Survivor Journal #1

[NagsterTheGangster 388]

October 15, 2013

 

  They must have dumped me on the shore on their way out of town, because thats where I awoke to the distant calls of the undead, or what i've come to know them as.  The survivors who saved me during the epidemic had left nothing but footprints in the sand when disposing of my seemingly lifeless body. But who could blame them? The lacerations in my arms were cut deep from the car wreck that left me incapacitated beforehand. It was unlikely a human would survive a crash like that before a regional collapse, let alone after these ungodly beings occupied the streets. So there I was, alone, weak from the neck down and vulnerable as a baby animal. But that's just the kind of luck I had always received my entire life so why would I expect any different now?  At least I was more fortunate than those of my hometown, who were nothing more than animated corpses at this point in time.

 

  The wounds I had received were mostly clotted, which leaves me to wonder how long I had been left for the elements, but a new question arose, my stomach growling and palette dry, where would my next meal come from? The clothes on my back would only contribute towards my survival a few more hours until  my body shuts down from the lack of blood and nutrients. My hometown was still visible in the distance, I knew I had food and other necessities in my home and from what I recall, the initial panic had everyone so disoriented that I doubt any survivors thought to loot houses while everyone was fleeing, at least I hope...

 

  As I began my seemingly long and troublesome journey to the town I once knew, the increasingly loud and startling sounds of the Zeds became more and more frequent. As I neared the border of town on Mr. Wilson's farm I had my first encounter with..them.. If I had not seen beforehand what capabilities these infected people held I know I would have met my demise this day.  Mr. Wilson was tending to a dead cattle in his grazing field, or at least I thought. I was somewhat deceived as he had taken one knee to inspect the animal, and this was the first normal human action I had seen since the outbreak. I called out to him, but not before I had taken camouflage in a bush outside his fence line.  His head immediately snapped to the direction I shouted from, but not with the face of confusion or surprise one would expect, but it was rather his lack of a face that unsettled my stomach and sent this feeling of weakness through all of my limbs. His bottom jaw had been removed from his skull entirely and his clothing also reflected the horrid experience he had succumb to in his final moments.  Tattered and blood soaked overalls covered his old dirty farm shirt, his sleeves were still rolled up from the final farm task before his demise. He stood from his crouched position and scanned the area wildly with a look on his face that could only be in comparison to a pissed-off Pitbull in human form. I went from my crouching position immediately to prone, I was in no shape to run, and especially not in any condition to fight. I stayed laying in those bushes for about 30 minutes before slowly crawling backwards for another 20, never turning my back on Mr. Wilson. He seemed still on alert even after this extended period of time which unsettled me greatly.

 

  I had strafed around the backside of my town, near the treeline to avoid any unwanted attention, which was any and all attention at this point. There was a single house and street now separating me from my house, I was so close, but this situation and blurred vision was making the last 50 feet seem like 1000. I started crawling from the back of my neighbors house around the side until I was laying in their front yard bushes.  There were infected not 30 feet away from me on both sides, each one with some kind of mortal wound on their bodies, and they roamed around the streets, almost always returning to a spot they had previously been. There were probably two or three times where I could have just gone for it, but my legs wouldn't allow me to do so, my fear had this grip on my soul and it seemed to keep me planted behind this bush for what seemed like ages. So I watched, and I watched.. until I noticed a timing where I could quickly dash across the street without being seen, and at that point, I decided "fuck it" and ran as quietly as possible with my head watching my feet as I ran, I couldn't pull my chin up to watch if I had been noticed, I didn't want to. 

 

  My back hit the side of my house and a slight wave of relief had come over me, the worst was over, for today anyways... Until I realized my house keys were gone from my pocket, still in the ignition of my wrecked vehicle somewhere in town. I wanted to cry, yell, hit, I wanted to scream "FFUUCCKK!" as loud as I could, but I couldn't nor should I have at the time. I sat there beside my house below the small picket fence line until it was almost dark, my memories cloudy from the crash and my now worsening condition. And right before I gave up and fell into unconsciousness on the side of that house, a memory came back to me, the one that would save my life.. I moved to the door, grabbed the handle, and pushed it open, I had never locked my door when running from my home during the widespread panic. Despite the feelings of anger and stupidity I was only happy to be back in my home. I drew all the curtains and raided my cupboards and medicine cabinet for whatever I could find, the first thing I did was use my entire box of Gauze bandages on my wounds as well as a full bottle of whiskey between my cuts and drinking it myself. Time to lay low and get my energy back, I have a strong feeling I cant stay here for very long. Although these things were what I needed to aid my survival, the real reason I wanted back to MY house so damn badly was my journal, I just couldn't leave it to the ruins when the best part of it was yet to be written.

 

  So tonight i'll try to rest as best I can, although I have a feeling that even with this exhaustion and alcohol consumption that I wont be sleeping very well... Perhaps some of this herb from my bedside table will do the trick....

 

 

[Korsbaek 1778]

Wall. Of. Motherfucking. Text.

 

*Slow clap*

Pretty good. Keep 'em coming!  :beans:

Edited October 16, 2013 by narkoman14

[NagsterTheGangster 388]

Wall. Of. Motherfucking. Text.

 

 

That comment made my day.

[Gwraspe 318]

nicely written man, entertaining stuff :beans:

[King of kong 1117]

OH.MY.GOD.MY.FUCKING.EYES.WALL.OF.FUCKING.TEXT.KILL.ME.NOW.

[NagsterTheGangster 388]

OH.MY.GOD.MY.FUCKING.EYES.WALL.OF.FUCKING.TEXT.KILL.ME.NOW.

It's okay, literacy isn't for everyone.

Edited October 17, 2013 by NagsterTheGangster