The fight to get here seriously sucked.
I had a golf club, and I made it to my car with only five or six zombies attacking me. I clobbered the first one good - his brains and other gunk splattered everywhere with a good overhand blow. It smelled like hell, but I grabbed a few handfuls of gray matter and smeared them all over my chest just on the off-chance that their blood-smell would keep me safe.
It worked, sort of.
After the first one, I noticed a small group ambling toward me and started to run. If I hadn't been wearing stupid dress shoes, I would have made it. I blew out the lace on my left shoe and went sprawling. By the time I was back up and found my golf club, the first zombie was there. I just gritted my teeth and started swinging. I really, really have no use for golf, but the clubs work great as weapons. Maybe, once this all blows over, I'll invest in a set.
Made it to the car. No zombies around, but again, I could see a handful in the distance. Good thing the base is so rural.
I decided not to try for the armory. Better off getting home and then raiding a Wal-Mart or something.
The neighborhood was deserted, although most every car was still in the driveway. This is fucking creepy.
I went up to the house quietly, peering into the windows, hoping.
Shit. I opened the door, and no one was here. The damn dog just looked at me funny, sniffed the zombie effluent which I was covered with and went out the back door. I followed him. He was eating what was left of my son. I buried them both after I killed the dog with the golf club. Don't know where my wife and daughter are. I am afraid they were who killed the boy, though. His corpse had bites that were obviously NOT from the dog.
I loved that dog, too.
I found my machete, grabbed a shovel and I added a cutting blade to my little gas-powered weed eater. Decided I better see if I can get some supplies and maybe find some other survivors. I can hear sirens a few miles off - maybe, since this is a base, there are a few hearty souls still making a stand. I can't believe I'm not crying, not freaking out. I just buried my son. My wife and daughter are missing. And I killed my dog.
Fuck.
I really loved that dog.
I'll try to post more if I make it through to somewhere safe. I have my wife's laptop with me now.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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1 comment:
Wait, I'm not clear on this. Was your dog a zombie-dog?
I mean, I understand killing him in the upset over finding him eating your son's body, but was he a zombie?
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