Mr Graham died today.
The gangrene that set in when we cut off his leg was too much for the few meds we had. He was the first of our group to go.
Misha’s nearly nineteen; she should be thinking about dating and holding down a job. Maybe college, if her folks can swing it.
But then the greys came and everyone died, and now Misha’s on the run with a handful of other survivors, and her journal’s the only way she can deal with the horrors…