Note: The following is the transcript of audio recordings gathered from Dr. Harald Lang subsequent to his own infection 15 years after the previous log.

After I started complaining about the headache, Dr. Tarnot asked me to come in and get some scans done. They kept saying they weren't sure if it had manifested yet or not, but after last night there's no questioning it. I know what I saw.

(Deep inhale)

I open my eyes and the first thing I see is dust. It fills the air, chokes it, makes it thick. High above me somewhere I can just barely make out a light, maybe a sun, that barely illuminates the world around me. There's a road beneath my feet, and I follow it.

As my eyes adjust to the dust and the wind that's whipping up behind me, I get some sense of where I'm at. A single, long road that stretches between two flat expanses of dirt as far as I can see in any direction. I think in the distance I see mountains, but through the haze it's nearly impossible to tell.

After a while I see something laying in the road. Its features are half defined, like something out of a storybook that you dreamed about and then forgot. It's dead. There are others like it, strewn across the road now. I get the impression they used to be colorful, but they're covered in dirt and dust and in the dark their colors have faded. Their lights have all gone out.

I keep walking, and after a while the road ends. The dirt has covered the road completely and now it's dust forever. This is when I start to see things laying on the ground - a hat, a ringing cell phone, a diamond ring, some baseball cards, and a pair of pants.

I follow this trail of discarded things until I reach a field, one that stretches out before me in a long, unending line. There are crops there, tall stalks of dry things that rustle when the wind blows. There are more things on the ground now and somewhere in front of me I start to sense a presence that makes my hair stand on end. It's far away.

I walk through the fields for what feels like years. The trail becomes thicker, and I start to see other things. At first, I thought they were strips of rawhide, like you see sold at feed stores or cowboy shops. When I pick one up, I see the faintest coloration of a tattoo etched into it. Dark stretches of blackened blood accompany each one, where the piece sloughed off before coming to rest. I start to see hair. Fingernails. Teeth.

The haze grows thicker now, and I lose my sense of direction. I'm wandering through the rows of dead stalks, barely breathing, and all around me I start to hear this sound. It's quiet at first, but every step I take brings me closer to the source, like I've been drawn to it. It's low, and inconsistent, and it rises and falls as I push forward. I hear voices now. Individual sounds make up the din.

I take another step, and the stalks around me disappear. I'm in a clearing, looking out towards another expanse of dirt. In the far distance I see a city made of light and color, floating in the air. There are shapes dancing around it, things with wings and things made of fire and lightning. Below it is green grass, and beyond it is blue sky. Against the grey and brown of the fields and the dirt it is a beauty that I can't even describe; a city of dreamlight and wonder. Jerusalem, set on a high hill.

Then I see it. Swaying in the wind. It's long and lean, with sackcloth around its body and a wide straw hat on its head. I can't make out its features. In one hand is clutched a thick knot of rope, thrown over its shoulder. As my eyes follow the rope, I see hundreds, or… or thousands of people, bundled together like hay… moaning and screaming. Some of them I can see clearly, men and women and children in their street clothes, their eyes wild in fear. The others… I can see the… the dark strips that catch against the rocks and just slide off, like rawhide…

I hear my name, and I look up. There's a figure in there, one scorched black and rotten, reaching a hand towards me. Its fingers ground into nothing, but I see it clearly. Its mouth is open, and it's full of dirt and dust. It chokes out my name, again and again. I can't see its eyes, but it's staring at me. I can feel it.

Then it's gone, mixed in with the rest of them as they're dragged across the dirt. I hear my name one more time and then the sound just becomes another sound among thousands. I watch for a while longer. They get further away, and the sound grows dim, and then the dust kicks up and the scene disappears.

I stumble through the choked air again for a time, trying to find any respite from the horrid wind. I fall, barely able to catch myself. The dirt gets thicker in the air around me, and I start suffocating under it. The ground is shifting and twisting beneath me, and I sink into it. I want to pull myself up, but my body refuses. The dust is too much. It obscures my sight and fills my lungs. It fills my veins.

I see a pair of glasses sticking up out of the dirt. The glass is broken and the frames are bent, but I recognize them instantly. They're Hostetler's.

And then I wake up.