DeTrious

I have a dim shadow of a hope that one day I’ll crack this journal open and write something really happy and positive.  Today is not that day.

Well to start the shit storm off right, last week we hit a horde of ghouls.  They were all inside a church nearby a gas station we were scraping for supplies.  Sticky was outside syphoning gas when they spotted him.  (Now, this is where movies and video games get people into trouble with zombies.)  Sticky sees the horde and launches a bucket of gas at them, followed by a zippo.  I can’t fault him for it, I think most people would have done the same.  However, a hungry flesh-eating zombie cares about fire the same way he cares about what you’re wearing when he bites you.  The only difference in the bitter end: instead of a mob of zombies you now have a flaming mob of zombies, hungry as ever.  Good for you.

I imagine Sticky saw that scenario playing out differently.  We got back to the truck in time to get a few shots off, grab about half our supplies and run.  The two dozen flame-engulfed zombies overran the truck and gas pump, igniting everything in their path.  The truck went up in a blaze along with the whole fucking gas station.  We managed to get a distance between us with the fire slowing them down, looking back only to shot the ones still pursuing us.  So now we’re on foot, starving and running out of ammo – again.  We’ve been on the run until yesterday; we found an abandoned bank and sealed up in the vault for the night.  Sticky still can’t get over the fact that his fire tactic didn’t work.

When you stop to think about it, fire is a slow acting weapon.  If there’s a horde unaware of your presence and you lob a molotov at ‘em from a safe distance, they won’t have any idea they’re on fire, much less where it came from.  Then you sit back and enjoy the musky smell of burning meat-heads.  And plan to be there for a bit.  Zombies don’t cripple over and die when on fire.  They don’t feel pain, so they retain the ability to move until the muscle is complete jerky.

Posted in: Zombies by Detrious / Tags: apocalypse, guns, survivor, undead, Zombies

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What a fucking week.

First off, Sticky was proven wrong about his “zombie cloak” protecting his scent from flesh-eaters.  What a crock of shit.  We were about to check out this grocery store that looked abandoned when Sticky suggests the tar again.  We hadn’t seen so much as drop of blood for days, so I had to consider it.  So here we are all lubed up in this shit, sticky and smelling of burnt coal while we do a perimeter check.  The place was deserted, no electricity, so we go and crack open the sliding glass doors.  What a cluster-fuck.  The in the back of the store stood about fifty lifeless bodies.  Wall to wall ghouls oblivious to the world, and in walk three juicy humans ripe for the picking.  No zombie cloak.  As far as the zombies were concerned, we were dipped in chocolate.

Ya know, there’s a nice little moment you have with a zombie the first time you lock eyes.  It takes about 3-4 seconds before he’ll realize you’re human, especially if you startle one of them.  And in that moment, you have the slight advantage to plan the last minute of your life.

Those doors slid open, and we opened fire into the lot of ‘em before they had any idea.  Tamara was at the truck with the sniper rifle picking off any that got through the door.  After a minute or two, the street filled up and we made a run for the truck.  Thank god that thing has some power, we mowed over half of them driving away.  I still have that fucking tar on my clothes.

I give Sticky shit for using a shotgun, but honestly, it does the job in situations like that.  In close quarters with no need for stealth, the shotgun has the stopping power you need.  Not saying I’m giving up my Desert Eagle, but as long as we’re a team I feel better knowing he’s standing close by.

Posted in: Zombies by Detrious / Tags: apocalypse, guns, undead, Zombies

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Now that we’re on the move, the ammo has been draining fast.  It’s like I’m a fucking shit-magnet.  Three separate hordes in the past two days alone.  Food is running out, ammo is finite, sleep is a distant memory…but plenty of Zombies!  That should even everything out, right?

All sarcasm aside, we found another survivor.  I think his name is Steve or Sam or something like that.  We all call him Sticky.

So we stop at a gas station just off I-75 around Valdosta, and as we’re checking the joint for supplies and such…here comes Sticky.  I swear he scared the shit outta Johnny and me.  The guy had (and still has) black tar slathered all over his clothes.  I mean from head to toe.  Guy thinks it keeps the zombies away.

“Man, I’m telling you, it screws with their senses.  They ain’t used to no tar when they be looking for fleshies.  Mock me now but I swear, I ain’t seen a ghoul in days.  This is my zombie cloak. You all best get it good and on ya ‘fore they pick up yer scent.”

This guy cracks me up just by talking to him.  A little paranoid, but lets face it, the paranoid ones are pretty much all that’s left.  I guess you can’t be too safe.  Not saying I’m gonna go bathe in tar, but i like him.  Sticky is kind of a klutz, though.  If he makes it a week without a scratch, I’ll try the tar.

Johnny and Sticky are two peas in a pod.  Or I should say, Johnny likes Sticky.  This morning Johnny went over to Sticky while he was sleeping, grabbed his shoulders and pretended to bite him.  Sticky nearly shit himself when he felt the bite.  I’m surprised we didn’t have a handful of ghouls on us, he screams louder than any girl I’ve ever met.  And he nearly blew Johnny’s head off in the process.  Not something I’d do to a guy I just met in all this shit, but I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes.  I can’t remember the last time I had something to really laugh about.

On a technical note, the Desert Eagle has saved my ass over the SMG’s tenfold.  It all boils down to accuracy and stopping power.  The SMG’s use too much ammo; they’re spray ‘n’ pray guns.  The single shots are treated with more precision, hence less ammo is wasted and a headshot is more likely.

Posted in: Zombies by Detrious / Tags: apocalypse, ghouls, survivor, undead, Zombies

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…and more to come.

Posted in: Artwork, Zombies by Detrious / Tags: apocalypse, Artwork, painting, subway, undead, Zombies

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Finally a break!  Came across a F250 with a full tank of gas, 20 extra gallons in the bed, and last but not least, guns!  This guy had a couple M-16′s, a few SMG’s, a few handguns (including the Desert Eagle), and a sniper rifle.  The Desert Eagle I found in his hand.

His body was propped up against a nearby building, and he had a bite on his left shoulder.  I guess I’m thankful he didn’t blow his brains out all over the truck.  He must have thought someone would find his supplies eventually.  If his face wasn’t blown away, I’d remember it forever.

We got in the truck and the radio was tuned into Jason Parker droning over the Survivor Code.  Johnny thinks we should check it out.  He’s never one for a positive attitude, but he seems chipper now that we have weapons.  If they’re still alive and only a 4 hour drive away, we have to try to find ‘em.  I feel uneasy about this.  We’ve got a vehicle, weapons, and ammo, but something tells me we’re gonna need a lot more.  I hear the zombies are bigger up north.

This Parker guy better be the real deal.

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Dave really screwed us over when he left.  He took nearly half of our supplies.  We’ve hit a few abandoned houses and a gas station since, but nothing to recover the loss.  Only surviving.  Hell, I’ve been defending myself with an axe lately to conserve ammo.  A sword would be better, but I can’t find anything stronger than those decorative ones in the mall.  Might as well use a piece of broken steel, as dull as they are.  What I wouldn’t do for a high-carbon steel katana.  Maybe one day.

To be honest, I can’t blame this all on Dave.  I mean, he took a shitload when he left, but we haven’t had a surplus of supplies since the very beginning.  I remember shooting off round after round not giving a shit about ammo.  Robbie used to shoot anything that moved, then shoot it again for the fun of it.  Then he’d play target practice with the dead ones.  We’d go searching for ghouls just to hand ‘em a lead shower.  We’d toss grenades off the roof just to see how many kills we could get at once.  Yeah, things seemed easier then.  We got into some shitty spots, but it was cool.  It was almost fun.

Sooner or later we’re going to have to head through more populated areas.  Everyone is edgy, cause they know it’s coming.  We need food, we need everything.  I keep having dreams about strolling around a grocery store with a train of carts filled with nonperishables.  I can’t wait ’til we come across an army surplus store or a gun shop.  Shit, I hope I live that long.  Wouldn’t that be something?

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First Robbie and now this.  What a cluster-fuck.  Dave took off last night without a trace.  Sonofabitch took a hefty pack of ammo, food, meds, the works.  I should have seen this coming.

Dave was Robbie’s dad.  Police officer type, and harder than a coffin nail.  The only family each of ‘em had left in this shit-hole.  When the disease hit, they were on a hunting trip together up in North Carolina.  One second you’ve got a 4-point buck in your sights, the next you see a horde of flesh-eaters: what used to be your hunting camp.  When they made it back home, the whole family was already dead or undead.  Not much difference between the two, if you ask me.  At least the dead don’t run after you.  They burned the place to the ground.

That’s around the time we joined up.  Looking back now, we wouldn’t have survived long without Dave’s help.  The guy was a natural.  New where to find weapons, how to make ‘em, how to barricade in for the night, when it was safe to camp.  He got us out of a dozen tight spots without a scratch.  And now he’s gone solo.  After Robbie turned…I guess that was all Dave had left.

I only hope to see him again.

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Kind of a weird week.  We headed through some small cities in the past few days.  I picked up a CB radio off a dead trucker.  Looks like he crashed his truck into a supermarket and flew through the windshield.  Lucky fucker.  I can only hope I go out before one of those things gets a nibble on me.

Anyway, I kicked on the radio and start sifting through the channels.  Johnny starts giving me shit.  ”It’s fuckin pointless, everybody is dead, man.  You might as well go talk to a meat-head out there in the streets.”

Then a voice comes over the speaker.

“…and always check you’re water bottles.  The contamination spreads through all bodily liquids.  The blood is the most contagious, however saliva and fecal matter have been know to carry the virus.  Never, under any circumstances, come into contact with zombie bile.  The undead with vomit this up when startled or excited.  It’s a mixture of gastric fluids and blood, and the stomach acids turn the blood cells black.  Direct contact with it and your a goner.  It’s a good idea to acquire a pair of goggles in case of a Spitter attack.  You CANNOT be too careful here, folks.  Paranoia is your friend.  Until we know more about the virus, the most important thing to do is to stay alive…”

His name is Jason Parker.  He went on about tips to use with the zombies, and helpful hints on better survival.  This guy seems to know what he’s talking about.  He’s got a group of twenty-one people in an fortified condo about 4 hours north of us.  The rest of the gang thinks we should try to find em.  But twenty people?  That’s twenty more people to possibly turn on me.

At the end of the transmission, Parker stated his “Code Of Survival” list.  I scribbled it down as fast as I could.

1. Stay Alive
2. Offer aide to any and all uninfected.
   1. Any survivors taken in should be inspected for bite marks or symptoms.
   2. Appearances of infection or overall disregard for the safety of the group are viable exceptions to this rule.
3. Protect your fellow survivor.
4. Acquire provisions when possible.  This includes, but is not limited to:
   1. Food and water (Be wary of contaminated items).
   2. Weapons and ammunition.
   3. Transportation.
   4. Medical supplies
5. Never kill, harm, or steal from an uninfected human. Zombies are the enemies, not humans.
   1. Self-defense is always acceptable, however one shall refrain from killing humans when possible.
6. If you are bitten or suspect infection, report to the rest of the group. This is in line with Rule #2.
   1. Any member to admit possible infection shall be given majority vote to stay or leave.  A single weapon and ammo may be provided.
   2. Pay attention to the members of your group.
      1. i.     Daily checks for bites and infection are recommended.
      2. ii.     When safety permits, check fellow members after every encounter with infected.

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Robbie turned. I don’t even know when the fuck he got bit. We only had two encounters in the past week, and we hadn’t seen anything for four days now.

Then this shit. I remember the first time I met Rob. He worked at the Gigabit Computer’s, next door to the cafe I visited twice a week. He sat down next to me ranting about how crazy the rest of the world was, and we were quick friends. How ironic, we had no idea what was in store for our “crazy” world. You’d never think a computer geek could hold his own with a zombie attack, but Robbie was a tough sonofabitch. Now he’s dead.

I suppose it’s a matter of time for the rest of us. Everybody is on edge, especially Tamara. Christ, he almost ripped her throat out when he finally turned. One second we’re sitting there talking, the next he’s red-eyed and blood-thirsty. I nearly killed Tamara when I shot him. The blood was everywhere. Hell, it’s still everywhere. For some reason it doesn’t act like normal blood. Once they turn, the blood coagulates into this pasty, sticky mess that bonds to everything. It’s as if the blood emulates the zombies, just begging to spread.
Why didn’t you say something Robbie? I suppose I wouldn’t either. My hands are still shaking. I’ll be surprised if I last another week.

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By now it’s typical. I mean, everyone saw this coming. The constant shortcuts and back alleys and quick fixes to our society. It was the only outcome that would seem logical. The entire human species, gone in a matter of weeks. Most people’s immune systems couldn’t handle the first outbreak. The few that survived? Picked off by the hoards that scavenge the streets. Parasites. I don’t see how anyone made it out of the cities alive. Fuck, I can’t call this survival. The shitty canned foods. Raiding dead bodies for ammo, weapons, or more food. Constantly checking each other for bite marks. I’m scared shitless to catch a cold for fear they’ll kill me in my sleep. To tell you the truth, I’d do the same. And to think, a flower started it all.

More to come…

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