Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Hunt
Part One
te blod te smel tey ded tey good tey so gud. te dog te cat ate first kiled wit own hans. blod evrywere on my cloths my shoos my hans. felt gud. peple sreme yel at me mak me angry i wnt kil tem kil tem tast der flesh so gud. i did i kiled dem tor dem open drank der blud lov it lov it lov it lov it so. find mor need mor mus hav mor mor mor mor mor mor mor mor
Note to self: Some of the beasts have retained some ability to communicate. Since my journal was lost, and I'll be bringing this sheet back to my superior anyway, I'll use this to outline what I've seen thus far.
Things are a mess. A total, frickin' mess. It's been three weeks since the outbreak, and most of the people I know have either been killed or converted. Luckily it was after hours at school when it came to us, and most of the kids that stayed were either hanging out in the Anime club, or throwing taunts and objects at the Anime club members.
We were watching some old episode of Trigun when it happened. Some hater stole some hard boiled eggs from the cafeteria and was attempting to smash them through the locked door. Our president told the kid to go away. He didn't. And the white stuff continued to ooze through the door frame like pus. It made the president angry. He grabbed a statue of Totoro and waved it menacingly at the offender. Surprisingly the guy disappeared.
Except it was like he flew away from the window like he was yanked by a rope. Flew away screaming. Next came the blood. Splattered on the door's window like runny ketchup. In fact, that's what we thought it was. The president and several others crowded around the door to see what was going on.
Near as I can tell, nothing was out there. The president opened the door and he filed out with several others. I heard laughing and light conversation. Then screams. I fled out the window.
Running out of room to write on the front of this page. Ugh.
They were everywhere. Big ones. Little ones. Ones wearing funny hats and mismatched socks. Ones with wangs flapping in the wind. Ones with beer bottles stuck in their faces. They were shambling about aimlessly. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
Nothing to do but chase my ass from Timbuktu to Mordor and back again.
Blood on the paper here. I write over it. I write saying that if it wasn't for Just Justin and his Pancake 'n Pie Posse, I would be dead right now. That bunch came screaming out of the treeline waving rotted birds around over their heads. Actually scared those zombie things off my tail. Saved my life.
Seems these zombies hate birds for some reason or another. Don't know why. Don't care. The Posse saw the once-humans running away from a gaggle of geese, and decided it was a good idea to catch a few. Doesn't matter if the birds are dead or alive. They have a cage of them at every entrance to the local Sir Buckalots, a grocery store turned HQ. 25 people living there now. Enough food for a while, but still need more. That's why I'm here.
Scavenging for supplies in this house. Found two dead things that were probably cats. Half-eaten dog. Two people, limbs removed. Fish tanks with no fish. Few good canned and boxed goods, a couple firearms, and tools. Marked the house for the crew. One last lookabout and found me this note.
Those things can still think.
Carl Segway. March 4th 2010
te blod te smel tey ded tey good tey so gud. te dog te cat ate first kiled wit own hans. blod evrywere on my cloths my shoos my hans. felt gud. peple sreme yel at me mak me angry i wnt kil tem kil tem tast der flesh so gud. i did i kiled dem tor dem open drank der blud lov it lov it lov it lov it so. find mor need mor mus hav mor mor mor mor mor mor mor mor
Note to self: Some of the beasts have retained some ability to communicate. Since my journal was lost, and I'll be bringing this sheet back to my superior anyway, I'll use this to outline what I've seen thus far.
Things are a mess. A total, frickin' mess. It's been three weeks since the outbreak, and most of the people I know have either been killed or converted. Luckily it was after hours at school when it came to us, and most of the kids that stayed were either hanging out in the Anime club, or throwing taunts and objects at the Anime club members.
We were watching some old episode of Trigun when it happened. Some hater stole some hard boiled eggs from the cafeteria and was attempting to smash them through the locked door. Our president told the kid to go away. He didn't. And the white stuff continued to ooze through the door frame like pus. It made the president angry. He grabbed a statue of Totoro and waved it menacingly at the offender. Surprisingly the guy disappeared.
Except it was like he flew away from the window like he was yanked by a rope. Flew away screaming. Next came the blood. Splattered on the door's window like runny ketchup. In fact, that's what we thought it was. The president and several others crowded around the door to see what was going on.
Near as I can tell, nothing was out there. The president opened the door and he filed out with several others. I heard laughing and light conversation. Then screams. I fled out the window.
Running out of room to write on the front of this page. Ugh.
They were everywhere. Big ones. Little ones. Ones wearing funny hats and mismatched socks. Ones with wangs flapping in the wind. Ones with beer bottles stuck in their faces. They were shambling about aimlessly. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
Nothing to do but chase my ass from Timbuktu to Mordor and back again.
Blood on the paper here. I write over it. I write saying that if it wasn't for Just Justin and his Pancake 'n Pie Posse, I would be dead right now. That bunch came screaming out of the treeline waving rotted birds around over their heads. Actually scared those zombie things off my tail. Saved my life.
Seems these zombies hate birds for some reason or another. Don't know why. Don't care. The Posse saw the once-humans running away from a gaggle of geese, and decided it was a good idea to catch a few. Doesn't matter if the birds are dead or alive. They have a cage of them at every entrance to the local Sir Buckalots, a grocery store turned HQ. 25 people living there now. Enough food for a while, but still need more. That's why I'm here.
Scavenging for supplies in this house. Found two dead things that were probably cats. Half-eaten dog. Two people, limbs removed. Fish tanks with no fish. Few good canned and boxed goods, a couple firearms, and tools. Marked the house for the crew. One last lookabout and found me this note.
Those things can still think.
Carl Segway. March 4th 2010
Labels:
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment