Zombie Wars, thus far
October 23, 2012
I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway. Or that Japanese soldier who came out of the jungle in Burma in 1965 not aware that WW2 had ended.
Last winter was hell. A century rain comes and I get snowed in. This is a desert; how the hell can I get snowed in?
So I set out across the desert, and shadows followed me.
Soundtrack; please c/p and open in another window; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYvNAHByKPM
The shadows were dreams of what life used to be. Life, when getting hit by a semi or dying of cancer or being over drawn on my bank account was my biggest fear. Now I am reduced to using yucca leaves for shoes and hoarding my last three bullets. I have dreams sometimes where I am laying down in my Mojave desert camp, and I see a shadow on the rock wall; a out-stretched hand holding a giant butchers blade, but then I wake up and there is no one there. The owls hoot and the winds moan and I try to sleep again. It is no use. When I do fall asleep the shadowed hand becomes a man and I see his face clearly; it is krazyKarl and his beard is flecked with bits of flesh and blood runs down his chin and he isn't holding a knife, he is plunging it again and again into my stomach, my liver. My bowels spill out and then I wake up.
I seriously can't take it anymore and I am getting the fuck out of here.
When I first came to this canyon the Chinese troops were prowling everywhere. They may have picked up on my radio broadcasts or the sounds of my generator as I surfed the interwebs. Now the gas is gone and the airwaves are silent. There is no more transcripts from the military bases. All is quiet.
I was afraid to leave the compound for a long time. I eventually left it and ventured further into the canyon. There I found a cave and the ruins of an old anasazi fort. I stayed there for a long time, as there was a nearby stream that attracted many deer and big horn sheep. For many months I could see the distant lights of the Chinese humvees fourteen miles away on the highway. One night there was a large flash of light to the East, and after that, no more troops.
At night the shadows of my fire painted dark faces on the wall and figures of smoke that danced seemed to crowd closer and closer to my fire the more I ate the peyote. I was one with the cherokee indians who used to live here; weaving nets and spearing fish from the stream and killing deer and rabbits with atal darts I made from chert. I brewed a strong alcohol from the mescal that grew in the flat lands. It was a good life until the squirrel started talking to me.
I was sleeping like a corpse. My hands were interlocked on my chest. My serape was off and spread over my body like a blanket, or burial shroud. My flat rimmed cowboy hat was pulled over my eyes. The Moon was a lazy crescent tilting to spill its shadow out and the sky was ablaze with stars; amazing how beautiful the night was when there was no city lights anymore. And the air, quiet. Back in the days before the fowelri zombies you couldn't go far enough into the wilderness to escape the sound of passing jetliners. Now there was the sound of insects and wind and me, nothing more.
" Yerded. "
I groaned and farted but did not yet wake up.
" Yerded! "
My eyes opened, but I thought it was going to be just like the bad dream with KrazyKarl the knife wielding lunatic. I would roll over and go back to sleep. But not tonight. I saw him outlined in the fireglow.
" Wake up, you dummy, " the squirrel said.
I rolled over and rubbed my eyes. I knew I was still drunk, and the peyote had a funny way of double dipping but I woke right the hell up when the little son of a bitch bit my thigh.
" Wake up ! "
The squirrel had a drill sargents voice, not some Calvin and the Chipmunks pussy brigade. I sat up.
" Look, " the squirrel said. " you are not much of a warrior, but all the old ones we used are ghosts and we feel a need to intervene. "
The animal had coal black eyes but they shown with a keen intelligence. I was no longer sure that I was awake.
The squirrel continued; " you need to get the fuck out of this canyon. Take the tarps that are by the old military outpost and make a balloon. You need to get to a place in Colorado. Peoples and things are gathering. My confederate Ehecatl, will see you to the location you need to be. We have a special task for you. "
Beings as my nature is cantankerous his attitude was seriously beginning to get on my nerves. Then, he gave me some mushrooms...
I ate them all, a large handful.
Soon the world squared off into a snapshot; a framed picture that tilted five degrees to the right, then more and more until it was ready to fall. It tilted down, and down, and cascaded into a maze of mirrors that led off into infinity. I saw a volcano and a boy trying to carry a ring up the slope, but the view was far up and away, as if I was a hawk. It flashed to a battlefield filled with men carrying guns and shovels, and dogs riding atop tanks carrying machine guns plunging forward through a haze of smoke. The haze cleared and there was a single rose growing in a field of fallen bricks and steel cable. I saw a child, a girl, and she scooped up a handful of dust and saw that as the grains fell from her hand that it was not sand, but tiny universes and worlds tumbling down. It seemed like figures were dancing around my fire. The furry little anthropomorph was still yelling at me, but now he appeared to float above the rock he had been sitting on. Then the squirrel seemed to grow. Now it was seven feet tall. I only remember him giving me instructions, but I couldn't tell you what he said; it was more of a chant. He was as real as you or me.
Then, I blacked out.
When I woke up my fire was cold, but next to it there was a leather cord with carved beads and small feathers next to it. I tied this around my neck. I began following the stream down canyon. It wasn't long before I came across an outpost. There was a jeep with no gas, but plenty of guns and ammo and I found a nice pair of boots on one of the skeletons. Inside the cinder block guard tower there was a room with food and heavy plastic sheeting. This I used to make the balloon. It took me several days to construct it. I worked mostly at night. The Squirrel was there, and kept me well supplied with mushrooms and instructed me. His trick of using a propane cylinder from the forklift to fire the balloon was brilliant. As the balloon rose I looked back into the canyon that had been my home for the last two and a half years. I didn't know where I was heading, but the winds speed me straight East.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Late that same night far away...
Detroit
He was out of food. All of his friends were dead. It was time.
This running and hiding and scavenging food like an animal was lame. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. The Fowleri were all gathered in a row house. There was grotesque sounds coming from the other side of the door. He didn't want to think about it. Soon, it would be dark and they would come out. Burn it down? Drive a truck through the building? He saw a storage shed next to the building and opened it up. The answer was clear and it was time to fight back.
He didn't know it, but similar scenes were being played out all across the remains of America. Some had happened last week, some were happening right now, and some had yet to play out. That last remnants of fighting spirit had waken up, and the survivors were beginning to live again by fighting back, by hunting these bastard zombies down and chopping them to pieces.
He stood in front of the door with it ready, and said a silent prayer.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nIYreBOh1g#t=2m10s
http://forums.bf2s.com/viewtopic.php?id=124096
October 23, 2012
I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway. Or that Japanese soldier who came out of the jungle in Burma in 1965 not aware that WW2 had ended.
Last winter was hell. A century rain comes and I get snowed in. This is a desert; how the hell can I get snowed in?
So I set out across the desert, and shadows followed me.
Soundtrack; please c/p and open in another window; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYvNAHByKPM
The shadows were dreams of what life used to be. Life, when getting hit by a semi or dying of cancer or being over drawn on my bank account was my biggest fear. Now I am reduced to using yucca leaves for shoes and hoarding my last three bullets. I have dreams sometimes where I am laying down in my Mojave desert camp, and I see a shadow on the rock wall; a out-stretched hand holding a giant butchers blade, but then I wake up and there is no one there. The owls hoot and the winds moan and I try to sleep again. It is no use. When I do fall asleep the shadowed hand becomes a man and I see his face clearly; it is krazyKarl and his beard is flecked with bits of flesh and blood runs down his chin and he isn't holding a knife, he is plunging it again and again into my stomach, my liver. My bowels spill out and then I wake up.
I seriously can't take it anymore and I am getting the fuck out of here.
When I first came to this canyon the Chinese troops were prowling everywhere. They may have picked up on my radio broadcasts or the sounds of my generator as I surfed the interwebs. Now the gas is gone and the airwaves are silent. There is no more transcripts from the military bases. All is quiet.
I was afraid to leave the compound for a long time. I eventually left it and ventured further into the canyon. There I found a cave and the ruins of an old anasazi fort. I stayed there for a long time, as there was a nearby stream that attracted many deer and big horn sheep. For many months I could see the distant lights of the Chinese humvees fourteen miles away on the highway. One night there was a large flash of light to the East, and after that, no more troops.
At night the shadows of my fire painted dark faces on the wall and figures of smoke that danced seemed to crowd closer and closer to my fire the more I ate the peyote. I was one with the cherokee indians who used to live here; weaving nets and spearing fish from the stream and killing deer and rabbits with atal darts I made from chert. I brewed a strong alcohol from the mescal that grew in the flat lands. It was a good life until the squirrel started talking to me.
I was sleeping like a corpse. My hands were interlocked on my chest. My serape was off and spread over my body like a blanket, or burial shroud. My flat rimmed cowboy hat was pulled over my eyes. The Moon was a lazy crescent tilting to spill its shadow out and the sky was ablaze with stars; amazing how beautiful the night was when there was no city lights anymore. And the air, quiet. Back in the days before the fowelri zombies you couldn't go far enough into the wilderness to escape the sound of passing jetliners. Now there was the sound of insects and wind and me, nothing more.
" Yerded. "
I groaned and farted but did not yet wake up.
" Yerded! "
My eyes opened, but I thought it was going to be just like the bad dream with KrazyKarl the knife wielding lunatic. I would roll over and go back to sleep. But not tonight. I saw him outlined in the fireglow.
" Wake up, you dummy, " the squirrel said.
I rolled over and rubbed my eyes. I knew I was still drunk, and the peyote had a funny way of double dipping but I woke right the hell up when the little son of a bitch bit my thigh.
" Wake up ! "
The squirrel had a drill sargents voice, not some Calvin and the Chipmunks pussy brigade. I sat up.
" Look, " the squirrel said. " you are not much of a warrior, but all the old ones we used are ghosts and we feel a need to intervene. "
The animal had coal black eyes but they shown with a keen intelligence. I was no longer sure that I was awake.
The squirrel continued; " you need to get the fuck out of this canyon. Take the tarps that are by the old military outpost and make a balloon. You need to get to a place in Colorado. Peoples and things are gathering. My confederate Ehecatl, will see you to the location you need to be. We have a special task for you. "
Beings as my nature is cantankerous his attitude was seriously beginning to get on my nerves. Then, he gave me some mushrooms...
I ate them all, a large handful.
Soon the world squared off into a snapshot; a framed picture that tilted five degrees to the right, then more and more until it was ready to fall. It tilted down, and down, and cascaded into a maze of mirrors that led off into infinity. I saw a volcano and a boy trying to carry a ring up the slope, but the view was far up and away, as if I was a hawk. It flashed to a battlefield filled with men carrying guns and shovels, and dogs riding atop tanks carrying machine guns plunging forward through a haze of smoke. The haze cleared and there was a single rose growing in a field of fallen bricks and steel cable. I saw a child, a girl, and she scooped up a handful of dust and saw that as the grains fell from her hand that it was not sand, but tiny universes and worlds tumbling down. It seemed like figures were dancing around my fire. The furry little anthropomorph was still yelling at me, but now he appeared to float above the rock he had been sitting on. Then the squirrel seemed to grow. Now it was seven feet tall. I only remember him giving me instructions, but I couldn't tell you what he said; it was more of a chant. He was as real as you or me.
Then, I blacked out.
When I woke up my fire was cold, but next to it there was a leather cord with carved beads and small feathers next to it. I tied this around my neck. I began following the stream down canyon. It wasn't long before I came across an outpost. There was a jeep with no gas, but plenty of guns and ammo and I found a nice pair of boots on one of the skeletons. Inside the cinder block guard tower there was a room with food and heavy plastic sheeting. This I used to make the balloon. It took me several days to construct it. I worked mostly at night. The Squirrel was there, and kept me well supplied with mushrooms and instructed me. His trick of using a propane cylinder from the forklift to fire the balloon was brilliant. As the balloon rose I looked back into the canyon that had been my home for the last two and a half years. I didn't know where I was heading, but the winds speed me straight East.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Late that same night far away...
Detroit
He was out of food. All of his friends were dead. It was time.
This running and hiding and scavenging food like an animal was lame. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. The Fowleri were all gathered in a row house. There was grotesque sounds coming from the other side of the door. He didn't want to think about it. Soon, it would be dark and they would come out. Burn it down? Drive a truck through the building? He saw a storage shed next to the building and opened it up. The answer was clear and it was time to fight back.
He didn't know it, but similar scenes were being played out all across the remains of America. Some had happened last week, some were happening right now, and some had yet to play out. That last remnants of fighting spirit had waken up, and the survivors were beginning to live again by fighting back, by hunting these bastard zombies down and chopping them to pieces.
He stood in front of the door with it ready, and said a silent prayer.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nIYreBOh1g#t=2m10s
http://forums.bf2s.com/viewtopic.php?id=124096
