Presto! We’re inside with hardly a peep. The air is stale and slightly bitter, but there is no trace of “dead” in the air. Still, better safe than sorry, and I sent Roy up one aisle as I worked the other. We spent ten minutes confirming what I was already fairly sure of.
There are bows, arrows, knives, and at least forty shotguns and two dozen rifles of all different calibers. Also, ammo. LOTS! Throw in the camping gear and this is the lottery and a Vegas jackpot wrapped up and waiting under the Christmas tree.
I grabbed a Tri-Star 12-gauge over/under and a Reming-ton 597 .22. I swapped out the standard scope for a nice laser job that I found in the manager’s office. Once both were loaded, I made sure I had an acceptable amount of spare ammo. Then I began looking for a few blades. It is comforting to be carrying that extra weight again. I’ve felt naked ever since I had to lose everything in the river before I ended up on the bottom. I look forward to going out and fine tuning the sights on my new weapon.
More good news. Survival rations! Box loads! They taste awful. But for quick, convenient, and at least moderately nutritious food…they will do. That means we’ll need to bring the rest of the gang down to supply up before we jet outta town.
There are a bunch of 4x4’s here. Roy can probably get one started even if damn near everything is likely dead as the folks in this town from sitting so long. Otherwise, well it’s a long walk to Irony.
Roy and I will slip out tonight just around the time it is dark. I’m leaving the place unlocked. Zombies aren’t much on opening doors unless they hang out for a long time. It’s like some memory flash comes and reminds the hand how a door works. It’s just not a thing that they remember or can recall at will. This place should be fine overnight.
Sunday, June 22
I guess everybody thinks I’m some sort of heartless bitch now. Apparently I should be in mourning. This just really pisses me off, because all that tells me is that, this whole time, these people haven’t seen me. They’ve seen an extension of Sam.
When Roy and I returned last night, I handed out food to everybody, sat down, popped open a room temperature bottle of beer and just tried to relax. Kyle came over and sat down next to me. I could tell right away that something was on his mind.
“What?” I turned and finally asked after about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence.
“You should go ahead and cry.” He stared back with this look that I imagine he used as his “our thoughts and prayers are with—insert figure here—” face that he looked into the camera with when he was a news anchorman. After I just glared back at him with no reply, he went on, “It’s okay, we miss Sam also.”
“Look,” I decided to clue these folks in to who Meredith Gainey is, “I liked Sam. I’ll miss him. But people die a lot more frequently these days than they used to. We had a thing and it was nice. Only, if you want the truth, he wasn’t exactly my type. For one, he was a bit too gentle and I like to know my lover is there. Know what I mean?”
That shut everybody up. Hey, I’m not saying I enjoyed being raped. People tend to get rough confused with pain. You more gentle folks might turn away for this next line…making love is fine, but sometimes, a gal just wants to be fucked.
That was a problem in our old society. It was fine for guys to talk about “slappin’ that ass” and such. But, if the girl dares to exhibit anything beyond puritanical sexuality…well…”Hello whore!”
There were actually those in that gang of perverts who thought I would enjoy being a sex slave for a bunch of horny guys…
Well, now I’ve gone and gotten myself all angry. Kyle must sense it because he hasn’t come within twenty feet of me since our “talk.” Oh, and I guess they took Sam’s body down to the house’s basement while I was gone.
I’m hoisting what seems to be my seventh bottle of room temperature Samuel Adams Dark Lager and saluting the recently deceased. They’ll bury him tomorrow after we get back from town. These people are big on planning. I don’t know if they’ve kept track, but our plans usually end up getting scrapped five minutes in.
I mean really, ten of us left Irony for some compound on the Idaho/Montana border. Now there are five of us. We had a pair of deuce-and-a-half military trucks, a Hummer, and a bunch of supplies. Now we are eating dehydrated survival rations and hoping we don’t have to walk back to Irony.
Go figure.
Monday, June 23
Finally! A chance to move. We all made it down to BEN’S and are in various states of recovery on individual cots here in the basement. I have my own private arsenal laid out before me and I think my new favorite is the M-TECH crossbow with a red dot sight. I’ve got a couple hundred sixteen-inch bolts for it and yes, I did try it out.
Slipping back into town was simple. Those walking rot-bags aren’t posting sentries or anything. They just wander aimlessly until something catches their attention. I’ve noticed that they are taking to clawing at the ground or trees. Looks like they’re eating bugs. I’ve not seen many dogs or cats in quite a while. I do remember seeing a big collie with her guts—I’m just guessing on gender here—dragging on the ground. But I’ve never seen a cat-zombie.
Weird. Cat-Zombie. Huh.
Anyways…I’ve also passed lots of dead farm-type animals: cows, horses, pigs, chickens. None of them ever got back up. And from what I’ve seen, most dogs got entirely eaten. Not enough left to come back really…so that’s the story there.
Back to what we did this morning. I ushered everybody in and it was like the kids in Willie Wonka entering that big candied landscape complete with chocolate river. Only, it was guns, knives, bows and arrows instead of candy.
Everybody gorged themselves on guns and a big box that held cases of recently expired power bars. They were stale—the power bars not the guns—but still pretty tasty. We also splurged and downed a bunch of water from these generic one-gallon jugs of “MIN-R-L WATR.” Great label.
Once everybody drifted off to sleep with full bellies, I snuck out with my M-TECH. I crept down 3rd Avenue until I reached this open park. A lone zombie in mechanic’s coveralls was all tangled in the chains of a three-swing swing set. Other than the ‘twang’ of the tension cords, and the ‘hiss’ of the bolt, my newest toy barely makes a sound. And, it kills from distance. I will need to be mindful of my shots though. That bolt went through Mechanic’s head and still had enough zip to stick in a tree several feet away. I took a look…nice clean hole.
I slipped back in to BEN’S and went down to the basement. I’m pretty sure Caren is only pretending to be asleep. I like her; she could be my older sister. We have lots of similarities. She’s just a bit more rounded than I am. She looks like she’s been managing a pizza joint, but I bet with things being like they are now, she’ll trim down nicely. She’s already lost at least fifteen pounds since I’ve known her. A little top heavy, but I may just be a bit envious since I was the last girl in my school to buy a bra. But the biggest thing about Caren that really makes me like her is that the other day when I got so pissed…I saw her simply smile and nod.
Wednesday, June 25
The votes are in and nobody is in a big hurry to leave. This basement is cool. There is food and water. The men’s and women’s bathrooms have at least one more day before using them is just too nasty. It’s only a bit gross now.