This letter was found in one of the
backpacks from inside one of the RV's by Marie Costa following the
ambush in front of the church. It was written by one of the captive
females, Melanie Melbourne, who had stuck it in one of the pockets on
the outside of the backpack which was full of canned goods, in case
they had to leave the RV in a hurry.
June 24, 2017
If someone finds this letter,
Please, oh please, let me be dead,
really dead, and if not, please kill me. I have nothing to live for
and everything to die for. I've been a captive of his group for
months, since somewhere around March 3rd. I have no idea
where we were when you found this, but I was taken from Southern
Arizona. If I could've found a way to kill myself by now, I would
have. Being forced to cook three meals a day for the men who rape,
beat and torture you will make you want to die!
I was in a small town where I worked
at the local veterinarian clinic as a receptionist. We had all heard
about the dead coming back, but it was happening in other places,
like California, not Arizona. Life just kept going on almost exactly
like before, the only difference being the grocery store shelves were
getting low and very little was being brought in to replace it. We
just bought what we could still get and kept on going, going to work,
going to bed, going on dates. We were living like the world hadn't
changed and we could ignore what wasn't happening in our town.
The the first small horde showed up.
There were only 20 or less zombies, but for us, it was the end of our
world. The group just went through and bit and killed and ate like 50
people. The men told us “little women” to stay back, but couldn't
figure out how to kill the zombies, or at least stop them. It took
way more for them to try to take out the undead than it should have,
but we hadn't seen any of them before and no one wanted to listen to
me that the movies always said you have to take out the brain. I
ended up having to grab a bat and show them how to do it.
After that, there was a run on the
grocery store and the shelves were completely emptied in one day. We
had no idea that the last truck to show up, a week ago, was the last
truck ever. I had a pretty good stash of food already, my father
always said be prepared. Then everyone stopped going to work and
stopped leaving their homes. People I'd known for years were suddenly
strangers who would kill me in a heartbeat for anything I had. I went
to work the day after the horde, but the place was closed up and a
sign in the window said it was closed until further notice. Nice that
my boss thought to tell me!
I stayed home and watched out my front
windows for days. Three of my neighbors had been bit but not killed
on the day the horde came through and I wanted to know what was going
to happen. I saw some of the kids sitting outside together, not
playing, but just sitting there for the first day. Then the parents
called them inside and none of them came out again. The next day, I
saw Mrs. Brown run to her can and leave. She was gone for an hour and
came back, sobbing and shaking, covered in blood, carrying a grocery
bag of what looked like bottles of medicine. No one else came outside
that day in my neighborhood.
The next day, the screaming started in
the Brown house around 11 a.m. Then Mrs. Brown ran out of the house
holding her four year old son, who was covered in blood and obviously
hurt. Mr. Brown came shambling out of the house, headed right for his
wife and son, but he wasn't really Mr. Brown anymore. Mrs. Brown
screamed and her neighbor, an old man I never got to know, came out
and shot Mr. Brown, walked up to the screaming woman, and shot the
kid, too. He went back into his house like nothing had happened and
Mrs. Brown just sat and rocked her sons body on her front lawn for
hours. Finally, one of the other women went to her and took her away
from the house. The next day, the same kind of scenario played out in
all the houses where someone had been bit. It was obvious that if you
got bit, you got sick, died and became on of the undead.
It wasn't long before the men who held
me captive pulled through our town. The day was like all the others,
just me, in my house, watching out my windows. Then, I could hear a
bunch of engines a couple streets over. I wondered who it was, but
didn't do anything about finding out what was going on. I should have
done something, anything, but I did nothing.
The leader of the group they called
the Devils ordered his men to kill the males and bring the females
back to him to decide their fates. They swarmed through town like the
zombie horde had just a few days before, but even more deadly and
evil, with three times the number of zombies. Our town was small to
begin with, but a lot of people had left in the days since the undead
horde came through. Even so, there were still around 30 men from 13
years old to 92 years old, 10 boys younger than that, 20 women from
13 years old to 84, and 8 girls younger than that.
The Devils went house to house,
killing all the men and boys while grabbing the women and girls and
taking them back to where their leader waited. It only took them a
few hours and all of us were kneeling in the road with our hands tied
behind our backs waiting to find out what was going to happen. Once
the whole town had been gone through and all his men were back, their
leader, a giant man named Harrison, started walking between the rows
of women pointing at the women that were too old or hurt or sick and
having them taken away. The rest of us, 13 women and the 8 girls,
were taken to the RV's and forced inside. There were other women
inside, all of them bruised and dirty. The men left us there, for the
moment, and the women told us what was next. We would help to make
lunch for the group in about a half hour. Then girls 10 and under
would be left alone, for now, but anyone over the age of about 11
would be given to one or more of the men who had found us and brought
us back to the group. T,hat day, hell began.
Nothing has been ok ever since. Every
day has the potential to be a horror. I've come to look forward to
the days when we are still on the road and only the leaders get to
enjoy what they call “female companionship”. I used to pray to be
rescued or to escape but after a few weeks, I no longer believed in
God, so what was the point.
I've tried to kill myself several
times, but it's almost impossible. The RV's are empty of anything
sharp and there's nothing that can really be used to hang yourself. I
know, I stripped my sleeping mat and tied the strips together and
tried to hang myself, but the cloth just wasn't strong enough. Plus,
if we're parked, someone checks on us every 10 minutes. When we're on
the road, there are three of them in each RV, one driving and two
watching us. I've thought about trying to make the driver crash the
RV, but there's no guarantee any of us would die and I'd never make
it past the two guards.
I even stole a knife at dinner once
and was planning on slitting my wrists, but they found me and took
the knife away. I was punished by being gang raped by all the leaders
and a few of their friends. Yeah, really made me want to keep on
living.
I thought it couldn't get any worse,
and then they started in on the younger kids. Over the weeks since
they had taken us captive, we'd already lost three of the youngest
ones. That left only five girls aged between 10 and 5 years old. The
Devils took the 10 year old and “initiated” her one night when
Harrison said he was tired of all the females available. Then he gave
the 8 year old to his best friend as a gift for finding a crate of
good bourbon. The twins and the 5 year old have so far been spared,
but if I could get my hands on a gun, I would kill all of them and
myself.
I decided to write this letter and
leave it in the backpack because I had a dream last night. I dreamed
that we all died and it was wonderful. So, I'm going to try to escape
again. I know what will happen if they catch me, but I have to try to
get away and if I can't, I'm going to try to kill myself again. If I can get away, I'll try to find a
gun and come back to kill as many of them as I can, before killing
myself.
If you find this, somehow, and I'm
still alive, please, kill me. And if you can, please, kill the kids,
too. No one deserves to live this way. No one.
I hope you have been surviving with a
better group and I hope someone kills all this sons of bitches
someday.
Melanie Melbourne
As a writer and artist, I appreciate
any readers and their comments. Thank you for taking the time to read
this blog. Please, come read the other blog I write for our artisan
collective, Raven's Castle Creations, on our website at
www.ravencastlecreations.com. It includes posts on art, the mythology
of symbols we use in our art, history and more! Also, come see the
art we produce in our Etsy store at
etsy.com/shop/RavenCastleCreations. Follow us on Twitter at
@ravencastleart and on Facebook at @ravencastlecreations.
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