sides and back of the daycare and the rest of us made sure the streets and vicinity were safe. When we drove up, there were no undead anywhere to be seen, which gave all of us the creeps. The proverbial calm before the storm, as it turns out.
Abby took a solid ten minutes to check all the windows of the daycare, and just like last time she returned saying there was nothing visible anywhere inside the building. I wasn’t comforted by that, and neither was Gilbert. We had visions of zombified children hiding under little plastic play tables and inside counters and cabinets. *shudder*
Gilbert pulled road security for us while the rest of us kicked in doors. I went #1 in the stack with Patty and Abby. I rolled with the gauge, they went with pistols. Brace yourself for this Mr. Journal: There were no children in the daycare. Sort of. The stench was overwhelming though, which was a real kick in the pants. Usually that much stink meant a plethora of undead, but there were none to be found. See: sort of. See also: God hates Adrian.
I kicked in the doors that were locked, and opened the doors that weren’t. Not one shotgun blast happened the entire time we went from room to room. We had some pants wrecking moments when items were bumped off shelves or tables and they fell on the floor, or hit one of us, but we encountered jack and shit overall. See again: Sort of.
After the most tense half hour in my entire life, we started to take stock of our haul. The ground clearance on the HRT and the Chevy is pretty impressive, and with the snow melt, we were able to drive them both across the parking lot/driveway and right up the front door. I had to shovel out the walkway and the steps, and I tell you what, I’m glad Patty thought to grab one of our snow shovels. We snagged two cribs, a bunch of toys, a stroller, 17 boxes of diapers in various sizes and flavors, baby wipes, baby oil, baby powder, baby shampoo, baby aspirin, books on how to raise kids and deal with health ailments, Pedialyte, etc etc. And then there were snacks. Jumping Jesus there were snacks. They had fruit roll ups, granola bars, crackers, candy, and almost every form of small fruit snack imaginable to man. We took it out of there by the case.
We took a short lunch break to try out the fruit roll ups a little before noon. We shut the front door of the daycare due to the smell of the trash that had never been removed. Months old rotting diapers and food waste had only “improved” with age. Update on fruit snacks Mr. Journal: still very yummy.
Anyway, Gilbert gobbled down some little fruit chews and went inside to get a head start on getting the last bits of stuff out. The girls and I were remarking how much of a relief it was that the weather was decent, and how the place was nice and safe, when we heard a loud crash, and the world rip apart inside the daycare.
Gilbert’s AK goes to full auto, and he’d just emptied an entire magazine into… something. If you’ve ever heard an AK get emptied like that up close, it’s a pretty distinct and bowel emptying noise. I know a lot of guys who had buddies get torn open by that zipper sound. Brings back some bad memories.
I launched off the back of the Chevy and snapped up the shotgun. It was the closest gun to my hand. Patty and Abby froze for a split second, but I was in the door and heading to Gilbert like a missile. I could hear him yelling from what sounded like the back of the building, near the kitchen.
“Get the fuck! Holy jumping! Little cocksuckers!” There were a few more colorful uses of the language as well, but to retain what little dignity Gilbert has left, I’m going to omit them. I went down the hall with the shotgun up looking for Gilbert or signs of danger.
In the back near the kitchen there was a huge, floor to ceiling bookcase tipped over face down on the floor. It had fallen down somehow, and Gilbert had managed to get his toes on one foot trapped underneath the edge. He was still upright,
Abby took a solid ten minutes to check all the windows of the daycare, and just like last time she returned saying there was nothing visible anywhere inside the building. I wasn’t comforted by that, and neither was Gilbert. We had visions of zombified children hiding under little plastic play tables and inside counters and cabinets. *shudder*
Gilbert pulled road security for us while the rest of us kicked in doors. I went #1 in the stack with Patty and Abby. I rolled with the gauge, they went with pistols. Brace yourself for this Mr. Journal: There were no children in the daycare. Sort of. The stench was overwhelming though, which was a real kick in the pants. Usually that much stink meant a plethora of undead, but there were none to be found. See: sort of. See also: God hates Adrian.
I kicked in the doors that were locked, and opened the doors that weren’t. Not one shotgun blast happened the entire time we went from room to room. We had some pants wrecking moments when items were bumped off shelves or tables and they fell on the floor, or hit one of us, but we encountered jack and shit overall. See again: Sort of.
After the most tense half hour in my entire life, we started to take stock of our haul. The ground clearance on the HRT and the Chevy is pretty impressive, and with the snow melt, we were able to drive them both across the parking lot/driveway and right up the front door. I had to shovel out the walkway and the steps, and I tell you what, I’m glad Patty thought to grab one of our snow shovels. We snagged two cribs, a bunch of toys, a stroller, 17 boxes of diapers in various sizes and flavors, baby wipes, baby oil, baby powder, baby shampoo, baby aspirin, books on how to raise kids and deal with health ailments, Pedialyte, etc etc. And then there were snacks. Jumping Jesus there were snacks. They had fruit roll ups, granola bars, crackers, candy, and almost every form of small fruit snack imaginable to man. We took it out of there by the case.
We took a short lunch break to try out the fruit roll ups a little before noon. We shut the front door of the daycare due to the smell of the trash that had never been removed. Months old rotting diapers and food waste had only “improved” with age. Update on fruit snacks Mr. Journal: still very yummy.
Anyway, Gilbert gobbled down some little fruit chews and went inside to get a head start on getting the last bits of stuff out. The girls and I were remarking how much of a relief it was that the weather was decent, and how the place was nice and safe, when we heard a loud crash, and the world rip apart inside the daycare.
Gilbert’s AK goes to full auto, and he’d just emptied an entire magazine into… something. If you’ve ever heard an AK get emptied like that up close, it’s a pretty distinct and bowel emptying noise. I know a lot of guys who had buddies get torn open by that zipper sound. Brings back some bad memories.
I launched off the back of the Chevy and snapped up the shotgun. It was the closest gun to my hand. Patty and Abby froze for a split second, but I was in the door and heading to Gilbert like a missile. I could hear him yelling from what sounded like the back of the building, near the kitchen.
“Get the fuck! Holy jumping! Little cocksuckers!” There were a few more colorful uses of the language as well, but to retain what little dignity Gilbert has left, I’m going to omit them. I went down the hall with the shotgun up looking for Gilbert or signs of danger.
In the back near the kitchen there was a huge, floor to ceiling bookcase tipped over face down on the floor. It had fallen down somehow, and Gilbert had managed to get his toes on one foot trapped underneath the edge. He was still upright,
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