I briefly considered forcing the doors open with my spade, but dropped the idea almost immediately. I'd probably destroy the lock in the process, and a broken front door would hardly be the best start to my impregnable fortress. I needed to find the key.
I rested my head against the door and rubbed my tired eyes. Where the hell was I going to find this specific key? A spark of inspiration made it through the haze in my head and I gave the door 3 tentative knocks. 'Hello?' I called. 'Anyone home?' After a minute of solid silence, I had to conclude that there was not.
I sighed and looked around at nothing in particular. My eyes fell on the small house at the edge of the graveyard. The small house that looked just like the type of house a graveyard caretaker would live in. If I was lucky, he'd have a key to the church. If I wasn't, the house would be full of walkers and I'd get my face eaten. I hoped for the former.
As I made my way through the forest of grave markers, a thought struck me. This graveyard was the first walker-free place I had seen today. I was literally walking on corpses, but I was safer than I had been all day. I could see several walkers in the distance, milling about aimlessly, but none of them came near me. I climbed over the low stone wall that framed the graveyard and dropped into a small vegetable garden behind the house. I made a mental note to go back and check it later.
Careful not to make too much noise, I tried to peer through a window. I could make out a few vague shapes, but the room was so dark and the windows so dirty that I couldn't see anything else. I went around the house to the front door. The front door was locked, but I had no qualms about breaking this one open. I wedged the head of the spade between the door and its frame, and gave it a hard push. It groaned and twisted, and with a loud, splintering crack it flew open. I jumped back, brandishing the spade and ready to smash any lurking walkers to a bloody pulp. I was met by the sight of a middle-aged man in overalls swinging gently by a noose around his neck.
I'd seen plenty of gruesome deaths during the last couple of hours, but this shocked more so than anything else had. For a religious man to commit suicide (and - according to his beliefs - get sent to hell for all eternity) rather than live in our world... Suffice to say, it gave "hell on earth" a whole new meaning. What can I say, suicide just gets to me.
I tried to pretend that the dead caretaker wasn't there as I rummaged the house. But the house was small, and I kept bumping into him when I had to get past. It sent shivers through me, and they weren't the nice, tingly kind of shivers. I looked through every drawer, closet and cupboard in the house, but I didn't find a single key. I was about to leave, but something popped into my head. It was possible that he didn't have a key for the church. But not to have any keys at all? That wasn't right.
I turned to the groundskeeper and looked him over, half hoping that I didn't find what I suspected. He had plenty of pockets, but only the big one on his chest seemed to have anything in it. I tapped it with my spade, and it made a muffled clinking sound. I sighed. I would have to fish out the keys from a dead man's pocket. I got up on a chair next to him and stuck my hand down the pocket, praying that he wouldn't suddenly come alive and take a chunk out of my arm. My hand touched a cold metal ring, and I quickly pulled whatever it was out and jumped down. It was an iron key-chain with four different keys on it. I did a mental fist-pump and got the fuck out of there.
Friday, 16 September 2011
Thursday, 15 September 2011
Eleventh Entry: Deus Ex Machina
I had hoped to outrun the infection - to find shelter somewhere the walkers hadn't shown up yet - but it quickly became clear that I wouldn't be so lucky. The city was in a state of panic. Screams of pain and fear mingled with the moans of the undead. Many tried to defend themselves with whatever they could get their hands on; folding chairs, umbrellas, walking canes. It only delayed the inevitable.
I saw the same scene play out on every street. Small groups of humans (many still in pajamas) armed with improvised weapons, trying to defend themselves from an overwhelming number of walkers. They all got overrun in the end, the walkers swarming over them like ants on fresh roadkill. They would soon rise as new bodies for the walker swarm. Some people made it to their cars. Most did not.
It wasn't long before every street was choked with cars and bodies. I saw a car full of people crash into a score of walkers. Halfway through the group of walkers, the car got stuck. The wheels spun and squealed, sending walker parts flying backwards. Then the engine made a thunk noise and died. Walkers slammed dead fists through the car windows and started pulling themselves inside. It was like one of those cars filled with clowns, but in reverse. And with dead people.
I eventually made it out of the suburbs. There was further between walkers out here, and the houses were gathered in small clusters with large grass areas or small woods between them. I had been running for almost an hour by then, and I was completely exhausted. Adrenaline had kept me going for a while, but I hadn't eaten or drank anything for almost 12 hours. I could only push myself so far, and I desperately needed to find shelter. Just then, the sun crested the horizon behind me, and a flash of gold caught my eye. A golden cross seemed to appear in mid-air a few hundred yards away, reflecting the sun's first golden rays. My first thought was that maybe I had gone crazy. My second thought was that it hardly mattered. It quickly became clear that it was not in fact a magical flying cross, but the top of a church spire.
Dizzy from exhaustion and hunger, I stumbled towards the white stone building. I was lucky not to run into any more walkers, because I'm honestly not sure I could have taken them. I could barely lift my blood-covered spade. The church was in the middle of a graveyard with a chest-high stone wall around it, and the nearest adjacent building was a small house at the edge of the graveyard. It probably belonged to the caretaker. The church was perfect. The walls were made of large stone bricks that could withstand hundreds of walkers almost indefinitely. The windows were too high up for the walkers to reach. The only entrance was a pair of sturdy-looking wooden doors with metal studs on them, and the church tower would be a perfect vantage point.
I sprawled against the doors and tried to push them open. They didn't budge. Damn it.
I saw the same scene play out on every street. Small groups of humans (many still in pajamas) armed with improvised weapons, trying to defend themselves from an overwhelming number of walkers. They all got overrun in the end, the walkers swarming over them like ants on fresh roadkill. They would soon rise as new bodies for the walker swarm. Some people made it to their cars. Most did not.
It wasn't long before every street was choked with cars and bodies. I saw a car full of people crash into a score of walkers. Halfway through the group of walkers, the car got stuck. The wheels spun and squealed, sending walker parts flying backwards. Then the engine made a thunk noise and died. Walkers slammed dead fists through the car windows and started pulling themselves inside. It was like one of those cars filled with clowns, but in reverse. And with dead people.
I eventually made it out of the suburbs. There was further between walkers out here, and the houses were gathered in small clusters with large grass areas or small woods between them. I had been running for almost an hour by then, and I was completely exhausted. Adrenaline had kept me going for a while, but I hadn't eaten or drank anything for almost 12 hours. I could only push myself so far, and I desperately needed to find shelter. Just then, the sun crested the horizon behind me, and a flash of gold caught my eye. A golden cross seemed to appear in mid-air a few hundred yards away, reflecting the sun's first golden rays. My first thought was that maybe I had gone crazy. My second thought was that it hardly mattered. It quickly became clear that it was not in fact a magical flying cross, but the top of a church spire.
Dizzy from exhaustion and hunger, I stumbled towards the white stone building. I was lucky not to run into any more walkers, because I'm honestly not sure I could have taken them. I could barely lift my blood-covered spade. The church was in the middle of a graveyard with a chest-high stone wall around it, and the nearest adjacent building was a small house at the edge of the graveyard. It probably belonged to the caretaker. The church was perfect. The walls were made of large stone bricks that could withstand hundreds of walkers almost indefinitely. The windows were too high up for the walkers to reach. The only entrance was a pair of sturdy-looking wooden doors with metal studs on them, and the church tower would be a perfect vantage point.
I sprawled against the doors and tried to push them open. They didn't budge. Damn it.
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
Tenth Entry: Better Run Through The Jungle
I could feel the Survivor fading back into my subconsciousness as I stepped into the street. The fear returned, and with it came the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. Where should I go? What was happening to the world? How was I going to survive this? My reverie was brought to and abrupt end as the half-devoured corpse of a police officer lurched towards me out of the darkness.
Time seemed to slow down. I could see that large chunks of flesh had been torn out of his chest and neck. Blood - both fresh and old - stained his light blue uniform. His eyes were glazed with death.
With a scream not unlike that of an enraged silverback gorilla, I swung my spade in a wild arc. It hit the walker's head with a resounding bonk, and the force of the blow sent the walker sprawling. Before it could get back to its feet, I thrust the jagged tip of the spade into its neck. It sliced clean through the flesh and sinew, but caught on the bone. The walker thrashed around like a stranded fish, gnashing and snapping its teeth at me. I brought my foot down twice - hard - and the blade finally broke through the thing's spine and sank into the ground. The walker snapped its teeth once as a final salute before it stopped moving entirely.
I had to run. But where? The Survivor surfaced for a moment, outlining my three options.
Option one. I could head downtown. Supplies would surely be abundant there, but so would the walkers. People would almost certainly rush to the hospitals and police stations, turning them into deathtraps.
Option two. A building on the outskirts of the city would mean significantly fewer walkers, but the only nearby supplies would be from gas stations or small, local grocery stores.
Option three. If I left the city entirely, I could find a farmhouse - probably with other survivors - and have plenty of time to barricade the house. There would be virtually no walkers so far from cities, but the same goes for supplies. I would have to travel all the way to the city and back to gather supplies, and I had no means of transport.
After a moment's consideration, I started heading for the outskirts of the city. I ran through a dawn alive with the sounds of death. Screams, sirens and distant, sporadic gunfire could be heard from all directions. I stayed off the main roads whenever possible, using my spade to dispatch any walkers in my way and dodging the groups too numerous to take on by myself.
Time seemed to slow down. I could see that large chunks of flesh had been torn out of his chest and neck. Blood - both fresh and old - stained his light blue uniform. His eyes were glazed with death.
With a scream not unlike that of an enraged silverback gorilla, I swung my spade in a wild arc. It hit the walker's head with a resounding bonk, and the force of the blow sent the walker sprawling. Before it could get back to its feet, I thrust the jagged tip of the spade into its neck. It sliced clean through the flesh and sinew, but caught on the bone. The walker thrashed around like a stranded fish, gnashing and snapping its teeth at me. I brought my foot down twice - hard - and the blade finally broke through the thing's spine and sank into the ground. The walker snapped its teeth once as a final salute before it stopped moving entirely.
I had to run. But where? The Survivor surfaced for a moment, outlining my three options.
Option one. I could head downtown. Supplies would surely be abundant there, but so would the walkers. People would almost certainly rush to the hospitals and police stations, turning them into deathtraps.
Option two. A building on the outskirts of the city would mean significantly fewer walkers, but the only nearby supplies would be from gas stations or small, local grocery stores.
Option three. If I left the city entirely, I could find a farmhouse - probably with other survivors - and have plenty of time to barricade the house. There would be virtually no walkers so far from cities, but the same goes for supplies. I would have to travel all the way to the city and back to gather supplies, and I had no means of transport.
After a moment's consideration, I started heading for the outskirts of the city. I ran through a dawn alive with the sounds of death. Screams, sirens and distant, sporadic gunfire could be heard from all directions. I stayed off the main roads whenever possible, using my spade to dispatch any walkers in my way and dodging the groups too numerous to take on by myself.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Ninth Entry: Nerves of Steel
You learn a lot about yourself during an apocalypse. Some people fight bravely to save as many others as they can. Some people see the apocalypse as a chance to get some lootin' done. And some people just curl into a ball and start crying, unable to bear the terrible truth of it all. Something buried deep, deep down in the human psyche is roused, and much of a person's true nature is revealed.
When I realized the extent and deadliness of the walker invasion, that Something woke up. An overwhelming urge to survive followed by a cold, calculating and utterly efficient presence crashed into my mind like a block of steel. I let it take the wheel. The mind-numbing fear didn't disappear, but the Survivor - the steel in me - dismissed it. Fear was irrelevant. Facts mattered.
Data flashed through my mind faster than I could keep up. Did I have any cuts deep enough to be serious? No. Did I have so many small cuts that blood-loss would be a concern? No. Was I infected?
Infected? I hadn't even considered that. The Survivor must know something my conscious mind doesn't.
A quick glance at the blood around the dead walker showed me that I hadn't stepped in its blood. Good. It didn't appear that I had gotten any of its blood in the cuts on my arms and chest. Nothing to do about it now, anyway. Next step.
Was my current location defensible? Glass walls. Nowhere to properly barricade myself. No. I had to leave for a safer location ASAP. That meant travelling clothes. Taking care not to step in any blood, the Survivor led me to the master bedroom where I'd left my bag of clothes. Next step.
The walker's primary means of attack had been its bite, so my clothes needed to be strong. Jeans, a t-shirt and a thick hoodie would have to do for now. The closet produced a pair of expensive hiking boots and an old but sturdy trench coat. I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed out of the room. Next step.
Defending myself. There was sure to be many more walkers out there, so I needed to get hold of a weapon before I could go anywhere. I grabbed a cleaver from the kitchen, and weighed it in my hand. It was heavy enough, and I had no doubts that it could pierce a skull, but getting that close to a walker was risky. It would certainly serve as a last resort, but I needed something bigger. Something heavy enough to knock a walker down, but light enough to transport easily.
Christ. Moose. What had happened to him? Was he even still alive? What about my friends? My family?
After making sure that there were no walkers in the garden, I made my way to a stack of gardening tools Moose had left standing against the shed. A pair of shears, a broom, a saw... and a mean-looking spade. Perfect. I took a few practice swings with it. Perfect length. Perfect weight. A perfect row of wicked-looking teeth cut into the end of the blade. And it made a very satisfying metallic sound when I slid my hand along its edge.
Oh yes. This would do nicely.
When I realized the extent and deadliness of the walker invasion, that Something woke up. An overwhelming urge to survive followed by a cold, calculating and utterly efficient presence crashed into my mind like a block of steel. I let it take the wheel. The mind-numbing fear didn't disappear, but the Survivor - the steel in me - dismissed it. Fear was irrelevant. Facts mattered.
Data flashed through my mind faster than I could keep up. Did I have any cuts deep enough to be serious? No. Did I have so many small cuts that blood-loss would be a concern? No. Was I infected?
Infected? I hadn't even considered that. The Survivor must know something my conscious mind doesn't.
A quick glance at the blood around the dead walker showed me that I hadn't stepped in its blood. Good. It didn't appear that I had gotten any of its blood in the cuts on my arms and chest. Nothing to do about it now, anyway. Next step.
Was my current location defensible? Glass walls. Nowhere to properly barricade myself. No. I had to leave for a safer location ASAP. That meant travelling clothes. Taking care not to step in any blood, the Survivor led me to the master bedroom where I'd left my bag of clothes. Next step.
The walker's primary means of attack had been its bite, so my clothes needed to be strong. Jeans, a t-shirt and a thick hoodie would have to do for now. The closet produced a pair of expensive hiking boots and an old but sturdy trench coat. I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed out of the room. Next step.
Defending myself. There was sure to be many more walkers out there, so I needed to get hold of a weapon before I could go anywhere. I grabbed a cleaver from the kitchen, and weighed it in my hand. It was heavy enough, and I had no doubts that it could pierce a skull, but getting that close to a walker was risky. It would certainly serve as a last resort, but I needed something bigger. Something heavy enough to knock a walker down, but light enough to transport easily.
Christ. Moose. What had happened to him? Was he even still alive? What about my friends? My family?
After making sure that there were no walkers in the garden, I made my way to a stack of gardening tools Moose had left standing against the shed. A pair of shears, a broom, a saw... and a mean-looking spade. Perfect. I took a few practice swings with it. Perfect length. Perfect weight. A perfect row of wicked-looking teeth cut into the end of the blade. And it made a very satisfying metallic sound when I slid my hand along its edge.
Oh yes. This would do nicely.
Saturday, 10 September 2011
Eight Entry: Smoke On The Water
I stumbled through the broken window and into the front yard in a haze, oblivious to the glass shards cutting the soles of my feet. At this point, I noticed three things.
One. I couldn't see the city lights because a pall of black, acrid smoke covered the city. It stung my eyes and I had trouble breathing.
Two. The air was thick with the sound of screams and sirens. Blue and red flashes from further up the street sent mad shadows dancing over the corpses - walking and otherwise - that filled the streets. I saw one of our neighbours - a seven foot heavyweight in his prime - get pulled down by a dozen walking corpses, his screams muffled by a pile of rotting flesh.
Three. I had to get the fuck out of there.
One. I couldn't see the city lights because a pall of black, acrid smoke covered the city. It stung my eyes and I had trouble breathing.
Two. The air was thick with the sound of screams and sirens. Blue and red flashes from further up the street sent mad shadows dancing over the corpses - walking and otherwise - that filled the streets. I saw one of our neighbours - a seven foot heavyweight in his prime - get pulled down by a dozen walking corpses, his screams muffled by a pile of rotting flesh.
Three. I had to get the fuck out of there.
Friday, 9 September 2011
Seventh Entry: Trapped in a Glass Case of Emotion
I wish walkers really did eat brains. If they did, there would only be the one. Think about it.
The dark figure that crashed through my window in a shower of glass shards didn't even try to eat my brains. It went for my face instead. I had only enough time to scream and raise my blanket before me in defense before he was on me and we toppled to the ground in a struggling heap. I'd somehow managed to get the blanket over the maniac's head, and I could see his face outlined against the taut fabric and hear the clack-clack-clack of snapping teeth.
With equal amounts adrenaline and fear I pushed him off me and scampered away on all fours. He was still tangled up in the blanket as I got to my feet. He was grunting and making these weird hissing sounds as he thrashed about on the floor. At this point I was pretty much scared out of my mind. When he suddenly reared to his feet and I saw that he was an it (that is to say, a terrifying parody of a human being with its ribs cracked open and face caked in blood), I sort of blacked out. When I came to, I was standing above the creature, repeatedly smashing its head in with a rather large bunny figurine.
I was covered in tiny nicks and cuts, probably from the glass shards covering the floor. When I came to my senses, I was filled with first horror (holy shit, I just killed this guy), then confusion (wait a second, that thing wasn't a guy) and then right back to horror (something just tried to eat my face).
The dark figure that crashed through my window in a shower of glass shards didn't even try to eat my brains. It went for my face instead. I had only enough time to scream and raise my blanket before me in defense before he was on me and we toppled to the ground in a struggling heap. I'd somehow managed to get the blanket over the maniac's head, and I could see his face outlined against the taut fabric and hear the clack-clack-clack of snapping teeth.
With equal amounts adrenaline and fear I pushed him off me and scampered away on all fours. He was still tangled up in the blanket as I got to my feet. He was grunting and making these weird hissing sounds as he thrashed about on the floor. At this point I was pretty much scared out of my mind. When he suddenly reared to his feet and I saw that he was an it (that is to say, a terrifying parody of a human being with its ribs cracked open and face caked in blood), I sort of blacked out. When I came to, I was standing above the creature, repeatedly smashing its head in with a rather large bunny figurine.
I was covered in tiny nicks and cuts, probably from the glass shards covering the floor. When I came to my senses, I was filled with first horror (holy shit, I just killed this guy), then confusion (wait a second, that thing wasn't a guy) and then right back to horror (something just tried to eat my face).
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Sixth Entry: Blackout
I woke up before dawn to a dark and cold house. When I tried turning on the lights, nothing happened. The usual warm floor felt like walking on icy needles. The power must have been out for several hours, because water from the freezer covered the kitchen floor, and a terrible smell - spoiled food, I thought - permeated the house. I tried going back to sleep, but no luck. I decided to watch the sunrise instead. I'd done it often when I was a kid, getting up early to catch the best cartoons and watch the light flood over the city like a wave. It was always quite a sight. I shuffled to the front of the house in nothing but my boxers and a thick blanket, ready to catch some rays.
I stood looking out into the night for a few minutes, before realizing that something was wrong. I couldn't see any of the city lights. Outside the window was a darkness so complete that the only thing I could see was my own ghost-like reflection. I went right up to the glass wall and put my hand against it, trying to see anything outside.
Things went downhill quickly from there.
A fist banged against the glass right in front of my eyes. I gave a frightened jump backwards, tangling my feet in the blanket and fell on my ass. The fist descended again, and a tiny crack snaked along the surface of the glass. My mind raced. A burglar? A passing drunk? Who would try to break into a house in the middle of the night? And who would do it by punching through a glass wall? I scrambled to my feet and clutched the blanket before me. A ball of fear had lodged itself in my stomach, and it was going to stay there for a while.
I stood looking out into the night for a few minutes, before realizing that something was wrong. I couldn't see any of the city lights. Outside the window was a darkness so complete that the only thing I could see was my own ghost-like reflection. I went right up to the glass wall and put my hand against it, trying to see anything outside.
Things went downhill quickly from there.
A fist banged against the glass right in front of my eyes. I gave a frightened jump backwards, tangling my feet in the blanket and fell on my ass. The fist descended again, and a tiny crack snaked along the surface of the glass. My mind raced. A burglar? A passing drunk? Who would try to break into a house in the middle of the night? And who would do it by punching through a glass wall? I scrambled to my feet and clutched the blanket before me. A ball of fear had lodged itself in my stomach, and it was going to stay there for a while.
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