Here is the final interview conducted in Quiver Valley, on February 9th, 2011. The speaker is Jennifer Hayes (32), wife of George Benjamin Hayes, one of the many good people who gave their lives in the last few hours. After we are done, these tapes and all the documents we managed to save will be hidden, to ensure their safety. Please whoever reads this, make sure that all that's happened will not stay a secret, and will not be forgotten. Thank you.
I was at home, using up my sick days to catch up my TV shows. I was vaguely aware of all that had gone down in the last few days, but despite this being a small town, since we had no direct relations to anyone involved we weren’t particularly affected by it all. By “we” I mean me and George. We tried to stay out of other people’s business. Maybe that’s why George was able to get home and grab me. He probably stayed way in the back when the first few groups started shambling down the streets. First thing he did upon getting home was load his gun which frightened me. In all the years he had it, he never once used it outside the range. We don’t have kids, but he still kept it safely hidden away, just to be sure. We have been wanting one for a long time. We just started trying for one a few weeks ago. I wish we had started sooner. Mutley, our dog filled in till then. I’m sorry I’m rambling I’m just not sure what I should say. We did nothing to deserve this. We were good people. Then suddenly George gets home in a bloody shirt, grabs his gun the holds me by the arms and tells me that no matter what happens I am to stay at his side and not stop for anyone or anything. He was shaking. I tried asking what was going on, but there wasn’t enough time for explanations. Mutley started barking like crazy. He was in the back yard. The gate must have been left open. He became more erratic than started crying and then fell silent. George ran out telling me to stay put. I heard his gun go off. He came in and said we had to take off. I asked about Mutley, but he evaded my eyes. So we ran. We saw our neighborhood torn apart and broken into pieces, saw our friends killing each other, and all the while couldn’t think about what was really going on. We saw the Johnson’s pinning their youngest to the ground. He had no chance against all four of them. Probably not even one of them. George told me not to look but I saw his mother tear into his cheek. I heard his screams muffled by his own blood. Were we stupid that we stopped anyway? She was all alone. The little Robinson girl. Was it the name that got to us? Was that reason we thought she might have made it? Doesn’t matter now I suppose. George called to her, went closer than he knew was probably safe. She didn’t hesitate for a moment. Tore into his neck and would not let go. George….he….he raised his gun to her head and pulled the trigger. As he collapsed her lifeless body fell on top of him. I ran over, wanting to help. But I saw he wasn’t breathing. Then he moved and opened his eyes. It wasn’t him anymore. Oh god I hope it wasn’t. The gun…it…fell closer to me than him, and I couldn’t leave him like that. I didn’t have any clear thought. Except for that one. So I shot my husband. I shot whatever was left of him. I shot whatever part I had given to him of myself. I don’t care anymore. We were good people. And we had to start killing each other to stop ourselves of killing each other. Now we wait in here until the inevitable moment when they break down the doors or windows and claw themselves through us one by one. This doesn’t make sense. I don’t want to talk anymore.
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