forays into the surrounding towns, picking up supplies and any survivors that wanted to come with them. This Lynch guy had been invaluable. He found stuff and people too.
In my ignorance, I thought he was looking out for me because I was valuable, or at least my blood was. Turns out, I was right.
We got some food together on the second day, and we sat with some other survivors and chatted. It was all the same, and after a while it became monotonous. My husband, wife, mom, dad, brother, sister, second cousin on my dog’s side, was eaten and I ran and ended up here. Everybody’s story was the same. We were the only folks to arrive in a plane though, and that seemed to get everyone’s attention. Until we told them it was out of gas.
After lunch, most everybody dispersed, but we managed to latch on to a couple who had been eating with us. The guy, Bob, was maybe fifty, and the lady he was with was considerably younger. Her name was Carla. Between the gunshots outside, Bob began to tell us that the compound wasn’t all roses and unicorns.
Bob worked the wall sometimes with the army guys or other rednecks (yeah, Bob was a self- professed hillbilly) and apparently ammo was getting low. There were periodic attacks on the wall by relatively sizable forces of undead. Up to now, it had been easy to dispatch them, as ammo had been plentiful, but the last time he had stood in one of those towers, the private that had been up there with him told him not to shoot unless something was crawling over the wall.
About fifty of the things had built up in one area and they were piling up on each other. When the first hand reached over the brick and cinderblock, the private used his rifle, and had called on the radio. A team showed up with wooden spears in a few minutes to try to cull the horde. It had worked, but Bob had seen the fear in the eyes of the soldiers.
Bob also told us that teams of soldiers had been going out to kill the things that got too close, or to try to find more supplies, or to rescue some civilians that had radioed in from an attic or a basement or a water tower in a nearby town. The returning teams were always down a man or two, and the only supplies and ammo they had brought in in the past couple of days came from Ship’s plane, although they had brought in a couple of survivors.
In addition, some of the guardsmen were getting bossy, thinking that they were better than the civilians. These guys were barbers, burger flippers, and hardware store owners that had been called up as weekend warriors to help the regular army.
“And have you seen our rear defenses?”
I had to admit, I hadn’t gone to the back of the compound.
“The front wall is tough, built out of reinforced concrete and brick, I checked. It’s pretty and it’s strong, but it’s only there because it’s visible from the street. A façade. The former owners of the houses in this complex, all of whom were dead when we got here by the way, either didn’t want to spend the money on a wall all the way around the complex, or didn’t think it was necessary.”
I frowned, “Wait…what?”
“The entire rear of the compound, the part that’s closest to the woods, is all chain link fence. Doesn’t even have barbed wire at the top.” He had pronounced it bobwire , which I would have thought was funny if I didn’t get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Our spam and coffee was digesting nicely when Bob took us to the ass end of our new home. And by the way, I had never had a cup of coffee in my life pre-plague. I needed morning caffeine just like anybody else, but I drank Mountain Dew. And that could be a bitch to acquire when incarcerated. Yup I hate coffee, and F-U and your judgments if you’re a militant coffee consumer. Bob pointed to the last two houses in the area, and lo and behold a seven-foot chain link fence separated us from lots of teeth and death. The fence was maybe sixty feet behind the houses, through an overgrown backyard
In my ignorance, I thought he was looking out for me because I was valuable, or at least my blood was. Turns out, I was right.
We got some food together on the second day, and we sat with some other survivors and chatted. It was all the same, and after a while it became monotonous. My husband, wife, mom, dad, brother, sister, second cousin on my dog’s side, was eaten and I ran and ended up here. Everybody’s story was the same. We were the only folks to arrive in a plane though, and that seemed to get everyone’s attention. Until we told them it was out of gas.
After lunch, most everybody dispersed, but we managed to latch on to a couple who had been eating with us. The guy, Bob, was maybe fifty, and the lady he was with was considerably younger. Her name was Carla. Between the gunshots outside, Bob began to tell us that the compound wasn’t all roses and unicorns.
Bob worked the wall sometimes with the army guys or other rednecks (yeah, Bob was a self- professed hillbilly) and apparently ammo was getting low. There were periodic attacks on the wall by relatively sizable forces of undead. Up to now, it had been easy to dispatch them, as ammo had been plentiful, but the last time he had stood in one of those towers, the private that had been up there with him told him not to shoot unless something was crawling over the wall.
About fifty of the things had built up in one area and they were piling up on each other. When the first hand reached over the brick and cinderblock, the private used his rifle, and had called on the radio. A team showed up with wooden spears in a few minutes to try to cull the horde. It had worked, but Bob had seen the fear in the eyes of the soldiers.
Bob also told us that teams of soldiers had been going out to kill the things that got too close, or to try to find more supplies, or to rescue some civilians that had radioed in from an attic or a basement or a water tower in a nearby town. The returning teams were always down a man or two, and the only supplies and ammo they had brought in in the past couple of days came from Ship’s plane, although they had brought in a couple of survivors.
In addition, some of the guardsmen were getting bossy, thinking that they were better than the civilians. These guys were barbers, burger flippers, and hardware store owners that had been called up as weekend warriors to help the regular army.
“And have you seen our rear defenses?”
I had to admit, I hadn’t gone to the back of the compound.
“The front wall is tough, built out of reinforced concrete and brick, I checked. It’s pretty and it’s strong, but it’s only there because it’s visible from the street. A façade. The former owners of the houses in this complex, all of whom were dead when we got here by the way, either didn’t want to spend the money on a wall all the way around the complex, or didn’t think it was necessary.”
I frowned, “Wait…what?”
“The entire rear of the compound, the part that’s closest to the woods, is all chain link fence. Doesn’t even have barbed wire at the top.” He had pronounced it bobwire , which I would have thought was funny if I didn’t get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Our spam and coffee was digesting nicely when Bob took us to the ass end of our new home. And by the way, I had never had a cup of coffee in my life pre-plague. I needed morning caffeine just like anybody else, but I drank Mountain Dew. And that could be a bitch to acquire when incarcerated. Yup I hate coffee, and F-U and your judgments if you’re a militant coffee consumer. Bob pointed to the last two houses in the area, and lo and behold a seven-foot chain link fence separated us from lots of teeth and death. The fence was maybe sixty feet behind the houses, through an overgrown backyard
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