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Clearing his throat, Doctor Robert Neville speaks clearly into the microphone, with an almost bored professional tone.
"December twenty-six, personal notes of Dr. Robert Neville, ground zero, New York City."
A sharp snap, incongruously louder than the voice, followed by the sound of a hand-held tape recorder's playback, scratchy audio artifacts brought on by long use and reuse of the same tape. It is apparently being held near the microphone, that it might play the recording onto digital format. The recording stutters occasionally, as if it had been used, paused, and then recorded into again at a later time.
No change in rodent test subjects from previous observation.
crackle
Series review indicates a complete lack of response, I will begin testing on succeeding series in one weeks' time, pending the collection of more sterile supplies from the Manhattan island medical facilities. Reserves are nominal, no problems.
another crackle, and a moment of hissing static
At approximately noon today, I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge en route to destination, but experienced a moment of disorientation and nausea. Given the evidence I am forced to assume that I lost consciousness,or went into shock. Must have been walking...for several blocks before collapsing. Two in the afternoon, I regained awareness. I'm not sure exactly how long I was out, but it hasn't snowed in weeks, and the street is covered. It is now nearing sundown, and I am unable to find my bearings. It doesn't make any sense, the rubble doesn't look the same as before. If anyone ever finds this recording, please, do not give up. My supplies are at—
The recording winds down noisily, out of tape. Neville's voice returns, a bit darker, more haggard than before, though still professional.
"My name is Robert Neville. I don't know what happened while I was out, but I know that I am no longer alone, and I know that the epidemic has changed. Please, if you're out there...
A long pause, punctuated by a ragged sigh.
"I will be at the eastern Staten pier on the south side of the island, everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there... if anyone is out there...
Be safe."
A sharp click, as the voice message ends.
"December twenty-six, personal notes of Dr. Robert Neville, ground zero, New York City."
A sharp snap, incongruously louder than the voice, followed by the sound of a hand-held tape recorder's playback, scratchy audio artifacts brought on by long use and reuse of the same tape. It is apparently being held near the microphone, that it might play the recording onto digital format. The recording stutters occasionally, as if it had been used, paused, and then recorded into again at a later time.
No change in rodent test subjects from previous observation.
crackle
Series review indicates a complete lack of response, I will begin testing on succeeding series in one weeks' time, pending the collection of more sterile supplies from the Manhattan island medical facilities. Reserves are nominal, no problems.
another crackle, and a moment of hissing static
At approximately noon today, I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge en route to destination, but experienced a moment of disorientation and nausea. Given the evidence I am forced to assume that I lost consciousness,or went into shock. Must have been walking...for several blocks before collapsing. Two in the afternoon, I regained awareness. I'm not sure exactly how long I was out, but it hasn't snowed in weeks, and the street is covered. It is now nearing sundown, and I am unable to find my bearings. It doesn't make any sense, the rubble doesn't look the same as before. If anyone ever finds this recording, please, do not give up. My supplies are at—
The recording winds down noisily, out of tape. Neville's voice returns, a bit darker, more haggard than before, though still professional.
"My name is Robert Neville. I don't know what happened while I was out, but I know that I am no longer alone, and I know that the epidemic has changed. Please, if you're out there...
A long pause, punctuated by a ragged sigh.
"I will be at the eastern Staten pier on the south side of the island, everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there... if anyone is out there...
Be safe."
A sharp click, as the voice message ends.
