The 21 Stages of Kirkman's Paranoiac Thanatophoria
1.
Removed another finger today. Unclear how much longer I will be able to keep up this account. Contact was minimal but I cannot take chances. Cauterized.
2.
I close my eyes when I have to put down a child. A thing that used to be a child, I tell myself. A monster. A child-shaped machine for passing on the infection. But still, I close my eyes. I fear this is a sign that I may be infected myself, this terrible sympathy.
3.
Today I almost felt like flying. Thank god for the ropes.
4.
Certain now that I am infected. Overcome with despair and self-recriminations. I knew I should not eat anything I did not prepare, with my own hands, from a sealed, pre-outbreak can. I knew, and yet I gave in to temptation. My sweet tooth has always been my weakness.
I always imagined I would end up getting fat. I never imagined dying because I couldn't resist a bar of chocolate.
5.
I am dead and I am surrounded by the dead. Who said that? Cannot remember.
6.
In the park today I observed a colony of pigeons feeding on the remains of one of the infected. It was a stage of the disease I had not yet documented. The body had fully decayed, into a kind of yellow pea-gravel mixed with what looked like varicolored sand. Absolutely fascinating. I was unable to retrieve a sample, as I had (stubbornly, foolishly) gone outside not in my hazard suit, but in ordinary clothes. I tell myself that it doesn't matter, now that I am infected myself, that I might as well be comfortable—but at the same time, I know how foolish and dangerous those sorts of thoughts are, and I wonder if they truly belong to me, or if in fact the infection has progressed to the point where it is capable of directing my actions. Certainly it will reach that point before the end. I must remain vigilant.
7.
The binoculars help. Or do they? Perhaps seeking a distant height from which to observe is itself a sign that the infection has progressed.
I don't want to become like the others. I swear I'll die before I let that happen.
8.
Surprised in the stairwell today by a group of the infected. Terrifying. Barely escaped with my life. Received several scratches. Have washed them with rubbing alcohol and cauterized. Terrible pain. I don't know if further exposure to the pathogen will hasten my decline, but I cannot risk it.
9.
Terrible realization.
They were working in teams. Working together. That is how they came so close to catching me.
Days have passed since the attack in the stairwell. Unsure how many. No sleep. Unable to document until now.
Which of these facts is significant of further progress of the infection?
Or is it that I don't know that is significant? How can I be on my guard, how can I prevent my final decline, if I no longer know what to fear?
Or is it the fear of not knowing that marks the boundary between my own thoughts and those of the invader, the infection?
10.
More chocolate. Why not. Have given up.
11.
Returned to the stairwell. No sign of the group that attacked me. Disappointed. I had hoped to be able to observe the progress of decay, perhaps as far as what I am now calling the seed-form. I have realized that this form must be what allowed the infection to spread world-wide so quickly. Carried on the wings of pigeons. Otherwise known as doves.
12.
Returned to the stairwell again. I've been a fool. How could six bodies decay and be carried off by birds in the space of a few days? Impossible. The only conclusion is that they were removed by other infected. This is a new behavior. I must document it.
13.
The urge to fly returned today. I was able to untie two of the four ropes using only my teeth before I returned to myself. I fear I have very little time remaining.
14.
Observations. The infected move in surging crowds, always together. Silently. Possibility: participation in group mind? Most activity around dawn and dusk. They enter buildings and below-ground structures, then remain within for hours, evidently in a kind of torpor state. At night, groups are smaller, but vocalizations are much more common. Why?
15.
Have lost interest in charting the course of my own infection. Worried for a time that this was a further stage. Returned to the place where I have found chocolate. Immediate assault by three groups of infected. They were waiting for me.
They wait. They plan. They think.
Is it possible that so many of my initial observations were incorrect?
16.
Recauterized all scratches and stumps. Pain clarifies. Looking back over last days' entries I can see how much of my mind the infection has already claimed. It twists my perceptions, eats away at my reason. Forces thoughts into my mind. Questions. Hallucinations. Makes me see infected piloting vehicles. Speaking. Puppeting hideous mockeries of the lives that were stolen from them, under the control of the very thing that killed them. Too horrible.
17.
Realized that I don't remember the day of the outbreak. Don't remember anything before the outbreak. Was there a time before?
Afraid. Looked frantically through journals. Pages torn out. I do not remember removing them. Afraid the infection is moving within me now. In secret. Directing actions of which I am not even aware. Little time left. Must record final observations and make an end while
18.
Too close. It spoke to me before I put it down. Small, small, child-shaped monster. Long fly-away golden hair. Bled freely from the head. Pure red blood. Untainted.
19.
She. The child.
20.
My God my God lies it has all been lies there is no