End of days 3

Mr McKenzie was the first person I killed. Do you remember him? He was that quiet old man who turned up at the launderette every Saturday morning with piles of pink sheets. I don’t think we knew his name then; I only found out afterwards – just to remember him as human and not what he became.

It was not long after the second shock wave, the one that took out the electricity. I was running home, desperate to reach you, and he went for me with some old piping, his eyes filled with that black fire. I don’t recall the fight, but I expect it was clumsy and desperate. The next thing I knew I was kneeling over him with a brick in my hand, pounding away mercilessly.

There were so many others like him, maddened by the power that was taking over. I still wonder how I survived. I tried so hard to find you but the fissures had begun opening and the roads were blocked. Every waking moment I pray that you are alive somewhere, but more than that I pray that the insanity never took you.

The enemy are massing below us now. It won’t be long.