Oddly enough, my biggest worry is Chloe. If something happens to me she will be trapped in the house. I put out a forty pound bag of food that she can tear into if she has to, and she knows how to drink out of the toilets.
I am leaving this journal on the kitchen table so it is easy to find. The numbers listed at the bottom of this page are the combination to my gun safe. If I didn’t make it back and you are reading this, and Chloe is still alive, please take care of her for me. She is a good dog.
However, if you are looking at this and you are one of Them, and you have eaten Chloe, then I hope you f---ing choke on her. More later… I hope.
DAY 13
A lot has happened to me since my excursion to the Do it Center.
Unfortunately, I am a little worse for wear. Not only is my cold still nagging at me, I hyper extended my knee and it has been bothering me ever since.
When I left to go to on my foraging trip yesterday I got to the next street over without incident. I spent over an hour trying to find a car that either had keys or could be hot-wired (a trick I learned on the Internet years ago).
The only viable option seemed to be a motorcycle sitting in a driveway with its keys on the seat. There was no way I was going to ride that and risk one of Them jumping in front of me. The result of that would most likely get me killed.
I finally found a beat-up Ford landscaping truck parked up the block, its equipment already unloaded and sitting on someone’s lawn. The keys were in the ignition. I saw no sign of the gardeners (they were probably at the New Age concert across from my house).
I got in the truck and turned over the ignition. It stuttered once then started up. It desperately needed a new muffler. I didn’t wait for it to warm up, but put it in gear and drove north. It threatened to stall several times at first, but finally got into its groove. When I reached Magnolia Boulevard, I turned right, heading east. The street looked like a war zone.
A big rig had driven right into the gas station on the corner and collapsed the roof. A row of pumps lay on their sides like bowling pins. I was surprised nothing had caught fire or exploded. I guess that only happens in the movies. I went north on Vineland up to Chandler and turned right, heading east again. Chandler is a quiet street that runs parallel to the train tracks and there were less abandoned cars on it.
As I made my way up the block, a group of about a dozen Infected came charging out from behind a dilapidated house after me. If I had stolen an ice cream truck broadcasting music out of it instead of a landscaping truck with a bad muffler it might have been funny, but as it stood, it was terrifying.
In life, they had been Latino gang bangers or something similar. They all ran after my truck like Olympic sprinters, at speeds they probably could have never achieved when they were living. I couldn’t go any faster because I was dodging abandoned cars and other crap strewn across the road.
The fastest of the group was only thirty feet away and closing. In the side-view mirror I could see he was wearing an angled ball cap, a blood-stained wife beater, and oversized baggy jeans pulled down to the crack of his ass.
Suddenly, the waist of his pants slipped down to his knees and stopped him in mid-stride. He was propelled into the air by his own momentum and went crashing to the street face first. He didn’t even put his hands up to protect himself.
In spite of my fear, I busted up laughing and almost hit a parked car because my eyes were on the scene behind me and not on the road. I cleared the last obstacle and accelerated down the street, leaving the rest of Them behind. I continued to chuckle to myself.
As I got closer to Hollywood Way I heard what sounded like engines up ahead. Out of nowhere, a half-dozen motorcycles roared by in front of me on Hollywood Way, headed north. I quickly pulled in behind a car on the side of the road and killed the engine.
Another half-dozen motorcycles drove past, followed by several trucks and vans. I couldn’t see the features of the riders, but they were alive. As they noisily made their way up the block, several Infected appeared from houses around me and raced up the block, following the sounds of the convoy. One of them ran right past my truck, not even noticing me.
I waited for a minute, holding my breath the whole time. I reached down to start the truck up again, and froze. There were still several Infected milling about. I thought about how much time I would have if the truck didn’t start up on the first try. I was an idiot for shutting down the engine. Several of Them were walking back toward me after giving up pursuit of the choppers.
I let out my breath, prayed, and turned the ignition. For one agonizing long beat nothing happened. Finally, the engine turned over, roaring to life. The Infected around me perked up and raced for me with no hesitation.
I shifted the vehicle into gear and cranked the steering wheel, aiming for the middle of the street. I hit two of them as I accelerated away, both of them glancing off the side of the truck. As I reached Hollywood Way, I slowed only enough to insure there were no more stragglers from the group. The rest of the way to my destination, I pondered why I had just assumed that the bikers would be hostile. I finally convinced myself that it was best not to take chances.
When I arrived at the hardware store, I backed the truck up to the fence surrounding the gardening center section of the store. If I had to focus my attention on breaking in a door, at least I would have a fence to protect me from someone sneaking up behind.
I got up on the roof of the truck, which brought me to eye level with the top of the fence. I threw a rubber floor mat from the truck over the barbed wire and went over the fence. Once in the outdoor gardening area, I pulled out my Blackhawk Small Pry tool and pried open the sliding glass door. It was easier than I thought it would be.
I cautiously stepped into the darkened store, my CAR 15 at the ready. If not for the skylights overhead, I would have been in complete darkness. I quietly made my way up the main isle to the plumbing section. It was still and silent, but something smelled like rotting meat.
I stopped halfway up the plumbing isle in front of a selection of PVC pipe and fittings. I consulted my list and then took off my empty backpack, opening the top. I listened to the silence around me, then satisfied, began taking what I needed. As I made my way down the main isle again, I saw a display case with flashlights.
I stopped and selected several, first removing their packaging, then pocketing them. I took their entire stock of 3-volt lithium batteries for the reflex red dot sight on my carbine.
I turned up the paint isle and almost fell onto my face, slipping in the remains of an overturned can of paint thinner. I managed to hyper extend my knee in the process. My flailing hand hit several additional cans of thinner on the shelf and they toppled to the floor, adding to the mess.
I tried not to yell out in pain as I hobbled around, my knee popping with every step. I stopped and set down my backpack, then bent over and rubbed out my knee. From the back of the store I heard a crash and the sound of running footsteps. My heart nearly stopped beating. I limped behind a paint display and waited.
A figure shot by my isle running toward the front of the store. Another figure stopped right in front of my isle and turned slowly, sniffing the air. I held my breath as he looked right at me!
I could see his milky eyes as they looked into mine. He sniffed again and then looked away. I looked down at the paint thinner spread all over the isle. He couldn’t smell me! Sound and smell. That’s how they hunted. My new companion wasn’t going anywhere. I heard several other Infected racing about the store looking for me.
I raised my carbine and centered the red dot sight on the creature’s head. I hesitated, knowing that the second I touched off a round They would be all over me.
Then I remembered something. I lowered my carbine, letting it hang on its sling. I carefully reached into my Mark 7 satchel and pulled out my pellet pistol.
I looked down at it skeptically. The
pistol was cocked and had a miniscule .177 caliber pellet seated in its chamber. My hands were shaking as I brought it up on line. The thing must have sensed something because its head snapped around, looking at me.
I squeezed the trigger. The pellet drove through the creature’s right eye. It stepped back and cocked its head. Its knees gave out and it crumpled to the floor, landing with a wet slap on the linoleum.
Another Infected creature approached, attracted by the sound. It stood over its fallen comrade and sniffed once, then uninterested, walked a few steps away and out of my direct line of sight.
I released the barrel, tipping it forward to cock it again, and dug into my pocket for another pellet. I loaded the weapon and waited. Nothing happened. I knew the creature was still standing just around the isle end cap. I reluctantly eased forward, careful not to slip in the paint thinner again. I finally saw him just standing there.
For the first time, I noticed that this one was wearing an orange apron. He used to be an employee. His back was turned away from me as he listened to the other creatures crashing around the store. The distance was about fifteen feet. I fired the pellet into the back of its skull. I heard the pellet hit with a dull thump. This produced absolutely no reaction from the thing. I retreated back and reloaded. As I came back around to the end of the isle, he was gone.
My stomach tightened. I felt nauseous. That’s when it stepped out from the next isle over, less than five feet away. It was looking across the main isle and not at me. I saw its face in profile and aimed for its ear. I fired the pellet and the thing stumbled away, dropped to its knees, and fell down face first. It lay there unmoving.
I could still hear at least three more rummaging around the store. I hadn’t gotten everything I needed but I was done shopping. I retrieved my backpack (quietly) and as I was shouldering it, saw a display of spray paint. I selected a can of flat black and put in my bag. I put away the pellet pistol and brought up my carbine.
It took forever to make it back to the garden center. My knee throbbed with every step. My adrenaline dump was fading and fear and depression threatened to overwhelm me. My shirt under my gear was soaked in sweat, yet I was shivering.
I reached the sliding door to the garden center patio and pushed it open (it had slid shut while I was inside). As I did so, I noticed a display of large 3’ by 2’ by 2’ boxes against the wall. The advertising on the boxes proclaimed “Propane Central”.
They were kits containing a small generator, heater, and a two burner cooking stove, all powered by propane. Two cylinders of propane, hoses, and regulators were all included. The display was twenty feet away. Each box probably weighed well over 100 pounds.
I stood there for one long terrible minute contemplating the danger of trying to drag a box out of the store and over the fence with those things biting at my ass the whole way. I began to shake violently. Even as my body was screaming at me not to, I knew I was going to attempt it.
I took a tentative step away from the door and back into the store. My nose started running and I resisted the urge to sniff. I took another step. My knee threatened to buckle. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t have hit the broad side of a barn with my carbine on full auto. I let my carbine hang from the sling and pushed it around behind my back. My hands started sweating as I approached the display. I reached out and secured my grip on the edges of the top box. As I slid the box off the pile, I heard something crash back in the electrical isle. I froze.
Slowly I pulled the box down, turned and got my right shoulder under it, and lifted. It weighed a ton. I staggered under its weight and limped back toward the door, trying to balance the box with one hand and a shoulder, bring my carbine back into position, and not make any noise all at the same time.
The box tilted forward and I lowered it to the ground as quickly as I could, trying for a controlled fall. The box hit nose first and the metal contents inside shifted, making a racket. The first creature was on me in a heartbeat, coming out of the darkness like a greyhound out of the gate.
I fired two rounds into its chest and then two more. It staggered under the impacts and stumbled. I took aim and fired into its face, absently noticing that in life, it had been a teenage girl, probably pretty at one point. The thing nose-dived into the floor, sliding to a stop when it hit the box I had been carrying.
Out of my peripheral vision I caught movement to my left. I spun and fired a round, missing. The thing slammed into me sending us both to the ground. I rolled away and tried to get to my feet but my knee gave out and I fell backwards. The creature got to its feet and attempted to lunge at me, but its feet couldn’t find purchase on the slick floor and it slipped forward, landing on its stomach right in front of me, between my spread legs.
I was suddenly very conscious of my manhood. I crab walked backwards, my hand getting tangled up on my CAR 15 strap. I grabbed at it desperately and brought it around, firing into the thing’s face at point-blank range. The round went right through its head and out the back, blowing a pink mist into the air. I covered my face into the crook of my arm and got up, blindly back peddling toward the entrance.
I heard movement coming from the front of the store but I didn’t wait for it to get to me. I bent down and pulled the box away from the dead girl and then pushed it toward the door. It slid easily across the linoleum but then got caught up on the rubber mat in front of the sliding door.
I tilted the box up on its end and wrestled it to the door. I pushed the door open again, shoved the box through, and checked my six. A horrid moan echoed throughout the store, startling me. I stepped through the door and out into the gardening patio.
The door resisted as I tried to slide it shut faster than it wanted to. I reached over to a bin of rakes and yanked one out. I stepped on the rake blades and twisted the handle off, jamming it into the lip of the door just as one of the creatures slammed itself against the glass.
I fell back, tripping over the f---ing propane box, and landed on my ass in a pile of plastic pots. I couldn’t have made any more noise with a set of drums and a marching band. My knee was killing me. I got up, ignoring the moaning dead thing as it beat on the glass and gnashed its teeth at me. I went to the gate and looked for a way through it.
There was no way I was going to get the box over the fence. A padlock and chain held the gate shut. I reached around and unhooked my 14” bolt cutters (how I was ever smart enough to think of bringing those is beyond me) and snapped the chain link next to the lock.
I barely remember loading the propane box up into the truck bed or the ride home. I do remember the relief I felt when the truck turned over on the first try. I parked in the same place I had first found the truck, pocketed the keys, and left the piece of shit propane box in the back of the truck. I’d deal with it some other time.
I limped through my back door sometime after 3 p.m. Chloe was beyond herself with excitement at my return. I felt bad covering her muzzle to stop her whining. I went to the front window to look out across the street and my heart sank. There were now over twenty of the infected creatures surrounding Dawn and Jon’s house. After taking Chloe out back to pee I went into the back bedroom with her, closed the door, and went to sleep. I was a wreck.
I woke up a little after 6:30 p.m, achy and miserable. My sore throat has turned into a cough. I could still hear the wails and pounding across the street. I hobbled to the kitchen cupboard for some food. My canned vegetable stores are slowly diminishing. On the plus side, I have enough boxes of macaroni and cheese to feed an army.
After chow I tasked myself with setting up a workbench in my back bedroom walk-in closet. My reasoning for this is that the closet is in the center of the house and is the most sound proof room I have available.
I rigged a workbench with a vise from the garage and set up my tools and a power strip. My first order of business was to build a sound suppressor. My pellet gun got me to thinking about which wea
pon I would start with. While the diminutive little .177 caliber pellet was sub-par for penetrating skulls, a .22 long rifle would be more than sufficient.
I had seen what 00 buck from a 12 gauge could do to someone’s skull. That was just overkill. My dad and I used to debate non-stop about calibers and ballistics. He is a huge .22 caliber fan. He feels it is the ultimate survival round. I, on the other hand, always preferred heavier calibers.
Turns out, my dad was right. Not only would the .22 be easier to silence, I have an abundance of .22 ammunition, and the smaller round is lighter to carry.
My Smith and Wesson M&P 15-22 was my first guinea pig. It has a removable thread adapter on the end of the barrel to attach a flash suppressor. The suppressor screws on and off the adapter with just a few turns.
I cut the smaller diameter copper pipe to 6” in length, put it in the vise and drilled vent holes. This would be my inner tube. The larger diameter 6 ¼” long PVC pipe would serve as my outer tube, or can. After fitting bushings and end caps on either end, then wrapping several layers of window screen around the vented inner tube, I fit it all together.
At the attachment end of the sound suppressor I fit the flash suppressor inside the inner tube, sealing it in place with epoxy. On the business end I drilled a hole in the center only slightly larger than the .22 diameter. I screwed the whole thing on to the thread adapter at the end of the barrel to check the fit, then removed it.
It was 1:15 a.m. when I finally locked myself in the garage and spray painted my new silencer flat black. I left it hanging from the rafter to dry and exited the garage. As I stepped out onto the driveway I could hear the incessant moaning and banging across the street, drowning out all other sounds of the night.
I went into the house, got in bed and put a pillow over my head to block out the noise. I planned on taking care of that problem in the morning.
100 Days of Death Page 4