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It’s been about twenty-eight days since the first person started showing signs; now over half of the people in the town are dead and whoever is still alive is already sick. No one knows how it started and we sure as hell don't know when it’s going to end, IF it’s going to end. The only thing we know for sure is that our town is quarantined. My dad has moved us into a bunker that he built next to the house. I have no clue how he built this without us knowing, but I have a feeling that this room is what’s going to save our lives. Dad worked in the labs for as long as I can remember. He would go to work early and come back late. But weeks before the outbreak, he changed. He sat in his office and only left for work. I never thought of my dad as a paranoid man, but obviously he had a reason to be. He had inside knowledge and was sure something was going to happen. Now I realize he just wanted to keep us safe, and he knew something was coming before it even started.
When the outbreak started a wall was put up around our town. From what I can tell there is only one entrance and it’s always heavily guarded. As the wall went up men started to pop up, they take notes and talk to each other. I can’t tell if they are trying to figure this out or if they are trying to help us. The men, they wear these creepy yellow suits. The front of the helmets are so dark you can’t even tell that they’re actually people under there. And when they speak, their voices are deep and distorted. Seeing them and facing the reality of our situation is a nightmare I’m not sure we can wake up from.
As the days go by I’ve noticed that they they are sending in fewer men. It’s been almost a month, so we can assume that’s not a good sign. Less men means they are giving up, less men means there’s no hope. Dad left us in the bunker three days ago. I’m pretty sure I know what happened. He tried to hide it, but I could see the signs. He was coughing, he would get wobbly when he walked, you could see it in his face. He was dying and there was nothing either of us could do to stop it. The last thing he made sure to do was prepare me. He made sure I knew the basics for survival if, really, when we would eventually have to leave the bunker. He also made me promise to stick with Emily, no matter what. It wasn’t hard to promise that, because she’s all I have left. My little sister, my little light in a now darkened world. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
I spent the next week going over what dad taught me and going through herbalism books, memorizing what can be used as medicine and what’s safe to eat. I want to be prepared for what’s outside that wall, because I think there are only a few people left in the town, not including Emm and myself. They’ve stopped sending in more than three yellow suited men a day and yesterday they started pulling most of their trucks away from the fence. It’s safe to assume that everyone is dead or fairly close to dying. Emm keeps asking questions that I don’t really know how to explain. How do I tell her that Dad isn’t coming back? How do I tell her it’s just us, and even we may not survive what’s outside? When she asks something that I just can’t answer I try to distract her. I’ve been teaching her about first aid and what to do if I’m not around. Ultimately I’m trying to prepare her in case I don’t make it.
Emily and I seem to be the last ones alive in town. All but one truck has left the fence, which means there are only two or three yellow suited men left in the town. Time is not on our side; I have to do something. We’re running low on food, and the one thing Dad didn’t have time to figure out is how long we’d be living here. He really only had enough supplies for three people that would last maybe a month if rationed well. Since Dad left, our supplies lasted us a little over a month and a half, but the longer we stay the worse our condition will get. Emily is getting impatient; there’s really nothing to do in the bunker and she’s six. I’m surprised she has even lasted this long. She needs to get out of this place, she needs to run around, to play, to be free. I can’t help but look at her and feel bad. She’ll never have the childhood I had and that kills me. She’ll never have her parents; I don’t know if I can ever be good enough for her. Time is running out. We can’t stay here forever. We are going to have to leave this bunker and if we don’t do it now there’s going to be no way out of the fences and our town will most likely be destroyed. Then we will really have no hope. Tonight Emily and I will leave the bunker, it’s our last resort. It’s not going to be easy, but hopefully we will be safe under the cover of darkness. Safe from the men in the yellow suits anyways; we can never be sure if we are safe from the sickness.