Sunday, January 6, 2013
Once Bitten...
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, as if it is threatening to crack the very ribs that contain it. My lungs expand and contract, taking in air and squeezing it back out. Slow and deliberate.
It eases the pain somewhat with each exhale, but each time I inhale, the pain heightens, leaving me dizzy, my consciousness threatening to leave me. The wound on my side is deep, torn from the love handle I could never quite get rid of. It's just fat, just a flesh wound, except mixed in with the blood is the poison from one of those...things.
I remove the towel I've been holding to the wound. It's grown heavy with blood, and drips onto the carpet. Oh well, it's not like the deposit on this place matters much anymore.
I've cleaned the bite and applied pressure, but something in the saliva is preventing it from clotting, preventing any sort of healing. It's turning a strange color, and I'm starting to feel hot.
I guess I shouldn't be on here. I need...I need to find something to stop this. There has to be something around here, maybe some kind of anti-viral medicine or something...
Countdown to the End
I finally managed to stop the bleeding, and some Vicodin from one of my neighbors has eased the pain, but definitely not eliminated it.
This is my doing, my own fault. I got too bold, thought I was smart, thought I could protect myself. I was wrong.
The generator ran out of fuel yesterday, which is what started this whole mess. The blog wasn't important, but I somehow convinced myself that it was. Besides, who wants to be without electricity. It was something I could hold onto, that reminded me of a normal life.
I loaded myself up. Long-sleeve shirts, jeans, worker's gloves. Anything that could protect me from them. I grabbed my bat and a backpack with a gas can inside and departed the safety of my apartment.
My plan was flawless. There's a fire escape on the side of my building, one that runs along the side and stops on the second story. Adjacent to the building is a gas station, a new Shell that was built last year and parked right along side the pumps was a large gas truck. A quick jump across a narrow alley and I'm on the roof, easily able to get into the store via a convenient trap door on the roof.
I had it all scouted out and perfectly planned. All I had to do was execute.
The first part went off without a hitch. Or well, sort of. It was easy enough to get onto the fire escape and move down, but it sure as hell made a lot of noise. And noise is a sure way to attract our hungry friends. By the time I was down on the third story, the alley below was packed.
It's one thing to look at them from several stories up. It's another thing to be right above a crowd of them. They moved around as if in a mosh pit at a concert, fighting against each other, raising their arms to the sky and staring through with their empty eyes, knowing only one thing: hunger.
I sat there, watching, mesmerized by the chaotic mass. They stared and I stared back.
Finally, I stood and looked across the alley at the gas station roof, sitting slightly higher than the second floor of the apartment. I climbed to the railing, crouching and hanging onto the ladder beside me to keep my balance. I primed myself and leaped, flying above their reaching arms, grasping at air.
The landing was awkward, thanks to a misjudgment on my part. I attempted to tuck, but was too late and instead turned my ankle, feeling pain shoot up as I rolled over, finally coming to a stop with a painful collision with a vent.
I don't think I was knocked out, but I was definitely dazed, and when I snapped out of it, my hair was matted down with still-wet blood. I stood up, but doubled back over with pain. My ankle throbbed, not broken, but definitely sprained. It took some time before I was able to walk again, but I won't bore you with the details of that.
I was extra cautious as I slid open the trap door that led down into the back area of the gas station. I shone the light from my flashlight down into the area, scanning thoroughly to make sure there were no unwanted guests. Satisfied that it was empty, I gingerly made my way down the ladder.
It wasn't until I made my way into the store that I realized what I should have before I got down there: the gas was outside...with them. I collapsed down against a shelf of candy, staring out through the glass windows at the mass of people moving through the streets, aimlessly searching for food.
I must have stared at the display case for ten minutes before it hit me. I struggled to my feet and hobbled over to the formerly refrigerated cases still filled with various drinks. I pulled open the glass door and removed a twelve pack of Budweiser bottles (I figured if I was going to waste beer, it may as well be crappy beer) and brought it to the front of the store.
One by one, I popped the cap off each bottle and poured the now-stale beer on the floor. I then pulled a bottle of lighter fluid and began filling each bottle with it. Once that was finished, I used some rags from the office as fuses and grabbed a couple of lighters from the counter.
A quick glance out the front showed me that the sun was sinking, meaning that time was short. I didn't want to be caught after dark. The lighters were all filled with fluid, but I still held my breath as I flicked it, my hand shaking. It took a few tries, but I finally got it, lighting the first one.
The door was unlocked (pure luck, would have figured that I would set myself on fire because the damn door was locked), and I heaved the first one out to the street. It smashed against the cement and shattered, spraying the flammable liquid everywhere and setting off a blaze, catching many of the creatures on fire.
Before the first had landed, I was already lighting the next one. My luck was holding out, none of the ones not on fire had noticed me yet and I tossed the second one out toward another large group.
The cover seemed sufficient and I decided to take the chance. I grabbed another one without lighting it along with two gas cans and sprinted out, holding my hand up to ward off the heat from the flames. I blocked out their screams of pain, not wanting to feel any empathy toward the mindless creatures.
I passed the pumps and reached the truck. I pulled the hose from the hole in the ground that led to the tank and prayed that the truck hadn't been emptied. I held it over one of the canisters, not knowing how well it would work and turned toward the valves on the side. I reached out with my hand and turned it and felt my heart leap as I felt the liquid pouring through.
It shot out and I struggled to control it at first. Luckily, the fire from my molotovs hadn't spread this far and the gas wasn't reaching it. More importantly, the first can was almost full.
I was almost done with the second one when I heard the moan, much too close to me. I turned quickly, moving the hose with me, which probably saved my life right then. I sprayed the zombie right behind me, which caused it to pause, giving me enough time to hurl the hose at it. It fell backwards and I heard the sickening crack as its skull collided with the tank and cracked open.
I quickly screwed on the caps and looked up in time to see more heading over from the back of the truck. I tossed both gas cans toward the store and picked up the molotov, flicking the lighter quickly as I backed away. They moved quickly toward me and I nearly panicked, unable to light the molotov.
I may have had time, but it certainly didn't feel like it. Finally, the lighter sparked and lit, taking to the cloth that had been dowsed in lighter fluid. I looked up quickly enough to see a zombie reaching out for me and then chunked the molotov right at its feet, engulfing it in flames.
I briefly celebrated, but then saw that in its panic, it was moving toward the spilled gasoline. I turned and sprinted toward the store, scooping up the gas cans and moving toward the ladder to the roof as quickly as my crippled leg could carry me.
By the time I reached the roof, the gasoline on the ground had been lit up and was spreading quickly. I watched in horror as it spread toward the truck. I didn't have a second to waste. A fire spreading to a contained area like that would only lead to an explosion and I didn't want to be around for that.
I tossed the cans onto the fire escape and tried to gauge the distance. It seemed too far, but I had to try. I stepped back and dashed to the edge, planting my good foot on the ledge and leaping as far as I could, extending my hands to the railing. I hit it hard, jarring myself and biting my tongue, drawing blood as I hit my chin, but somehow managed to grab hold and hang on as gravity fought against me.
It was as I hung that I felt hands grabbing at me. I violently kicked my feet, trying to fend them off as I struggled to pull myself up onto the fire escape. I strained with every muscle in my body before I finally managed to pull myself up.
My body said rest, but my mind said go and luckily, it won out. I grabbed the gas cans and scrambled up as quickly as I could.
When the explosion came, the sound was deafening (my ears are still ringing from it) and the force sent me flying, knocking my head against the wall and causing me to go unconscious.
It may have been hours or only a few minutes before I awoke, but the fire was still burning. My head pounded and I could feel blood running down the side of my head, but I collected myself enough to slide into the window of whatever floor I was on. I pushed open the first door that would open and locked it behind me before collapsing onto a made bed and falling into a deep sleep.
I was awaken by a scratching at the door. My head was pounding and I could hardly see straight. Still half asleep, I made the worse mistake I could have made. I walked over to the door and before I knew what I was doing, pulled it open.
In the dark, the zombie was just a dark figure, reaching out to me like a monster from a child's nightmare. It snapped me awake and I reached out, pushing it away from me as I stumbled backward. I stepped down on my bad ankle and it rolled again, unable to hold the weight of my body and sent me sprawling to the ground, the zombie falling right with me, snapping its jaws loudly in the silence of the night.
I wrestled with the creature, grabbing it by its short hair and holding it back as its arms flailed wildly. I was so focused on keeping the head away that I never saw the arm as it clocked me in the side of the head. It didn't so much hurt as it startled me, causing me to loosen my grip and give it the window of opportunity it needed.
Time ran in slow motion as its teeth tore through my shirt and sank into my side. It tore its head aside, ripping out a chunk of flesh and sending pain radiating through my entire body, dampening my shirt in warm blood.
I managed to push it off and roll away, leaving a streak of blood on the floor. I writhed in pain, but quickly came to my senses. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I scrambled away, searching for something to use against the zombie. I felt around, keeping my eyes on it at all times. My fingers wrapped around something heavy and without looking, swung at it as it charged toward me.
It felt like I was moving in slow motion, allowing me to see that I was swinging a dumbbell, a five pounder. It connected with the jaw of the creature. It recoiled and turned back, its jaw hanging loosely, grotesquely disfigured. I used to opportunity to deliver a quick kick to the face, knocking it onto its back. Faster that I even knew I could move, I slammed down the weight, knocking it out.
Backing away, the rush fading, the pain returned. I held my hand to the wound and felt only wetness. I wiped it off on my pants and picked up the gas cans, eager to get out of that apartment.
So here I am, writing this and already starting to feel feverish. I don't know how long I have. There's nothing that can be done now.
I've never felt so alone in my life.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Watch It Burn
I've never been more glad to live in a gun-friendly state as I am right now. The building is loaded with rifles and pistols left behind by their former owners. I have a nice little arsenal built up now, but I only concern myself with the hunting rifles.
The skin around the wound has begun to turn a greenish color. I can only imagine how little time I have, the countdown to the end of my life.
There's no point in going out quietly. There's no one to say goodbye to except you, dear reader. No one to watch me go, no one to give me my last rights, to read my eulogy, to bury me.
So here I am, atop my apartment building. To my left is a case of Shiner bottles I chilled by hooking up a mini fridge to the generator. To my right is the unused gas can and all the rifles I could find.
I sip my beer, feeling the calming effect take over me. I raise a rifle to my shoulder, take aim, and fire. On the ground below, a head explodes as a zombie drops dead.
Wave, eject cartridge, repeat.
I have to say, it's rather fun. It's almost like a video game, taking out things that almost seem unreal, not living.
A clip empties and I toss the rifle over the edge. It's easier to just pick up another one than to reload.
It doesn't take long doing it like this. I'm soon out of ammo and have no rifles left. There's only one thing left to do.
I begin to fill up the beer bottles. The gasoline should burn better than the lighter fluid did. Or at least I can aim better, hit something wooden, or maybe make it through a window, catch something flammable. With any luck, and obviously without any firefighters, the city can burn for days.
I scan the area for my first target. An old, wooden house, one of several scattered through downtown, sits a block over. That will be perfect. I light the molotov and hurl it out, watching with a strange fascination as it twirls through the air, landing just short and breaking, sending the fire scattering. The house catches fire quickly and it begins.
By the time the sun has gone beneath the horizon, there is no difference. I can see as if the sun was high in the sky. The house was a good start, and some fell short, but the fire has begun to burn and the best is yet to come.
For now, I simply stand there, watching the flames build as the zombies below are consumed. I can feel the heat from here, basking in the glow as their screams of pain fill the night.
A smile crosses my face as I gloat in their suffering.
This is where I end it. I hope that anyone reading this will learn from my mistakes, that my downfall will help others survive. There is no hope left for me, but I won't go down alone. And maybe from the ashes, something new will rise, something better. Or maybe there is nothing left, and all is for naught.
The gas should have built up sufficiently by now, after all, I did leave the valve open all the way. An old building like this, the vents are all interconnected and it vents through the roof. I kick off the cover and glance down, quickly looking away and gagging on the stench of natural gas.
Perfect.
The last molotov is now lit. In a moment, I will drop it down the vent. If I'm right, there's enough pressure built up and it will be over quickly.
Even if I'm wrong, I know I won't have to know what it's like to be one of them.