I got myself up and hobbled all the way out the back door. It was then I had a fit with myself over leaving the fucking back door open. First time ever. Shows you what even a simple mistake can do nowadays. The margin for error now is razor thin.
What the fuck ever man.
I almost went teapot over kettle again when I was going down the back porch steps. Luckily they had handrails on both sides. I had to toss the shotgun on the ground to catch myself, but that’s better than putting my face into the freezing cold gravel of the driveway. I already split my chin open in June and I don’t want an instant replay of that bullshit.
I wound up nudging the shotgun along with my bad foot until I got it back to the truck. I nearly went down for the count when I bent over to pick it up, but I used the truck as a leaning post and got upright just as the stars filled my vision. The drive back here was a fucking joke. I couldn’t get my left leg bent and into the cab so I had to drive with the door open. My foot was sticking out into the road, but I didn’t fucking care. I don’t even remember the drive back to be honest. Today when I looked out the window the Tundra was practically rammed into the side of Hall E. Must’ve really wanted to avoid walking. Don’t know how I got the door open to get in it was parked so close.
I’m exhausted right now. All I’ve done today is clean my wound, go in the basement, eat, and type this. I can’t get over this Mr. Journal. Sigh.
I don’t remember much about last night when I got home. I vaguely remember getting into the shower and cleaning myself off. The warm running water hitting the holes in my leg was not soothing, that I recall with distinct clarity. Felt like someone was driving nails into me every time the water hit the wounds, but it had to be done. I washed the wounds out with antibacterial soap, and when I got out of the shower, I must’ve doused it with hydrogen peroxide. I found an empty bottle on the bathroom floor today. That’s about where Adrian’s big old head checked out for the night.
When I woke up this morning I was laying in the recliner. Otis wasn’t on me either, which is unusual. He was sitting on the shitty dorm couch watching me intently. It was kind of creepy.
The wounds on my thigh were very red when I woke up. Angry, puffy welts that is still very sore to the touch. It was freezing in here when I got up too. I hadn’t refilled the gas tank on the generator in some time and I’d run out. Took me forever to refill the tank in the basement, but I got it done.
I showered after that. Wasn’t thrilled for that, let me tell you. I found something a little disturbing when I cleaned the wound again. A tooth. Lodged pretty frigging deep one of the holes. I felt it as a hard lump just under the skin. Used a pair of tweezers to dig it out. That nearly sent me to the black hole of pain right in the shower. I will say the pain lessened immediately, and that was a relief. Gross to think I left a giant dog tooth in my thigh overnight though.
Washed the wounds again, slathered around the wound with Bacitracin, and got something to eat. I’m kinda pissed I used hydrogen peroxide when I got in the shower right after it happened. I am pretty sure that’s not the best idea for a wound like that. Hope it doesn’t fuck me up. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I know I have to eat. I forced down some canned shit and now here I sit, typing this, letting the air get to it. I think that’s the right thing to do. Bandaging it seems wrong, but the Percocet I took earlier has got me a little wobbly upstairs.
The pain is bearable at the moment, but I only have three more of the pills. I figure that’ll get me through tonight, and maybe tomorrow, but then I’m on ibuprofen by the handful. I hope that’s enough.
I hope this doesn’t get infected. Even just a regular infection is fucking game-over for me. Wave buh bye to Mr. Ring Mr. Journal. C’est la fucking vie. I took a ballpoint pen and gently drew a circle around the edge of the redness earlier. If the redness spreads out beyond that mark, I need to do something in a hurry. I’ll need to go downtown.
I don’t know what to do right now. I need rest, I need food, and I need water. All the shit at the farmhouse can wait til hell freezes over for all I care. I need to get well.
If these wounds get infected though…..
Well that’s a problem I just can’t think about.
-Adrian
December 7th
Very, very, tired Mr. Journal. My leg has swollen up a fair amount since last night. I drew ink boundaries around the redness surrounding the wounds before I went to sleep, and over the course of today the redness has crept about a quarter inch past the ink markings.
I think it’s getting infected. No, no I know it’s getting infected. I’m not running a fever yet though.
I need antibiotics. Something powerful that will stave off an infection like this. I don’t even know what ones to take.
I have to go downtown.
Fuck.
-Adrian
December 8th
I’m out of Percocet. As it turns out fistfuls of Ibuprofen don’t even begin to put a dent in the pain I’m in. Looking at the bright side, my nausea from the Percs has subsided. I’m sitting in the recliner right now with my leg elevated as high as I can get it. That isn’t very high though, as my wounds are all near my cock. Right in that slab of meat next to your groin Mr. Journal. Feels... Awesome.
The redness is a little further out today than it was yesterday. There’s a clear fluid building up around the deepest wounds, and the fluid is just slightly off from clear. A vague yellowish color to it. I’m starting to feel flush, and my temperature has begun to creep upwards. My handy dandy electronic thermometer tells me I started today at about 99.1 degrees F, and as I write this shortly after dark, I am sitting pretty at 99.7. I’m going through fluids like a fish.
It’s infected. But we knew that didn’t we Mr. Journal? Could I have expected anything else? Remember that punch line to the cosmic joke bullshit I was talking about? It’s not funny anymore.
I don’t want to die like this. Let someone shoot me, let me get eaten alive, let me get hit by a goddamn falling airplane. I don’t want to slowly die from an infection. This could take weeks to kill me, and I don’t think I have the balls to kill myself.
Sigh.
There are four places to get antibiotics in town that I can think of. There are two chain store pharmacies. One is on this side of town, the other is on the opposite side of town near my condo. The closest pharmacy is right near the grocery store. The further pharmacy near my house is in a small cluster of businesses, but more importantly, it is right near a residential area. There could be a lot of people, or undead over there.
The third place to get drugs is the town clinic. I’m sure they have ample supplies of various medications for samples and in case of emergencies. The clinic is a two story building right near the closer pharmacy and the grocery store.
The fourth and last place I can think of is the veterinarian’s office. Granted probably not ideal, but antibiotics are probably antibiotics, and in this situation it might be the only place that hasn’t been raided yet. If there are survivors in town, there is a very good chance that the clinic and both pharmacies have already been picked clean.
I can’t get around for shit Mr. Journal. I can hobble, but if I spend too long on my feet the thigh starts to pulsate right along with my heartbeat, and the pain becomes unbearable. I start seeing all those pretty fucking stars, and then whether or not I want to, I go down in a heap. What that means is that I am not very mobile, and I need to sit down or lay down after being upright for a short amount of time. I can’t afford to be out in the open at all. I really need a drive through here.
Literally and figuratively, a drive through. The pharmacy closest to me is the one nearest to the clinic. It also has a drive through window. I can literally drive the truck up the window, smash the window, get right into the pharmacy area, throw what I need through the window into the truck, and then climb back out. In theory, unless there are undead in the pharmacy, I will never even encounter undead at all.
I can shoot the un
dead inside through the window before I go in as well, or draw them out with the truck. If the pharmacy is untenable, I can cross the street and try the clinic. That’s really, really not a good idea though. Anyone sick around here during the fiasco days will likely have gone there, and if they died, the place could be crawling with zombies. As in balls deep.
If plan A and plan B fail, I can hit the vet’s office, which is about a mile away from there. If that fails, then I can cross town and hit the pharmacy near my old condo. And won’t that be a piece of cake.
So that’s the plan. Try and hit the pharmacy via the drive through window. If all goes well, I’ll be in and out in no time flat.
What’s that Mr. Journal? You want to hear the bad news? Oh there’s plenty of that still left to share sir.
I can’t shoot the shotgun. I can’t balance enough to brace for the recoil. If I let loose a single shell I fucking know I’ll tip over in slow motion and crack the back of my skull open on something. Shotgun is just not going to happen. This sucks too because I just double upped on my shotgun shells with the stash I found the other day.
Which means… I need to use my pistols, or the rifles. The rifles would be decent, especially the .22, but I don’t feel comfortable moving around holding a rifle right now. I can’t balance like I said, and having to stop all the time and rest means I’d have to sling it, or set it down. Rifles get in the way, and I need to move fast as I possibly can, which means this is a pistol only mission.
Yes Mr. Journal, I did say the other day my 9mm ammo was almost in the red zone. Oh what’s that? How many 9mm rounds did I use to kill Cujo the pony? Sigh, the shame. I emptied a full magazine of 15 rounds into it. Are you suggesting that was overkill? Well Mr. Journal despite our close and otherwise amicable relationship, I’m offended at the suggestion of overkill in this instance.
That fucking dog was huge, and had nearly bitten my balls clean off. Not that I should let that of all things get to me. I haven’t really used my balls in forever. Well, besides for beating off, and I’m not really “using” my balls per se. They’re just sort of in the neighborhood of the process. Men wouldn’t beat off at all if we had to do to our balls what we do to our cocks. Well, some really fucking weird men might.
I am down to 32 9mm rounds. I have 17 .38 caliber rounds, and 18 .45 cal rounds. I hate revolvers. I mean mechanically they’re superior. They’re easier to clean, easier to maintain, less prone to jams, etc. But reloading a revolver in a hurry without speed loaders is a fucking death sentence. The .38 is a last ditch thing.
So I’m rocking the 9mm and the .45. I am pretty fucking glad I found that thing now. Plus the sheer knockdown power of those slugs can’t hurt. I can easily take the recoil of the pistol without going down in a jumble.
Um, what else for bad news? I can’t walk for shit. I need to go downtown. I’m low on 9mm ammo, I can’t shoot my shotgun, I have a festering leg wound, I think I’ve got a few bones broken in my right foot too, which is just about right all things considered.
Fucking A, right? I mean seriously. What else can go wrong?
Ah DAMMIT! Why do I say that shit? Definitely gonna pay for that jinx. I’ve half a mind to hit backspace and hold it down until it’s gone. But you know Mr. Journal just as well as I do that what’s said is said, and I’m fucked even if I delete it. Whatever. Gonna throw my hands up at myself. Stupid Adrian.
Back to the topic at hand. The Pharmacy. It makes some sense to go down at night to avoid anyone seeing me, but as I’ve said, I’m scared of moving around at night. I can’t see well, and it’s not like I have NVGs. I’ll go in the morning, as soon as I can get up, get showered, get bandaged, get dressed, get fed, and get motivated. I’m guessing that puts me at noon.
Pharmacy drive through, that failing I’ll try the clinic. If that falls through I hit the vet. If the vet is a failure, I go to the pharmacy near my place. If that fails, I might be a dead man. Once I get the meds I need I get out and get back here. I lock the damn door, wash off, put my leg up, take some pills, and heal up.
No problem, right?
-Adrian
December 10th
I made it.
Paid a high price Mr. Journal, but I am here, and I am still alive. Let it never be said that I was not a little lucky here and there. Even if it was my own mind numbingly powerful ignorance that imbues me with said luck. Both good luck and bad I guess.
Yesterday I went downtown to the pharmacy. What a trip Mr. Journal. Just like I suspected it took me almost until noon yesterday to get my shit together for the trip down. I had to gear myself up after wrapping the leg tightly in bandages. Speaking of my leg, it was ugly yesterday morning. The redness was a solid inch and a half out from the edges of the wounds on all sides. There was a faint red line starting to form near the deepest and most angry looking hole in my thigh. That’s not good at all, right?
I already know the answer Mr. Journal. It’s bad news. So I cleaned it, bandaged it, got my shit together, and worked my way out the front door despite having the Tundra parked about 8 inches in front of it. I have no idea how I got inside the dorm the other day. I must’ve thought very thin thoughts and squeezed my way in. I think I scraped a frigging rib off on the way out yesterday. Gotta cut back on the desserts I think.
Geared up, ready to rock and roll. When I left campus I realized I hadn’t done a patrol in some time, and vowed to do one when I got back, but I forgot. I also had forgotten to move the two school vans into the normal V formation on the bridge, which was a huge lapse in security. Anyone could’ve driven across and onto campus while I was laid up. Bad, badness Mr. Journal. I hopped out and got the vans moved so they were set up while I was gone. Did I mention it fucking freezing out? What a miserable time to get my leg mauled. As if there were better times for that to happen.
The drive downtown was clear. I saw nothing out of the ordinary on Route 18, which is normal I suppose. No shambling undead, no people walking around, nothing. I drove really slowly as well so I could look around and see if there was anything of value I could come back for after I was healed up enough. Every trip out is a recon op.
I saw some cool shit, but nothing really outrageous. I made my way down to the Main Street area near the grocery store. Remember when I went down there before and I said I saw a couple of houses on fire? Or burnt down or something? There were quite a few more burnt down this trip. I’m guessing here, but if there were people holed up in them, they probably started fires in their houses to stay warm, and I’m betting they set their own damn houses on fire. That or idiots using gas generators and electric heaters. Might as well throw a match on your fucking couch. Dangerous shit right there.
Just as before the more urban-ish, retail-ish areas were loosely populated with shamblers. I think I ran over about 10 of them heading down to the pharmacy. I was most definitely a little less careful about the Tundra, I’ll admit that. The windshield is all fucked now, one of the headlights is busted, and the grill is cracked. Don’t even get me started on the paintjob. Good thing insurance isn’t really an issue anymore. So I carefully lined up my zombie speed bumps and made sure to hit them with the tires. I wasn’t worried about killing them I just wanted to make sure all they could do was crawl, instead of walk. That’d buy me the time to get in, and get out.
I noticed a few things that were eyebrow rising. The small metal caps that go on the tops of gas station storage tanks were removed at the gas station I stopped at when I was heading up to the school back in June. Someone has been getting gas out of there manually. I guess that makes sense. It means there are, or were survivors in the area. That’s scary and encouraging at the same time.
There were also several new car wrecks along the main drag. I remember seeing a few small ones, but there were a LOT now. So many in fact that at one point I had to slalom the wrecks in the truck to get through. A couple of the cars were flipped over on their sides, complete with zombies still seat-belted in. It was almost funny when I drove by the wrecks and
the zombies reached out, trying to grab me as I drove by. Creepy more than anything.
The good news right off the bat was that the pharmacy parking lot was pretty clear. There were maybe 5 or 6 undead wandering about, and as soon as they saw me they started heading my way. The cars in the lot were spaced out nicely, and when I did a loop around the building, the drive through was unobstructed. The bad news was the front door of the pharmacy was destroyed. Someone had obviously driven some kind of vehicle through the sliding doors to get inside. I was hoping they’d left something for me.
I swung back around again and checked the surrounding areas. The only thing I could see for threats were about eight undead wandering in a small plaza across the street. They were heading over my way, but I figured I had enough time to get inside. On my third trip around the building I swung into the drive through so the passenger side window was nearest the building, and climbed over to smash out the drive through window.
I think I sat there staring at the steel shutter in the window for about thirty seconds. I had totally forgotten about the steel shutters. I think I’ve seen them a hundred times in the past few years. When they close up shop, down they come. Matte steel, just like a garage door, only reinforced. I think I cried a little. I'm man enough to admit that. I mean by that point my leg was in excruciating pain contorted in the cab of the truck, and I felt totally fucked. I mean serious anal pillaging fucked.
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