28 Days Later: The Aftermath

28 DAYS LATER: THE AFTERMATH - A writer's survival journal. Day 2

(Mon 04/16/2007 09:11pm)

Monday, April 16th 2007

My days are numbered. I know that now. At least that's what Lieb keeps telling me.

But I did a little snooping and I found out Lieb wasn't the true mastermind. He was the enforcer. There's was a more insidious evil pulling the strings.

They were 'The Producers'

They were the puppet-master pulling Herr Lieb's strings. All of them forcing me to face the fact that I had to address the Rage Virus while the city and as far as I knew the world, was under quarantine.

Somehow I focused, even with big brother watching. Hell, he was standing on my head.

The first story was tough. How do you explain what happened in that lab to those poor monkeys. How do well-meaning, intelligent men and women of science come to the decision that rage and Ebola should be combined as one and then shot into the veins of our primate ancestors?

There were no simple answers.

The first mission was the cast: Warren and Clive. Both of these men were not only at the top of their field and yet they fell into the trap so many researches fall into, they let a combination of curiosity and greed take them over, and for what?

I suppose the experiments were innocent enough at first. I mean who wouldn't want to understand what makes us angry, what makes us rage, what makes us hurt and kill each other.

I decided Warren would be the one to push the experiments, but it would be Clive who had the emotional arc. Both guys are bastards in their way, but Clive still had some remnant of a human heart and a conscience.

The first experiments were on humans. The weren't even trying to create a Rage Virus, believe it or not. They were creating a rage inhibitor.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.

So I began constructing the first story. I had Clive and Warren. I had these experiments they were doing, at first on humans (stupid! stupid! stupid!). And then when that turned into a bloody mess (for real) Warren gave the go ahead to start on primates. But if the inhibitor didn't work on humans, what would it do to our less intelligent ancestors.

What I wrote is a document of human cruelty and stupidity. I only wish it wasn't true. Writing fiction is so much more fun...but since we're all going to die soon, what's the point?

But of all the stupidity that will lead ultimately to our demise, nothing quite equaled the foolishness of those who meant the best, who wore their hearts of their sleeves. The animal activists, for all their concern of animals, did not take the time to consider the human element.

It's almost funny; animal activists free animals being tested on and end the world. How about a big steaming cup of irony to go with the end of the world, eh?

I'm sorry. I wander. My head hurts. The noise outside is deafening. People screaming, gunfire.

The Infected are pounding at my door now. I had to secure the boards and then get back to the typewriter. I had to get Warren and Clive's tragic tale on paper before it was too late.

If 'The Producers' and their flunky Herr Lieb didn't get me, surely the Infected would.

It was about far more than a page rate now.