cabbitzilla | Entries tagged with bliteotw

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The suits were waiting outside for us when we finally peeked out. No shufflers in sight, no bodies, just a dozen or so black-suited goons and a HazMat team. 'Infected' they're calling them. 'potent hallucinogenic'. 'mass hysteria'. fuckers. We were debriefed (and disarmed, dammit) and told to go back to our homes and reminded about fifty times that this was an 'isolated outbreak' of some sort of 'mind altering contact virus'. I'm so fucking tired of the things in quotes that I can't even put my disgust/loathing into words. Their lovely little 'virus' killed (at the very least) hundreds of people, several of them in plain view.

The piggy cages were gone, which left me partially hysterical in spite of the 'they're home safe' line the goons were giving me. It took a long while for them to calm me down. The reefer rig out front was gone, replaced by the trucks Jack and Phil were responsible for, neatly parked next to my Explorer. My truck was fixed. No huge dent in the hood or bumper. No shattered grill. No punctured radiator. Another little way of saying it didn't happen... the problem being that there was already some damage to the nose of the truck and THAT WAS FIXED TOO, DAMMIT. They think they're so damned clever. I've fought against my innate paranoia for years, only to discover that I was RIGHT. Argh! I'm surrprised they didn't have some damned flashy thing that'd do the whole memory loss trick. Bastiches, the whole lot of them.

We all went our separate directions after quietly exchanging contact info. I'm betting that in two or three days most of us will have forgotten this entire thing. I almost hope it takes my memories, as I'm still haunted by the fucker on my hood trying to gnaw through my windshield. My apartment had been 'sanitized'; there were a ton of minor things out of place, highlighted by the new carpet in my entranceway and living room. The piggies and cages were right where they belonged, but all the bedding was fresh and the entire area was neat as a pin. At least my fuzzles are okay. The front door was fixed; again they made it perfect, erasing prior damage since they didn't know what the recent stuff had been. My aging kukri has been replaced by a very nice bone-handled piece... it's close to what I had, but brand new instead of 30+ years old.

I'm so angry right now I could chew steel bars and spit out screws. I've been able to reach most of my family and friends, but there're still a few that're missing. I've had no further word from the crew in Texas... if you guys are out there please ping me somehow. Same with the Virginia folks. I've reached my mom, dad, and sisters, so I know my immediate family is intact. My baby sister's dog is missing entirely, and both of the porches at my dad's place are brand new. Heh, that may be the only good thing about this whole effing mess; the estimates they'd gotten to replace them with decks and new staircases was upwards of $11k.

Screw it. I'm going to chug a bottle of Nyquil and pass out. Hopefully my missing folks will chime in here so I know who's safe and who's 'missing due to side effects of the viral outbreak'. Bastiches. I KNOW IT HAPPENED YOU SONS OF BITCHES! Somewhere out there there must be some sort of survivor's group, but I have no clue where to even start looking.

Current Mood: pissed off

And just like that, the warehouse suddenly wasn't safe.

Half of the back wall collapsed in, spilling two dozen or so shufflers into the the main level. Frank grabbed the piggy cages and bolted for the end of the catwalk; the window there opened out just a bit above the reefer in bay 3. Sandra and I pulled back slowly, leaving a grisly trail as we kept the fscking monsters off the rest. Truth to be told, she did more damage than I did; the rate of fire from her .38's was faster than the Wildey. Clearly calibre isn't everything. Sandra got hung up on the window frame and shoved me bodily out onto the roof of the reefer. Last thing I heard from her was 'shoot me now!', and a pistol report from Phil's (the other trucker) piece.

As we fled down the roof of the trailer, Jack bolted forward to try and secure the cab. Frank and Phil and I hunkered down around the rooftop condenser and kept the bastiches from following us out the window. After what seemed like forever the green and white Pete fired over and we were off. Damned near right off the top of the trailer, too. Frank hauled me back when I lunged after Wink's cage, catching it just before the edge before being reeled back in by the Priest. I swear I'll never say another unkind word about the Catholic Priesthood; I understand now what Ro was talking about now, and it's a pity she's not around to nod knowingly at me. Jesuit? Sign me up.

There was a steady crunching noise audible over the roar of the diesel engine. I found out after that Jack was screaming profanities at the zombies and driving over every damned shuffler he could. We left a wide swathe of squished bits behind us. But that left us out on the road with dusk approaching, which was NOT a good thing. Why the hell can't we catch a break on this?! Jack found us a flat and clear spot we could pause and figure out where the fsck we were going.

Another warehouse would just be repeating the problem. Most of the stores in the area had big glass windows. The Columbia mall was a glass and aluminum monstrosity, and the Mills over in Odenton was just as bad. About that point one of us (and I honestly forget who, but I know it wasn't me) remembered the State Police barracks just up US 1. Jack backtracked us and rolled us in. The place was deserted, but securable, thankfully. We unpacked everyone into the barracks and set the truck up just beyond the front doors. Then we barricaded the hell out of the place and busted our way into the armory. Ah, blessed ammunition. As expected, the phones were out, cells are still getting 'all circuits are busy', but the cable modem works just fine. We're going to bed down for the night; I'll post in the morning, provided we're still intact. Frank's tinkering with the radio transmitter, so maybe we can get a signal that way. First watch is mine.

And if we're not heard from again, via con Dios.

Current Mood: pensive
Current Location: Hell on Earth

*%&$*&^$&@&%(&!($&#@$*(*!$#$!!!

Damned shufflers managed to buckle the rolldoor on one end of the loading bay. Thank God Sandra and Frank were on their toes; he stood and mowed them down at his feet while Sandra dropped a palette of watermelons on 'em. The doors are braced in place now, ALL of the damned things, with stacked palettes with the sole exception of bay 3. There's a 40' reefer parked there, and thus far it's been secure. We've got the door down anyway, no sense in being overly trusting. It leaves us a half dozen other doors out but blockades all of the -large- doors. I'm wondering just how long we're going to be safe here. I -think- we're secure again, but everyone's rattled and edgy.

And we really need to find a pair of machine pistols for Frank, but damn is he hot on the trigger of those .44Mags. We need more guns. We need more ammo. What was that line from 'Jaws'? Something about needing a bigger boat. We need a damned cruise ship worth of ammo. We may need to try and make a break for it in the reefer rig. 'up' seems to be a direction the shufflers don't go, so we might be able to shimmy down the roof of the trailer and slip one of the truckers into the tractor; biggest I've ever driven was a solid body 35' stretch Lincoln, so I'm definitely out of my element. Jack said he saw that in a zombie flick and that it was more complicated than it looked, but that the shufflers in that film could actually -run-, so it might sort out anyway. Biggest problem would be handholds for the rest of us on the roof of the trailer.

I'm losing hope that this is an isolated thing. Having finally contacted Kiji and discovering that this is happening there too explains why the airwaves are empty. We caught a few moments of signal on the CB, but it was gone before I could grab the mic. And there've been voice posts on LJ from a trucker that I'm acquainted with, and this is going down where she is too. It sounds like she's got a bolt hole to get to, but since she's on the road and well out of my area I've got no real way to let her know there're others of us out here.

Have I mentioned yet that I'M REALLY GETTING PISSED OFF ABOUT THIS! There is no way in hell I'm gonna die in some food warehouse. But we need to figure out what we're doing and where we're heading before me make any moves towards bailing.

WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH PEOPLE??!

Hang on, I'm ahead of myself already. Wireless 'net is still up; near as I can figure there's an AP in the next building that may well be a cable modem. Conventional phone lines are apparently jammed and/or borked. As long as we have power for my laptop this can at least be keyed in. I've no friggin clue if it'll survive the day or if anyone's even SEEING it, but it's worth trying. Cell seems functional but the circuits are overloaded, which means it's a very cute little camera with lots of buttons.

Four more folks joined us, a handful of truckers that heard my rifle shots as I thinned things around one of the side doors. They'd been part of a group that'd tried to hole up at the truck stop up at the next traffic signal. As was demonstrated in Stephen King's Maximum Overdrive, a place with lots of glass isn't 'secure'. The group that made it to us are all that's left of a group of eleven. Right about the time they turned up Claudia started bitching about having to follow my 'unreasonable' orders. What the fsck is unreasonable about 'shoot the effing zombies so they don't eat us'?!

And then the ultimate in stupidity! About an hour ago, she and one of the truckers decided to make a bolt for one of the trucks in the lot... she was alone by the time she got to the semi, and was met there by the remains of the driver. I shot the ghoul as it lunged for her but was too late. Scratch one trucker and one stupid punk... and now the damned zombies have the entire building surrounded, having realized that there's food inside. Dammit, I did not fight my way past 40 to become zombie bait.

Frank's managed to overhaul the firearms we raided this morning, and all but one of them are usable. Mixed in with the lot was a Wildey pistol and a Chinese copy of the Russian SVD Dragunov sniper rifle. Mine. The rest was distributed to the others, leaving Frank with a brace of pistols. Since he can't see more than 15 feet or so without his glasses it was pointless to give him a rifle. Jack and Sandra (two of the truck drivers) both were packing .45's when they showed up, so we're all armed now, and are trying to figure out if we should hang tight here or try to get out. My vote goes to staying here, dammit; this place is defendable provided we keep watch. We've got a big-assed sign up on the roof now as well. One of the truckers said they did that in 'Land of the Dead' or something, and it seemed like a decent idea. We've also got a CB base station up and operating. Nobody's answered yet... I'm starting to wonder if we're all that's left in the area.

I'm going back up on the roof. I've got my laptop up there and can give my cell another try. I keep hoping I can reach someone. There's got to be a solution somewhere, we just have to find it, right? Fsck knowing what happened (until later, anyway), I'm more worried about living through this at this point. If I'm going down I'm gonna take a hell of a lot of these bastiches with me.

Current Mood: pissed off

I think I'm safe now. Well, safer, anyway.

Okay, Posterity, listen up... you bastiches better learn from this or I'll plague all your men with limp dick syndrome from whatever hell I end up in. Probably a Chinese hell, be just my luck; 'Hell of Frustrated Tranny' or somesuch. Anywho, here goes.

My door was bashed in at 0117hrs this AM, followed by a pair of pistol shots and some groaning. If you've ever opened your bedroom door and found a zombie staring at you from the other side of your living room, then you'll know EXACTLY how I felt. That it was holding what was left of the head of one of my favorite neighbors didn't sink in until later, blessedly. It lurched towards me and got my trusty kukri buried in its forehead for the trouble.

I didn't have time to think, as I was standing there in my nightgown and still half asleep. Try doing that while adrenaline floods your system, it's a hell of a ride. I grabbed some clothes and my keys and bolted for the door, then dashed back in to collect both guinea pigs, the neighbor's pistol and my knife. I'd no clue then what I was up against, and didn't want to leave the critters stranded OR be without the only weapons handy.

I had a full tank of fuel in the truck. Thank everything Holy that Crys had whacked me upside the head for leaving it sitting on 'E' the night before. Wherever you are now, hon, I hope it's either safe or the end was quick and painless. Both seem to be in short supply, outnumbered by the shuffling hungers wandering around. Every radio station I've hit is either playing an 'off the air' message, hissing dead or just playing streams of music with no dj breaks. And I'm off track, let me get my thoughts together.

Okay, so my name is Elisabeth and I'm right pissed off about this whole fraggin mess. I dunno whether it's some funky astral alignment or a military experiment run wild or what, but I've been chased most of the early AM by groaning flesh eaters and it's NOT been fun. Like for example, did you know that if you slam into a zombie at about 50 miles per that their torso and head will stick to your windshield and still be trying to gnaw through? *shudder* Considering I sat and watched 'Return of the Living Dead' last night for laughs I am SERIOUSLY NOT AMUSED BY THIS!!! ... ahem. As I was saying, the apartment complex looked like a lost cause; among the shufflers were several neighbors I recognized, which means it'd been going on for a bit and I'd slept (ACTUAL SLEEP!) through the beginings. The blackout drapes on my bedroom window probably saved my ass.

Aside from the pair I'm with we've not seen another soul out and about. I keep telling myself that most everyone else had the sense to stay inside, but then my ever-so-helpful brain starts supplying me with images of neighbors and friends shuffling around in a parking lot. I didn't have much of a choice about staying, though; my apartment was compromised from the word go. I'd almost kill for a news report. If this is just a local thing we can sit tight and wait it out.

It's just a bit past dawn now. I'm holed up in a food distribution warehouse in Jessup. With me is a kid named Claudia who's entirely too familiar with the .357Mag she picked up somewhere and a priest named Frank. Sounds like a Johnny Cash song. Anyway, Frank's eyes aren't great for distances so he's damned near useless for guard duty, so Claudia and I are doing shifts on the office landing. Courtesy of two local pawnshops and the WalMart in Columbia, all of them standing open and unguarded, we're armed to the teeth and prepared to burn down anything in our way. Frank's busy fieldstripping, cleaning and reloading the pieces we picked up; Who knew a Jesuit priest would also be an amatuer gunsmith. o.o

The wired phone's out, but the building is secure for the moment. From the office landing we can see all of the doors in. We've still got power, and my cellphone still works. I'm glad the charger was in the truck. I've not had any luck reaching anyone, but it's early yet. I've got people that theoretically should be reachable in Ohio, Illinois, Virginia and New York... but it's looking like I'm going to have to go up on the roof to get a signal.

And I swear if Claudia makes one more 'dinner' crack about my pigs I'm gonna toss her jailbait ass off the roof and let the zomboids have breakfast.