Well, I’m sorry, I thought I recorded yesterday. Anyways, what I was going to say was that there is a helicopter that supposedly flies over every Thursday, so tomorrow. They usually fly over head slowly, then drop a message in a bottle. It’s not a very big helicopter, just one of those small two person ones. Anyways, we have two days left till we leave. I’ll tell you more when… Wait, you hear that? Sounds like, sounds like it’s a helicopter. I thought it would come by tomorrow, aw well, I guess they meant today. It’s also flying fast, well, come on, let’s go check it out. There’s the bottle being dropped. They said that they announce them over the intercom, so I’ll wait here with the rest of the group, which, due to the lack of space around our part of the boat, has been brought down to 4, counting me. It’s me, a guy in his late teens, his little 7-year-old sister, and a guy in his early forties. Here comes the message. “As all of you survivors on board know, that helicopter flies over every Thursday. Also, you might know that today is Wednesday. The note read ‘Caution: Horde of about 1,000 infected approaching, take shelter somewhere safe.’ We are getting everything packed right now and asking people with their guns, all soldiers, or anyone that wants to do some fighting, to get off-board, and hold them off while we attack. Thank you for all of you that help, and good luck.” The communication cut off, and everything was dead quiet, everything that is, except the distance noise of hundreds of feet shuffling, and groans of 1,000 infected.