ᶜᴼᴺᵀᴱᴺᵀ ᵂᴬᴿᴺᴵᴺᴳ — ᴿᴱᶜᴼᴹᴹᴱᴺᴰᴱᴰ ¹⁸⁺ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᶠⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵈⁱᵃʳʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ᶜᵃⁿⁿⁱᵇᵃˡⁱˢᵐ, ᵇᵒᵈʸ ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ, ᵈᵃʳᵏ ʰᵘᵐᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵇⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵐᵃᵍᵉʳʸ.

09/27/1980

Dear Diary,

They advertised these cereals on the radio called The Pastel Apocalypse Cereals. They kept saying they wanted to send them to the survivors in California as “supplies,” and they were running a poll, inviting us to call them directly. So, as soon as I found a phone, obviously I called. Jenny listened to my voice straight from the radio.
“Hi, my name is Taffy.”
“Hi, Taffy! Where are you calling from?”
“Do you know when the airports are reopening?”
The man hesitated, then forced a laugh. “So tell me, how would you like to receive your free cereal?”
I pursed my lips. “By helicopter, directly into my lap.”
When I got back to the car, Jenny gave me a smile. “Already tired of our vacation?”
I shrugged. “Of course not, I was just curious.”
You know what they did next? They dropped fifty thousand boxes of cereal from helicopters over the contaminated area of California. I know because one of them fell on my head while I was sitting in the car.
They tasted like shit, I've never eaten anything more disgusting, but I have to admit the box was cute, all colorful, with a little white bear whose face was covered in cherry jam. I decided it was cherry. Jenny says it's strawberry. We need to call the radio and ask.
At least they washed the taste of gasoline out of my mouth. Stealing gas sucks, by the way. And there are people who do this just so they don't have to pay for it? We don't have a choice, most of the gas pumps are empty or don't work anyway. We have two gas cans on the back seat, I kept turning around to check on them like they were our children...

Our convertible was getting prettier and prettier. We'd stuck a bunch of cute stickers all over the hood, although then Jenny accidentally ran someone over and they got covered in blood...
We drove away, obviously, because it's not like she did it on purpose. I was looking for the cassettes we found in a store, so we wouldn't have to risk some weird song coming on the radio... And I got annoyed because, among all the other crap, the back seat is now covered in coupons for 50% off.
“What the hell are all these papers?!” I grumbled, throwing them all over the floor.
“I found them in some magazines. They might come in handy.”
“Everything is 100% off in stores, Jen...” I insisted, by then I was more on the back seat than the front one.
“Sooner or later, people are going to want to use some kind of currency again. Coupons are the solution, trust me.”
“I don't think so.” I grumbled, digging through the papers.
“Hey, don't judge me. At least I didn't steal boots off a dead girl.”
My head almost unscrewed itself from how fast I turned to look at her. “You literally told me, ‘Yeah, take them, who cares!’”
She stared at me indignantly, shifting in her seat to get a better look at me, with only one hand on the wheel. “That's not the point! If I told you to shoot someone, would you do it?!”
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “Of course I'd shoot them, I trust your judgment!”
“But you don't trust my coupons!”

And then my shoulder slammed into the dashboard while a man's face stared at us through the windshield.
“Fuck!” Jenny started jerking the wheel around, trying to get him to slide off the car. The problem was, I was almost the one sliding out.
Anyway, as we kept driving, that guy got back up off the road. So he was fine. Even if his arm was shaped a little weird.

We were listening to Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar at full volume, and I was giving the performance of my life when we stopped in front of a farm in San Jacinto. A huge hay maze next to an abandoned pumpkin patch caught our attention. That red house looked perfect for us to stay in for a few weeks after that endless, nonstop road trip...
We were about to get out when the shooting started. We both ducked under the dashboard.
“Taffy, if that's YOU shooting, I swear to God!” Jenny screamed, her hands over her ears and her eyes shut. I had my hands clasped over the back of my head. “WITH WHAT BULLETS?!”
She started screaming over the gunshots and the music still blasting at full volume. “I don't want to die! I don't want to die!”
A man's voice yelled from the house. “Infected! Get the hell off my property!”
Right after that came a bang even louder than the other shots. The car started sinking on one side. I sat up without thinking, waving my arms around like a lunatic. “You fucking asshole, how are we supposed to leave if you shot out our tire?!”
The man held his rifle confidently. “We don't want contaminated people here! Get out!”
“And I'm tell—”
I felt an insane stab of pain in my side. He didn't just graze me, he put an actual hole in me. And my flesh? Fine, it grows back. My California T-shirt? THAT doesn't regenerate. “You put a hole in my shirt?! Are you insane?!” I yelled.
His wife's head popped out through the doorway. “Shoot her, Jonathan! Shoot her!”

“No! Don't shoot her!” I threw my hands up as I tried to move closer to them. And you know what they did? They turned my shirt into a colander. They stared at me in shock, maybe they realized they'd ruined my shirt while I just kept walking toward them. I don't even know how, but the last bullet missed me. I wish it hadn't...
It hit one of the gas cans...
I had both hands over my mouth as I watched the flames destroy our beloved car...
I turned to look at him. I was way too close by then. “Jonathan, you're so fucking rude.”
He was busy reloading the rifle. I grabbed it by the barrel and started pulling. He looked at me like I was some kind of monster. ME? You're the one who shot me seven times...
He really wouldn't let go. He only loosened his grip when Jenny jumped on his wife and sent her straight onto the kitchen table. She bit into her jugular like she was a sandwich. As soon as I had the rifle in my hands, I smashed it into his head. He could barely stay on his feet, but he still wouldn't give up. One of his eyes was dangling underneath his nose.
“That's disgusting, Jonathan!” I hit him in the head again. He finally fell, but he still looked alive. His mouth kept moving like he was trying to say something. If his eye had still been inside its socket, he probably would've been looking at his wife while Jenny feasted on her flesh. We got pretty lucky finding something to eat in the end.

I was about to pull his eye off, since it was already hanging out anyway, and I couldn't wait to eat some more. Something cold pressed against the back of my head.
“Step away from Mr. Miller before I decorate the floor with your brain.”
Jenny was still chewing with her cheeks full. She wiped her mouth with her arm, then grabbed the unloaded gun tucked into her pants and pointed it at whoever was standing behind me. As she moved, the now-dead woman's head fell to the floor with a thud.
Another voice came from behind me. “Did you just eat Mrs. Miller?”
Jenny made a face. “She was loud.”

The guy pressing the gun against my head spoke again. “Get up. Hands in the air.”
Jenny grunted. “I have a gun too.” She shook it like it was a toy.
The other voice spoke. “Do you even know how to use it?”
We both scoffed, except she said no and I said yes.
She leaned slightly toward me. “So we're liars now, too? On top of being thieves?”
I almost laughed. My hands were shaking like they had on that day...
He pressed the gun against my head again. “You're fucking murderers and cannibals. On top of being infected.”
I was about to correct him because, obviously, as we've already established, we're not cannibals, but I understand that someone who doesn't know us wouldn't know that.
When I slowly turned to look at him, he pressed the barrel against my forehead. A toothpick in his mouth and sunglasses over his eyes. A pack of cigarettes tucked under the short sleeve of his white T-shirt.
His friend was holding a dirty baseball bat and wearing an orange T-shirt that looked really good against his dark skin.

It was the first time since we'd escaped that we'd seen anyone our age.
The guy with the gun nodded toward Jenny. “Put your gun down. Or do you want me to blow your brain out first?”
“You people are extremely rude on this farm,” I snapped.
He raised his eyebrows. “To people like you? Absolutely.”
I heard Jenny drop the gun. His friend quickly picked it up and checked the magazine. Then he showed it to the guy holding me at gunpoint.
“Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes with an annoying little smirk. “Of course you're walking around with unloaded guns. Neither of you looks particularly smart.” He tilted his head. “But I wouldn't expect much from a couple of contaminated girls driving around with their music blasting.”
Why did the most annoying one have to point his gun at my head instead of my side? Why did everyone else get it wrong when they shot at me, but he didn't?

“So? Are we going to introduce ourselves, Dean, or are you just going to shoot me?” I hissed.
He shook his head. “I don't care what your names are.” He shifted the toothpick between his lips with his tongue.

What else is there to tell you? I heard someone coughing outside the house, so I think there are three of those assholes. They locked us in a fucking storage closet. We're still in here. It's probably been years by now... definitely an hour...
You know what pisses me off the most? They went through all our stuff that survived the car fire.
“Am I imagining it, or is Queen playing on the radio?” Jenny looked at me, frowning.
I pressed my head against the door. “That's not the radio, that's one of my cassettes!” I smacked my hand against the wood. “Hey, assholes! Keep your hands off our stuff!”
I heard footsteps on the other side of the door.
“Damn, Rose, I have to admit, you've got a pretty good cassette collection.” He knocked twice on the door.
I kept yelling, but he'd already walked away.
“Dean! You're an asshole! Come back here!”
It's uncomfortable in here and my ass hurts, the floor is hard... Anyway, Jenny's been digging around in here for a while and I think she found a gun...
No... it's a flare gun...
We're going to break down the door now.

XOXOXO

Taffy. (Not Rose.)