We’ve spent the last few days holed up in a nice 2 storey bungalow. It was down a long, dirt driveway with poplars down each side. The house must have belonged to somebody with a bit of money back in the day. It had been ransacked, but there were still a few tins of food in a storeroom in the basement.
Adam and I pass the time with him learning how to read, write and fire small arms weapons, you know, the standards for a 6-year old. Being so far out in the country we felt fairly safe making so much noise.
The zoms, zombies, slovs, undead, walkers, snotties, diseased, whatever you want to call them, are attracted to sound. They’re also attracted to light, movement and your smell if they’re close enough. They’re mostly skin and bones, and sometimes I wonder how they keep moving, their bodies mostly wasted away by rot and decay. Their skin is like leather, or jerky if you’ve got no appetite – too much time out in the open without sunscreen will do that to you.
Adam seems to be a bit of a crack shot with the 9mm, but needs a bit of help with the loading and unloading as that seems to get him a little flustered. Especially when I start putting the pressure on as if it were a real zombie situation. Still, it’s good to know there is another gun in the mix if it all starts to go pear shaped.
Ammo, or lack thereof, is a concern though. That’s why I carry my machete. A decent whack to the head with that stops most of the snotties. Adam doesn’t have the strength to wield one at the moment, so his job is to hang behind and watch my back when things start getting hairy.
He hasn’t really taken to the reading or writing so much, but that’s boys for you. More interested in mud, bugs and shooting things than academia. Not too worried though, doubt we’ll come across too many headmistresses demanding a 3,000 word essay on the pros and cons of smelling like a rotting corpse.