Journal:Leon Damianos

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Created: 16 November 2009

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//Using my portable satellite uplink, I'll be updating this "journal" as I travel through Malton. Unfortunately, the device only allows sending packets and not recieving. I cannot make contact with you, but I wish you all Godspeed.

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16 November 2009

My first day in Malton, and what a surreal one it's been. I landed outside 'Saint Romauld's Church' in a suburb called 'Rolt Heights'. That's all the locals told me. Upon landing, I looked around and noticed a heavily geared-up man unconcious on a bench, in a nearby cemetery. There was a zombie, no more than ten yards away from the sleeping man, just sort of swaying like someone trying to stay upright after being injected with morphine.

With just my flare gun and binoculars, I wasn't sure what to do. I had heard all the stories a million times - if you slept on the streets of Malton, you would surely not wake alive. Reluctant to leave the defenseless soul, and unable to wake him, I examined the entrance to the church. Bookcases, generic furniture and heaps of other unrecognizable scrap was piled up against the door, but I managed to haul up and through a narrow opening in the top-left of the barricade.

I dropped to my feet, and slipped over some of the rubble barrier, but I was fine. I looked up and saw no one. It was strange seeing an empty church, especially when the all the lights were on. I examined one of the side rooms, and saw a high-tech, bright-orange generator hooked up to the walls by a bundle of multicoloured, taped wires. The room oozed a thin mist, and stepping inside made me aware to the flecks of dried fuel on the floor, next to at least three-dozen empty fuel cans, toppled over carelessly.

I quickly stepped out, mainly because I felt as if I was trespassing, but also because I couldn't breathe very well in there. I walked down the aisle towards the altar, and peered between the seats looking for something; anything. I reached the end of the aisle, and saw only a marine-looking dude with a double-barrel shotgun on his lap. He was sleeping. The other guy, oddly enough, carried nothing. He was just propped up on a bench, like a ragdoll. He was also sleeping.

I found a flight of stairs, in one corner of the church. Intrigued, I followed it upwards. There were quite a few steps, but eventually a came to a large, stone balcony. I stepped into the open, and turned to see 'Saint Seraphim's Hospital', almost beckoning me towards it. I walked forwards until I was at the edge of the balcony, and closer to the hospital, and I noticed something amazing. A fair-sized window of the hospital was wide open, and a makeshift boardwalk sloped down into the mid-air. Large lead pipes had been shoved through the base of the wood, keeping it somewhat in place. A landing pad.

I had been trained to do this sort of thing, but I never expected the survivors to be so... well, 'adaptive'. I took a few steps back, made sure my right foot was in front of me, and sprinted forwards. As my right foot touched the edge of the balcony, a hunched myself for a split second and launched myself into forwards through the air, my arms sprawling and my legs waving like mad. With a scary crack, I slammed against the boardwalk, and quickly scrabbled to my feet and into the hospital as the boardwalk swayed violently. Despite there being over fifteen over survivors in the main lobby alone, the place was rather quiet. The main entrance had had pounds of whatever thrown against it, forming a barricade worthy of military-use.

I sat down in a group of people, sprawled across the floor, half-sleeping. I told them about the guy outside, and how he may not survive. They sort of nodded slowly, but didn't do anything. I was sort of angry, but then again I sort of understood. I had no weapons, and I wouldn't find anything efficient in a hospital, so I decided to search the wards for some first-aid kits. It took a while, but I managed to gather four full first-aid kits. I dropped from a window and landed gracefully on my feet below, centimeters from the cemetery. He was still sleeping like a baby, and the zombie was still stumbling around the same spot like a drunken sailor after a single pint.

I lowered myself, moved quickly over to the guy on the bench, and examined any wounds I could find. I hadn't been trained in this stuff, but it was only basic first-aid. I wiped away some blood from some cuts on his arms, and luckily he wasn't bleeding. I took some saline from a kit, and cleaned his wounds with a cloth a seperate kit. After being cleared up, the wounds looked black and groggy... I searched all of the kits, and found a bottle of liquid, with a crude label reading "ANTIBIOTIC". Good enough for me. I poured some onto the cloth and rubbed his wounds slightly. Stuck on what to do next, I applied bandages to the cuts and whispered in his ear, "Good luck, man.". I then ran back into the church, and freeran into the hospital.

It's time for bed.