Book 1, Chapter 2: Best laid plans.
11:30 AM, 9th July, 1993
So a lot has happened since my last entry despite the short time, and not all of it disastrous (but a large portion of it most definitely was). Needless to say I survived long enough to log the morning’s activities here. This will probably be an ongoing theme from here on out. I will try my best to document my survival day by day, as long as the aforementioned survival allows it. Don’t expect fleshed out narratives of my day if I’m starving, avoiding hordes of undead, or just lying wounded and dying somewhere in town.
Wow. I just painted a very bleak future for myself; let’s try not to do that again any time soon.
Ok so how did my morning go? Good, or not good? I suppose it was a little from column A, and a fairly large sprinkling of column B throughout. To start with I thought it best to take stock of the food and drink I had at home, a nice safe task to get the ball rolling. Whilst I had nothing rivalling the alleged majesty of the Callahans’ liquor cabinet; I did have enough fresh food to keep me going throughout the week, and tinned food to sustain me for at least a few days beyond that. And hey, if everything goes to shit quicker than I anticipated, I found a good amount of bleach and antidepressants that could end things slowly and painfully if I felt it necessary.
I also found a bunch of Michelle’s stuff while I was looking around. You know the usual things; lipstick, hairspray, her toothbrush. It’s only everyday junk but it still kind of means something. I’ve dumped it all into its own drawer for now; I don’t want to have to deal with that on top of everything else.
As I was walking around the house I realised my lack of curtains was going to be a real problem if I wanted to stay unnoticed. Being the resourceful man I am I grabbed some bed sheets from the cupboard and hung them over a couple of the windows, but I still had a bunch that needed covering. I definitely didn’t have enough sheets for that. It was about then I started realising I couldn’t put off going out much longer. I grabbed my old baseball bat and got ready to head out the back to the Callahans’ place.
Now I’d love to tell you it all went swimmingly and I’m now stocked with enough food and drink to last me until the next zombie apocalypse, but I can’t. Because it didn’t. The only silver lining is that I got out alive, and not just alive, but completely unscathed! That’s bloody magical! Although I’m not sure how I feel about using up all my luck on my first time out…
I remember it being quiet when I stepped outside. Not an eerie quiet, but kind of peaceful. Birds were still singing, the wind was blowing leaves across the street, but there were no voices, no cars or sirens. It was almost nice. Until she appeared. A woman, or as near as can be described, came stumbling out of the bushes in front of my house. My first instinct was to shout at her, ask if she was alright. After she looked up at me however, I realised she wasn’t alright and probably hadn’t been for at least a few days now. I don’t really remember much looking back on it now but whatever happened felt like it took both a second and a lifetime.
I know I raised the bat, I know I waited, and waited. I know I hit her. More than once. I know I was surprised how many times I had to hit her to keep her down. And I still remember the exhaustion afterwards. I mean, I’m not an unfit guy but it took everything I had, and not just physically. Once I’d taken some time, I checked her; initially to find out if I was safe, then to see if I knew her. I didn’t, thank God.
It took a lot more effort than I thought it would to force myself out of my garden and across the back field towards the Callahans’. After the surprise I had earlier I walked slowly and made sure to check no one was around before approaching the back door of their much larger house. Not that I’m jealous at all. I was pretty surprised to find it unlocked, then again if I was leaving home in a hurry would I bother to lock the door behind me? Probably not. I turned the handle and slowly let myself in, the house was quiet and nobody seemed to be around. Their house pretty much lived up to everything I’d expected; polished wood floors, marble worktops, high ceilings. I began to walk towards the first door on my left when I was deafened by the loudest fucking sound I’d heard all week. A fucking burglar alarm. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so angry and scared in my life. How the hell did I not realise a house like this would have an alarm. Idiot!
By the time my body had gotten over the initial shock and started running out of the house I could already hear movement and groaning from the garden. Two of those things (I’m just gonna call them zombies, I mean that’s what they are right?) were heading straight towards me, drawn by the sudden noise no doubt. I swung the bat at them as I ran by; I know I clocked one of them pretty good but I’m not sure about the other. I had no intention of turning back and checking.
Next thing I know I’m back home, door locked and lights out. I’m currently sat on the bedroom floor (The only room with covered windows) hoping writing will calm me down. I’ll let you know when it does.
I know I need to go back out again, I know I need to be less fucking stupid.
Maybe I’ll start with a place as shitty as mine. I might not find as much, but at least I’ll have a better chance of not drawing every fucker in a 2 mile radius to my only safe haven in this shit storm. Yeah, maybe that’s a better start.
-A. Thompson













