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.