Too many, too soon.

I sit here, looking at the possible reasons for any of this to be happening. A .45 caliber pistol in my desk with enough ammo to shoot down a militia. I have so many documents, all of superstition and possibilities for why any of this is happening. I sit in here reading, constantly. I try to figure out the most likely scenario. "Have you noticed that the fast food chain McDonalds has been getting better recently? But the same can be said for the berries". It's clear that this document was a rough draft as it had notes hastily scrawled, some comical. "No, why the FUCK would anyone eat random berries they find in the wilderness? I'm sure there are some around who do that but if you want to appeal to the general masses, it's most likely not best to put that there.." The note also contained comments of expirimenting on animals and meat products to make it more addicting to eat, but if the same can be said fo rberries, a lot of us have eaten the berries and we're fine... Well, "we" being the group before they mysteriously vanished one morning without me before I even woke up. Maybe they got an escape route...? I dunno.

Another possibility could be a completely ciphered page from a military outpost we raided. I can see why nobody would want to pick it up as the numbers seem to be complete gibberish. Although I spent my time in the past with a tinfoil hat and looking over codes and ciphers, this was one of the things (along with wingdings) I couldn't translate.

Then there might be the possibility of a crash site of some odd aircraft with what claims to be aliens. Claim to defend out planet from quote on quote "space pirates". That being said it might have some truth to it, being as a military and biohazard outpost was set up there with a quarantine. And as the said craft was crashed it could of either release d a chemical or someone from the outsde, presumably the "space pirates" they mentioned could of destroyed them and decided the planet wasn't worth the trouble. It's all some tin-foil hat stuff. I don't know.

I look out the window now, realizing that there are too many. I can't st ay in here forever. If I did I would starve. I have plentiful amounts of ammunition, so I might as well put down some of those shambling freaks.

If anyone finds this type writer along with the collected papers figure out what in the... what the HELL is going on here.

Sgt. T Wrongwell.

Regiment 194, T S. Unit Foxtrot.