5/2/2014

5/2/2014

I made it to the resturaunt, thankfully. That was the hard part. I woke up this morning at about seven thirty, according to my phone. After that it died, so the thing really doesn't matter anymore. Karen's always been on my ass to charge it more often. I guess if I'd foreseen the impending apocalypse, I'd have listened to her, but I'm the standard American teenager in a small town, I really don't have the ability to foresee Friday night. Which, ironically, it is right now. If it were a normal night, Mr. Hammond and I would be dealing with the Friday night crowd, usually the busiest night of the week.

After waking up, I sat up and looked around the car to see if there was any movement, alive or dead. Remember that gas station I stopped at yesterday? It was in plain view of the car and there was a pickup truck parked at the number three pump. Two guys with hunting rifles (or, well, what I assumed were hunting rifles, I don't really know guns all that well) were standing at the front and back of the truck. I could see at least one guy inside, though something told me there were two. I opened up the door that faced them so that they could see that I wasn't dead, then the closest one shot out the window. I instantly closed the door, even though I knew that wouldn't matter. I slipped out the door on the opposite side of the car just as I heard one of them reach me. He told me to get out of the car and give him my stuff, but I just kept to the side he couldn't see. He reached the car and yelled to his buddies that there was no one in the car, but one of the others said that he saw me. When he came around to my side of the car, I slid around to the front of the car, still out of sight of the others at the gas station.

This was when I got lucky. For no explainable reason, there appeared to be a fire axe under the car. I carefully slid it out from under the car and readied myself. I considered jumping out and scaring the man, but I had mental images of him just shooting me dead right then and there. Instead, I waited until I caught a glimpse of him and swung the axe, digging it into his leg. He fell to the ground, and must have pulled the trigger in a reflex action, because a gunshot rang out and nearly deafened me. I'd never heard a gunshot that close in my life. Today was actually full of things I'd never experienced in my life, not the least of which was cutting a man's leg off with in axe. I came around the car and pulled the axe out of his leg, which nearly made me gag. I could watch this stuff in movies or on TV, but seeing a large axe wound in an actual human being was a bit much.

I saw the look on his face, one that I was certain I would have seen on my own two days ago when I saw my mom get bitten by Mrs. Ferguson, or my dad bitten by my mom. He looked scared to death. He'd lost hold of his rifle, which I kicked away into the grass beside the car. It didn't take long for him to pass out. One of his buddies had run over to the car to find out what was going on. I grabbed the first guy's rifle and yelled at him to get away. I obviously looked like I'd never held a gun before, because I hadn't, outside of guns I made out of Legos when I was a kid, and those aren't as heavy as real guns. The guy, of course, didn't take me too seriously, because he shot a round off at my feet, which made me jump back a little. His buddies (I could now tell there were two of them) pulled the truck around and told him to hurry up with me. He grabbed my bag from where I'd dropped it and took everything but my notebook and a bottle of soda. None of them even tried to help their friend, they just left him to die on the side of the road thanks to blood loss from an axe wound caused by a sixteen year-old kid.

So, there I was, on the side of the road with man I'd killed. They didn't take the axe or the hunting rifle, either. Must have thought I could take care of myself, but didn't need the food. At least they didn't take you, my notebook. Two days in, this is already starting to feel like something I need to do to relax.

The rifle had a shoulder strap, so I awkwardly slung it over my shoulder, attempting to do what I'd seen in the movies, but it was a lot more difficult. I grabbed the notebook and the axe next, thinking it'd be a pretyt good weapon against the dead. It was a thought I'd actually have to put to the test mere seconds later, when the guy I killed sat up and tried to get me. I tossed the notebook on the hood of the car and slammed the axe down on the dead man's head. He didn't move after that. Splitting his skull open made me think about my mom. Coming down the stairs, I'd tripped on her head. Maybe damage to the head is what kills these things. It'd be something to try later on.

I gathered what little stuff I had and headed back to the gas station. Those guys had done a number on the place, knocked over shelves and everything. I grabbed what I could, again. This time, however, there were no plastic bags left. I found a book bag that probably belonged to one of the two dead employees I found in the back room. Dead-dead, not un-dead. Either they'd been undead and those guys shot them, or they'd been dead-dead when I stopped by yesterday. Either way, I was glad I found that book bag. I knew the girl who owned it, too. Sharon Baker, sat next to me in third period Chemistry. Karen always thought I stared at her too often. I emptied the book bag on the counter, finding her school books, her non-gas-station-employee clothes and a box of condoms. I guess Karen was right after all, she was screwing Brock Overman, the lead quarterback. I handed her the twenty bucks I owed her when I got to the resturaunt.

Dumping all my new stuff in the extremely pink book bag, I tried to more accurately sling the rifle over my shoulder and kept the axe at the ready. I probably looked like a damn gay hunter, or something. I got on my way and started hoofin' it for the resturaunt. Too bad I lost that portable radio, but I wasn't going to head back home to replace it with the one my parents had. I was done with my house, forever. My dad's probably still just crawling around there.

The trip started out pretty uneventful, but ended up very eventful. I don't know if the dead can tell where living people are, but there were probably twenty of them swarming the resturaunt. I kept to the other side of the road and made my way to the back of the building. On my way there, I spotted that homeless guy, still trying to get the dice in the soda can. I could see that Karen was the one rattling it, sitting at the window. I waved to her, but she wasn't paying attention to me, so I just ran to the back door and... found it wide open.

That wasn't good. I walked inside slowly, making sure I didn't miss any corners. No one presented themselves right away, so I shut the door and locked it. I walked a little further into the kitchen, still looking for any movement, but still not seeing any. It was around that time that a hand grabbed me and pulled me down and I almost put my axe in Mr. Hammond's head. He shushed me, then pointed over the counter. I peeked over the top of the counter and saw Sasha wandering around in the dining room, bumping into tables. Two other dead were trying to get in from outside, but the front doors must have still been locked. The other twenty or so were just hanging around outside, not trying to get in at all.

Mr. Hammond told me that around four o'clock that morning, Sasha came in, thinking that no one was there. He and Karen had kept the lights off, so they wouldn't attract any dead. Sasha had shown up, coughing up a storm. All the coughing was what attracted the local dead population, which was made up of the bus across the street at the bus depot. It was at six o'clock this morning when she died. Karen and her dad didn't know anything about it until she started banging on the door to the stairs, looking for someone to kill.

We left Sasha and went upstairs, where I immediately embraced Karen, who wouldn't let go of me. She asked me about all the stuff I had on me, and I told her the whole story. Thank God I wrote it down, I might have forgotten some of it. Two days ago feels like two weeks ago with all the stuff I've done since.

And I wasn't done just yet. Mr. Hammond and I went back downstairs, where he distracted Sasha, led her toward us, and I hid behind the counter and waited for her to get closer. When she got close enough, I stood up and swung my axe into her head. After that, Mr. Hammond and I had a silent memorial. Sasha was like an aunt to me, and a pretty good friend. We carried her out back and tossed her away from the door, then shut it again and made sure it was locked. Our actions had drawn more dead to the front door, but still not enough to cause any trouble.

For a few hours afterward, Karen and I just sat on the couch, watching TV. None of the local channels were playing anything but a steady stream of rescue stations and messages to stay inside. The cable networks were still running their usual programming. I guess they must have those planned by the week, or something. Maybe after a couple of days, they won't be playing anything, either.

Karen said something a little while ago that got me thinking. She told me how lucky she felt, since her dad was still alive and I was still alive. That got me thinking about my parents. I didn't even spend a second grieving over them on Wednesday when they died. Maybe it was shock, maybe I'm just a horrible son who wanted his parents dead, I don't know, but it bothers me now that it didn't bother me earlier. I hadn't even shed a tear over them. Karen did, when I told her, but I didn't. It really bothers me now.

Right now, Karen and I are still on the couch. She's asleep against my shoulder, while I'm sitting here writing this by candlelight. Mr. Hammond left us a blanket, which Karen is covered up with. I spent last night sleeping in a car, and the night before that in a closet. I guess I don't need blankets anymore. Good night, journal.