The last page of Baxton's journal

but as time passed I grew to accept the peoples. They were rather slow witted and of lumbering nature, but the one priestess had such charisma and such verbosity for a foreigner I felt almost captivated. I also learned that they once worshipped a pagan deity called Zibrixi, who took the form of a beehive, which makes sense since honey was a major trade item throughout their history even to modern day. She told me the worship has gone unheeded as most have accepted Jesus, which was a pleasant surprise, even though the fellows I attempted to speak to had no Christian words for my ears.

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This shall be my last entry into this journal, as I am now being hunted down like a common fox. I have taken refuge in an abandoned village not far from the port which took me to this God forsaken island. My hand trembled with terror but I hope with all I am that this log of my past few days on Earth be found and stop these atrocities. She has control over all of them, obeying her like drone bees! Yes, I can swear by anything held holy they have no thought for themselves. I am situated in the attic of the most inconspicuous house I could find. It is one of the halfway ruined stone built seaside, covered in vine and moss. My lamp, I fear is my enemy now. For any peak of light could sign my death warrant.

My bones still ache from the escape I did not two days ago, and my mind is muddled in hunger. I simply cannot believe how people I have known could become hiveminded savages within such time. I beg for a miracle, but I know God does not hold sway here, for if he knew of this place, it would be in flames or drowned in an instants.

I can hear them, that damned buzzing sound, it's like they are part bloodhound, they've already circled the ramshackled homestead. By God, let it end quickly.