DAY 11

DAY 11:


I don’t know how to explain it.  It doesn’t make sense to me.  My leg was a mess yesterday.  A man bit into it, chewed on it, drew a lot of blood.  The wound was painful, ragged and gnarly looking.  Had it happened two weeks ago, I would have been in an emergency room getting stitches and shot up with antibiotics.  When I woke up this morning, I removed the strips of cloth I had tied around it.  There was dried blood on my makeshift bandages and around the wound.  I cleaned the blood off, and my leg was fine.  There were obvious teeth marks where that asshole bit me, but they were just scars.  The area around the bite is still a little discolored, like a week old bruise, but all the places where teeth punctured flesh are now covered in fresh pink scar tissue.

There’s no pain when I touch it or walk on it.  It’s as if the attack had happened three or four months ago, not less than 24 hours ago.  I’m trying to wrap my mind around this, but I can’t quite do it.  Puzzles aren’t my thing, I’m always surprised by the twists in movies, I need the detective to lead me step by step through the solution to the mystery, I’m always the last one to figure out who done it.  But there’s no one here to help me figure this one out; I’m on my own.  But it looks like I’ll be here a little while longer, the alcohol didn’t kill me, and neither did those psychos out on the street.

I have to start scavenging for food, I’m about out.  I realized this morning, once the shock of my overnight healing wore off, that though I got the weapons from the cop, I failed to get the extra ammo.  In my defense, I was a little preoccupied by red-eyed lunatics.  I’m going to go back out and grab that ammo, and then I’ll start searching the apartments on the ground floor and work my way up.  I guess I feel a little better about doing this now that I’m armed, though I should probably figure out how these things operate first; I was probably very lucky yesterday.


I’ve been sitting in front of this laptop for several minutes trying to decide how to explain this.  And that’s after several hours of going through other people’s apartments, running it back and forth through my mind.  I shot that woman in the chest.  I know it.  She fell on top of me and was quite dead.  It may have been the first time I’ve ever fired a gun, but she was only a couple feet away, and I saw the bullet hit her in the chest.  There was blood.  She stopped moving.  You don’t survive that kind of thing; even if you immediately get rushed to a hospital, which she hadn’t been.  When you take a bullet to the middle of your chest, you die.

I went back out to the police car, and the asshole that used my thigh for a chew toy was still there in the middle of the street, but the woman was gone.  I looked all around the car and couldn’t find her.  I even looked around and under some of the nearby cars parked along the street, but there was no sign of her.  I suppose someone could have come by and taken her, but that seems unlikely, and the guy was still there.  It’s like she just got up and walked away.  But as I said, I know I shot her.  Even if the bullet hadn’t killed her right that second, you don’t get up and walk away from that.

Anyway, I got the extra magazines from the cop’s belt; I wasn’t about to try to take the belt off of him.  I found extra ammunition for both guns in the trunk of the police car.  I went through several of the ground floor apartments, saw, and smelled, far more dead people than I ever hoped to, and collected more food.  I guess I should search the apartments more thoroughly to see if there is anything else I can use, but food was the priority at the moment.  Some time in the next couple days I need to find the fuse boxes and see if there’s an easy way to cut power to all of the apartments but mine, and then figure out if the solar panels on the roof will power my apartment.  My laptop charge is down to about 50%.

I know I’m dodging the question about the woman.  I also know there’s an answer that I’m desperately trying to avoid.  It’s obvious that whatever virus the pandemic was spreading wasn’t the flu.  Mrs. Olmstead caught it, and she was like those people outside.  I’ll have to check her eyes, but I’m pretty sure I know what they’re going to look like.  Can I shoot Mrs. Olmstead?  Shit, there are probably more people like that in some of these apartments.  I don’t think I have enough ammo.




Posted on October 6, 2013, in Fiction and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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