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| Jul 5 2008, 9:37 AM EDT (current) | skotopolis | 3039 words added |
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THE TRIP
Chapter 1
I dread supply day. I detest it. I loathe it. I Goddamn hate it! It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or if the sun is shining. It could be blowing baseball sized hail sideways for all I fucking care. I only prefer the bright daylight because it’s easier to spot them. Even when we’re freshly stocked, the prospect of our supplies eventual diminishment looms ominously. It seems like every moment we have is constantly interrupted by my mental countdown how many days we have left for The Trip. I never would have thought that this word could have such a foreboding connotation. Back in my early twenties my friends and I would have laughed off such a drug induced statement. I’m thirty-seven and I’m not laughing anymore.
Before the Incident; (that’s whatever is left of our government and their mouthpieces like to call it, as if it were some unspoken event where a drunk uncle dropped trow at a family barbecue, front row please!); my family and I (my wife Shannon, my daughter Shelby, and my son Simon) would have looked toward to this leisurely road trip. Now everything’s changed. No one ever says anything but we all know when its time. What I’m most pissed about above everything else is that my son had to leave his childhood and embrace an unsure future. I got to hand it to him though, Simon has only complained once and that was after. He had nightmares for a few weeks but has managed to get on with it. He pulled the trigger and saved my life and I love him for that. Although it still pains me that I have to endanger his life every time we ride into the city.
It was in the first days of the epidemic, Atlanta, Georgia July 22, 2008 and the summer was hot and sticky as always. We were at the time leaving the water park and on our way up to our cabin in the north Georgia Mountains for the whole weekend (Long weekend, it’s funny how plans change.) Luckily, and I do use that term loosely, we were already packed. As organized as our country was especially after the preparedness brought about by 9-11, Homeland Security and the Atlanta based CDC could not have foreseen what was about to happen. They were too busy blaming the shit on each other while the military were being deployed around from one place to another as the initial outbreak took. I don’t blame the armed forces they were just pawns and muscle but those sanctimonious bureaucratic bastards, they knew. They fucking knew! Every war and battle going on around the world concerning politics, culture and religion seem trivial. Ironic that it took a legion of the undead to make those wars seem inconsequential. “The Cure for Cancer!” they said. “Cancer Finally Beaten!” the media chorus sang. “Hallelujah!”
What the public didn’t know at the time was how they really got to the cure. The masses didn’t care, though. Who would? Everything else was secondary. We beat Cancer! Hooray! Assholes. Some idiot lab assistant at a major biotech research facility (Boy did he literally have 15 minutes of fame, he was assassinated after it was revealed what he had caused.) discovered that when a human being dies he releases a previously unknown chemical in the cerebellum and the cerebral cortex of his brain in the first few minutes of post mortem. This is why usually only a head shot will kill a zombie. The scientists then took this fast-forward without any long-term exploration or research and altered the DNA within its structure to mutate and kill the cancer. It would then die to be absorbed by the human body and flushed out through its bloodstream, liver, bladder, urine and feces, sweat, and saliva. It’s almost laughable that these top scientists overlooked a middle school lesson in biology…Osmosis. Well when animal cells are placed in sugar solutions things may be rather different because animal cells do not have cell walls. In very dilute solutions, animal cells swell up and burst; they do not become turgid because there is no cell wall to support the cell membrane. In concentrated solutions, water is sucked out of the cell by osmosis and the cell shrinks. In either case there is a problem. So the cells must always be bathed in a solution, in the carcasses’ case blood, having the same osmotic strength as their cytoplasm. This is one of the reasons why we have kidneys. The exact amount of water and salt removed from our blood and our kidneys is under the control of a part of the brain called the hypothalamus which is another part of the brain that the mutated chemical seems to have receptors for. (Another strong case for a head shot to kill them).
The process of osmoregulation then modifies the amounts of water and mineral salts in the blood and tissue. This further amplifies the zombies’ desire for flesh and blood. This explains why the more shriveled and dehydrated a corpse is, supplemented with decomposition though still undead, will tend to be weaker and hardly be able to move. I don’t care what the movies show not all zombies are created equal. The fresher the corpse, the more mobility it has. The more rotted and decomposed the less mobile. All the motor functions and instinctive desire in the undead cannot compete against atrophied or missing tendons and muscles. It still takes the basic mechanics of skeletal and muscle structure to move. It worked well enough, but what they didn’t realize was how it would affect a human if it was reintroduced into someone who has deceased.
Well the damn transmutation didn’t die. There were no fully active bodily functions for it to engage and it transformed again. It sat there in the brain evolving and eventually reproducing enough to start the synapses firing. Other parts of the brain were stimulated such as the primary motor cortex, the rear portion of the frontal lobe, and parts of the occipital and temporal lobes. Basic motor functions, movement, some senses, and yes hunger (which is caused by a hormone called leptin). This was introduced by the scientists to help cancer patients gain weight after diagnosis. What a bite in the ass that idea turned out to be. (No pun intended). Since a dead body could not get rid of the virus it, carried it within itself the key to pollinate. The dead do not have blood flow but osmosis was still viable from a bite or cross wound infection. Which is why the disease can be transferred through blood, tissue and whatever saliva and liquid is left in the cadaver. Needless to say the dead walk the earth now. It still sounds ridiculous and clichéd to me even now. “There coming to get you Barbara!” That movie quote from my youth is more portentous to me now.
The damn pharmaceutical companies stock skyrocketed. It was so cheap to produce the product everybody was happy. The rich were praised for their endowments, the middle class watched their investments grow, and the poor could afford the cure for themselves and their families. I almost feel sorry for the poor sap who invested in them. He’s either dead or walking around dead more concerned for human flesh than his portfolio. It’s strange how cancer is now considered the lesser of the two evils. From the day of discovery to the day of my families’ vacation only took about four months. That my friend is some tough actin’ tinactin!
Three quarters of that time was spent with some hearty suppression of side effects by the drug companies’ attorneys and public relations goons. It was already on the market so who wanted to lose billions of dollars and be on the defending end of a worldwide legal case? (Ladies and gentleman please raise your hands!) So here we were about halfway to the cabin and the CD was over when I switched on radio to AM to listen to the news. I had noticed a lot of police and military activity on the way but I chalked it up to be another accident during rush hour traffic and we do have a few military bases located in Georgia. Every station including the one I was listing to was not playing music but broadcasting an emergency alert. They were talking about some spill, or a leak at some unnamed chemical factory, or this and that. I guess it depended on what station you were on. Either way they said not to be alarmed whatever catastrophe that was happening it was in the process of being contained. Yeah right. I should have known the media would be so far up their own asses they’d have to do their own report with a lantern.
My daughter Shelby was the first to recommend that we get some extra supplies just in case and I agreed. Those bright blue eyes if hers always got an extra bedtime story out of me when she was young tot. She was always a smart girl. She’s twenty years old but she happened to be staying with us to save some money and was planning to move to Portland, Oregon. I’m glad that she decided to go with us to the water park because she would not have been with us that day. We eventually pulled off the interstate at the behest of many drivers same intention and arrived at a mom n’ pop convenience store. There were more cars than usual on and off the road and I wanted to fill the gas cans I had in the SUV for the generator at the cabin. We had electricity at the cabin but something told me I’d need them.
There was an uneasy tension and anxiety in the air as more vehicles were pulling up to fill their gas tanks. It seemed the high gas prices suddenly dropped and the whole city were taking advantage of it not knowing how long it was going to last. I guess I’m not the only one with a radio. I hadn’t even put the car in park when I heard my son ask “Dad can I go in with you?” “Sure sport.” I nodded. Shannon and Shelby stayed in the car while Simon joined me in our little shopping venture. I rolled my eyes a little knowing Slim Jims and chocolate milk were going to be added to the list. We got inside and paid for the gas and grocery items including my son’s nutritional snack. I also as a second thought bought some batteries an extra flashlight. Shannon was pumping the gas when I noticed several ambulances and police cruisers flying past the station in several directions. The blaring sirens and the confused looks on everybody’s faces made me feel uneasy. I could see the tentativeness in her eyes as well.
“Dad I have to go to the bathroom.” Simon’s comment broke me from my trance. Trying not to show my worry I told him to hold on a minute and let’s put the stuff in the car and tell your mother that we have to go to the restroom. He nodded in approval.
We made out way to the side of the building but the door was locked. I forgot how in this day and age trust was not commonplace. This was made apparent when we got the key from the store owner and attached to it was a two foot long chain hooked to a cinderblock. I felt a little foolish as we made our back around to the side of the building. (Hey everybody look at me! I’m the amazing Cinderblock Pee Man!) I refrained from saying this out loud as I’ve learned Simon was at that age when my cheese ball comments were starting to be embarrassing. Needless to say our destination had arrived.
I had to hold the cement block in my left hand while I tried the key with my right as the chain was not long enough to reach the ground. I could almost imagine some poor schmuck squirming in place with their bowels about to burst and having to solve a complex juggling feat concerning keys, a chain, and a cinderblock. (Ta-da! Take a bow!) My son stood fixated as if I was unlocking The Great Houdini’s cabinet. I kept that one to myself as well. As I turned the doorknob a stench greeted me like none I have ever smelled. At first I figured that restroom cleanliness was not among the storekeeper’s finer points. That was when this dark shape lunged at me out of the darkness of its tomb. I rose the block between us as its fetid and pungent odor met my nostrils and fell on my back halfway in and out of the doorway. He smelled as if he had rubbed road kill all over his body in an attempt to mask his scent and then upended the carcass overhead to squeeze what fluid and bile remained to rain down on his face. The mad derelict snarled and snapped at my faced the same time my son screamed “Dad!” my first thought was I’m being attacked by a crazy bum. The only thing keeping him from tearing into my face was the cinderblock. (It didn’t feel foolish now.)
I yelled for help but no one seemed to answer. Then Simon kicked him, hard. He shifted a little but the transient was so caught up in his own delirium he hardly seemed to notice. I told Simon to back away and go get Mom. He hesitated not wanting to leave me pinned under this insane lunatic until I yelled “Go! Now!” He disappeared in an instant. As this thing tried to climb higher towards my face it was flailing at me with a ravenous frenzy. I tried to hold its wrists and the son of bitch tried to bite my arm. I pushed back with the block with all my might. This fucker was strong. I’m six foot 200 pounds and I was the one struggling. That’s when I got a good look at his face or what was left of it.
It looked as if some wild animal had been gnawing at him. His one good eye was lifeless, cloudy and opaque which was in stark contrast to the other. Where the other eye should have been was replaced by a dark crimson crater with traces of bone showing like the white rim of a volcano spewing red and black magma across the mantle of its countenance. My wife’s shriek interrupted my anatomical inspection followed by the clank of my gun next to my head. God bless her. Shannon remembered the .45 handgun I kept in the glove compartment; unfortunately she didn’t remember to hold on to it tightly. I guess my son made a strong case of the direness of the situation. He’ll make a great attorney someday. I just hoped I’d live to see it and not have this lavatory of horror be my final resting place.
What happened next probably only took a few seconds but seemed to go forever like when you’re in an auto accident and time appears to slow down. As I heard my wife scream “Oh my God!” and Shelby’s distant yelling from the car wanting to know what was going on, (They both felt a hundred miles away), I pushed up on the block with all my strength against this deranged creature’s chest with hope of dislodging him. I saw its translucent eye turn scarlet in an instant to match the other before I heard the gun report and his ghastly body slumped back against the frame. The door to the toilet behind its head turned instantly into a Sidney Pollack painting whose solitary color for today’s artwork was red. I followed the plume of smoke to the barrel of the gun to the small hands up the tear streaked cheeks and into the changed eyes of my son. I got up, brushed myself off and gently plied the gun from his fingers without ever taking my gaze off of him and then smiled. I reassured him that it I was alright while Shelby ran up to us crying from our obvious disheveled sight. Shannon knelt down in front of him and hugged him so tightly I’d thought she’d almost suffocate him. Simon didn’t say a word but I would hear him sob in his sleep when he crawled in our bed later on that evening. The ride the rest of the way to the cabin was made in silence with only the sound of the passing sirens to accompany our thoughts.
(Chapter 2 coming soon! Here’s a little taste… so to speak)
CHAPTER 2
I still see Simon’s innocence being chipped away little by little every time I look at him, even at play. At eleven and a half years old playtime now consists of practicing with his sword and or working on his shooting skills and sometimes sparring with me. I’ve been teaching him martial arts since he was three. Don’t get me wrong he’s not developing into a serial killer or anything. Simon’s a great kid; he just had to develop mentally and emotionally beyond his years because of our situation. He’s always been pretty intelligent; survivability has been forced on him at an early age… on all of us. Winter is here but no snow this year so far. It’s been seven months since our first outing and the supply trips do not relieve us of our cabin fever (No pun intended). Boredom has crept into our lives like the friend who asks to sleep on your couch for a couple of days and now its months later and he still won’t get a job. Nothing on T.V. except static or the please stand by signal. Every now and then I’ll catch a pirate broadcast on the radio but it’s nothing we don’t already know. The dead walk and boy those bastards are hungry… for us.
Chapter 1
I dread supply day. I detest it. I loathe it. I Goddamn hate it! It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or if the sun is shining. It could be blowing baseball sized hail sideways for all I fucking care. I only prefer the bright daylight because it’s easier to spot them. Even when we’re freshly stocked, the prospect of our supplies eventual diminishment looms ominously. It seems like every moment we have is constantly interrupted by my mental countdown how many days we have left for The Trip. I never would have thought that this word could have such a foreboding connotation. Back in my early twenties my friends and I would have laughed off such a drug induced statement. I’m thirty-seven and I’m not laughing anymore.
Before the Incident; (that’s whatever is left of our government and their mouthpieces like to call it, as if it were some unspoken event where a drunk uncle dropped trow at a family barbecue, front row please!); my family and I (my wife Shannon, my daughter Shelby, and my son Simon) would have looked toward to this leisurely road trip. Now everything’s changed. No one ever says anything but we all know when its time. What I’m most pissed about above everything else is that my son had to leave his childhood and embrace an unsure future. I got to hand it to him though, Simon has only complained once and that was after. He had nightmares for a few weeks but has managed to get on with it. He pulled the trigger and saved my life and I love him for that. Although it still pains me that I have to endanger his life every time we ride into the city.
It was in the first days of the epidemic, Atlanta, Georgia July 22, 2008 and the summer was hot and sticky as always. We were at the time leaving the water park and on our way up to our cabin in the north Georgia Mountains for the whole weekend (Long weekend, it’s funny how plans change.) Luckily, and I do use that term loosely, we were already packed. As organized as our country was especially after the preparedness brought about by 9-11, Homeland Security and the Atlanta based CDC could not have foreseen what was about to happen. They were too busy blaming the shit on each other while the military were being deployed around from one place to another as the initial outbreak took. I don’t blame the armed forces they were just pawns and muscle but those sanctimonious bureaucratic bastards, they knew. They fucking knew! Every war and battle going on around the world concerning politics, culture and religion seem trivial. Ironic that it took a legion of the undead to make those wars seem inconsequential. “The Cure for Cancer!” they said. “Cancer Finally Beaten!” the media chorus sang. “Hallelujah!”
What the public didn’t know at the time was how they really got to the cure. The masses didn’t care, though. Who would? Everything else was secondary. We beat Cancer! Hooray! Assholes. Some idiot lab assistant at a major biotech research facility (Boy did he literally have 15 minutes of fame, he was assassinated after it was revealed what he had caused.) discovered that when a human being dies he releases a previously unknown chemical in the cerebellum and the cerebral cortex of his brain in the first few minutes of post mortem. This is why usually only a head shot will kill a zombie. The scientists then took this fast-forward without any long-term exploration or research and altered the DNA within its structure to mutate and kill the cancer. It would then die to be absorbed by the human body and flushed out through its bloodstream, liver, bladder, urine and feces, sweat, and saliva. It’s almost laughable that these top scientists overlooked a middle school lesson in biology…Osmosis. Well when animal cells are placed in sugar solutions things may be rather different because animal cells do not have cell walls. In very dilute solutions, animal cells swell up and burst; they do not become turgid because there is no cell wall to support the cell membrane. In concentrated solutions, water is sucked out of the cell by osmosis and the cell shrinks. In either case there is a problem. So the cells must always be bathed in a solution, in the carcasses’ case blood, having the same osmotic strength as their cytoplasm. This is one of the reasons why we have kidneys. The exact amount of water and salt removed from our blood and our kidneys is under the control of a part of the brain called the hypothalamus which is another part of the brain that the mutated chemical seems to have receptors for. (Another strong case for a head shot to kill them).
The process of osmoregulation then modifies the amounts of water and mineral salts in the blood and tissue. This further amplifies the zombies’ desire for flesh and blood. This explains why the more shriveled and dehydrated a corpse is, supplemented with decomposition though still undead, will tend to be weaker and hardly be able to move. I don’t care what the movies show not all zombies are created equal. The fresher the corpse, the more mobility it has. The more rotted and decomposed the less mobile. All the motor functions and instinctive desire in the undead cannot compete against atrophied or missing tendons and muscles. It still takes the basic mechanics of skeletal and muscle structure to move. It worked well enough, but what they didn’t realize was how it would affect a human if it was reintroduced into someone who has deceased.
Well the damn transmutation didn’t die. There were no fully active bodily functions for it to engage and it transformed again. It sat there in the brain evolving and eventually reproducing enough to start the synapses firing. Other parts of the brain were stimulated such as the primary motor cortex, the rear portion of the frontal lobe, and parts of the occipital and temporal lobes. Basic motor functions, movement, some senses, and yes hunger (which is caused by a hormone called leptin). This was introduced by the scientists to help cancer patients gain weight after diagnosis. What a bite in the ass that idea turned out to be. (No pun intended). Since a dead body could not get rid of the virus it, carried it within itself the key to pollinate. The dead do not have blood flow but osmosis was still viable from a bite or cross wound infection. Which is why the disease can be transferred through blood, tissue and whatever saliva and liquid is left in the cadaver. Needless to say the dead walk the earth now. It still sounds ridiculous and clichéd to me even now. “There coming to get you Barbara!” That movie quote from my youth is more portentous to me now.
The damn pharmaceutical companies stock skyrocketed. It was so cheap to produce the product everybody was happy. The rich were praised for their endowments, the middle class watched their investments grow, and the poor could afford the cure for themselves and their families. I almost feel sorry for the poor sap who invested in them. He’s either dead or walking around dead more concerned for human flesh than his portfolio. It’s strange how cancer is now considered the lesser of the two evils. From the day of discovery to the day of my families’ vacation only took about four months. That my friend is some tough actin’ tinactin!
Three quarters of that time was spent with some hearty suppression of side effects by the drug companies’ attorneys and public relations goons. It was already on the market so who wanted to lose billions of dollars and be on the defending end of a worldwide legal case? (Ladies and gentleman please raise your hands!) So here we were about halfway to the cabin and the CD was over when I switched on radio to AM to listen to the news. I had noticed a lot of police and military activity on the way but I chalked it up to be another accident during rush hour traffic and we do have a few military bases located in Georgia. Every station including the one I was listing to was not playing music but broadcasting an emergency alert. They were talking about some spill, or a leak at some unnamed chemical factory, or this and that. I guess it depended on what station you were on. Either way they said not to be alarmed whatever catastrophe that was happening it was in the process of being contained. Yeah right. I should have known the media would be so far up their own asses they’d have to do their own report with a lantern.
My daughter Shelby was the first to recommend that we get some extra supplies just in case and I agreed. Those bright blue eyes if hers always got an extra bedtime story out of me when she was young tot. She was always a smart girl. She’s twenty years old but she happened to be staying with us to save some money and was planning to move to Portland, Oregon. I’m glad that she decided to go with us to the water park because she would not have been with us that day. We eventually pulled off the interstate at the behest of many drivers same intention and arrived at a mom n’ pop convenience store. There were more cars than usual on and off the road and I wanted to fill the gas cans I had in the SUV for the generator at the cabin. We had electricity at the cabin but something told me I’d need them.
There was an uneasy tension and anxiety in the air as more vehicles were pulling up to fill their gas tanks. It seemed the high gas prices suddenly dropped and the whole city were taking advantage of it not knowing how long it was going to last. I guess I’m not the only one with a radio. I hadn’t even put the car in park when I heard my son ask “Dad can I go in with you?” “Sure sport.” I nodded. Shannon and Shelby stayed in the car while Simon joined me in our little shopping venture. I rolled my eyes a little knowing Slim Jims and chocolate milk were going to be added to the list. We got inside and paid for the gas and grocery items including my son’s nutritional snack. I also as a second thought bought some batteries an extra flashlight. Shannon was pumping the gas when I noticed several ambulances and police cruisers flying past the station in several directions. The blaring sirens and the confused looks on everybody’s faces made me feel uneasy. I could see the tentativeness in her eyes as well.
“Dad I have to go to the bathroom.” Simon’s comment broke me from my trance. Trying not to show my worry I told him to hold on a minute and let’s put the stuff in the car and tell your mother that we have to go to the restroom. He nodded in approval.
We made out way to the side of the building but the door was locked. I forgot how in this day and age trust was not commonplace. This was made apparent when we got the key from the store owner and attached to it was a two foot long chain hooked to a cinderblock. I felt a little foolish as we made our back around to the side of the building. (Hey everybody look at me! I’m the amazing Cinderblock Pee Man!) I refrained from saying this out loud as I’ve learned Simon was at that age when my cheese ball comments were starting to be embarrassing. Needless to say our destination had arrived.
I had to hold the cement block in my left hand while I tried the key with my right as the chain was not long enough to reach the ground. I could almost imagine some poor schmuck squirming in place with their bowels about to burst and having to solve a complex juggling feat concerning keys, a chain, and a cinderblock. (Ta-da! Take a bow!) My son stood fixated as if I was unlocking The Great Houdini’s cabinet. I kept that one to myself as well. As I turned the doorknob a stench greeted me like none I have ever smelled. At first I figured that restroom cleanliness was not among the storekeeper’s finer points. That was when this dark shape lunged at me out of the darkness of its tomb. I rose the block between us as its fetid and pungent odor met my nostrils and fell on my back halfway in and out of the doorway. He smelled as if he had rubbed road kill all over his body in an attempt to mask his scent and then upended the carcass overhead to squeeze what fluid and bile remained to rain down on his face. The mad derelict snarled and snapped at my faced the same time my son screamed “Dad!” my first thought was I’m being attacked by a crazy bum. The only thing keeping him from tearing into my face was the cinderblock. (It didn’t feel foolish now.)
I yelled for help but no one seemed to answer. Then Simon kicked him, hard. He shifted a little but the transient was so caught up in his own delirium he hardly seemed to notice. I told Simon to back away and go get Mom. He hesitated not wanting to leave me pinned under this insane lunatic until I yelled “Go! Now!” He disappeared in an instant. As this thing tried to climb higher towards my face it was flailing at me with a ravenous frenzy. I tried to hold its wrists and the son of bitch tried to bite my arm. I pushed back with the block with all my might. This fucker was strong. I’m six foot 200 pounds and I was the one struggling. That’s when I got a good look at his face or what was left of it.
It looked as if some wild animal had been gnawing at him. His one good eye was lifeless, cloudy and opaque which was in stark contrast to the other. Where the other eye should have been was replaced by a dark crimson crater with traces of bone showing like the white rim of a volcano spewing red and black magma across the mantle of its countenance. My wife’s shriek interrupted my anatomical inspection followed by the clank of my gun next to my head. God bless her. Shannon remembered the .45 handgun I kept in the glove compartment; unfortunately she didn’t remember to hold on to it tightly. I guess my son made a strong case of the direness of the situation. He’ll make a great attorney someday. I just hoped I’d live to see it and not have this lavatory of horror be my final resting place.
What happened next probably only took a few seconds but seemed to go forever like when you’re in an auto accident and time appears to slow down. As I heard my wife scream “Oh my God!” and Shelby’s distant yelling from the car wanting to know what was going on, (They both felt a hundred miles away), I pushed up on the block with all my strength against this deranged creature’s chest with hope of dislodging him. I saw its translucent eye turn scarlet in an instant to match the other before I heard the gun report and his ghastly body slumped back against the frame. The door to the toilet behind its head turned instantly into a Sidney Pollack painting whose solitary color for today’s artwork was red. I followed the plume of smoke to the barrel of the gun to the small hands up the tear streaked cheeks and into the changed eyes of my son. I got up, brushed myself off and gently plied the gun from his fingers without ever taking my gaze off of him and then smiled. I reassured him that it I was alright while Shelby ran up to us crying from our obvious disheveled sight. Shannon knelt down in front of him and hugged him so tightly I’d thought she’d almost suffocate him. Simon didn’t say a word but I would hear him sob in his sleep when he crawled in our bed later on that evening. The ride the rest of the way to the cabin was made in silence with only the sound of the passing sirens to accompany our thoughts.
(Chapter 2 coming soon! Here’s a little taste… so to speak)
CHAPTER 2
I still see Simon’s innocence being chipped away little by little every time I look at him, even at play. At eleven and a half years old playtime now consists of practicing with his sword and or working on his shooting skills and sometimes sparring with me. I’ve been teaching him martial arts since he was three. Don’t get me wrong he’s not developing into a serial killer or anything. Simon’s a great kid; he just had to develop mentally and emotionally beyond his years because of our situation. He’s always been pretty intelligent; survivability has been forced on him at an early age… on all of us. Winter is here but no snow this year so far. It’s been seven months since our first outing and the supply trips do not relieve us of our cabin fever (No pun intended). Boredom has crept into our lives like the friend who asks to sleep on your couch for a couple of days and now its months later and he still won’t get a job. Nothing on T.V. except static or the please stand by signal. Every now and then I’ll catch a pirate broadcast on the radio but it’s nothing we don’t already know. The dead walk and boy those bastards are hungry… for us.
