Arizona
The following is from the last page of the journal of Justin Kennedy, written with a shaky hand in black ink and pencil and found in a desk in a fourth-floor classroom at Charger High School in Pompeo, Arizona:
“I didn’t believe in the rumors about the mass killings in New Mexico. It just happened too fast. The news was all bullshit. I didn’t want to think about the fucked-up world. We had a good place here. A safe and happy place. I didn’t believe in anything until the monsters came. I am trapped in the fourth floor science classroom now. Two weeks. I learned that I will eat anything. They are watching me. The things with eyes are focused on me. They lick the glass and kick the door. Haven’t seen a teacher in a week. The students are all dead, I think. I am a prisoner, and I am safe for now. I am safer alone. The classroom door is locked. I fight the urge to throw it open and let them come. Then I won’t be alone. It gives me great comfort to know I can die anytime I want. I am happy. I will try to wait and see if someone comes. Is there anyone left? I want to see if I become a ghost…”
*
The Kennedy journal is missing the beginning of the attack on Arizona, but we can fill it in from the surviving Maricopa County sheriff’s office record. A 911 call came in at 4:22 that first morning from the Bullet Bar, a truck-stop out on Rural Route 75, two miles east of Pompeo. A terrified woman says something is attacking and biting everyone. Then we hear her drop the phone and scream.
Security camera footage from the Bullet Bar survived intact.
The first frame is an outside night shot. A man identified as Doug Blush staggers through the gravel pit parking lot and slams into a truck, a late model Ford. He slowly slides into the driver’s seat and pops the keys in the ignition. He guns the engine, flicks on his high-beams and there it is: A 10-foot-tall beast with vibrating wings, crawling with flies, and covered with dirt and blood. Photographic records from the Red Wing facility in Texas identified it as an Exopter 25.
Doug screams as it slams down on the hood. It slithers across the metal and vomits a corrosive liquid on the glass. Doug appears to be crying but we can’t be sure, the image is too grainy. Then the Exopter envelops him, clamps down on his shoulder and tears away skin and bone.
We hear Doug scream fucking hell. He tries to kick as the Exopter bites down on his face. When it’s done feeding, it crawls out the driver’s side and hits the gravel. Then it leaps toward the bar and we lose sight of it…
*
The Kennedy journal was found six months after the events described, during a sweep of Maricopa County for survivors. The current government, the Phoenix Agency, took an interest in the pages and began a project to analyze them.
Page 1 of the Kennedy journal is written in clear, strong handwriting:
My name is Justin Kennedy, and I was a student at Charger High School until the monsters came. I was worthless and no one gave a fuck. Which was fine with me. I spent most of my time shooting videos of the dipshit stoner fucks who wiped out on their boards. Then I saw the Bullet Bar footage that morning in the teachers’ lounge on one of those crap morning talk shows and knew something terrible was going to happen. What was I doing there? Taking a shit. The regular toilets were cancer rooms full of blood-borne diseases. I prefer to shit in a clean place.
I rode out the first attack wave in the AV club storage room next to the cafeteria. I found an old boomer video camera and made it a priority to set it up and get it running. The idea was to get stories, the truth about what was happening, in case anyone was stupid enough to live through this. First was a friend of mine named Joe Blush. He was the son of the man killed at the Bullet Bar. He’d been missing from school for a month. I pressed record on the tape deck and just let him talk with little prompting.
“So you want to know where I was? Shit, I was burning up all my luck. I woke up in the back of a delivery van on the 10 in New Mexico. Sun was setting in front of us, so I knew we were driving west. I saw an Arizona sign all shot to shit. I figured I was getting close to home. Red rock hills on both sides. Fire trucks and cop cars and military kept flying by us going down a rural road toward a giant fire. We had to weave in and out cause hundreds of people just stopped on the highway, got out of their cars and started walking toward the flames. They were just fucking mesmerized. My buddy Kevin was driving. His girlfriend Genevieve was riding shotgun. She was jumpy and nervous. She kept popping the door lock. She had a tattoo of a bird on her wrist, a smiley face behind her right ear and some kind of Hindu symbol on the back of her neck that had sharp points like a star. Then Kevin waved down a couple of girl hikers walking toward the flames. One of them said it was a murder cult out in the sticks that was on fire. The other one said it was a cannibal cult and that they would set fire to the world if anyone tried to stop them from killing. Didn’t make sense to me. I figured it was just some Charles Manson bullshit. How much more do you want?”
“Talk as long as you want.”
“I guess it’s hard to know what’s important now. I used to give a fuck about so many things.”
“What were you doing in Texas?”
“I went to find my brother. He was in the army. They told me he was killed in Texas at some top-secret base down on the Gulf. I didn’t believe it. Wanted to make sure for myself, know what I mean? And Kevin was going to Houston to buy a gun, so I went along. Had to listen to them fuck in the van outside Midland. Is that what you want? Are we done?”
“Maybe you could tell me about your father.”
“You mean, Doug the sperm donor? Doug liked to roll in his Silver Bullet Band t-shirt. Used to brag about seeing Bob Seger in 78, when he was good. He would put his face through glass windows to scare the shit out of people. His favorite song was Night Moves. Said that was Bob’s best song. He lived at the Bullet bar. Always asked for Night Moves. Bartender was an uncle, or someone who fucked my mom...don’t remember. I thought he was an asshole. Heard Uncle Bartender tell Doug once that the only one who ain’t got any night moves is you. It was their little ritual. I was drinking with Doug once and I watched him roll his face across the jukebox. How come I can’t see the night moves? Doug whined like a bitch. Bartender said cause you been drinking for 10 hours and you’re an ugly, no-dick fuckhead. Doug said he was sorry and see you tomorrow. Fucking drunk asshole.”
“Did you see what happened to him? It was on the news for a week.”
“Didn’t have time for TV. That morning me and my girlfriend were fighting about TikTok. I said I didn’t want to do some fucking disco bullshit. I said fuck TikTok. Nina, my girlfriend, wanted me to perform with her like I was some theater bitch. She was grinding on me and begging me in that little girl voice. Please. Please. Please. Then I heard something crash on the other side of the house. Sounded like sober Doug was still home. I pushed Nina’s tiny ass off the bed and looked out the window. Doug’s truck was still there, parked in the front yard. He liked to start drinking when the truck stops started selling booze at 6. He shouldn’t have been home.”
