 4: Da Boss closed the store for a few minutes and we all went up on the roof to watch the fireworks on the other side of the hills. Couldn’t see much but it was still fun. LaSheba and Vivi Fifi often called her Da Boss – Vivi Fifi came up with it, saying it could be her hip-hop name. Everyone found that funny, especially LaSheba, since Kelly was almost as white as you could get and Vivi Fifi bordered on translucent.

July 16’s note was even more heartening: That B Mrs. Cavendish was griping about the cold cuts & calling me everything short of N. Da Boss came over & set her straight, said if she ever talked to one of her people like that again she’d refuse her service 4ever. B tried to go off about the black forest ham and Da Boss said it was the same as always and didn’t excuse her behavior. Mrs. Cavendish said she might call corporate and Da Boss said, fine, use my phone and held it out! BOOM – that shut her up! KELLY IS AWESOME!

She remembered that one. Maura Cavendish was over seventy-five and never seemed happy unless she was complaining. She remembered