Dark Recollections (28 page)

None of those ideas appealed to me, and finally I decided to tank. Mr. Journal if you’re unfamiliar with the term, it means to use your body as a meatshield. You block doorways and prevent your foes from escaping. I know, it wasn’t ideal, but I had my Greenfield Spartans football helmet handy, and I was feeling a little invulnerable with a full belly of venison. Did I tell you I got venison? It’s delicious!

I went to the side door of the house near the garage. I situated the Tundra so it was aimed out of their driveway, and I got the passenger side door open so that if I had to bolt, I could run and dive into that door and be off in a jiffy. I got the shotgun, slapped the helmet on, and propped their screen door open. This side door opened into their kitchen, and I could kinda see down a hallway, and sort of into the opening that led to the living room. The mother came to the door as I was getting ready, and started scratching and hitting the glass pretty hard, so I leveled the gauge off at her head through the window, and annihilated her face. Point blank like that with the glass in the way it was just frigging spectacular. Not in the creepy gory way, but…, you know actually there’s no way to say spectacular in regards to decapitation by shotgun and not have it be in the creepy gory way. Disregard all of that Mr. Journal.

Her head blew the fuck up.

It was at that point I realized I didn’t have to open the door. If I just stood there and waited, theoretically I could shoot all of them just like that, as they came to the door. So I took a step back, and let it happen. 15 seconds later, their little boy came around the corner from another room, and came at the door. I couldn’t bear to shoot him with my eyes open, so I closed them once he got to the door, and shot at the space I thought his head was in. He was bumping into the door, reaching up through the shattered glass at me, cutting the flesh on his arms to ribbons. Thankfully I got lucky on the first shot and hit him right in the head. I think the venison high is keeping me sane today. Right after I shot the little boy, their daughter came straight down the hallway, and I had to do the same thing. Just couldn’t pull the trigger while looking. Reminded me too much of seeing dead kids in Iraq. I am concerned about being rushed by a bunch of kid zombies now though. I’m not sure how I’ll react to that.

Gotta keep telling this story or I’ll dwell and get all depressed about it. Sickens me. Dad zombie never came to the door. Maybe it was creepy uncle zombie? I never found any family pictures in the house either, which was weird. I’m starting to think that these people didn’t live here before all this shit went down. Maybe they were squatters who stopped for some reason. You know that does make some sense, because there were no cars in the garage, or driveway.

Anyway, squatter zombie dad (or creepy uncle) never came to the door to get shotgunned conveniently. I reached inside the shattered window on the side door, unlocked it, and let myself into the kitchen. The center island provided a good barricade, so I went around it the long way to have cover from anything coming out of the living room. I couldn’t see him in there, so I slowly went down the hallway. I got about halfway down the hall when I started to hear this.... chewing, crunching noise. It was coming from room at the end of the hall. I kinda hastily cleared the room in the center of the hall, and moved down to the end, shotgun up.

All I could see at first was the dad zombie crouched down in the doorway, holding something to his mouth. I figured out instantly he was eating something, and he was totally absorbed in it. I slung the shotgun real quick and pulled out the blade. One quick downward stab at the base of the skull and he went flat on the floor. I had to curbstomp his face a couple times to get him to stop twitching, but eventually he was down. Turns out he was eating some kind of mouse or something. Couldn’t tell really seeing as how he had it mostly fucking chewed up by the time I killed him. Stomping on his head most likely didn’t help either. Bet that was why he never came to the door. Found a more convenient meal. You know that really frigging befuddles me. How the hell was he fast enough to catch a mouse, but they’re too slow and stupid to get me? Have I discovered the better mousetrap? Hm.

Cleared the rest of the house with no issues. Basement was creepy as a motherfucker, but it was empty. It had the open stone foundation, and had a low ceiling. Cobwebs all over the place. No electricity meant using my little flashlight, which does not make for a comforting experience. Finding a zombie in a dark ass basement with a flashlight might give me a heart attack. I can see it now. I come around a furnace, or a pile of boxes, I’m sort of distracted by falling dust, I look away, and when I look back BOOM! There’s a bloody zombie right there in front of me. I won’t need to be eaten alive at that point, I’ll just drop fucking dead of a heart attack. Luckily, no coronary seizure today for me.

The house had very little in the way of food or supplies, which lends more credence to the idea that the original folks left with everything. I did find a few little useful items here and there, but nothing really outstanding. However… when I checked the garage, I hit the “mother load.” Apparently the original residents had a garden, and they were very serious about that garden. There were an assortment of fertilizer bags, top soil, ulti-chem-nutra-food or whatever you call it, and tons of tools, pots, dowels for propping up plants, and even two or three really good books on gardening. Mega score in my book. The ubah.

Heavy as shit though. Loaded up the truck, did a once over of the house again, moved the bodies outside into the garden area, and came back up here to get everything all settled. I did a quick patrol of the grounds just in case. I was a little paranoid about using the chainsaw earlier, but nothing was up here that I saw, so I think I’m all good. Oh shit I forgot to mention that house had cat food! So Otis is still in supply for his needs. I was a little worried the bag of dry food might’ve been rotten, but I checked it earlier and it’ll be fine. There was also a half dozen cans of the wet food, which I’ll save for special occasions for him. Thanksgiving is coming up after all.

As for tonight, I think I am going to burn a handful of CDs for my house clearing enjoyment. I found a stash of burnable discs back when I was searching the dorm rooms a few weeks ago. That seems like something to do. Maybe I’ll throw some Gaga on there for experimental purposes. Strictly scientific reasons of course.

Still need to figure out what to do with this boner though.

-Adrian

November 25
^th

Happy turkey day Mr. Journal. Here in America we call today Thanksgiving. On Thanksgiving we usually eat turkey, hence the turkey day greeting. Today though, I am eating venison. Why break with tradition you ask? Well, I don’t have any turkey, and because venison is fucking delicious. Really yummy. Wouldn’t lie. I guess the point of Thanksgiving is to take some time out of our lives and realize what we are thankful for.

I thought I would talk about what I am thankful for with some of this entry today. I don’t think I ever sat down and really, truly thought about what I was thankful for before the world came to an end. Well, the end as we know it. The world is still moving along I guess, we’re just disappearing off of it. I’m off track here.

I am thankful for being alive. I don’t even know how many people across the world have died because of whatever is happening, but I am thankful that thus far, I have avoided being eaten, or getting sick, or whatever causes this.

I am thankful that I still have Otis my cat. Otis is my homeboy.
 
No one really ever got along with me as well as he did, and the fact that I still have him with me keeps me far saner than I would be otherwise. I’m thankful for his purring when I scratch him, I’m thankful for his killing of mice, and I’m thankful for his warmth on cold nights.
 

I am thankful for all the weapons my man Phil at Moore’s sold me the day the shit hit the fan. I am thankful for all the ammunition. I am thankful for the spare magazines. I am thankful for the additional ammunition and the rifle I got there when I went back. I am also thankful for the .45 I found at the gas station.

I am thankful for all the food I got at the grocery store the day the zombies first appeared. I know I took more than I needed that day, and I know I was kind of a prick to the people there, and I do kind of regret that, but at least I am still alive, and thankful for the opportunity to try and help others. I am thankful I survived the trip back there right after all this shit started too. What a fucking nightmare that was.

I am thankful for my family. Well, I am thankful that while I still had them, they were for the most part good to me. Mom, Dad, three brothers and sister. I don’t think I have ever fully listed their names off anywhere actually. Here’s the list Mr. Journal; Margaret and Thomas are (were) my parents. In order, we are; Caleb, Myself, Thomas Jr., William, and littlest sister Rebecca. There you have it, the Ring clan. I am thankful for their merciless beatings (eat my ass Caleb), their blaming of their mistakes on me (fuck you Tommy), and all the detentions for beating up my sister’s suitors. (love you Becca.)

I am thankful for having been in love with someone. I think there are far too many people in false relationships that stay in them because they think they are in love. There’s such a thing as being in love with someone, and then being in love with the IDEA of being in love with someone. Teen love is usually the latter. I loved Cassie, and I know she loved me back. For that I am eternally grateful. I am sorry I didn’t do more for you baby. I will always be sorry.

I am thankful for the deer that came to the stream the other morning. I am thankful the meat from him was delicious. I am thankful it has preserved itself well. Very thankful.

Enough being thankful. I’m starting to feel all preachy Mr. Journal, and I am not a preacher. I can give a sermon for sure, God knows I’ve lectured the shit out of the kids here a few times, but I’ve got other shit to talk about now. Alright… so it’s been a few days and I have a fair amount of catching you up to do.

It’s now Thursday evening. Continuing with my plan to clear houses and do all the things needed to make campus inhabitable by others, I have been a busy dork. The day of the 23
^rd
I spent clearing houses down on Route 18. I managed to clear 3 more empty-ish places. Yesterday I cleared the remaining 3 houses on Route 18. Officially, all 15 of those homes are empty of zombies, and have been stripped of the best supplies in them. As you might imagine, it went not according to plan.

The three houses I did on the 23
^rd
were completely mundane. I found more of the same old, same old. One house had almost entirely been stripped clean already. It looked like the owners packed up and moved. The other two houses were just kind of poorly stocked. A somewhat disturbing find was a cupboard filled with jars of dusty baby food. Made me wonder where the baby was. Hopefully safe somewhere with the parents. I took the baby food just in case. I might meet someone with a baby, or God forbid, I’ll be around people who start making them.
 

Yesterday was a little more problematic. When I returned down to Route 18 to do the last three houses there was a handful of walking zombies moving around the area. I saw them when I came to a stop at the stop sign near the gas station. Most were milling about, moving in the same general direction, due west. There were eleven of them, which was the most I’d seen since my trip to the grocery store the first week of July. I’d kind of hoped to never see a batch that large again, but I guess that just wasn’t in the cards.

Here’s the dilemma. Get out of the truck and shoot them from as far away as possible? Go all Grand Theft Auto on them and commit some heavy duty vehicular zombieslaughter? Or search for a flamethrower and burn them to a crisp? I think by now Mr. Journal you understand that I am painfully afraid of zombies that have been set aflame, so I got rid of that idea quickly. Well my phobia of burning zombies coupled with a total lack of a flamethrower.

I was worried about damage to the Tundra, but I was more worried about wasting ammo. This truck had 4x4, and excellent ground clearance, so I opted for a slow-roll GTA experience. Three of the walking dead were to the right of the stop sign, almost right in front of the gas station. They were already moving towards me, so I turned towards them, accelerated to about 15 miles an hour, and aimed for the closest zombie. I think it was a younger guy, and I hit him square with the grill. Wanted to save the headlights. Slow hits don’t launch the bodies up quite so much, and it seems like you’re more likely to run them over at that speed, which was the goal here. I bonked him good, drove over him, and steered into the other pair. Two females. Mixed ages. One of them was a complete wreck, almost entirely naked, missing an arm and half her face. I plonked the two of them just like the dude, and hit reverse to make sure they were mangled so much they were a non-issue. I noticed in the rearview the batch of eight down the road were turned around and heading my way, so I sped it up and got turned around.

By the time I maneuvered the truck around in the road and aimed it at the small horde of approaching undead they were right on top of the truck, banging on the hood and coming around the side. I threw it in reverse and backed up 15 or 20 more feet, then slammed it in drive. I hit the gas a little too hard though, and slammed into the pack of zombies faster than I wanted to. Two of them directly in front were men, both of their chests and throats eaten open and exposed. They were tall enough that when I hit them they flew up and over, as opposed to getting knocked down and ran over. They tumbled across the hood, and one of them hit the windshield hard enough to send cracks all through it. Fortunately it was the passenger side. That irritated the piss out of me. The other guy just left a huge bloody streak on the hood and fell off.

That dead guy who hit the windshield managed to get his clothes hooked on the frigging wiper blade too, so as I drove forward and over the other zombies I’d managed to knock down, he stayed stuck to the hood firmly. I remember clearly him flopping about, trying to hold on, all the while staring intently into the cab at me, white, pus-filled eyes fixated on me. I swear I felt total hatred coming from him. I slammed on the breaks though, and his clothes gave way, and he shot off the hood and spun on the pavement in front of the truck. I gave it some juice and drove over his haterade ass. Don’t hate the player Mr. Zombie, hate the game.