Journal:Gravebash
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Introduction
Welcome to To the Journal Of Steve 'Gravebash' Marley. Marley, or gravebash to his friends, was a WWII Veteran. As a young man in the war his agility was his greatest weapon, he managed to crawl his way out of every situation the enemy handed him. When he returned home, he was greeted with a heroes welcome. However after just three short years he was forgotten, known only as Mr. Marley. A resident of the sheltered housing complex in Malton. When the quarantine was enacted he couldn't just sit by Idly. He chose to flee the Housing complex and collect some arms. He felt young again defending the helpless, and 'helping the helpless to help themselves'. (This was his platoons motto)
Shortly after this he was killed. He wasn't sure if it was old age, or the revification process, but when he woke up his memory was gone. It will take him many weeks to find his past, and this journal is to safeguard his memories should he need to be revificated once more.
The Book
Tuesday, 10th January 2006
- \'\'The page is blood stained and wrinkled, This is the very first page, opposite on the back of the cover of this leather bound journal appears to be a very messy diagram of the suburb.\'\'
I have no idea how long Malton will be in this mess. So I have decided to write this journal, I figured it would help me pass the time, also I appear to be suffering sleight amnesia. As far as I can tell from the other survivors here I am at a revification point. I have been told Malton is over run with \'\'zombies\'\'. Entities of the living dead walking on the earths surface, if I was religious I would believe this to be work of the devil. According to a field medic by the name of \'\' \'rucksack\' \'\' I had become one of these undead. Rucksack was a crazy old man, creeped me out almost more than the heap of flailing undead begging for revification. I can see in their eyes that I was like them just moments ago. At first I was glad that Rucksack had gone, but now, as I hear groans drifting through the cold and bitter air, I realise how much I miss human company. A few blocks away I can see lights on. I\'m amazed that some buildings have power in this \'apocalyptic state\' \'\'(to quote a crazy medic to whom I just became acquainted)\'\'. Signing off, Marley.
- \'\'20:18, 10 Jan 2006 (GMT)\'\'
It took me some time to reach the building I was heading for, the one with the lit windows. Although it was only five blocks away my limbs were stiff. I was also being extra cautious. Every few minutes I could hear groans coming from what my instincts say is west. At one point I spent half an hour in a trash can: Too scared to move. When I finally reached the lights I realised I had arrived at a Police Department. I could see sillouhettes moving behind the lit windows. The Lighting was a flickering light, not unlike that which would be given from a room full of candles. I moved in closer, very wary of the dead bodies that were all over the patio of the Police, I was starting to doubt that this was just a dream more and more.
When I managed to get in to the safehouse \'\'(Via the rooftop of an adjacent building; \'Desperate times make desperate measures\' as my commander used to say)\'\' it was a mess, there were injured people laying asleep on the desks and one of the memo boards had instuctions to keep the building heavily barricaded, the inhabitants either didn\'t realise or care that the only way in was to leap from the library roof next door. Quite a challenge for a man as old as myself, but the shot Rucksack gave me seemed to work wonders against ol\' arthur. I could have sworn I saw movement from outside, all there is now is injured and dead.
Marley.
- \'\'22:00, 10 Jan 2006 (GMT)\'\'
After some time in the P.D. I became aware of a gurgling, I was hoping it wasn\'t the generator running low - this was providing the power for the light, not candles. A few minutes passed as I was frozen with fear, the corpse of the DCI was lurching upwards. I had hardly noticed him in the dark. He grabbed the desk. Thinking on my feet, i managed to jump over to the desk. Kicking it, I trapped him underneath. His eyes rolled back into his sockets. It was a close call, but i was safe for now. I had almost forgotten the reason i was in this mess was the rising of the dead. I prayed to god that i could find a safe den for the night. It was about now that i realised i had a satchel on my shoulder; inside was where I found my pistol (A dented, 1940\'s sidearm, which seemed strangely familiar) and some clips. The firing mechanism seemed to still work, at least now i had some defence. However, not knowing if I could stop \'\'even one\'\' zombie with the three clips i had, it didn\'t ease my heart much. It was pretty much a blur of fear and sweat from then till now. I feel alot safer around some actual \'\'survivors\'\' with me. They are currently filling me in on some more information about Molebank: The neighbourhood I have arrived in. A few survivors here in St Elisabeth\'s Hospital are running a slap-dash surgery using a generator and some left over suppilies from before the quaranteen. They tell me they have had no word from outside since then. Every few minutes a hear horrible, gurgling groans from outside. They flash the image of the DCI that is still burned into my head. Some of the more experienced here seem to be interpreting the noises as a rallying cry.
In hope: Marley.
- \'\'23:17, 10 Jan 2006 (GMT)\'\'
