The Amazingly Tragic Immolation of the Entire Human Race: Part 1

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One could say it started with Abby. I disagree, naturally, and claim that the roots of Earth's misfortune began when humanity stopped caring for his neighbors, but of course I have never presented this theory to the survivors.2

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Don't be looped into the misbelief that we survivors are an elite class. We are not stronger, more intelligent, nor are we in any way superior to you. We were simply the luckiest people on the planet on the fourth of February, year two thousand and ten. 4

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I question my own sanity in writing this. If you are not one of us, we are quite positive that you are dead. Yet I can't help thinking, nay, hoping, that there are others out there. There must be other humans that survived the carnage, the tragedy, the death and destruction. Abby, if you're out there, come to us. We are at the research base located on Catalina Island. We will not harm you. No one is blaming you for this.6

7

Abby was not a cruel girl. She was quite the opposite, actually. A kind and caring fifteen year old, she had the voice of a mockingbird and the soul of a doe. Her soft skin felt like cherry blossoms, their scent wafting across my soul with the help of the wind, her gentle tendrils pushing Abby into my arms. Life was simple, and every day of it was like a continuous waterfall of emotion and serenity. That was three years ago.8

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My name is Jackson. I am nineteen years old. Again, the years seem to have all melted into one episode, yet it is an ugly beast instead of a waterfall, it's saliferous stench spreading across the universe, diseasing and decaying my heart. The tale of how I got here is a long one, but I will narrate it to you nonetheless. After all, I have plenty of time on my hands. 10

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Like I said, most people say it began with Abby. Abby and the Latin American Club at Gardenia High School. She was scheduled to fly out to South America at the end of the semester. She was going with a missionary group and several students in her class for three months.12

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The week leading up to her departure was a blur. I was sixteen at the time, and three months seemed like such a ridiculously long time. But Abby assured me that she'd be back for me. She looked into my soul with her sparkling olive green eyes and promised that she'd come back no matter what. I believed her. I couldn't help it. 14

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I admit to myself that I needed her more than she needed me. She was my world, wrapped up in a five foot six inch, stunningly beautiful redhead named Abby. She was the most stable thing I ever had, a delicate yet monolithic in nature girl that was always there, like the water in the ocean and the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. She promised she'd come back. 16

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But she never did. I never did know the full story, and there are still several gaping holes in my understanding that I would like to be filled in. From what I've gathered, the pilot had a stroke. Abby, being the courageous yet calm teenager that she was, took over the wheel and attempted to land the plane at the Houston Airport. 18

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They were coming fast, she couldn't have seen the path she was heading downward in the sky. By the time she would have realized her fatal mistake it would have been to late. Judging by the fact that the plane crashed nose up, I can only assume that she did realize what she was doing, and in a last ditch effort pulled up the nose of the plane.20

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I have to say that Abby, for never having, as far as I know, any flying experience whatsoever, did a rather good job. For even though she didn't land on the airstrip, she was only five miles off, a miniscule distance in terms of air travel. Unfortunately, it was where she landed that set off the horrible chain of events that ends with me standing here today, writing them down.22

23

On January 28, 2010, Abby crash landed straight into a biological warfare lab.  24

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