Fiction.

I’ve learned some things.

1. Destroy their brains. If you do not do this, they will not die.
2. Don’t let them near your ear. I don’t know how it works exactly, but that’s the only thing I can figure that’s creating more of them.

I’m holed up in the Panera Bread on Broad Street. I needed a place with food that hasn’t gone bad, knives, and a computer. I’ll be here through the night, and then tomorrow I’ll move again. I know this though: I’m not letting Richmond burn, especially not with my friends still there.

If you know more about what’s happening to people, please post it here. This seems to be the only way people can communicate about what’s going on. As for what I said above, I can only tell you what I saw last night as I was leaving. Maybe someone else can figure out how this works.

The instant I opened the door onto the stairwell last night, I could hear whimpering. I raced down the stairs. There, laying in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs with her leg twisted impossibly below her, was the girl who I’ve had a crush on for like the entire two years I’ve worked here. She was absolutely stunning from about the waist upwards, and maybe excluding the incredibly pained facial expression. I ran over to her and knelt down.

“I . . ”

She cut me off. “It . . .”

“Sorry.”

“No, go ahead.”

“No, you first.”

She grimaced again. “I just opened the door and there it was, this awful creature on the other side, making some incredible noise into my ear. I fell ass over teakettle down the stairs. It was awful. I feel awful. Justin, I can’t feel my legs, are they all right?”

I looked down at her legs. Her right shin was in her lap. “Yes, you’ll be fine. Let’s get you to a hospital. And then afterwards, dinner? Is that a thing? Because I’ve always . . .”

She interrupted me again, yelling “I am on fire!” She screamed in pain. “Kill me . . . ”

Obviously this girl just has a problem with listening. That’s okay, though. I mean, communication is something you can deal with in a relationship. “The thing is, I’ve been secretly in love with . . .”

That’s when she spat blood all over me. It was as I was staggering away that she suddenly stood up, broken leg or no, and started shambling towards me, groaning loudly.

I don’t know much about girls, but girls with broken legs do not get up and shamble. So I bashed her head in with my laptop.

—

Oh hell, there’s some yelling coming from outside. I’m submitting this now. Let’s hope I make it long enough to post again.

If you have any details about what’s happening in Richmond, let me know or post it here. Something is not cool today.

The thing is, I was already freaked out for two reasons.

1. Ross was holed up in his house this morning after rioters started tearing up Grayland Ave.
2. I have not seen a human since I got to work around 7:15 this morning. Literally. I skipped a departmental community service event today to get work done, but typically there are at least a few people doing the same. Today: nobody. I went around the entire floor in mid-afternoon to make sure.

Okay, whatever, I’m a little girl. But now there is a BODY outside in the parking lot. As in, what theoretically at one time was a human person is reclining prone with its legs in a handicapped spot and its torso in 3-hour parking. I don’t know where the head is but I’m not going to look around.

Plus at this moment there is some kind of commotion coming from downstairs, as though cubicle walls were being torn down.

This is not right at all. I’m going to slip out the loading dock door and try to make it home before it gets dark. Ross, or anyone in the museum district, give me a call when you see this. I’m sure I’m just scaring myself, but I’d feel a lot better if I knew you guys were okay.