Some people are born great while others have greatness thrust upon them... I can't recall who said these words; not that it really matters anymore. Cooper and I are the only ones left. The only ones not infected, anyway. It doesn't really matter how the virus came into existence. It kind of just happened. There were only isolated cases of the infection at first, but the disease spread. Within months, the virus had taken supremacy and the human race bowed to its will. I was forced to idly sit by while the people I love most deteriorated, died, and then reanimated into unspeakable monsters. Evil monsters with red, bloodshot eyes that look, but see nothing and who are in constant motion, but without a destination. They will attack anything, anyone; it's all the same to them. Anyone bitten is turned into one of those things; everyone but us. I was bitten early, when the infection first made its appearance. I knew what was to become of me, and I knew I had to seclude myself. I told my family my goodbyes and left. I went to the cabin my family used to vacation in, and braced myself for what I was to become. But nothing ever happened. I waited for five days, and still, I remained unchanged. It was then I learned that I am immune to the virus.
Cooper's story is like my own. We are the two oddballs who--for whatever reason--are not affected or changed by the virus. Needless to say, our country's government seized upon the opportunity to send us away. To be, in their words, 'mankind's last attempt at survival.' Talk about big friggin' shoes to fill. And so here we are, stranded on what is to be our home--humanity's home--for the rest of our lives. The officials who sent us here also semi-prepared the island for when we got here. There is a small house with a kitchen, bedroom, common area, and latrine. Nothing fancy, no electricity; just shelter for us. They also provided use with enough food, water, and other supplies for about a year, just enough for us to get on our feet. In order to survive, we'll have to learn how to live off of the land.
Cooper and I were permitted to bring one duffel bag of our things to the island, nothing more. It was difficult to cram 20+ years of life into one tiny duffel bag, but in the end I did it. Granted, the bag was so fully filled that the fabric bulged at the zipper, but everything truly important to me was safely secured inside.
This notebook was among the contents of the bag. I've decided that if I am co-responsible for repopulating the world, I must have documentation of that process. I want my children and their children to know and understand exactly what Cooper, I, and the rest of the world went through to make sure they had a chance. We're being given an opportunity to save humanity, and I'm going to try my hardest to ensure that we don't screw it all up.
This all started less than a year ago, and yet, I feel as if I've aged thirty years in that time. We have lost everything. If it weren't for Cooper, I would be completely alone in a world where everyone has been eaten. I think about my parents occasionally, and at first their memories make me smile. My mother was such a happy woman with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen and a heart of pure gold. My dad was the strongest man I've ever met, and was my hero from the time I understood the concept. And then, I see the last look my mother gave my father before she died. Thirty seconds later she reanimated and tore his throat out, then came after me. I ran, but she caught me and bit my arm. And the rest is history.
Thinking about the past or future for too long frightens me, or rather, it invokes too many intense emotions for me handle at one time. I may be immune to the physical effects of the virus, but emotionally it has murdered me.