Potsdam, September 18th
They attacked us during the night. The Browning in action and the explosion of grenades woke us up, and we immediately ran to our posts, but they were already breaking the barricade; a huge, uncontrollable mass of zombies walking towards us.
"Fall back!" The Hauptmann shouted and we retreated North, heading to Monbijoubrücke. Some of us lost control and fled, getting rid of their equipment and jumping on the cold waters of the Spree.
We should have left the city earlier.
It was a massacre. The zombies grabbed, punched and bit my colleagues. They trampled over them. It was a herd of crazy creatures.
That second bridge was supposed to be our escape route, but, when we got there, there were hundred of zombies wandering on the other side. I looked for the commander, but he was nowhere to be found.
As if he read my thoughts, Jürgen said.
"He's gone. They ate him!"
"To the boats," I cried as I pointed down to the river. There were only twenty three of us left. We had used those two old boats for scavenging the nearby areas only, we never really considered taking our entire platton in them, but now that seemed the most obvious thing to do.
"Move, move, move!" I ordered, realizing I was the highest rank soldier there. We tried to carry with us as many equipment and supplies as possible; there was no point in getting away and starving in the days to follow.
Some of the buildings were on fire, and we could hear rifle shots scattered across the island.
"We're not waiting for them," someone said. "If we stay here, we'll also die."
So we left, sailing West on the Spree.
The dawn as breaking on our backs.
YOU ARE READING
Notes from the End of the World
HorrorThe Collectors Guild hired him to be the Postman, to gather the notes that will help the humankind to have a deeper understanding on how and why the world ended. Nobody knows anything for sure; the only certainty is that it's really dangerous out th...
