Another Exercise in Fiction

This story idea came about from two sources. One was a role playing game that I don’t exactly remember the title of, and the other is the novel World War Z. It’s a work of fiction written as if it were an oral history of a future conflict against zombies.

I knew I was asking for it, breaking so many of the rules of the Handbook. Wandered off by myself into this “convenience” store in the off chance there were some meds left…or maybe just food. Never imagined that some how, thirty some odd people had the same idea and all got trapped here. That probably wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the one Infected who bit them all. Now there are thirty some odd Zed heads ambling around. How I didn’t notice when I walked in, I’ll never know. I guess they were all in the back, maybe they actually learned something…

Isn’t that an awful thought? Learning Zekes…the shambling horrors who can barely make a recognizable sound hearing and learning ambush tactics.

I’m smarter than this…so damn smart I’m now trapped at a fucking pharmacy counter with a bottle of store bran ibuprofen, a bottle of Gatorade, and a gun with two bullets in it. Spent 10 of them trying to clear the Zeds at the pharmacy. Not so well spent seeming now…

The other 20 zombies look like they’re queuing at the register. Upside is that it gives me a bit of a run towards the door but God knows if there’s one that’s off distracted by its damn navel. Well, I think I’ve got all I can. May as well go for it.

A fire extinguisher…awesome. Should be good for the first couple. I burst out of the door, two heavy bodies stumble away and I dash past. An arm grab my sleeve and I immediately come straight down on the wrist with the extinguisher. It lets go. The next problem is when another grabby hand snags my jacket. I have to drop the extinguisher and twist quickly to get my arms out fast. Being throttled by my own jacket while being bitten just seems like a terrible fate.

I leave Zeke-2 with a handful of windbreaker and race for the door. Maybe I can make it…Zeds in the aisles are starting to shamble towards me. I make it past them though the moans are making the others take heed. There are two at the main door now.

Trying to shoot on the run is a waste of a billet but I haven got time to stop. Acting like some idiot hero in an action movie I shoot once at one of the zombies and my luck holds out and it drops like a stone.

The other turns to snap at me and I try to barrel past it. That one looks a bit weedy…maybe I can make it…

I put my shoulder down and level the Zeke like a linebacker. The crunch is actually more on my end. Holy crap, tackling fucking hurts. It seems to have worked because I see a twisted neck staring at me over a misshapen form.

I keep running. I can do this for an hour. It’ll give me a chance to get away. Hell, I don’t really news to run a well times 5k to beat the Zed -heads. A quick walk wi do, but I wanna get out of here.

Ten minutes later, I’m feeling more fatigued than I ever have in my life. Must be the adrenaline loss kicking my ass. I gotta slow down and breathe a bit….and that’s when I see it…teeth marks. Right in my damn shoulder.

If anyone happens to find this recording, take this little bit of advice from me…American football is shit. Much better to dodge around than to go through. And remember…save the last one for yourself…*click*

—-

And lo the mighty 300…

“Shim? Ah dammit, did dat lug git ya?”

Hm, seems like the weasel might be leaving me alone. I hear the dragging of something over the rain, some trash cans rattle too. This might be the best time to hightail it out of here.

I stand up quick, head down like I’m running into the wind, and beat feet. Apparently they were expecting more of a f-

Suddenly the wind went out of me and then the stars made an appearance…funny…I didn’t think you could see Sagittarius at this time of year…and with the rain to boot.

Boot…like the one about to step on my face. I feel it press my head into the ground and I sharp poke from something cylindrical.

“Bruiser likes guns too much and Shim can’t shut up, but they make good distractions, wouldn’t you say?”

My reply was a bit muffled, I think I was going for something witty and suave. It came out sounding more like a dying giraffe.

My assailant spoke again, “Just forget the Morgan case, and everyone walks away happy. Those of us that can walk away. Hm…come to think of it, if we have to come back and remind you, maybe we won’t let you walk away. Hard to chase down deadbeat dads and cheating husbands when you need a cane, huh?”

My head stopped swimming a little for me to get a good answer out, “Oh I dunno, cheaters go to the same cheap motels and the deadbeats show up when you offer ‘em cash.”

I heard a wry snort from above. “Thanks for the tip. Only posh hotels for me from here on out. But remember this, buddy, drop it and things will go better for you.”

He shouted back down the alley but the reply was lost in the rain. He walked off and left me lying there.

Once the world stopped spinning, I realized I needed to get somewhere where I could get a nap…at least somewhere that didn’t involve having rain go up my nose. Two more bruises and a knot the size of a chicken egg to add to the collection…and I used a bullet. Damn things don’t grow on trees…

This is what happens when I’m tired and creative

So right now, I’m sorta struggling with a bit of insomnia. No particular noteworthy reason for it, other than I’m not asleep and it’s almost tomorrow. Since I’ve been sticking around on Facebook too much, I figure there’s something in my head that needs to come out and hey look, I have a blog.

 

The weight on my finger reminded me that I had to get home. The ricochet off the wall above my head reminded me that someone didn’t want me to get out of this alley. I was getting lucky. The rain obscured most of the scene, but let’s face it…they’d tracked me down this far. I wasn’t about to lead them back to someone important.

I slid my revolver out from under my coat and checked it. Six slugs…two less than I’d had at the bar an hour ago. I had to make them count or this wasn’t going to be pretty.

A high pitched voice rang out across the alley, “Hey, PI, you think it’s a good time to give us what the boss wants? Mebbe we’ll let you get outta here in one piece?”

Ugh…I hate cheap hoods who assume I only have one job ever. “What the hell are you talking about? Is your boss that kid rapist I tracked down a week ago? Maybe he’s the guy I followed to that “wife swap” where he didn’t bring a wife.”

“You lousy-”

Yeah, got him talking enough to find his voice. I dashed across the alley and put one shot in the direction of his weasely tone, I hear the thump of an impact. Maybe I got lucky and hit the guy in the mouth. Though, given how talkative he is, I’d probably be luckier to hit him in the leg and hope his pals finish him just to shut him up.

Another deeper voice chimed in, “Nah, it’s about da Morgan case, right, Shim?”

The Morgan case? I haven’t had any progress on that thing in three months…are these guys really that slow or did I actually stumble on to something?

Okay, I think I wrote myself a decent opening. I’m gonna try and not let the 300 words here go to waste. Maybe I’ll start to enforce a “write 300 more words tomorrow” kinda thing on myself just to get some more written…

I’m of Two Minds

This is how my day starts.

One chipper obnoxious voice in my head shrieking “WAKE UP! IT’S A GREAT NEW DAY! GETUPGETUPGETUPGETUP!”, followed by another voice reminding me that if I killed that thing I wouldn’t ever have to wake up. Sometimes I give into inertia and just lay there for hours, other times I actually decide to move along and just get something done.

Today I listened to the Happy. The Grumpy decided to just grumble as I went about the routine. The grumble was specifically about the routine.

“You know if you swallow that, it’ll kill you.”

“Oh great, something you don’t want to eat anyway.”

“Why are you doing that? You know you hate it.”

The weather outside was rainy and for once the voices said the same thing. “Rain! Great!!” (Admittedly, The Grumpy sounded more like “Great…rain.”)

That cheered me up considerably. The white noise of rainfall, the feel of water hitting my skin, and the general sense of separateness that precipitation helps to drown out the voices. I dressed quickly and walked outside. The inane chipperness and contrasting depressing seemed to wash away down the culverts.

I finally had time to myself to just mull and be alone in my own head. You can’t always do what the Happy wants, because it’s insanely optimistic about my chances. Almost got myself killed crossing a street because I thought it was right.  Conversely, if I listen to the Grumpy too much, I end up lying in bed wishing I could go back to sleep.

So, that’s my life. Spending time trying to balance my reactions to my voices.

An Exercise in Creativity

“I hate standing in the cold. Why do all of the good games come out when it’s freezing?”

“It’s barely 50, just be patient, it’s almost midnight and we’ll get this thing and go play it.”

The two guys chatted back and forth about what they planned on doing first when they finally got the game. I’d really started to tune them out. I really had more sense than to be standing on the corner of a street at a time of day when sensible people my age were either drunk or in bed. But still, this was “the game” everyone was waiting for. It’d be coming for years.

“C’mon, man! It’s fucking cold out here, can we at least sit inside?”

The red shirt inside the store looked out with bloodshot eyes and gave half a glare and a shrug. Evidently, midnight releases are as much fun for the employees as they are for the fans. Red Shirt busied himself with unpacking the box that had the game all of us had put down good money for. I wasn’t impatient, they’d gotten a copy for everyone. Besides, I was next to last in line anyway. Though, the guy behind me was shivering like crazy.

Why, though? This guy had a heavy coat on, the kind you don’t really see around here since it’s cold so rarely. Eh, whatever.

“Kinda sucks that their credit card machine is busted.”

“Yeah, well at least we had enough cash to get our copy. Good thing they told us when they called so we wouldn’t get surprised by it.”

Before I could mull that over in my head, the doors opened. Red Shirt called out loudly, “Okay! We’re gonna let you in four at a time so that we can get you all served and out of here. I know everyone is excited, so let’s get this moving quickly and orderly and we’ll all go home.”

“Fuck, man! That’ll take forever! I’ve been here for a fuckin’ hour!”

I rolled my eyes at Whiny Kid. Patience is evidently an acquired skill he’d yet to obtain. Maybe he had Tourette’s…it seemed better than just being an impatient dick.

It took about another 30 minutes before I got in the store, me, Whiny Kid, his friend, and Captain Parka. It was warm inside, but Captain Parka started shaking worse than ever.

“It’s about fucking time! You know how long I waited for this?”

“Two years and an extra 30 minutes.” Red Shirt replied. “Get over it, you’ll stop caring in a little bit.”

That seemed like a cue to Captain Parka. At that moment he pulled a gun from inside of his parka and shouted in a slurred voice “Give me all the cash!”

Great…calling 30 people about how they have to pay in cash…what’re the odds one of the people called needs money.

I back towards the door, Captain Parka is distracted by trying to keep Whiny Kid and Red Shirt in front of him. Maybe I can get out and use my phone to get help…