One with Wisdom's Journal

Origin of the One with Wisdom

The first days of the outbreak would have had to have been the worst, in Samuel’s opinion. The sights during the day and the screams during the night were enough to chill any man to the bone, if not to completely make them lose their sanity and become no more human than the infected themselves. Samuel once more read through the account of the police man from the early days of the infection, reliving them himself as he did so. He sat crouched in the corner of a long abandoned warehouse, taking a temporary relief from the hell outside, recounting once again how his life was before this all began.

He was a firefighter, since his family saying his real passion of writing wouldn’t be a proper job. His family had a saying, ‘If your job is not helpful during the end of the world, then it isn’t a job worth pursuing. Being a firefighter, he was on the scene of the protest when the Feds came in. He was trying to calm the crowd down, standing in between the protesters and the lab, his Fire Axe sitting on his shoulder in case anyone thought they could take him. They were keeping the mob as pacified as anyone could keep an angry mob, until the gunfire began.

It went on for an eternity it felt like, but thinking back on it now, Samuel realized it was probably around half an hour. The gunfire stopped almost as quickly as it started, causing Sam and other men holding the mob at bay to turn around at look at the entrance of the building with uncertainty. It was a few minutes later when a man in a SWAT outfit came out the front doors, his arms limp, and a wound on his left shoulder bleeding profusely, his gun forgotten in the building. A few policemen and paramedics snapped into action and ran up to the man as he shambled down the steps.

Samuel began feeling uneasy, and could tell that the people at the front of the group were as well, as they had all stopped chanting and became eerily silent. As the wounded man got halfway down the steps and only a few meters away from the paramedics, he lunged forward at them, toppling an officer down, and then bit his throat. Everyone that could see what was occurring gasped, a few fainting. But Samuel caught movement at the corner of his eye, and saw more wounded people shuffling out of the building, some with SWAT uniforms, others with lab coats, and some with just casual clothes on, and they began shuffling out in the dozens.

One of the other police got the wounded SWAT off of the officer, and tased the SWAT man. The man in the SWAT uniform seemed unfazed, then proceeded to bite the unwounded officers wrist. Samuel then realized the situation, and calling for a dispersal. But he didn’t have to. The protesters who saw the two officers get bit went into full panic mode, pushing past the people behind them in a futile attempt to escape.

The noise of the panicking protesters caused the wound to start running at them with amazing speeds, and within seconds the small team of police and paramedics that went to help the first man were over run, their gunshots doing nothing to slow the infected. Samuel then realized that the infected would be on top of him within seconds, and his survival instincts kicked in. He ran south along the sidewalk, then down a clear alleyway, unhindered by the mob who continued to push away from the building, screams of terror now sounding throughout the night as the injured reached the protester, biting and clawing at them.

Samuel again regretted that he hadn’t thought to try to take some of the people with him, but again realized that he himself might not be alive if he had done so. He reached into his bag again for his journal, a large leather bound book full of his own passages, along with writings from other diaries and such he had found looting for supplies. He carefully placed the tattered pages in the book, then replaced it carefully in it’s special pouch. He shuffled around a bit, then finding a bag of oats, took them out and began eating. Sure, it taste like sawdust, but there was little else to eat in the city. He swung his bag onto his back, checked his katana, his weapon of choice ever since his Fire Axe broke, but that is another story for another day. Sam then laughed silently at the irony, as he realized it literally took for the end of the world for him to be able to pursue his passion, although he would rather record happier times.