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.

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.

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?