Posted by
Catmman on Thursday, October 23, 2008 11:48:35 AM
They are!
They are eating the body!
You watch as eight decrepit, shambling murderers hover over the corpse of your newly deceased neighbor -
and feed.
Minutes tick past seeming like hours. You continue to watch with a morbid fascination. You are horrified, repulsed, sickened. Again as before, your mind reels unable to cope with the scene set before your eyes.
“Why are they eating the body?” “What the hell going on?” “How is this happening?” are all thoughts rushing through your head. As you watch this heinous feast, another thought enters your mind, “What am I going to do?”
You think of earlier. At least three of these ‘people’ were trying to get into your house just as they did the house across the street. You remember the scratching and slapping and rubbing noises from your windows, your doors, the walls of your house. “That could be me” you think as you glance again towards the scene. “What am I going to do?”
You decide to head back downstairs and check the front of your house. You slowly creep back down. At the foot of the stairs, you stop and listen. You listen for any noise. Moments tick by. You hear nothing. Perhaps those who were trying to enter your house left. Then you remember; you saw three people walk from the front of your house towards the body now splayed open across the street. They were drawn to the earlier commotion, away from something which drew their attention to your house in the first place.
“Maybe if I stay quiet, they’ll go away?” you think wishfully.
“What if they come back?” Definately not a comforting thought.
“What if more come?” The thought which incites you to action.
Finally, a decision: “I need to get ready.” For what you aren’t really sure, but you figure standing around in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with no shoes on your feet is no way to react or respond to trouble. And trouble is what you’ve got – powers out, phones out, a moderate sized group of crazies ambling around breaking into houses…and…
eating your neighbors!
You push that last thought from your mind. You’ve made a decision – it’s time to act. You need to go back up to your room, get changed. Get changed quietly and quickly. It’s not going to be easy – no lights on remember? Flashlight? Better not. Just do the best you can.
You creep back up to your room ever so slowly, stopping every few steps to listen. Finally you get to your room. After some agonizing minutes, you manage to drag together a pair of jeans, a decent shirt. You find your boots, an odiferous pair of socks pushed down into them; you smile absentmindedly for a moment and pull your clothes on. “Now What?”
You know, you just never thought you’d ever have to resort to this, at least under these circumstances: “I need to protect myself, my home.”
You own two firearms – a Smith & Wesson K-22 .22 caliber revolver and a Benelli M-1 Super 90 12 Gauge shotgun. The Smith was the first gun you ever owned; your Dad gave it to you when you were twelve years old. It’s a rather worn little revolver, but is as accurate as it was the first day you fired it all those years ago. It’s a small revolver, not much firepower either in .22, but you almost never miss with it. All you’ve ever done to the gun is tap the front blade sight a bit to the left to give you dead center point of aim impact. And you painted a bit of day-glo orange sight paint to the front sight blade for contrast with the rear notch sight.
Your Benelli – a work of modern art. An auto loading shotgun; spring powered not gas operated; fouling can plug up a gas system. A black, pistol grip stock with an inertial, fluid filled recoil reducer installed. Firing three inch 12 gauge magnum loads barely taps your shoulder. Tritium gas filled night sights; Surefire forend light. Rounded out with a 30 shell combat sling. You paid a pretty penny for this tool – “The ideal in home defense” as the salesman said.
You’ve never considered yourself a gun nut but your daddy raised you right with firearms. “There’s nothing like needing a tool for a specific job and not having it.” he used to say. Other than your .22 though, you didn’t get another firearm until well after you were married and the kids got a little older. Eventually your conscience got the better of you and you broke down and bought the Benelli.
Now that decision gives you a great deal of comfort. “At least you can protect yourself” you think as you dig out the ammo.
You snap your pistol belt to your waist, your now loaded .22 snug in its holster. A universal utility pouch with a plastic buckle snap bulging with .22 ammo. You also load up your Benelli. You have thirty rounds in your sling notches – your “last ditch ammo” as you call it. You snap another universal pouch to your belt and cram it with 2 ¾ inch shells. You home defense load is No. 4 buckshot; more pellets per shell, a little wider pattern than conventional buckshot at close range for a more probable hit.
As an after thought you grab a small pack hanging over the rail of your bed, your gym bag. You dump out the smelly clothes and drop another couple of boxes of shotshells and .22 ammo into the pack, and drop a small flashlight in as well. You zip up the bag, stand and sling it over you shoulders. “What the hell”, you grab your old Dallas Cowboys denim ball cap and pull it down on your head and exit your bedroom.
At the top of your stairs you stand and wait. And listen.
You hear a muffled scratching again on the front window of your house.
They’re back.
And you’re ready…
Too be continued…
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5