With my three block scavenger hunt done, I jogged on down to the gas station to get the hummer. When I was almost there, I looked over my right shoulder at the school and saw, parked behind it, the one thing that could’ve made my day even better than it already was - a Humvee trailer that had been left behind. In the Army, each Humvee is usually assigned its own trailer, and I just bet that this one went along with my newly acquired truck. After I made a quick check to see if it was still serviceable - and it was - I jogged across the street to my truck, fired that bitch up, backed it right up to my new trailer, where I hooked that sucker up and then drove to collect my spoils.
Once I had all my goodies loaded up nice and neat, and all the guns loaded and stored where they and their ammo would be easily accessible if the need ever arose, I hopped back onto 23 and continued on the drive towards Streator that I had begun in what seemed like ages ago. It felt good to be on the road again, and even better to be in a fucking vehicle that was made to go into battle instead of hoofing it with a horde of zombies at my heels like I had been. And to make the trip even even better, in the passenger seat I had a thirty pack of Busch that I found in the one and only fridge that I had opened up. The beer was strangely still cool (maybe the power hadn’t been out for too long?), but the fucking stench inside the fridge was definitely not worth looking for shit in any others.
Just as I thought, the south end of Grand Ridge was blockaded as well, by a wall that obviously went all the way around town. Even though I couldn’t tell how they opened up the north end of 23 as I was stumbling my way towards it with death at my heels, I could clearly see how the south end was opened and closed. And it was pretty fuckin’ nifty, too.
I parked my truck in the center of the road about a hundred feet or so back, figuring I’d need the room, and walked the rest of the way to the gate, unsure if I would even be able to open it. See, the problem was, I had no fucking idea how to drive a big-ass earth-mover. A huge fuckin’ bulldozer was butted up to a stack of train cars that spanned the width of Route 23, a section that was clearly removable, that was chained to the blade of the earth-mover.
When I got to the rig, I looked over my shoulder back down 23, and saw that the other end had the same get-up as this one did. Nifty. I climbed up into the cockpit, and was pleasantly surprised to see that I could drive the monster after all, as all there was for controls was a couple of joysticks - one for the transmission that was simply labeled forward/reverse and one for the plow that moved it up and down, side to side, and also tilted it in a few different directions. To turn and stop the monster, there were two brake pedals, one for each of the treads. Nothin’ to it. And to make it even easier, the keys were in the ignition, hey hey. Easy peasy, Japaneasy.
Before I fired her up and moved her outta the way, I climbed out over the front and up on top of the train cars to see what the area outside the wall looked like. I didn’t want to move the dozer out of the way only to let a shitload of zombie fucks loose in the town, fuck no. The place was clear, and I intended to keep it that way. For all I knew, it was the only truly clear, zombie-free place left. Plus, Grand Ridge was gonna be my back-up plan - if I got to Streator and found everyone I knew dead and the town a complete waste, I was gonna high-tail it back to the Ridge with whatever survivors I could find and live out the rest of my days there, behind safe walls.
I gotta admit, when I got to the top, I was a little let down. There wasn’t a single fucking zombie beyond the wall. Not a one. And I was able to see for fucking miles, too, and there was nothing. The road was free and clear as far as my eyes could see. I actually found it a little eerie, disconcerting, even. There wasn’t even any signs of wildlife, either. There were no birds in the air or on the power lines, or any stray dogs or cats that can usually be seen everywhere, no stupid squirrels, no nothing. Shit, I didn’t even see any bugs. Behind me within the safety of the walls it was nature abound, but past the wall, it was a dead zone. I felt like I was the last living thing on the planet. Creeped me out. I felt like the “Omega Man”.
But anyways, after I saw it was clear I climbed back down into the cab, fired the beast up, and pulled her forward just enough for me to get my truck and trailer through. Once I got my shit through and parked with the engine off, I got back in the dozer and put her back in her place, re-securing the perimeter of Grand Ridge. That had to have been what the Army folks did when they left, so I figured why couldn’t I? I thought of taking the keys to both bulldozers with me to Streator, making me the only motherfucker with real access into the town - the Keymaster, (if only I had circa Ghostbusters Sigourney Weaver to be my Gatekeeper - yummy) - but I had no clue if I would make it back there alive, and didn’t want to fuck over any other survivors who were just looking for a safe place to live, so I left them.
After a brief look at the safe haven I was leaving behind to head towards an unknown future, I climbed down the outside of the train car wall and walked to my truck, got in and fired her up, and put that bitch in drive. Streator… HO!!!!!!
76
As anxious as I was to finally get home, I kept it at a pretty fuckin’ slow speed for the last few miles there - at just under 25 mph. Before all this shit happened, I would’ve been in a blind fucking rage at going that slow, cussing and yelling at everything, but nowadays going slow is a matter of survival (believe it or not), ‘cause you never know what you’re gonna be running into. Better safe than sorry.
I was damn near home, just about to where 23 splits into a four lane road, when I had to bring the truck to a halt - a huge herd of cows that was either let loose or had escaped on their own was grazing and strolling across the road. Streator was right there in front of me and the hurry was over, so instead of getting pissed off and throwing whatever grenades I had left into the herd (not that it didn’t cross my mind), I killed the engine and climbed up to the roof through the turret to wait for Bessie and her kin to move. While I waited, I mounted the SAW Jesse left me and got it ready to rock. Figured it’d look cool to roll into town with it up there, even if no one was left alive to appreciate it.
I was six beers in (and buzzing severely) when the cows started to stampede. I had never seen a stampede in real life before, and it kinda scared the shit outta me. I pounded what was left of my beer, and jumped down into the turret and brought the SAW to my shoulder. I had no fuckin’ clue what made the cows act all crazy, but I wasn’t about to get caught with my head up my ass, either.
After about thirty seconds or so I saw what it was that had started the stampede - in a pasture at about two hundred yards to the east and closing on the road, there was a few people creeping around between the cows, like they thought they were in Pamplona with the bulls or something, the stupid fucks. I couldn’t believe it, it was a good way to get trampled or killed even, and they looked like they didn’t care one bit. I thought about trying to get their attention, but decided it might not be a good idea, ‘cause I really had no clue if they were hostiles and didn’t want to get into a firefight, even though I was confident I would be the victor.
I couldn’t tell if it was men or women I was looking at - all I could see as they zig-zagged through the cows was the tops of their heads and their dirty, shaggy hair blowing in the wind. The fuckers’ hair made me jealous, too - dirty or not - as it had been years since I was able to grow a full head of the shit, and I missed it. They didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry as they made their way in my direction, and as I watched them, I swore they were hunting, the way they moved. Why anybody would hunt a fuckin’ cow, though, when all you had to do is walk up to one and shoot it if you wanted to was beyond me. Oh, well, I thought, these are strange times…
I was about to pop the top on another sweet, deeeeelicious brew and continue on my trip into a drunken stupor when the herd thinned out, as the bulk of them was across the road and there were only around thirty or so stragglers spread out. What stopped me from popping the top was a calf that had fallen in the road in front of me and looked to be hur
t. I was contemplating killing it and maybe butchering it and cooking it over a fire, even though that was something I had never done before, but I was thinking with my stomach instead of my brain. It happens sometimes.
My SAW’s sights were on the calves head and my finger was about two pounds in on the trigger pull when I spotted movement off to my left - in my peripheral and out of focus - but still there. Stupidly, I had forgotten about the three people that were in the herd, so I shifted my aim towards the movement just in case it was them and they were gonna try something shady.
What I saw when I faced the movement made me want to take out my pistol and put a fucking bullet through my brain - one of my biggest fears, my worst nightmares during this holocaust had become a horrible, frightening reality.
The world slowed down, time came to a crawl, reality twisted.
The three people - a man and two women - lunged into the clearing where the calf lay, their long hair blown into dirty halos around their heads, their ragged and tattered clothes trailing behind them as they closed in on what was now their prey. Their skin was so filthy, covered with layer upon layer of grime, that I couldn’t tell if they were white, black or whatever - they were just dirt brown. They moved so gracefully, yet with brutal intent, as if they were wolves on the hunt and not human beings. I was in awe, yet powerfully afraid as I watched them work as a team; as two of them broke off into flanking positions and the three came to the fallen calf as one. My heart stopped beating and my blood ran cold as they fell on the calf and began to tear at it with their bare hands and teeth; as it struggled vainly to regain its feet and flee; as they shoved handful after handful of steaming flesh into their gaping maws as if their hunger could never be quenched. This new world that I had grown to understand and accept had ended.
Time then returned to its normal state, and I was able to breathe once again.
I broke out of my trance and squeezed the trigger, and fired an entire two-hundred round drum into them that cut the three people and the cow into so many fucking pieces that even Ducky from “NCIS” would never be able to put them back together - and that dude is good. I then vomited the beer I had drank all over the SAW and the shell casing littered roof.
You see… I’m pretty sure the people were zombies. They were working together. And worst of all… they ran.
God help us all.
77
As I sit here finishing this little journal of sorts (there was a stack of notebooks and pens on top of the SINGCARS, so I figured I’d write down what I been through so far), I can see six more runners coming from the southwest, most likely to investigate the three-day-old gunshots. I know it was fucking stupid to have shot at those zombies like I did, but I was really fuckin’ freaked out - I was so scared that they would see me that it seemed like the best thing to do at the time, even though the odds are that if I had just stayed still while they ate the calf, they never would’ve seen me. And just left.
But hey, what’s done is done, and now I’m gonna have to sit here in the back seat of my truck in hiding till most likely tomorrow morning, ‘cause there is no fuckin’ way I’m gonna fire this hog up while there are more runners on high alert. Fuck that. As long as I don’t move too much and keep really quiet, I think I’ll be A-okay.
Even if the zombie fucks do realize that I’m in here, there is no fucking way possible for them to ever get in here. Right after I fired the last round I realized my mistake and quickly dis-mounted the SAW and buttoned up the turret, then went through the truck and buttoned up the doors, as well.
What’s really cool about these Up-Armored Humvee’s is the fact that they are virtually impenetrable. The doors are made of steel that is at least two inches thick, the windows are the same thickness, too - and both are bullet-proof, and the entire body is heavily armored so that the truck can withstand most small arms fire and grenade attacks. Sure RPG’s and shit like that will fuck it up, but thankfully no zombie is ever gonna know how to use that shit. People, sure… but I’ll deal with that situation if it ever comes up. Hopefully it never does.
So if I get surrounded by the undead, I can either wait them out until my food runs out and put a bullet in my skull… or I can just drive off. ‘Cause another cool thing about these trucks - pretty much all Humvee’s - is that they are some serious workhorses. It takes a lot to stop one of these fuckers, especially the Up-Armored ones.
The runners just got here, and thankfully they don’t seem to think my truck is of any import. Just another car left by people that most likely got ate while they screamed and begged, and then screamed some more. The dead fucks are picking up calf-chunks and shoveling them into their mouths. Fuckin’ disgusting. Makes me wonder why they’re eating cows in the first place. Maybe there are no people left… Christ, what a horrible thought…
Well, folks, I’m gonna finish this up here now, I’m worried they’ll hear me moving around in here while I write and surround me. I don’t wanna have to leave yet, ‘cause then I’ll have these fuckheads - plus god knows how many more - following me wherever I go. I’d like to leave here on my own, and arrive at Bob’s unescorted if I can help it.
This is most likely gonna be the last thing I ever write, and I figure I’ll just stash this shit somewhere after I’m done. Maybe someone will find it later on and be able to use some of the shit I have in here for some good, or maybe they’ll at least have a laugh or two while they read it. Either way’d be cool. I’d like to keep writing – it’s helping me keep my head on straight - but somehow, I just don’t think I’ll have the time…
A.K.A. No Time for a Love Story (Book 1): Just Another Day Page 30