This is Jimmy Varn and I am staying alive.
I’m leaving this morning. The bike is packed and I am itching to head out. I’m leaving a lot of supplies along with a note to whoever finds it. I’m wishing them luck and urging them to leave the city.
There are more fires. It hasn’t rained in awhile but the water in the streets is higher. I’m going to try to ride the bike on the sidewalks but even that is going to get messy. It is going to be a bitch to get out of here but it has to be done.
I am going south. It won’t be as cold and with spring coming, I hopefully will not freeze to death as easily. I’ll start with Florida and shit, I might even go to Orlando and check out Disney. I imagine a lot of survivors will head there. Why not?
If you are reading this, go look for others. Watch out for zombies and assholes.
Stay alive.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
March 21st
This is Jimmy Varn and I want to stay alive.
The burning building collapsed last night. It was incredibly loud. The loud crash was followed by a louder moan as every damn zombie in the city got excited. It sounded an awful lot like cheering.
Something is going on the minds of zombies. They can be stupid, like watching a dead television or trying to climb a tree for hours, but they are still thinking. They don’t seem that drawn to noise but they remember things from when they are alive. Annie remembered where she once lived, Little Joe remembered toys and those two gangs I saw fighting remembered what ever prejudices drove them.
Something makes zombies form parades. Something makes them head to a fire. Something makes them attack people. Movies and stories make us just accept zombies and their killer behavior but now I wonder. When I hear their moan at the sound of a building collapsing, I can’t help feel they are more than mindless killers. I suspect they can think and maybe their relentless attacks come from an urge to have us join them in death.
I spent all day trying to think of a way to save Atlanta. I thought about relocating far away from the fires in downtown. Late last night, after I finished off my last beer, I had this plan to set up traps and then light a big fire to draw all the zombies in and kill them.
The morning hangover brought better clarity. Atlanta is fucked. A man wasn’t meant to live in a city alone. A man isn’t meant to be surrounded by monsters.
But I am not really surrounded, am I? I’m locked away in Home Base II. I sit here and blog while the city dies around me. The only reason Crystal entered my life is because she choose to. I was passive in her coming, and had nothing to do with her leaving.
I am safer here in Home Base II, but then again, this place can die just as easily as Home Base I. It all depends on the zombies. It all depends on the flooding street sewage and the fire that is on the horizon. There is only so much I can do here by myself.
I thought about suicide. I could easily shoot myself in the head. It would be easy and this nightmare would be over. Who knows if Baby Jesus is waiting for me, but it has to be better than eating one more damn can of lima beans. Seriously, how much worse can Hell be than here?
The funny thing is, I don’t want to die. I have seen the corpses of so many survivors that it is turning into a pride thing for me. I have lived. I escaped a bookstore filled with assholes, got taken in by assholes who wanted to turn me into their fuck slave, survived two zombies parades, survived a damn arrow to the shoulder and survived a woman stealing my shit and breaking my heart. I have lived and I keep surviving. I have a shit load to be proud of and I will be damned if I just give up now.
Once I decided I wanted to live, things became easier to think through. Atlanta is dying fast. Crystal’s method of living from house to house is not ideal, but I can see how it would work. I certainly relocated to Home Base II rather easily. I have experience with surviving, and they will help. I also have guns, food and a bike. I can do it.
And if I leave Home Base II and go traveling, I can meet other people. I can meet more Wal-Mart assholes, but I can also meet people like me. I can’t be the last nice guy alive. There has to be someone out there looking for a partner. There has to be other women than Crystal.
I’m logging off to really think about this. I’m also having the biggest meal yet because it might be awhile before I have the luxury of a fireplace. Beef stew, green beans and even some French onion soup.
The burning building collapsed last night. It was incredibly loud. The loud crash was followed by a louder moan as every damn zombie in the city got excited. It sounded an awful lot like cheering.
Something is going on the minds of zombies. They can be stupid, like watching a dead television or trying to climb a tree for hours, but they are still thinking. They don’t seem that drawn to noise but they remember things from when they are alive. Annie remembered where she once lived, Little Joe remembered toys and those two gangs I saw fighting remembered what ever prejudices drove them.
Something makes zombies form parades. Something makes them head to a fire. Something makes them attack people. Movies and stories make us just accept zombies and their killer behavior but now I wonder. When I hear their moan at the sound of a building collapsing, I can’t help feel they are more than mindless killers. I suspect they can think and maybe their relentless attacks come from an urge to have us join them in death.
I spent all day trying to think of a way to save Atlanta. I thought about relocating far away from the fires in downtown. Late last night, after I finished off my last beer, I had this plan to set up traps and then light a big fire to draw all the zombies in and kill them.
The morning hangover brought better clarity. Atlanta is fucked. A man wasn’t meant to live in a city alone. A man isn’t meant to be surrounded by monsters.
But I am not really surrounded, am I? I’m locked away in Home Base II. I sit here and blog while the city dies around me. The only reason Crystal entered my life is because she choose to. I was passive in her coming, and had nothing to do with her leaving.
I am safer here in Home Base II, but then again, this place can die just as easily as Home Base I. It all depends on the zombies. It all depends on the flooding street sewage and the fire that is on the horizon. There is only so much I can do here by myself.
I thought about suicide. I could easily shoot myself in the head. It would be easy and this nightmare would be over. Who knows if Baby Jesus is waiting for me, but it has to be better than eating one more damn can of lima beans. Seriously, how much worse can Hell be than here?
The funny thing is, I don’t want to die. I have seen the corpses of so many survivors that it is turning into a pride thing for me. I have lived. I escaped a bookstore filled with assholes, got taken in by assholes who wanted to turn me into their fuck slave, survived two zombies parades, survived a damn arrow to the shoulder and survived a woman stealing my shit and breaking my heart. I have lived and I keep surviving. I have a shit load to be proud of and I will be damned if I just give up now.
Once I decided I wanted to live, things became easier to think through. Atlanta is dying fast. Crystal’s method of living from house to house is not ideal, but I can see how it would work. I certainly relocated to Home Base II rather easily. I have experience with surviving, and they will help. I also have guns, food and a bike. I can do it.
And if I leave Home Base II and go traveling, I can meet other people. I can meet more Wal-Mart assholes, but I can also meet people like me. I can’t be the last nice guy alive. There has to be someone out there looking for a partner. There has to be other women than Crystal.
I’m logging off to really think about this. I’m also having the biggest meal yet because it might be awhile before I have the luxury of a fireplace. Beef stew, green beans and even some French onion soup.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
March 20th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
I can’t believe this shit but now I have three problems. The rain stopped and judging from the smoke, some of the fires are still going. Even from here I can see the outline of a tall building on fire. I have no idea if it is one of those big ass commercial buildings or a residential, but it is burning like a torch now.
That big giant fire is acting like a beacon to the zombies. I counted fifty zombies on the street, heading downtown, before I stopped counting. It is not zombie parade thick, but it makes me worry that it could get there.
The third problem is that the rain brought back the flooding. The streets are filling up again and I can’t exactly go out there and clear it up. The water looks worse this time. The filth is pretty nasty. It is either picking up all the garbage that has accumulated or Hell, it could be from the zombies themselves. A walking rotting body leaves shit every where.
It is a cesspit out there. Outside smells like the basement of Home Base I when I was shitting inside. For all I know, a water treatment area might have exploded. Maybe it is just the entropy of a dead city. Whatever the reason, it is fucking nasty out there.
If it rains, it might help the fire but it will cause more flooding. If it stops raining, the flood might stop and the fire will burn us all.
No matter what happens, the fucking zombies will still be there.
I need a plan. As the only living human I know who is not chaining zombies in a Wal-Mart, it is going to be up to me to save the city of Atlanta.
Logging off.
I can’t believe this shit but now I have three problems. The rain stopped and judging from the smoke, some of the fires are still going. Even from here I can see the outline of a tall building on fire. I have no idea if it is one of those big ass commercial buildings or a residential, but it is burning like a torch now.
That big giant fire is acting like a beacon to the zombies. I counted fifty zombies on the street, heading downtown, before I stopped counting. It is not zombie parade thick, but it makes me worry that it could get there.
The third problem is that the rain brought back the flooding. The streets are filling up again and I can’t exactly go out there and clear it up. The water looks worse this time. The filth is pretty nasty. It is either picking up all the garbage that has accumulated or Hell, it could be from the zombies themselves. A walking rotting body leaves shit every where.
It is a cesspit out there. Outside smells like the basement of Home Base I when I was shitting inside. For all I know, a water treatment area might have exploded. Maybe it is just the entropy of a dead city. Whatever the reason, it is fucking nasty out there.
If it rains, it might help the fire but it will cause more flooding. If it stops raining, the flood might stop and the fire will burn us all.
No matter what happens, the fucking zombies will still be there.
I need a plan. As the only living human I know who is not chaining zombies in a Wal-Mart, it is going to be up to me to save the city of Atlanta.
Logging off.
Friday, March 19, 2010
March 19th
This is Jimmy Varn and I think everything will be okay.
It’s been raining today. Sweet glorious fire killing rain started last night and into the morning. I still see smoke but maybe it is just smoldering. I don’t care, as long as the fire is out, I don’t have to leave Home Base II
The rain seamed to stop the zombies homing in on the fire. I felt confident enough to go out and raid a couple of houses to resupply. I didn’t find much food, but I grabbed every rug, comforter or thick blanket I could. I put them all on the floor so maybe it won’t freeze so much in here.
I also enjoyed shooting some fucking zombies. Watching them kill those theater people had made me feel really helpless. Putting a few bullets into the skulls of slow moving targets made me feel a lot better. I killed about twenty of the fuckers from my front porch.
I think I may be heavily desensitized. I blew away a teenager zombie. She was barely thirteen and wearing a Jonas Brothers jacket. No hesitation, I just blew her away. It might make me a better zombie killer but I might be less of a person. Oh well, their fucking loss.
Granted, I have no proof the fires have stopped but I have to be optimistic. The thought of leaving was so damn depressing. I don’t want to go anywhere. I worked too hard for all the shit I have. Fuck, I took an arrow for the things I have. This is my home.
I am starting to get really pissed at how I only seem to find other people after they die. I need a way to let people know I am here. I need a way to get in touch with people like the Figs, and not with the crazies at Wal-mart.
Heh, I should take out a personal ad.
I do wonder if I could do my own radio broadcast. I have no idea how to do such a thing, but I bet I could learn. I know I check the radio every day, I’m sure other people are too. It might be the best way to find people. At least find them before they get killed.
Oh fuck, I am turning into Will Smith. All I need is a dog and Bob Marley music.
It’s been raining today. Sweet glorious fire killing rain started last night and into the morning. I still see smoke but maybe it is just smoldering. I don’t care, as long as the fire is out, I don’t have to leave Home Base II
The rain seamed to stop the zombies homing in on the fire. I felt confident enough to go out and raid a couple of houses to resupply. I didn’t find much food, but I grabbed every rug, comforter or thick blanket I could. I put them all on the floor so maybe it won’t freeze so much in here.
I also enjoyed shooting some fucking zombies. Watching them kill those theater people had made me feel really helpless. Putting a few bullets into the skulls of slow moving targets made me feel a lot better. I killed about twenty of the fuckers from my front porch.
I think I may be heavily desensitized. I blew away a teenager zombie. She was barely thirteen and wearing a Jonas Brothers jacket. No hesitation, I just blew her away. It might make me a better zombie killer but I might be less of a person. Oh well, their fucking loss.
Granted, I have no proof the fires have stopped but I have to be optimistic. The thought of leaving was so damn depressing. I don’t want to go anywhere. I worked too hard for all the shit I have. Fuck, I took an arrow for the things I have. This is my home.
I am starting to get really pissed at how I only seem to find other people after they die. I need a way to let people know I am here. I need a way to get in touch with people like the Figs, and not with the crazies at Wal-mart.
Heh, I should take out a personal ad.
I do wonder if I could do my own radio broadcast. I have no idea how to do such a thing, but I bet I could learn. I know I check the radio every day, I’m sure other people are too. It might be the best way to find people. At least find them before they get killed.
Oh fuck, I am turning into Will Smith. All I need is a dog and Bob Marley music.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
March 18th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
The fire continues and the smoke is getting pretty damn thick. Zombies don’t mind. They keep stomping towards the bright lights at night. I don’t have a zombie parade, I got more of a zombie high traffic crossing.
There is nothing like the billowing black clouds of death in the morning to make you start thinking about your evacuating plans.
So I got my bike. I realized I needed to slap on some baskets or bags so I can carry more stuff. Well, Chuck and Annie’s stockpile of bondage gear came to the rescue. I have enough rope and straps to make some attachments to the bike. Right now I am strapping plastic containers I found at the Figs’ house. Jennifer was one Hell of an organizer. I should really bury her in thanks.
Shit, wait long enough and they will get cremated.
I am not sure about food. Carrying cans is not an option. I thought about opening cans and transferring food to ziplock bags to be eaten later but I don’t know. It occurred to me that I could forage on the run like Crystal does but that doesn’t appeal to me at all. Looks like I might not have a choice.
What I really need is some ramen noodles. I could eat them on the go and they weigh nothing. All I have to do is hit the grocery store. It can’t be nearly as bad as the Wal-Mart, right?
I can see it now: I get myself killed looting to get ready to escape the fire. Maybe I should just pack my bike with things I already have.
The sleeping bag is the big debate. That fucker is bulky. On the other hand, if I am caught outside, I might freeze to death without it.
How much water do you carry on the run? The answer is never enough. Water is the heaviest thing I can carry outside of guns and I can’t imagine leaving the house without ten gallons. I can’t fucking carry ten gallons so it is looking like one gallon is my limit.
The more I think about it, the less I want to go. Leaving Home Base II with such meager supplies will be a death sentence. I’m still working on the escape bike though. If the fire gets too close, the zombies will make it impossible to ride out of here. I rather go out with pathetic supplies than wait and sit here to die.
Got work to do.
The fire continues and the smoke is getting pretty damn thick. Zombies don’t mind. They keep stomping towards the bright lights at night. I don’t have a zombie parade, I got more of a zombie high traffic crossing.
There is nothing like the billowing black clouds of death in the morning to make you start thinking about your evacuating plans.
So I got my bike. I realized I needed to slap on some baskets or bags so I can carry more stuff. Well, Chuck and Annie’s stockpile of bondage gear came to the rescue. I have enough rope and straps to make some attachments to the bike. Right now I am strapping plastic containers I found at the Figs’ house. Jennifer was one Hell of an organizer. I should really bury her in thanks.
Shit, wait long enough and they will get cremated.
I am not sure about food. Carrying cans is not an option. I thought about opening cans and transferring food to ziplock bags to be eaten later but I don’t know. It occurred to me that I could forage on the run like Crystal does but that doesn’t appeal to me at all. Looks like I might not have a choice.
What I really need is some ramen noodles. I could eat them on the go and they weigh nothing. All I have to do is hit the grocery store. It can’t be nearly as bad as the Wal-Mart, right?
I can see it now: I get myself killed looting to get ready to escape the fire. Maybe I should just pack my bike with things I already have.
The sleeping bag is the big debate. That fucker is bulky. On the other hand, if I am caught outside, I might freeze to death without it.
How much water do you carry on the run? The answer is never enough. Water is the heaviest thing I can carry outside of guns and I can’t imagine leaving the house without ten gallons. I can’t fucking carry ten gallons so it is looking like one gallon is my limit.
The more I think about it, the less I want to go. Leaving Home Base II with such meager supplies will be a death sentence. I’m still working on the escape bike though. If the fire gets too close, the zombies will make it impossible to ride out of here. I rather go out with pathetic supplies than wait and sit here to die.
Got work to do.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
March 17th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
The city of Atlanta is not doing so well. The fire continues. Zombies are drawn to the noise and smoke. I’ve been watching stragglers all day come down the street, headed for the smoke downtown. It makes me a little paranoid about my chimney but so far none of the zombies seem to notice me.
Last night the fires lit up the overcast sky so much that I thought the street lamps were working again.
It is very strange to be in such a dangerous place with no where to check for information. The radio is static, the television is static and websites are quiet. I keep wanting a freaked out weatherman to explain to me how the wind patterns are going to drive the flames towards my area and kill me.
What is odd is I feel this urge of responsibility. Like I should get out there and put it out myself. I start thinking about hijacking a fire engine and then I start thinking about driving through a crowd of fire attracted zombies.
Seriously, why is the fire attracting so many zombies? I wish I could get close enough to the zombies to see if they are attracted to the point of getting burned up. This kind of information would be important. Maybe the way to kill all the zombies is to have massive bonfires.
I think about these things because I don’t want to think about what I do if the fire gets too close to Home Base II. I just set up here, I don’t want to abandon it. How far would I have to move? How long can Atlanta keep burning?
I’m seriously thinking that I might need to evacuate. Evacuate to where is a damn good question. I can’t carry that much myself. The bike isn’t really made for transporting things. Shit, I could never take enough.
What would Crystal do? I wished I had asked her more about her nomad life. I could really use some fucking tips about now.
Of course, leaving would mean leaving the blog behind. I am not sure about that. It would feel like I lost my last connection to the world. I don’t know if I can do that willingly.
Ha, the fire might not give me a choice.
The city of Atlanta is not doing so well. The fire continues. Zombies are drawn to the noise and smoke. I’ve been watching stragglers all day come down the street, headed for the smoke downtown. It makes me a little paranoid about my chimney but so far none of the zombies seem to notice me.
Last night the fires lit up the overcast sky so much that I thought the street lamps were working again.
It is very strange to be in such a dangerous place with no where to check for information. The radio is static, the television is static and websites are quiet. I keep wanting a freaked out weatherman to explain to me how the wind patterns are going to drive the flames towards my area and kill me.
What is odd is I feel this urge of responsibility. Like I should get out there and put it out myself. I start thinking about hijacking a fire engine and then I start thinking about driving through a crowd of fire attracted zombies.
Seriously, why is the fire attracting so many zombies? I wish I could get close enough to the zombies to see if they are attracted to the point of getting burned up. This kind of information would be important. Maybe the way to kill all the zombies is to have massive bonfires.
I think about these things because I don’t want to think about what I do if the fire gets too close to Home Base II. I just set up here, I don’t want to abandon it. How far would I have to move? How long can Atlanta keep burning?
I’m seriously thinking that I might need to evacuate. Evacuate to where is a damn good question. I can’t carry that much myself. The bike isn’t really made for transporting things. Shit, I could never take enough.
What would Crystal do? I wished I had asked her more about her nomad life. I could really use some fucking tips about now.
Of course, leaving would mean leaving the blog behind. I am not sure about that. It would feel like I lost my last connection to the world. I don’t know if I can do that willingly.
Ha, the fire might not give me a choice.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
March 16
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
I checked out the fire and it was worse than I thought. Yes, it was a fire. A theater was burning and it was fucking choked with zombies.
It also had some people. I could hear the firearms as I rode closer. It was the farthest I have ever ridden away from Home Base II and I was nervous as fuck. The gunshots scared me, but there was so many I knew they must be in trouble. I pedaled faster and hoped they wouldn’t shoot at me.
I’m rambling because I am really upset. The outside of a theater movie looked like a horror movie. Zombies were swarming the place and making it impossible for anyone to get out. There were easily a hundred zombies. It is the biggest group I have seen outside of a parade. Fuck, maybe this is how parades get started.
I saw some of the people inside. They were on the roof and they were shooting downwards at the zombies. Well some of them were, a lot of them were just running around freaking out.
I didn’t have a rifle so I couldn’t use a scope to check it out. I really wished I had some binoculars. The people on the rooftop were up to something but I don’t know what. The smoke pouring out the theater was pretty severe. Not that it was stopping the zombies from pushing in. Zombies apparently don’t give a fuck about fire.
It is really hard to watch a disaster play out in front of you. I kept trying to think of a way to help but fuck, no one had enough bullets to kill that many zombies. I thought about making a distraction but I had nothing. Start another fire? Yell and ride away fast?
The theater decided it for me. With a terrible noise, the roof collapsed. All of the people running around either tumbled inwards or they tumbled into the zombie crowd. The theater blazed in flames and the zombies ate any of the poor bastards that they can.
I came right back home. I haven’t left Home Base II since except to take shits. God damn, there were a lot of people there. Twenty of them? Thirty? They were people I could have lived with. Talked to. They could have been friends.
Now they are all dead.
And I am still alive. I’m jealous of the company they had, but not of their fate. Shit, maybe I am better off living by myself.
Comfort food for lunch today. I am microwaving a cup of instant macaroni and cheese. I hate to use the gas for the microwave but I need it. I need to snap out of this funk.
I checked out the fire and it was worse than I thought. Yes, it was a fire. A theater was burning and it was fucking choked with zombies.
It also had some people. I could hear the firearms as I rode closer. It was the farthest I have ever ridden away from Home Base II and I was nervous as fuck. The gunshots scared me, but there was so many I knew they must be in trouble. I pedaled faster and hoped they wouldn’t shoot at me.
I’m rambling because I am really upset. The outside of a theater movie looked like a horror movie. Zombies were swarming the place and making it impossible for anyone to get out. There were easily a hundred zombies. It is the biggest group I have seen outside of a parade. Fuck, maybe this is how parades get started.
I saw some of the people inside. They were on the roof and they were shooting downwards at the zombies. Well some of them were, a lot of them were just running around freaking out.
I didn’t have a rifle so I couldn’t use a scope to check it out. I really wished I had some binoculars. The people on the rooftop were up to something but I don’t know what. The smoke pouring out the theater was pretty severe. Not that it was stopping the zombies from pushing in. Zombies apparently don’t give a fuck about fire.
It is really hard to watch a disaster play out in front of you. I kept trying to think of a way to help but fuck, no one had enough bullets to kill that many zombies. I thought about making a distraction but I had nothing. Start another fire? Yell and ride away fast?
The theater decided it for me. With a terrible noise, the roof collapsed. All of the people running around either tumbled inwards or they tumbled into the zombie crowd. The theater blazed in flames and the zombies ate any of the poor bastards that they can.
I came right back home. I haven’t left Home Base II since except to take shits. God damn, there were a lot of people there. Twenty of them? Thirty? They were people I could have lived with. Talked to. They could have been friends.
Now they are all dead.
And I am still alive. I’m jealous of the company they had, but not of their fate. Shit, maybe I am better off living by myself.
Comfort food for lunch today. I am microwaving a cup of instant macaroni and cheese. I hate to use the gas for the microwave but I need it. I need to snap out of this funk.
Monday, March 15, 2010
March 15th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
The rain stopped but the water draining continues. Every street is a river. The ground outside is muddy and I really wish I could shower. Oh God, it stinks too.
Not wanting to go far from Home Base II, I have been foraging the houses around me. They were off my search grid so they are technically virgin lands.
It is almost a bad thing. Finding completely rotten food sucks. I’m even finding bad food in freezers that haven’t opened in months. I think I might have to start getting used to an all canned food diet.
One of the homes was so dead empty of food that I realized a survivor must have lived there. Bags of garbage were stacked in the lawn, filled with empty cans and boxes of all kinds. Yeah, I went through his garbage. I am curious how the other survivors tried to live.
This guy, I’m guessing guy by the number of spaghetti cans, seemed to have eaten his house completely empty. I checked the houses next to it and they have some cans of food. That means he never looted his neighbors. Did he not loot at all?
His car is missing, so I am guessing he made a run for it. Well, once less person on my burial detail. I wonder where the fuck he went.
His house was empty of supplies but I got luckier with some of the other houses. I found a complete first aid kit which made me smile for hours. My spices are all healthy restocked. I don’t know if I could live without onion powder at this point. I found more painkillers which is always good. My shoulder only aches a little now, but if I get hurt again I’ll be okay.
On my way back to Home Base II, I saw something. There was smoke in the sky. You know, I kept staring at it because I knew it was odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Took me awhile to realize that smoke means fire, which means someone might be out there trying to keep warm too.
Either that or Atlanta is burning a second time.
I should go check it out. The streets are flooded though and I don’t like the idea of splashing through it on my bike. I also don’t want to know if there is a fire. There isn’t anything I can do about it except worry. I have enough of that.
Fuck, it could also be people. Damn it. I shouldn’t put this off.
Logging off to go investigate.
The rain stopped but the water draining continues. Every street is a river. The ground outside is muddy and I really wish I could shower. Oh God, it stinks too.
Not wanting to go far from Home Base II, I have been foraging the houses around me. They were off my search grid so they are technically virgin lands.
It is almost a bad thing. Finding completely rotten food sucks. I’m even finding bad food in freezers that haven’t opened in months. I think I might have to start getting used to an all canned food diet.
One of the homes was so dead empty of food that I realized a survivor must have lived there. Bags of garbage were stacked in the lawn, filled with empty cans and boxes of all kinds. Yeah, I went through his garbage. I am curious how the other survivors tried to live.
This guy, I’m guessing guy by the number of spaghetti cans, seemed to have eaten his house completely empty. I checked the houses next to it and they have some cans of food. That means he never looted his neighbors. Did he not loot at all?
His car is missing, so I am guessing he made a run for it. Well, once less person on my burial detail. I wonder where the fuck he went.
His house was empty of supplies but I got luckier with some of the other houses. I found a complete first aid kit which made me smile for hours. My spices are all healthy restocked. I don’t know if I could live without onion powder at this point. I found more painkillers which is always good. My shoulder only aches a little now, but if I get hurt again I’ll be okay.
On my way back to Home Base II, I saw something. There was smoke in the sky. You know, I kept staring at it because I knew it was odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Took me awhile to realize that smoke means fire, which means someone might be out there trying to keep warm too.
Either that or Atlanta is burning a second time.
I should go check it out. The streets are flooded though and I don’t like the idea of splashing through it on my bike. I also don’t want to know if there is a fire. There isn’t anything I can do about it except worry. I have enough of that.
Fuck, it could also be people. Damn it. I shouldn’t put this off.
Logging off to go investigate.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
March 14
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
I might need to consider building an ark if I want to stay that way. The street is filled with water streaming towards God only knows where. I went outside and cleared some of the street gutters if you can believe it. It seemed to help but the overall water volume is so much.
I might actually need to go up and down the street, clearing drainage gutters. I would be more willing if the visibility wasn’t so shitty. One zombie got within ten feet before I saw him. I shot him with no problem, but the whole experience made me jumpy. It is impossible to hear anything out there.
On the other hand, the water flow is lapping over the street edge and into my lawn. I never thought I would get fucking flooded out during a zombie crisis. Shit, I never thought I would be clearing gutters in an apocalypse.
I sure could use a second person’s help right about now. One could keep watch while the other cleaned. Of course, if Crystal was here, I would rather be fucking in front of the fireplace then outside in the cold.
I have to admit, I am a little afraid of spending too much time in the rain. I keep picturing myself hunting zombies with a runny nose and a cold. I never scavenged a rain coat which is looking to be a big mistake. I’m going to raid the houses next door and see if I can find one after lunch.
There is another reason I want to stay inside. About twenty minutes ago I saw eight zombies walking together down the street. They kept slipping in the rain but they kept at it. I was tempted to shoot them but I am being much more conservative with my ammo. I don’t want to have to go to another Wal-Mart scenario to find bullets
I was worried that they were part of a parade but they seemed to be alone. In the rain it was hard to see any details, but they didn’t share any characteristics that I could see. Half were men, and three of the women were really fat. They were too old to be a gang, but maybe they were coworkers.
What was odd is that when one fell, the others would wait for it to get up. They didn’t the help the fallen zombie, but they were waiting for it. They moved like a pack, and my videogame experience noticed that they were fanned out in a decent spread. Shit, I would have been proud to play with a group with that kind of dispersion.
This is not behavior I like to see in things trying to kill me.
Logging off to eat my very nutritious Spam with cream of mushroom gravy.
I might need to consider building an ark if I want to stay that way. The street is filled with water streaming towards God only knows where. I went outside and cleared some of the street gutters if you can believe it. It seemed to help but the overall water volume is so much.
I might actually need to go up and down the street, clearing drainage gutters. I would be more willing if the visibility wasn’t so shitty. One zombie got within ten feet before I saw him. I shot him with no problem, but the whole experience made me jumpy. It is impossible to hear anything out there.
On the other hand, the water flow is lapping over the street edge and into my lawn. I never thought I would get fucking flooded out during a zombie crisis. Shit, I never thought I would be clearing gutters in an apocalypse.
I sure could use a second person’s help right about now. One could keep watch while the other cleaned. Of course, if Crystal was here, I would rather be fucking in front of the fireplace then outside in the cold.
I have to admit, I am a little afraid of spending too much time in the rain. I keep picturing myself hunting zombies with a runny nose and a cold. I never scavenged a rain coat which is looking to be a big mistake. I’m going to raid the houses next door and see if I can find one after lunch.
There is another reason I want to stay inside. About twenty minutes ago I saw eight zombies walking together down the street. They kept slipping in the rain but they kept at it. I was tempted to shoot them but I am being much more conservative with my ammo. I don’t want to have to go to another Wal-Mart scenario to find bullets
I was worried that they were part of a parade but they seemed to be alone. In the rain it was hard to see any details, but they didn’t share any characteristics that I could see. Half were men, and three of the women were really fat. They were too old to be a gang, but maybe they were coworkers.
What was odd is that when one fell, the others would wait for it to get up. They didn’t the help the fallen zombie, but they were waiting for it. They moved like a pack, and my videogame experience noticed that they were fanned out in a decent spread. Shit, I would have been proud to play with a group with that kind of dispersion.
This is not behavior I like to see in things trying to kill me.
Logging off to eat my very nutritious Spam with cream of mushroom gravy.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
March 13th
This is Jimmy Varn and it is storming like a motherfuck.
It started to pour down this morning while I was at the Figs. I started to worry that I needed to get back to Home Base II to collect water, but I realized I had everything set up the day after I moved. Plus I have so much bottled water that I think I can take it easy.
Since I didn’t want to go out in the storm, I stayed at the Figs and killed time. I had come back several times to loot it but that was always on a strict time schedule. Now I could afford to sit there and really take a look at the place.
That is the excuse I am making for just now noticing they had a hand crank radio. It has a big red cross on it, and I think it is some sort of official disaster radio. I look so hard for food and water that I didn’t notice it till I sat on their couch. It was on the floor, sitting beside some magazines.
Apparently all you need to do is crank it if you run out of power. It took a bit of work but I got it charged and running. I flipped through the stations and there was nothing. I hadn’t checked the radio in ages. Obviously it wasn’t much use to the Figs either, but I should pay better attention. You never know.
The storm is vicious. Lightning like I haven’t seen since before Hell Day. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about power going out. It is raining in buckets too. It is a little scary but deep down I am hoping it washes away all of the zombies. I bet the fuckers can’t swim.
Listening to the lightning strikes is pretty terrifying though. I was itching to get back to Home Base II but watching the lightning kept me inside. I don’t know if it is because the city is empty, but the strikes sound so much louder than I remember them being. Each peel of thunder sounds like it is one story above me.
The rain never stopped, but the lightning paused so I made a break for it. I pedaled my ass as fast as possible. I was soaked and I nearly hydroplaned on a bike which is something I never want to do again. Still, I got home which was the good part.
The bad part was that I saw a lot of streets weren’t draining water. Gutters were clogged and the water has to go somewhere. I hope that is just normal for this area and not indicative of flooding. Like I don’t have enough problems.
Hardwood floors are fucking cold when you are dripping wet. I swear, I am thinking of looting a rug store.
Excuse me while I eat a ridiculously decadent meal of the last steak.
It started to pour down this morning while I was at the Figs. I started to worry that I needed to get back to Home Base II to collect water, but I realized I had everything set up the day after I moved. Plus I have so much bottled water that I think I can take it easy.
Since I didn’t want to go out in the storm, I stayed at the Figs and killed time. I had come back several times to loot it but that was always on a strict time schedule. Now I could afford to sit there and really take a look at the place.
That is the excuse I am making for just now noticing they had a hand crank radio. It has a big red cross on it, and I think it is some sort of official disaster radio. I look so hard for food and water that I didn’t notice it till I sat on their couch. It was on the floor, sitting beside some magazines.
Apparently all you need to do is crank it if you run out of power. It took a bit of work but I got it charged and running. I flipped through the stations and there was nothing. I hadn’t checked the radio in ages. Obviously it wasn’t much use to the Figs either, but I should pay better attention. You never know.
The storm is vicious. Lightning like I haven’t seen since before Hell Day. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about power going out. It is raining in buckets too. It is a little scary but deep down I am hoping it washes away all of the zombies. I bet the fuckers can’t swim.
Listening to the lightning strikes is pretty terrifying though. I was itching to get back to Home Base II but watching the lightning kept me inside. I don’t know if it is because the city is empty, but the strikes sound so much louder than I remember them being. Each peel of thunder sounds like it is one story above me.
The rain never stopped, but the lightning paused so I made a break for it. I pedaled my ass as fast as possible. I was soaked and I nearly hydroplaned on a bike which is something I never want to do again. Still, I got home which was the good part.
The bad part was that I saw a lot of streets weren’t draining water. Gutters were clogged and the water has to go somewhere. I hope that is just normal for this area and not indicative of flooding. Like I don’t have enough problems.
Hardwood floors are fucking cold when you are dripping wet. I swear, I am thinking of looting a rug store.
Excuse me while I eat a ridiculously decadent meal of the last steak.
Friday, March 12, 2010
March 12th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
The house I found yesterday belonged to Randy and Jennifer Figs. Jennifer kept a diary which I spent most of last night reading. Jennifer worried about her husband looking at other women, whether she will get cancer like her mother and why she keeps getting passed over for a promotion at work. She barely writes four pages about zombies during the three week period after Hell Day.
A group of people barely survived for three weeks. I am on month three.
What she does write about is arguing with her sister who came in with her husband. I see some other names, but I can’t figure out who they were. Mostly Jennifer writes about trying to manage so many people in the same house. There is a whole page about sleeping arrangements and another page about her husband Randy flirting with someone named Natalie.
I tell you, Jennifer sounds like people were driving her crazy, but I would gladly have swapped places with her. Arguing with people over how many times to flush the toilet is a lot better than sleeping alone every night. God, the idea of living with multiple women in the house sounds like heaven.
Then again, I don’t have to argue with anyone when I want to have double cans of baked beans. Jennifer writes about a fight she had over food rationing. She talks about locking the chocolate up. Fuck, I would have to hurt someone if they broke my rationing rules.
I have no idea how they died. People don’t get a chance to put their death in their diary.
My bigger concern is burying them. That is a shit load of bodies. I doubt my back could take it. I know I can skip burying them but it nags at me. I want someone to bury me and I doubt that will happen. I want to do the same for them. Fuck, I am missing people so much; I want to be friendly with them even when they are dead before I get to know them.
I’ll come up with something while I am eating lunch. The Figs were saving two steaks in their basement freezer and I am eating one of them today.
The house I found yesterday belonged to Randy and Jennifer Figs. Jennifer kept a diary which I spent most of last night reading. Jennifer worried about her husband looking at other women, whether she will get cancer like her mother and why she keeps getting passed over for a promotion at work. She barely writes four pages about zombies during the three week period after Hell Day.
A group of people barely survived for three weeks. I am on month three.
What she does write about is arguing with her sister who came in with her husband. I see some other names, but I can’t figure out who they were. Mostly Jennifer writes about trying to manage so many people in the same house. There is a whole page about sleeping arrangements and another page about her husband Randy flirting with someone named Natalie.
I tell you, Jennifer sounds like people were driving her crazy, but I would gladly have swapped places with her. Arguing with people over how many times to flush the toilet is a lot better than sleeping alone every night. God, the idea of living with multiple women in the house sounds like heaven.
Then again, I don’t have to argue with anyone when I want to have double cans of baked beans. Jennifer writes about a fight she had over food rationing. She talks about locking the chocolate up. Fuck, I would have to hurt someone if they broke my rationing rules.
I have no idea how they died. People don’t get a chance to put their death in their diary.
My bigger concern is burying them. That is a shit load of bodies. I doubt my back could take it. I know I can skip burying them but it nags at me. I want someone to bury me and I doubt that will happen. I want to do the same for them. Fuck, I am missing people so much; I want to be friendly with them even when they are dead before I get to know them.
I’ll come up with something while I am eating lunch. The Figs were saving two steaks in their basement freezer and I am eating one of them today.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
March 11th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
I took the bike out for a spin this morning. I loved being mobile again. I am getting braver when it comes to leaving my area. In fact, I got a little lost at one point so I will have to look out for that.
There was a house that was barricaded pretty well. It looked just like a videogame with the windows boarded up and a makeshift fence around the porch. I got real excited till I saw the door was wide open. That is never a good sign.
I was expecting zombies inside but I wasn’t expecting these kinds of zombies. They were prepared.
One zombie attacked me as soon as I stepped in. The smell warned me and I was already moving back when he lunged. The fucker was a mess. He had a ragged beard, dirty clothes and a wicked hand ax. The guy looked like a survivor. He was clutching the ax though he didn’t use it much.
I shot him once. Hard to miss at this close of range.
The house was filled with them but they acted all weird. I found two more male zombies in the living room, armed with a bat and a shovel. They weren’t watching tv, they were behind a couch that was over turned. Dead zombies were on the floor with their heads caved in. I will never know if the living room zombies killed the floor zombies when they were alive or dead.
Three shots took care of them. I saw another zombie in the dining room just watching me. He had another shovel. He was waiting for me to come to him. I shot him instead.
I won’t bore you with the details. Two more zombies in the kitchen and a total of four zombies upstairs in the bedrooms. The four upstairs were women. They were sad pathetic looking things. They had chair legs as weapons. It didn’t stop the zombies that killed them and it didn’t stop me from shooting them.
It was an easy story to read. These people had holed up here and made a pretty crowded life for themselves. They had melee weapons but no guns. The zombies came through the open front door, which I don’t understand why it wasn’t closed. Maybe someone went out?
I feel like a bastard for saying this, but the shelters of dead survivors makes for the best loot. They were low on food but fuck, they had a lot of bottled water. I can slack off my purifying for a while. In fact, I will have to take the wheel barrow after lunch to get it all.
I’m going to finish this can of black eyed peas and get my ass back there.
I took the bike out for a spin this morning. I loved being mobile again. I am getting braver when it comes to leaving my area. In fact, I got a little lost at one point so I will have to look out for that.
There was a house that was barricaded pretty well. It looked just like a videogame with the windows boarded up and a makeshift fence around the porch. I got real excited till I saw the door was wide open. That is never a good sign.
I was expecting zombies inside but I wasn’t expecting these kinds of zombies. They were prepared.
One zombie attacked me as soon as I stepped in. The smell warned me and I was already moving back when he lunged. The fucker was a mess. He had a ragged beard, dirty clothes and a wicked hand ax. The guy looked like a survivor. He was clutching the ax though he didn’t use it much.
I shot him once. Hard to miss at this close of range.
The house was filled with them but they acted all weird. I found two more male zombies in the living room, armed with a bat and a shovel. They weren’t watching tv, they were behind a couch that was over turned. Dead zombies were on the floor with their heads caved in. I will never know if the living room zombies killed the floor zombies when they were alive or dead.
Three shots took care of them. I saw another zombie in the dining room just watching me. He had another shovel. He was waiting for me to come to him. I shot him instead.
I won’t bore you with the details. Two more zombies in the kitchen and a total of four zombies upstairs in the bedrooms. The four upstairs were women. They were sad pathetic looking things. They had chair legs as weapons. It didn’t stop the zombies that killed them and it didn’t stop me from shooting them.
It was an easy story to read. These people had holed up here and made a pretty crowded life for themselves. They had melee weapons but no guns. The zombies came through the open front door, which I don’t understand why it wasn’t closed. Maybe someone went out?
I feel like a bastard for saying this, but the shelters of dead survivors makes for the best loot. They were low on food but fuck, they had a lot of bottled water. I can slack off my purifying for a while. In fact, I will have to take the wheel barrow after lunch to get it all.
I’m going to finish this can of black eyed peas and get my ass back there.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
March 10th
This is Jimmy Varn and my ass is still alive.
Wal-Mart was even creepier than I first thought. I am never going back there.
The first thing I did was head towards the pharmacy so I can get all their antibiotics. I could hear zombies moaning so I went real slowly. I figured since I killed Bow Guy, the place would be an open house.
The pharmacy was wiped clean. I mean absolutely empty. There wasn’t a single pill of anything left. I was disappointed but not surprised. I feel bad for anyone trying to survive the apocalypse with a pre-existing condition.
On a whim, I decided to check on the corpse of Bow Guy. The blood spatter was there, but the body was gone. At first I thought he might have reanimated but I shot the bastard through the skull. It took me a minute, but I realized someone else must have cleared the body.
Fuck. He must have had friends.
I stopped fucking around. I tried to go straight to where the bikes would be. Of course, being a fucking Wal-Mart, it was not easy to navigate around with all the lights on much less by flashlight. The dead zombies and dead people littering the floor were awful.
By accident I came across the gun section. The place was empty of weapons which was not a big surprise. It had plenty of bodies. Judging from the blood, bullets holes and carnage, it looked like this had been the scene of one nasty ass gun battle. People killed people here.
It was around there that I found my first zombie. As I took aim, I noticed the zombie was making no move to come at me. I studied him and saw why.
Someone had chained him to the floor. Shit. I don’t know if he was supposed to be some sort of a guard dog, or if he was just around to make that moaning noise. I decided against shooting him. I might need my ammo.
I came across three more chained zombies before I finally found some fucking bikes. How the hell did they manage to chain zombies? The question bothered me so much that I stopped to really examine one.
The zombie had a gun shot in his leg, with a lot of blood on his pants. I think he was chained up when he was alive, and then killed to be a zombie.
Sick shit.
I found the bikes and I am not ashamed to say I grabbed the first half way decent one that was my size. Funny how the guns, ammo, beer and drugs were all gone, but the bike area looked untouched. These bikes weren’t even chained. The hardest part was finding a box to stand on so I could get the fucker down from the high shelf it was on.
I did smile at the sign asking that customers ask for assistance for reaching items. No fucking thank you.
So yeah, I got my bike and rode it the way home. I pedaled my ass as fast as I could. I don’t know where the freaks living in Wal-Mart were staying. Maybe they had fortified the back storage area. Shit, there might be a whole community of freaks living there but I will never find out.
Fuck them.
Wal-Mart was even creepier than I first thought. I am never going back there.
The first thing I did was head towards the pharmacy so I can get all their antibiotics. I could hear zombies moaning so I went real slowly. I figured since I killed Bow Guy, the place would be an open house.
The pharmacy was wiped clean. I mean absolutely empty. There wasn’t a single pill of anything left. I was disappointed but not surprised. I feel bad for anyone trying to survive the apocalypse with a pre-existing condition.
On a whim, I decided to check on the corpse of Bow Guy. The blood spatter was there, but the body was gone. At first I thought he might have reanimated but I shot the bastard through the skull. It took me a minute, but I realized someone else must have cleared the body.
Fuck. He must have had friends.
I stopped fucking around. I tried to go straight to where the bikes would be. Of course, being a fucking Wal-Mart, it was not easy to navigate around with all the lights on much less by flashlight. The dead zombies and dead people littering the floor were awful.
By accident I came across the gun section. The place was empty of weapons which was not a big surprise. It had plenty of bodies. Judging from the blood, bullets holes and carnage, it looked like this had been the scene of one nasty ass gun battle. People killed people here.
It was around there that I found my first zombie. As I took aim, I noticed the zombie was making no move to come at me. I studied him and saw why.
Someone had chained him to the floor. Shit. I don’t know if he was supposed to be some sort of a guard dog, or if he was just around to make that moaning noise. I decided against shooting him. I might need my ammo.
I came across three more chained zombies before I finally found some fucking bikes. How the hell did they manage to chain zombies? The question bothered me so much that I stopped to really examine one.
The zombie had a gun shot in his leg, with a lot of blood on his pants. I think he was chained up when he was alive, and then killed to be a zombie.
Sick shit.
I found the bikes and I am not ashamed to say I grabbed the first half way decent one that was my size. Funny how the guns, ammo, beer and drugs were all gone, but the bike area looked untouched. These bikes weren’t even chained. The hardest part was finding a box to stand on so I could get the fucker down from the high shelf it was on.
I did smile at the sign asking that customers ask for assistance for reaching items. No fucking thank you.
So yeah, I got my bike and rode it the way home. I pedaled my ass as fast as I could. I don’t know where the freaks living in Wal-Mart were staying. Maybe they had fortified the back storage area. Shit, there might be a whole community of freaks living there but I will never find out.
Fuck them.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
March 9th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
Sore as fuck, but I am alive. You know, it really pisses me off that the thing that has done the most damage to me so far has been a fucking survivor and not a zombie. George Romero would be wagging his finger at me.
I hope George is alive. The guy taught us so much.
I’ve been wood gathering. Not easy to chop wood with one hand, so mostly I gather branches and break them up. It makes me feel like a pioneer, let me tell you. After sleeping on the futon for a few hours and getting a cramp in my back, I am tempted to use it for firewood.
My water is starting to get low. I set up a few containers near rain gutters. I just need to get some rain.
You know, I think I am stalling a bit. All this maintenance is important for my survival, but it is also keeping me too busy to go to Wal-Mart. Sometimes when I think about going back, I start shaking. That place was a dark cavern and I’ve already bled there once. Shit, a lot of people have died there from what I saw of the bodies. I have a bad feeling a lot of survivors fought over that place right after Hell Day.
On the other hand, I don’t know of any other stories near by that has everything I need. I need a bike, and I would love some camping supplies. A new sleeping bag would rock. I don’t want to kill any more people but damn it, I won’t be the one to shoot first.
I thought about waiting till my shoulder was feeling normal again but who knows when the fuck that would be.
It has been a weird experience, getting hurt. I find myself spending most of my day hating that asshole with the bow. I keep daydreaming about ways that I avoid getting shot and manage to kill him back. I spend way too much time imagining that he has friends and how I will defeat them. Shit, I don’t spend this much time thinking about the zombies but I am obsessed with the Wal-Mart killers. I want to hurt them.
Tomorrow I’m going for the bike. Maybe the place will be deserted and BowGuy was the only one there. If someone is there and has a problem with me taking a bike, I don’t intend to get shot a second time.
Signing off.
Sore as fuck, but I am alive. You know, it really pisses me off that the thing that has done the most damage to me so far has been a fucking survivor and not a zombie. George Romero would be wagging his finger at me.
I hope George is alive. The guy taught us so much.
I’ve been wood gathering. Not easy to chop wood with one hand, so mostly I gather branches and break them up. It makes me feel like a pioneer, let me tell you. After sleeping on the futon for a few hours and getting a cramp in my back, I am tempted to use it for firewood.
My water is starting to get low. I set up a few containers near rain gutters. I just need to get some rain.
You know, I think I am stalling a bit. All this maintenance is important for my survival, but it is also keeping me too busy to go to Wal-Mart. Sometimes when I think about going back, I start shaking. That place was a dark cavern and I’ve already bled there once. Shit, a lot of people have died there from what I saw of the bodies. I have a bad feeling a lot of survivors fought over that place right after Hell Day.
On the other hand, I don’t know of any other stories near by that has everything I need. I need a bike, and I would love some camping supplies. A new sleeping bag would rock. I don’t want to kill any more people but damn it, I won’t be the one to shoot first.
I thought about waiting till my shoulder was feeling normal again but who knows when the fuck that would be.
It has been a weird experience, getting hurt. I find myself spending most of my day hating that asshole with the bow. I keep daydreaming about ways that I avoid getting shot and manage to kill him back. I spend way too much time imagining that he has friends and how I will defeat them. Shit, I don’t spend this much time thinking about the zombies but I am obsessed with the Wal-Mart killers. I want to hurt them.
Tomorrow I’m going for the bike. Maybe the place will be deserted and BowGuy was the only one there. If someone is there and has a problem with me taking a bike, I don’t intend to get shot a second time.
Signing off.
Monday, March 8, 2010
March 8th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
I keep dreaming about that asshole with the bow. I have killed hundreds of zombies but a live human is different.
You know, I have seen this in movies and I always call bullshit on it. The asshole was trying to kill me and I got him first. He didn’t say hello, or ask where I was from. He just shot at me and kept shooting and trying to kill me. In the movies, the hero gets all depressed and I sit there wondering what the fuck his problem is.
I think my problem is that I wanted to kill him some kind of bad. My shoulder was hurting and the fact that he was talking to me while he was trying to kill me. Fuck. I was so angry; I didn’t think twice when I fired. I didn’t hesitate because he was threatening me.
I wonder if it was the same for him. I wonder if he saw me with my wheelbarrow and just decided to kill me to protect his stuff. If someone broke into my house and weren’t a hot chick like Crystal, would I treat them the same?
I also never did get a bicycle.
I did get a lot of food and my shoulder is hurting bad enough that I have all the excuses in the world for not going back. Wal-Mart is a fucking warzone and maybe I should stay out of it. But you know, fuck that. I want my damn bike.
As for my shoulder, it is doing okay I guess. It was my left shoulder, so that’s a small blessing. At least I can still cook, shoot and masturbate with my right hand. I honestly don’t know what to do with it except I change the gauze pad every day and re-treat it with antibiotic cream. I also take a fuckload of painkillers.
If it becomes infected or I need surgery, I am fucked. I hate to die of a slow infection. I might go back to the Wal-Mart just to hit the pharmacy.
Home Base II is coming along nicely. The lack of furniture takes a little getting used to. A futon is no substitute for a couch. If I had one more person, I would haul a couch from another house.
Hell, if I had one more person I could sit my hurt shoulder down and let someone else cook meals.
I need more firewood. I’ll go scrounge some around here tomorrow.
Off to eat. I’m having some canned tuna with capers.
I keep dreaming about that asshole with the bow. I have killed hundreds of zombies but a live human is different.
You know, I have seen this in movies and I always call bullshit on it. The asshole was trying to kill me and I got him first. He didn’t say hello, or ask where I was from. He just shot at me and kept shooting and trying to kill me. In the movies, the hero gets all depressed and I sit there wondering what the fuck his problem is.
I think my problem is that I wanted to kill him some kind of bad. My shoulder was hurting and the fact that he was talking to me while he was trying to kill me. Fuck. I was so angry; I didn’t think twice when I fired. I didn’t hesitate because he was threatening me.
I wonder if it was the same for him. I wonder if he saw me with my wheelbarrow and just decided to kill me to protect his stuff. If someone broke into my house and weren’t a hot chick like Crystal, would I treat them the same?
I also never did get a bicycle.
I did get a lot of food and my shoulder is hurting bad enough that I have all the excuses in the world for not going back. Wal-Mart is a fucking warzone and maybe I should stay out of it. But you know, fuck that. I want my damn bike.
As for my shoulder, it is doing okay I guess. It was my left shoulder, so that’s a small blessing. At least I can still cook, shoot and masturbate with my right hand. I honestly don’t know what to do with it except I change the gauze pad every day and re-treat it with antibiotic cream. I also take a fuckload of painkillers.
If it becomes infected or I need surgery, I am fucked. I hate to die of a slow infection. I might go back to the Wal-Mart just to hit the pharmacy.
Home Base II is coming along nicely. The lack of furniture takes a little getting used to. A futon is no substitute for a couch. If I had one more person, I would haul a couch from another house.
Hell, if I had one more person I could sit my hurt shoulder down and let someone else cook meals.
I need more firewood. I’ll go scrounge some around here tomorrow.
Off to eat. I’m having some canned tuna with capers.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
March 7th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
My shoulder feels better but I still feel bad. Like I said yesterday, I returned fire. I don’t think the fucker knew I had guns. I fired in an arc towards where I thought he was. It was in the direction of a bunch of clothing racks, so it’s not like he had cover. It was a solid arc of fast steady shots. Any other occasion and I would have been proud of myself.
After I was done, I waited to hear something. All I heard were zombie moans.
Waiting in the dark, waiting for another arrow, is an awful experience. The arrow was in my shoulder, but not all the way in. I pulled it out and tried not to cry.
I cried.
After awhile, I realized that my sobs should have drawn him to me. I decided to go look for him.
He was dead of course. I caught him right in the head even though I was aiming chest height. He must have been squatting. Asshole.
I took a look at him. He was an older guy, maybe in his fifties. He was equipped with a fucking crossbow. What a badass weapon. If we had met, I would have talked his ear off about it. Did he pick it because it was silent?
Instead I just had another corpse. Asshole.
I walked over to the pharmacy section because it was in sight. The aisles were empty but I did find a box of bandages stuck in the back. I wrapped my shoulder the best I could.
You know, I couldn’t leave that wheelbarrow behind. I thought about taking a shopping cart but the sound would have been horrendous. I just couldn’t leave the cans behind. I paid for them in blood. I was also too afraid to come back here.
What I ended up doing was grabbing this thing that the employees use to move pallets around. I don’t know what it is called, but it is shaped like a fork on wheels. If you pump the handle, it lifts the fork legs up. I put the wheel barrow on an empty pallet and jacked it up with the push lift.
I dragged that pallet all the way home. I still don’t know how I did it. When I got home, I locked up and crashed.
Thank sweet baby Jesus for that medical collection the Screamers gathered. I took some antibiotics and cleaned my wound as best I could. I took some codeine and I have been taking it easy.
I keep dreaming about that Wal-Mart bastard.
My shoulder feels better but I still feel bad. Like I said yesterday, I returned fire. I don’t think the fucker knew I had guns. I fired in an arc towards where I thought he was. It was in the direction of a bunch of clothing racks, so it’s not like he had cover. It was a solid arc of fast steady shots. Any other occasion and I would have been proud of myself.
After I was done, I waited to hear something. All I heard were zombie moans.
Waiting in the dark, waiting for another arrow, is an awful experience. The arrow was in my shoulder, but not all the way in. I pulled it out and tried not to cry.
I cried.
After awhile, I realized that my sobs should have drawn him to me. I decided to go look for him.
He was dead of course. I caught him right in the head even though I was aiming chest height. He must have been squatting. Asshole.
I took a look at him. He was an older guy, maybe in his fifties. He was equipped with a fucking crossbow. What a badass weapon. If we had met, I would have talked his ear off about it. Did he pick it because it was silent?
Instead I just had another corpse. Asshole.
I walked over to the pharmacy section because it was in sight. The aisles were empty but I did find a box of bandages stuck in the back. I wrapped my shoulder the best I could.
You know, I couldn’t leave that wheelbarrow behind. I thought about taking a shopping cart but the sound would have been horrendous. I just couldn’t leave the cans behind. I paid for them in blood. I was also too afraid to come back here.
What I ended up doing was grabbing this thing that the employees use to move pallets around. I don’t know what it is called, but it is shaped like a fork on wheels. If you pump the handle, it lifts the fork legs up. I put the wheel barrow on an empty pallet and jacked it up with the push lift.
I dragged that pallet all the way home. I still don’t know how I did it. When I got home, I locked up and crashed.
Thank sweet baby Jesus for that medical collection the Screamers gathered. I took some antibiotics and cleaned my wound as best I could. I took some codeine and I have been taking it easy.
I keep dreaming about that Wal-Mart bastard.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
March 6th
This is Jimmy Varn, and I am still alive but hurting pretty bad.
I got back late from my Wal-Mart trip. I was pretty messed up. I downed a lot of painkillers and slept. And dreamed. And woke up screaming a few times. Shit.
So, the Wal-Mart was where I expected it to be. I carried the wheelbarrow all the way there and tried not to think about the return trip. Ha, I had no idea what the return trip would be like.
I should have known better when I saw the outside. It was a fucking massacre in the parking lot. The bodies were thick on the ground. It took me awhile just to push my wheelbarrow up to the doors. I worried that they might have been shot by survivors inside, but the corpses were a mix of having been eaten and having been shot. Quite a few of them were just bludgeoned. I’m not fucking CSI, I couldn’t tell what had killed them.
The inside was just as dark as I suspected. Navigating by flashlight was scary as shit. You never have enough light, even when you are pointing it right at something. Spinning the flashlight around on things that make noise just makes you blind as you try to follow the light.
And there were noises. I could hear the moans of zombies. I couldn’t see them, but inside that Wal-mart I could certainly hear them.
Even from the front I could tell this place had seen a war. There were a lot of bullets, and a lot of physical violence. I have bashed enough skull brains to know when zombies had been taken out by brute force. What I couldn’t get over is how many dead there were. I had shot zombies outside Home Base for weeks and it was a puddle compared to the lake of the dead that was there.
I started with the food. I went to the grocery side and began taking stock. A lot of it was cleared out, but not everything. The frozen foods were thawed and rotten but I stocked up on cans. The inside was creepy but gathering food perked me up. Having a choice in soups delighted me more than I would ever guess.
I was trying not to make any noise. Sound echoed pretty bad in there. I was trying to be quiet and I guess I wasn’t quiet enough.
There was a strange whistling noise that I heard for just a second before pain exploded in my shoulder. I half spun in pure shock at the pain. It burned like fire. I instantly thought I had been shot with a bullet, so I was really confused when I saw I had a goddamn arrow in my shoulder. I stared at it and wondered what the fuck it was.
I heard the whistling sound again and I dropped to the ground. Another arrow lodged itself in a big can of Crisco above me. My brain spent a second thinking that maybe I should add Crisco to the list.
My shoulder flared with pain and I got my brain working right.
“Quit shooting!” I yelled. “I’m not a zombie!”
“I don’t care!” someone yelled back.
An arrow lodged itself in the wheelbarrow.
I got pissed. I meet another survivor and they are all Ted Nugent on me.
I fired back. I couldn’t tell where they were, but judging from the angle of the arrows, I had a good guess. The arrow was killing my shoulder, but I was pissed.
My lunch is done. I’m having two cans of Beefaroni seasoned heavily with garlic powder.
I got back late from my Wal-Mart trip. I was pretty messed up. I downed a lot of painkillers and slept. And dreamed. And woke up screaming a few times. Shit.
So, the Wal-Mart was where I expected it to be. I carried the wheelbarrow all the way there and tried not to think about the return trip. Ha, I had no idea what the return trip would be like.
I should have known better when I saw the outside. It was a fucking massacre in the parking lot. The bodies were thick on the ground. It took me awhile just to push my wheelbarrow up to the doors. I worried that they might have been shot by survivors inside, but the corpses were a mix of having been eaten and having been shot. Quite a few of them were just bludgeoned. I’m not fucking CSI, I couldn’t tell what had killed them.
The inside was just as dark as I suspected. Navigating by flashlight was scary as shit. You never have enough light, even when you are pointing it right at something. Spinning the flashlight around on things that make noise just makes you blind as you try to follow the light.
And there were noises. I could hear the moans of zombies. I couldn’t see them, but inside that Wal-mart I could certainly hear them.
Even from the front I could tell this place had seen a war. There were a lot of bullets, and a lot of physical violence. I have bashed enough skull brains to know when zombies had been taken out by brute force. What I couldn’t get over is how many dead there were. I had shot zombies outside Home Base for weeks and it was a puddle compared to the lake of the dead that was there.
I started with the food. I went to the grocery side and began taking stock. A lot of it was cleared out, but not everything. The frozen foods were thawed and rotten but I stocked up on cans. The inside was creepy but gathering food perked me up. Having a choice in soups delighted me more than I would ever guess.
I was trying not to make any noise. Sound echoed pretty bad in there. I was trying to be quiet and I guess I wasn’t quiet enough.
There was a strange whistling noise that I heard for just a second before pain exploded in my shoulder. I half spun in pure shock at the pain. It burned like fire. I instantly thought I had been shot with a bullet, so I was really confused when I saw I had a goddamn arrow in my shoulder. I stared at it and wondered what the fuck it was.
I heard the whistling sound again and I dropped to the ground. Another arrow lodged itself in a big can of Crisco above me. My brain spent a second thinking that maybe I should add Crisco to the list.
My shoulder flared with pain and I got my brain working right.
“Quit shooting!” I yelled. “I’m not a zombie!”
“I don’t care!” someone yelled back.
An arrow lodged itself in the wheelbarrow.
I got pissed. I meet another survivor and they are all Ted Nugent on me.
I fired back. I couldn’t tell where they were, but judging from the angle of the arrows, I had a good guess. The arrow was killing my shoulder, but I was pissed.
My lunch is done. I’m having two cans of Beefaroni seasoned heavily with garlic powder.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
March 4th
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
Turning on the college students’ computers was a bust. Other than many gigs of porn, they had nothing. Their Outlook was crammed with Spam and that was it. That chilled me. No e-mails from friends, family or coworkers. Fuck.
It has me thinking about what it is going to fucking take to find some people. I am thinking about taking a field trip into the city. Leave my neighborhood and really go have a look around. I want to scout shit out.
If I do it on foot, I would need to find places to stay overnight. I know that is what Crystal does but I am not that brave. It won’t be like a game where all I have to do is make it into a safe zone.
Which means I need a vehicle. I’ve kept my eye out for bicycles but haven’t had any luck. I thought for sure I would run across another one by now. It makes me wonder if someone else is out there grabbing bikes. I just hope it isn’t armed fuckers who kill live people.
I have a plan and it is a shitty one. I was feeding some junk mail into the fire when I came across a Wal-Mart ad. It listed the address of the Wal-Mart and I am pretty sure that is real close to here. Atlanta is such a fucking hilly city, I could have passed it a million times and never notice it because it was downhill from me.
I think I am going to take a little field trip there tomorrow morning. I should be able to find a bike, not to mention camping gear and other shit. Now, I am also expecting a fucking lot of zombies but I haven’t run into a problem with zombies yet. As long as I have enough ammo, I can plug those bastards all day long.
The place is going to be dark so I am strapping on flashlights to my guns. It works in videogames, let’s see how it works in real life.
I am pretty excited. I keep thinking about what might be there. I can get more clean clothes easy. There might be more food than I can eat. I am actually making a loot list so I don’t forget everything, though I expect I will make more than one trip.
Today’s lunch is pan fried fish sticks. Hopefully tomorrow I will be eating real meat.
Turning on the college students’ computers was a bust. Other than many gigs of porn, they had nothing. Their Outlook was crammed with Spam and that was it. That chilled me. No e-mails from friends, family or coworkers. Fuck.
It has me thinking about what it is going to fucking take to find some people. I am thinking about taking a field trip into the city. Leave my neighborhood and really go have a look around. I want to scout shit out.
If I do it on foot, I would need to find places to stay overnight. I know that is what Crystal does but I am not that brave. It won’t be like a game where all I have to do is make it into a safe zone.
Which means I need a vehicle. I’ve kept my eye out for bicycles but haven’t had any luck. I thought for sure I would run across another one by now. It makes me wonder if someone else is out there grabbing bikes. I just hope it isn’t armed fuckers who kill live people.
I have a plan and it is a shitty one. I was feeding some junk mail into the fire when I came across a Wal-Mart ad. It listed the address of the Wal-Mart and I am pretty sure that is real close to here. Atlanta is such a fucking hilly city, I could have passed it a million times and never notice it because it was downhill from me.
I think I am going to take a little field trip there tomorrow morning. I should be able to find a bike, not to mention camping gear and other shit. Now, I am also expecting a fucking lot of zombies but I haven’t run into a problem with zombies yet. As long as I have enough ammo, I can plug those bastards all day long.
The place is going to be dark so I am strapping on flashlights to my guns. It works in videogames, let’s see how it works in real life.
I am pretty excited. I keep thinking about what might be there. I can get more clean clothes easy. There might be more food than I can eat. I am actually making a loot list so I don’t forget everything, though I expect I will make more than one trip.
Today’s lunch is pan fried fish sticks. Hopefully tomorrow I will be eating real meat.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
March 3rd
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
This is going to sound crazy, but I was a little depressed this morning and I wasn’t sure why. As I was checking the houses near me, it dawned on me what was wrong. It was Little Joe. I hadn’t seen the kid zombie since the zombie parade and I think I miss him.
I need to find someone alive to talk to.
Especially on a day like today. I found some fucked up shit in one of the houses. I found an entire family slaughtered. The dad was killed in the living room. The mom was dead in the kitchen and the teenage boy was dead on the staircase. No big deal right? I have seen this a bunch of times.
Nope, this was different because it wasn’t zombies that got them. There was bullet holes in the walls and in the bodies. These people weren’t zombies when they were shot. Someone shot their asses. That same someone took all their canned food too.
What got me was that it looked like they ransacked the bedroom and stole jewelry too. That is depressing. Not only is some dumbass killing people, but they were dumb enough to steal something really unimportant like valuables.
On the other hand, I doubt such a dumbass would still be alive.
Here is the part where I need to talk to someone. I’m not going to bury these people. I feel like I should but burying is a lot of hard work. The fact of the matter is I just don’t want to.
I think in a weird way, I don’t want to because it looks like they were killed when this shit just started. These aren’t survivors. These people were not holed up praying that the living dead will walk on by. I know their deaths were horrible and tragic, but I don’t feel empathy for them. They are not survivors like Corbin or the Screamers.
I am not sure if this makes me a bad person.
I’m going back to work.
This is going to sound crazy, but I was a little depressed this morning and I wasn’t sure why. As I was checking the houses near me, it dawned on me what was wrong. It was Little Joe. I hadn’t seen the kid zombie since the zombie parade and I think I miss him.
I need to find someone alive to talk to.
Especially on a day like today. I found some fucked up shit in one of the houses. I found an entire family slaughtered. The dad was killed in the living room. The mom was dead in the kitchen and the teenage boy was dead on the staircase. No big deal right? I have seen this a bunch of times.
Nope, this was different because it wasn’t zombies that got them. There was bullet holes in the walls and in the bodies. These people weren’t zombies when they were shot. Someone shot their asses. That same someone took all their canned food too.
What got me was that it looked like they ransacked the bedroom and stole jewelry too. That is depressing. Not only is some dumbass killing people, but they were dumb enough to steal something really unimportant like valuables.
On the other hand, I doubt such a dumbass would still be alive.
Here is the part where I need to talk to someone. I’m not going to bury these people. I feel like I should but burying is a lot of hard work. The fact of the matter is I just don’t want to.
I think in a weird way, I don’t want to because it looks like they were killed when this shit just started. These aren’t survivors. These people were not holed up praying that the living dead will walk on by. I know their deaths were horrible and tragic, but I don’t feel empathy for them. They are not survivors like Corbin or the Screamers.
I am not sure if this makes me a bad person.
I’m going back to work.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
March 2nd
This is Jimmy Varn and I am alive in Home Base II.
It feels good to be working again. I have energy to burn. I just wish I had some fucking help. There is so much to do and I don’t get tired as much as I get sore.
Let me also tell you that last night was the best sleep I have gotten in ages. A fireplace and a sleeping bag are all I need. That and maybe a lack of a zombie parade outside.
I have loaded the shit out of the wheelbarrow but it still took me twelve trips this morning. I had to bring the food, the water, the water barrel, the cooking utensils, the guns, the ammo, the porn and anything else I might need.
Moving the gasoline alone was a bitch.
That is not mentioning the little home improvement project where I boarded up the window I broke. I’m thinking of boarding up the other windows too for safety’s sake. My visibility will be cut but I won’t have any repeats of when I got Annie’s attention. I’m still debating it.
Once I bring the stuff in, I need to organize it. I like my cooking supplies laid out so I can see what I have left. I need to lay out my water so I know what needs to be filtered and what has been filtered. I need to set up my sleeping bag so I can sleep in front of the fireplace without catching fire.
I am half-tempted to hook up the TV and Xbox to the generator but I am resisting. It would fun though to play something like a normal human again.
These guys had computers too. I am going to rig some up and see if I can access their e-mail. Maybe one of their contacts has tried to get a hold of them.
I do wonder where these guys are. I found some Georgia Tech stuff so I think they were students. I wonder if they piled into a car and high tailed it out of here. I bet they tried to get back home as soon as possible. I hope they made it.
Shit, I don’t see how. Traffic in Atlanta is horrible on a good day. I would hate to be on 285 during a zombie crisis. If I had to bet, I bet these poor bastards got stuck in traffic and eaten when they tried to get out on foot.
But you know, I just don’t know. I haven’t really been out. I need to go downtown. I need to take a look. I need to get to 285 and see what it is like.
Maybe next week. For now, I got to get Home Base II in order. I need to haul my firewood over here if I want to keep having warm nights.
It feels good to be working again. I have energy to burn. I just wish I had some fucking help. There is so much to do and I don’t get tired as much as I get sore.
Let me also tell you that last night was the best sleep I have gotten in ages. A fireplace and a sleeping bag are all I need. That and maybe a lack of a zombie parade outside.
I have loaded the shit out of the wheelbarrow but it still took me twelve trips this morning. I had to bring the food, the water, the water barrel, the cooking utensils, the guns, the ammo, the porn and anything else I might need.
Moving the gasoline alone was a bitch.
That is not mentioning the little home improvement project where I boarded up the window I broke. I’m thinking of boarding up the other windows too for safety’s sake. My visibility will be cut but I won’t have any repeats of when I got Annie’s attention. I’m still debating it.
Once I bring the stuff in, I need to organize it. I like my cooking supplies laid out so I can see what I have left. I need to lay out my water so I know what needs to be filtered and what has been filtered. I need to set up my sleeping bag so I can sleep in front of the fireplace without catching fire.
I am half-tempted to hook up the TV and Xbox to the generator but I am resisting. It would fun though to play something like a normal human again.
These guys had computers too. I am going to rig some up and see if I can access their e-mail. Maybe one of their contacts has tried to get a hold of them.
I do wonder where these guys are. I found some Georgia Tech stuff so I think they were students. I wonder if they piled into a car and high tailed it out of here. I bet they tried to get back home as soon as possible. I hope they made it.
Shit, I don’t see how. Traffic in Atlanta is horrible on a good day. I would hate to be on 285 during a zombie crisis. If I had to bet, I bet these poor bastards got stuck in traffic and eaten when they tried to get out on foot.
But you know, I just don’t know. I haven’t really been out. I need to go downtown. I need to take a look. I need to get to 285 and see what it is like.
Maybe next week. For now, I got to get Home Base II in order. I need to haul my firewood over here if I want to keep having warm nights.
Monday, March 1, 2010
March 1st
This is Jimmy Varn and I am still alive.
Yesterday I went looking for another house. It was dangerous work. The parade was gone but there were a lot of zombies lingering. I lost count of how many shots I fired. Man, I went through a lot of ammo. It felt good though. When I close my eyes, I can still hear those gunshots.
My house search went like this. I didn’t bother with any houses where I had kicked the door in, or any houses where zombies had already knocked it in. Considering how much looting I had done, that didn’t leave me a lot of options. I had to go off my loot plan.
So I went down the street two blocks and hung a left. I kept an eye out for places with basements and a chimney. The first place I found had been broken into and I ruled that out. The door was shit and all of the windows were smashed.
The second place I found looked promising. I found a side window I wouldn’t need and smashed through it. I climbed and did a reconnaissance. Shit, I am glad I did.
There were four zombies in the living room, all watching a television that wasn’t on. They were lined up on the couch. I had seen this before but man, it is always creepy. Two parents and two kids, sitting there groaning and rotting.
Shooting them was a mercy killing, but it also made a big mess in the living room. I wasn’t going to be using that house.
Right before dark, I found another good place. I cracked the side window and climbed in like a thief. The place was really sparse. Instead of a couch they had a futon. Bean bags were everywhere, which I didn’t even know they still made. The dining room table was a shitty plastic thing with plastic chairs. They had a nice TV though, and about three different videgame systems.
I laughed when I realized the house must belong to college kids. The only pictures I found were of Maxim models and a big ass poster of Megan Fox.
There were two bedrooms but three beds. The fireplace actually had charred wood in it, so I knew it worked. The kitchen had no food but they had four 12 packs of coke and a case of beer. The basement was empty, which means I can put whatever I want down there. It was a great place.
Unfortunately it was getting late so I didn’t have time to move my stuff. I came back to Home Base and spent the night. I had to sleep in the basement because you know, my door is gone, and fuck the smell down there is bad. I am sure I am going to catch some sort of unhygienic disease here.
So I have spent all of this morning moving things to Home Base II. I moved the generator first, and that was a bitch. The thing is on wheels but it ain’t light. Pushing it and stopping to shoot zombies we come across took forever. I’m posting this and going back to Home Base I to get the rest of my shit.
Plus I got to barricade that window I broke in. I got shit to do.
Yesterday I went looking for another house. It was dangerous work. The parade was gone but there were a lot of zombies lingering. I lost count of how many shots I fired. Man, I went through a lot of ammo. It felt good though. When I close my eyes, I can still hear those gunshots.
My house search went like this. I didn’t bother with any houses where I had kicked the door in, or any houses where zombies had already knocked it in. Considering how much looting I had done, that didn’t leave me a lot of options. I had to go off my loot plan.
So I went down the street two blocks and hung a left. I kept an eye out for places with basements and a chimney. The first place I found had been broken into and I ruled that out. The door was shit and all of the windows were smashed.
The second place I found looked promising. I found a side window I wouldn’t need and smashed through it. I climbed and did a reconnaissance. Shit, I am glad I did.
There were four zombies in the living room, all watching a television that wasn’t on. They were lined up on the couch. I had seen this before but man, it is always creepy. Two parents and two kids, sitting there groaning and rotting.
Shooting them was a mercy killing, but it also made a big mess in the living room. I wasn’t going to be using that house.
Right before dark, I found another good place. I cracked the side window and climbed in like a thief. The place was really sparse. Instead of a couch they had a futon. Bean bags were everywhere, which I didn’t even know they still made. The dining room table was a shitty plastic thing with plastic chairs. They had a nice TV though, and about three different videgame systems.
I laughed when I realized the house must belong to college kids. The only pictures I found were of Maxim models and a big ass poster of Megan Fox.
There were two bedrooms but three beds. The fireplace actually had charred wood in it, so I knew it worked. The kitchen had no food but they had four 12 packs of coke and a case of beer. The basement was empty, which means I can put whatever I want down there. It was a great place.
Unfortunately it was getting late so I didn’t have time to move my stuff. I came back to Home Base and spent the night. I had to sleep in the basement because you know, my door is gone, and fuck the smell down there is bad. I am sure I am going to catch some sort of unhygienic disease here.
So I have spent all of this morning moving things to Home Base II. I moved the generator first, and that was a bitch. The thing is on wheels but it ain’t light. Pushing it and stopping to shoot zombies we come across took forever. I’m posting this and going back to Home Base I to get the rest of my shit.
Plus I got to barricade that window I broke in. I got shit to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)