January 20th 2014 (Based on the assumption that my last post was correctly dated)
Sadly last night was uneventful. I suppose I should be glad that I was able to get a good night's sleep without the irritation of the stinking corpses wandering up on me to investigate but it's godawful boring to be able to sleep through the night in peace. I woke up to a blanket of snow this morning, but my sleeping bag held strong through the night because I wasn't shivering when my eyes opened. Dammit all, I thought driving south into Georgia would have helped stave off the snow, I guess I didn't travel far enough south. I'm considering heading on in to Florida. It's a bit more heavily populated but I figure with the high number of old people formerly living there the zombies might be on the slower side. Like shooting fish in a barrel. At any rate I decided to head into a more populated area for the day, get some action. I rolled out to Athens in hopes of finding some former cheerleaders to knock off. Never liked that whole crowd before and them all being zombies now gives me a good reason to kill them with no questions asked. It didn't take long on my way in to town to find some decent targets. I saw an aimlessly wandering crowd of flesh eaters moping around one of the far too abundant bars on the outskirts of town. It's impossible to drive anywhere in a decent sized city on account of the pile ups and traffic jams left over from all the idiots who thought that they could somehow drive to safety away from the plague of undead and rapidly newly dead undead swarming over like a plague of flies on a dead hookers ass so I parked it a good distance out of town, put on my leather jacket and gloves, pulled on my carhart coveralls and leather gloves and then topped it off with the motorcycle helmet I 'd salvaged from some poor idiot who'd become a grease spot during the mad dash. It fit well once I scraped what was left of him off of it. I find that equally important to a good set of weaponry is a good set of protective gear. Leather and plastic and heavy, heavy fabric are mush harder to bite through than an exposed piece of flesh, but I digress. Anyway, when I was fully suited I grabbed my trusty old bat and my shotgun which I prefer to use only when things get hairy, never waste shells and never trust a gun not to jam, that's my motto. All set I left my truck and wandered toward the crowd tapping my bat on the cement to draw some attention. Here they came lumbering like a plethora of lumber jacks. It always makes me laugh to see the variety of zombie types pouring out of the woodwork when they come. I swear one of the ugly fuckers had on a bowler hat. A bowler hat! In this day and age! Pretentious fuck, I'm glad I got an opportunity to bash his rotting cranium even if he was already dead. Served him right for that stupid looking hat. So on they came and I just stood and wound up. Smash! Down went a hairdresser, still clutching a plastic comb as though she had reason for it. Splat! This one was a cowboy wannabe. Fucker even had a bolo tie. One after another I swung and they fell, brains and gore flying like wood chips out of a gas powered chipper. When I get going it's like a piranha swarm in a feeding frenzy, focused and lethal but at the same time rapid and unstoppable. I swear this is what I was born for. There must have been 15 or twenty of em, at my best guess. Once I had a good pile of em lying there twitching out the last impulses that their rotted brains were sending to their now defunct nervous systems I headed on in to the bar. I used to take pause to rifle through their pockets but it never lead to anything worth while. What am I going to do with a collection of loose change and pocket lint anyway? So I did my customary door kick and waited for the stragglers to come running out. There were only a couple of em and I dispatched em with characteristic glee, one was a good ol' boy, well over 300 ponds by first glance and wearing a shirt emblazoned with skulls and flames. Probably a fan of newer Metallica, I took him down with extra enjoyment, I only like old Metallica personally. The other was your average looking bar slut, too much makeup still caked on her rotting face, I wiped it off for her. All was clear inside the bar. Zombies are funny like that, when one goes the whole crowd likes to follow. They make it too easy sometimes. I dug around through the back of the bar, stepping over the few corpses that someone already had dispatched before being swarmed on and turned or torn asunder. Having plenty of food to last I decided to fill my pack with booze this time around. I'm careful not to drink to excess, gotta have your wits about you in days like these, but it does a body good to carry a nice buzz throughout the days. Helps to keep you loose and limbered up. I was packing in my last bottle, an expensive looking Gin (my personal favorite) when I almost was had. Somehow in my booze grabbing rapture I had neglected to notice the cocktail waitress rounding about on me. She actually got a hand on me before I was able to turn, kick her in the stomach spilling out some rotted innards and then smash her face into oblivion with a few well placed strokes of my signature weapon. I gave her a little extra fervor just for good measure and also to imbed the memory more firmly in my head. Can't be slipping like that. It never ends well when zombies are afoot. Satisfied with my findings for the day I made my way back to the truck, taking extra care not to be snuck up on again. I hopped in, took off my helmet and fired it up to head back out to the country. I find that being in a city doesn't do you well for relaxing time, too many corpses to ward off. Now I'm sitting back, listening to one of my old mix cd's made before the zombie takeover and sipping on that hard earned bottle of gin, slowly and softly mind you. No drunkards to impress with my tolerance level any more. So until tomorrow I bid myself ado. Talk to me again in the morning.