Forward

The sole purpose of this blog is for the reading entertainment of those who might view it.  I began this particular story based upon a video game entitled "7 Days to Die".   I began writing this narrative beginning early January 2018, and have  been continuing it as the game progressed, filling in details the game does not explain, and simply making up a whole lot of it with characters and interacts the game would not allow.  The game and any of its related artwork remain the property of Telltale Games and its affiliates.   This is a free of charge blog, without intent of any monetary gain.  It exists only for amusement.  If successful I intend to create other Novels or Novellas loosely based upon other video games with the intent of bringing realism to a fictional world and to inspire both the gamer and designer to think outside the box and not within the confines of the perameters of the game itself.

Any images or representations of the game found within the texts of this multipage blog are imageage take via a private camera from my private TV and may be altered to enhance the story.  The images are the work of the game designer and I make to no claim to owning them.

7 DAYS TO DIE!

As played and written by Duke Snider                                      Loosely based upon a Fun Pimps/   Xbox One X console                                                                   Telltale Game
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DAY ONE
 

The last thing I remember is the burning sands of the Middle East.   President Trump wasn’t bluffing when he warned Iran not to start up their nuclear program.  Embolden by Russia and Putin’s assurances of support they didn’t listen, and the full force of the United States military was leveling everything in its path on its way to Tehran. Of course, Putin attempted to keep his word sending a couple of divisions of outdated T-72 tanks into the fray, and couple of brigades of their newest T-14 Armada tanks, but they were no match for our firepower, and were quickly swept from the field like dead flies swept from a table.

The dust from the M1 Abrams tanks hung like a fine curtain in the air as we made our way across the flats, crushing rocks, snakes, and anything unlucky enough to fall into their path.  The way was clear, and within a few days this exercise in diplomacy would be over.  Hopefully, within a few weeks we would all be home enjoying a cold one with our families and the threat of state sponsored terrorism put on the back burner once more; hopefully, for several decades to come.  I wasn’t fooling myself this would be the end of it.  There was always one more crackpot waiting in the wings somewhere to create more problems.  North Korea had submitted to world pressure without confrontation, but there was simply something insane when it came to the Iranians.   They had convinced themselves they were the voice of Allah and the sword of Mohammad destined to bring about global conversion to the one true faith.  A faith that strapped bombs on children and sent them out to blow up bus loads of Jews or anyone else they considered unclean.  Perhaps, this action would put that crazy genie back into its Cracker Jack box where it belonged.   And then there was a brilliant flash of light followed by complete darkness….

Day one - The Resurrection

I don’t know how long the darkness lasted.  It could have been days, weeks, months or years.  There was no time where I was - or wasn’t – if I was at all.  There was only a vague sense of waking and the sound of some strange music all around me.  I am floating within a sea of blackness, just vaguely aware of my existence.  There was no breath, no sensation of touch, just a semi-conscious of drifting in darkness.  Was I dead?  Was I alive? Was I simply remembering my birth?  I didn’t know nor did it matter.  I just was. and for the moment that seemed to be enough.

Out of the dimness people began to emerge.  Only they were really people.  Human bodies would be a more accurate description.  Some were male, some female, some of them of various races, and others in cultural hair-cuts.  I counted 17 in all and each one had a name, but they weren’t my name or my body.  Or were they?  I no longer knew.  What was and what now is had become a kaleidoscope of confusion.   Were these simply incarnations of someone I had once been in some previous life?  I didn’t know, but I felt compelled to pick one.   Why?  I saw nothing wrong with the body I once had and seemed to have lost.  Down through the list, I mentally flicked through each one of them.  None of them really appealed to me except for the last one; the one with a bizarre name of Mad Mole.  Mad Mole was a grey bearded, grizzled looking brute of a man dressed cowboy fashion in black.  He wore a black Stetson hat, black shirt and pants, black rain slicker, and black boots; making his silver rodeo belt buckle shine like a diamond and demand attention.  This guy was someone capable looking, rawhide tough.  Someone that could help me survive … but survive what?  Mentally, I clicked yes.

“Name your world.” A voice whispered in my ear.  Was I creating my own heaven or hell?   Right now, I wasn’t certain of anything other than I seemed to exist.  Hoping for the best I came up with the name, “Happy Valley”.  Will it actually be happy?  I didn’t know, but could only hope so.  The darkness returned and once again I was asleep.  I was unaware of the world being created around me.

I AM ALIVE!

I wake in dry semi-arid grassland dotted with sparse trees and large Prickly-Pear cactus plants dotting the horizon.  A note hangs in mid-air in front of me written on the wind.  What is this place, and was it even real?  Stepping on a small cactus plant as I reached to touch the note to see if it was real or simply a projection on glass answered that question in a hurry.   IT HURT! Swearing, I hopped on one foot quickly pulling out the few spines that manage to stay stuck in toes.   The note was welcoming me as the newest survivor; but a survivor of what?   This wasn’t the Middle-East and the Army was gone.  I was alone in a sea of dead and dying grass.  The note was signed, “NOAH”, like the Noah in the Bible, but this place wasn’t any kind of Ark I ever read about.   It was hard and unfriendly looking.  At my feet was a backpack containing one torch, a bottle of water, a can of food, and not much else.  My only clothing was a pair of black, tight fitting sports underwear.  At least I wasn’t totally naked – not that anyone else was around to see or care, but I was glad to have what I had on.  There was less chance of having my Johnson impaled upon a hidden cacti spine.

           

  The air shimmied and another set of instructions appeared telling me to collect fibers to make a sleeping bag.   I was already way ahead of the game and had a half a bag full of long grass fibers in my bag.  Using the skills learned during a survival course, the grass rubbed between hands broke easily down into long thin strands of kite string like cords that easily twisted into a makeshift yarn for weaving.   To my surprise several spindly tall plants growing nearby twisted easily into wooden sticks while emitting a thick glue-like substance that could be squeezed into my hand.  When I attempted to clean the adhesive off by rubbing my palms into the sandy soil, a fast setting, tough asphalt like material formed.  This was a fortunate discovery for me as the glue-sand would later be found vital for the creation of future tools and building projects.   My fiber gathering went quickly and within an hour or so I had enough yarn to create a large blanket by using a crude pot holder weave. Folding the blanket over and used a make shift needle from a cactus spine to whip stitch it together, I managed to make a fairly good sleeping bag.  I even had enough material left over to create a flap and pillow by stitching all but one end of the flap down and then stuffing it with soft grass and sealing the opening up.  At least I wouldn’t be laying my head on rock.

Laying it on the ground another set of commands appeared to make several articles of clothing.  These proved to be a little more difficult as I had no knife to work with and had to create smaller swaths of cloth to patch together.  It took some creative thinking, but I was eventually successful in manufacturing a hood, shirt, gloves, trousers, and a crude pair of shoes that offered some relief to my feet.   None of these things would protect my body from all the elements, but at least I felt civilized again now that I had some proper dress and no longer half-naked.  

Again, the instructions appeared.  Nudging them, they simply swirled and reformed making me wonder if I really was in some sort of dream world.  Physical touch told me I wasn’t, but yet somehow something wasn’t right with this world, and who was Noah?   I began to imagine all kinds of things.  I wondered if I was just some human cell battery plugged into a gel filled tube powering a giant computer, which in turn created an existence within the mind of the battery, much like the one in the movie Matrix.  God, I hoped not.  Or was I just some created simulation of an alien race aboard a space ship on the dark side of the moon studying humans to determine the best way to defeat us should they decide to invade by placing us into impossible situations and observing how we would react.  If this was my version of the Twilight Zone, I was ready to check out and get on with the war and get back home to my family and friends.

“Make an axe.” The instructions read, “Five stones, one wood, and three fiber” were needed to craft this item.   Why five stones?   I had collected enough Native American artifacts to know only was stone was used in an axe.   Searching the area quickly revealed there weren’t stones large enough to create an axe from it.  Of course!  The asphalt-glue!  Choosing a long thin one with an edge as the main body and blade, I was able to cement four smaller stone near its base to create a hafting area for the handle I would need.  It was crude, but it should work.  I chose the sticky fibers to bind the stone to the handle and was surprised to discover they held together like steel.  Whatever this resinous plant was, it had the super glues I was familiar with beat by a long shot.   After a few practice swings I quickly learned I could gather a greater volume of fiber of much better quality from the cactus much faster than I could from the grasses themselves.   In addition to fiber the cactus often provided Yucca pods that could be eaten as food or crushed, its juice for drinking.  For the first time I was confident I wouldn’t immediately starve to death or die of thirst and spent great effort in obtaining as much of these pods as possible.

Small, stunted, dead trees about 3 feet tall shattered into splintered board like planks with just a couple of hits.  Stone boulders were more difficult, but yielded to the blows by giving up various sized small stones of different shapes; many that would be useful for future axes, or could easily be worked into projectile points such as small arrowheads or even a knife.   On the downside, the first axe wore out quickly but with the newly produced stone I discovered each time I wore one out, the next one I created was a little better, stronger, as I learned and adapted to assembling the stone at various angles and matching them up to better fit the “blade” stone.  Things for me, were looking up.

 “Make a wood club.” The next set of instructions read.   This was an easy task with the aid of my natural super adhesive.   The small planks fused tightly and with a little practice the outer, naturally round part of the trees could be arranged to create a rounded appearance.  Despite its crudity, I found the club, like the axe, to be practical and effective.  If needed this head knocker might come in handy against animals in close quarter combat.   After all this was desert, and deserts have things like coyotes and wolves in them, don’t they?

As if on cue the next message read, “Create a wood bow and arrows.”  This was one item I had experience with from my Boy Scout days and from my artifacts collecting hobby.   I knew how to knap flint and stone into projectiles and had previously attended many knap-INS in which other, more proficient stone arrowhead makers would gather and share their knowledge and techniques.   First, I needed to gather some feathers.  Fortunately, larger than normal bird nest was abundant.  These weren’t yard bird sized nest either.  More like something one would expect a chicken to make and use, so the feathers were of a decent size as well.  They were the perfect size for fletching, even though I would have preferred to use stiff turkey wing feathers.  

Enough of the knocked stone flakes were already thin enough to work and with careful edge grinding of the flakes and a well-placed blow from the squared end of a second stone, I was able to knock off the long splinters of stone from the rock needed to shape and create an arrowhead.   Some of the flakes were thin enough and small enough and shaped well enough into natural triangles to be used as arrowheads without further work, saving me a great deal of time and effort.  I didn’t need pretty arrows as much as I needed them to work.   Despite what many people think, true arrowheads were not more than an inch-and-a-half-long, and most were little more than a thin triangle sliver of flint worked into shape.  The ancients who created many of them were masters of the art; an art I could never hope to duplicate.  Some were made with small notches in the bases to help tie them off and hold them on the shaft with beaten animal sinew used as bindings or even a short stone tail piece embedded into the wood. The majority of arrowheads, however, were fashioned into a simple triangle glued and sinew wrapped into place.   Everything larger than an inch-and-a half was more than likely a knife blade, with a few being actual spear points; and even those were also used as knives, making their actual use speculative.   I had no sinew, but the glue was strong enough to work for my needs.

Since I had no sinew, creating an effective bow was another matter.  Nearly every primitive bow required the bow limbs to be wrapped in sinew to prevent breakage.  Experience and knowledge told me hedge apple trees made the best wooden bows, but there were no hedge apple trees here.   The next best way to create a bow without sinew was to laminate wood.   I chose several species of trees and quickly brought them down and splintered them into the needed sized slats.   After a couple of tries, I discovered two slats of one type of tree bound to a third type of wood sandwiched in the middle made the strongest bow.  Don’t ask me what kind of trees these were.  I have no idea.  They were simply just there, dead looking, and undefined.   I thought one might be a gum wood given its toughness, but that was only a guess.  It was hard whatever it was.  I added extra strength to the limbs by wrapping sticky fibers tightly around them.  The string was made of a tough cactus cord.   I was pleased with the way the bow and arrows turned out, but I could see night was approaching and I needed shelter.  A new command of making and improving three wood boxes to create a shelter appeared but I ignored it.  Three boxes weren’t going to shelter anything.  Why boxes anyhow?  No one built out of boxes unless they were desperate or lived on the street and the boxes, I was being asked to create, weren’t the large furniture boxes the homeless used for shelter. They were closer to a two-foot-by-two-foot cube.

Cresting a small hill, I saw my luck was still holding as a small cabin wasn’t far off.  Then I heard it. It was a long moan, followed by a static like screech.   It nearly made my skin crawl.   Swearing to myself I thought, “What the Frig was that!” only the word I used wasn’t “Frig”.  Readying the Bow, I moved cautiously, forward and then I saw it.  Someone was moving towards me in a slow lurching walk.  For a second my heart leapt in joy.  I wasn’t alone!  There were other people in this desolate place.  I was about to shout, when I noticed there was something wrong with this person.  She seemed to be dressed like a nurse, but the way she moved made me think she might sick or injured.  Had an animal attacked her and that was the sound I heard?  I didn’t think so as it didn’t sound like any animal, I was familiar with. 

Her skin color was off as well.  She looked bloated and grey with pus looking eyes.   Then she groaned again, making that God-awful sound from Hell.  She was the source of the scream!   She turned towards me and from the cabin I could see three more people moving in my direction.  All of them swaying in the same lurching, drunken manner.  I tried to duck down behind a tuft of tall brush, but it was too late.  She… it …. Whatever the Hell it was had already saw me and she-it was moving towards me; directing the others to my location.   I thought about running, but I needed shelter and they were between me and it.  So be it.   Even at this distance I could see the nurse-dressed-thing wasn’t really human anymore.  In fact, from the smell that came with a slight breeze I would say she wasn’t even alive, yet she was walking and could obviously see through those opaque puss eyes of hers, sniffing as she went along.  Was she able to smell me even though I was upwind?   I didn’t know and I didn’t care.  This thing - this Nurse Ratchet-looking monster, and the others were a serious problem right now and my battle instincts told me were a danger I didn’t need.   Where in blazes was I?  I felt like I was in a bad episode of the Walking Dead or Supernatural.   But I was already out of time to analyze the situation any further.  Ratchet was nearly on me.

Rising from the ground and stepping back I drew the bow and loosed the arrow.  It struck center mass with a meaty thud.  Ratchet stumbled, growled, and continued to move forward.  Another arrow she staggered and fell.  “Not too bad.” I thought as I concentrated upon those behind her.   I drew, took aim and nearly fell over as Ratchet rose from the ground seemingly impervious to the two arrows sticking through her body.    “Shit!”  I muttered, “How the hell do you kill these things?” Could they even be killed?  They were obviously already dead or something close to it.   I had to be in a real life Walking Dead episode!

A really big, fat guy was closing ground.  His grease stained shirt looked like something a slob would wear.  He was powerful looking despite his bloated state.  “Okay, Burger Bob.” I thought, “Here’s one for you.” sending an arrow his way.  He weaved and I missed hitting some soccer mom looking thing behind him in the head.  She went down like a load of bricks.   So, the movies were right.  In order to kill a zombie-whatever-thing a head shot was the best way to stop one. 

The knowledge didn’t make me feel any better.   Even with a bow that meant I had to; one, get much better at archery; two, find or make more powerful bows that could inflict more damage; or three, get lucky with a shot and wait until they were really close to reduce the chances of missing the head.  The last option appealed to me the least.   If I missed an up-close and personal shot that meant there was every chance in the world one of those things would get a shot at me, and that idea was enough to make me nearly wet myself in fear.   So be it.   There just was no ignoring what was coming at me.   

 Arrow away!  Gut shot-shot the fat guy.   He doubled over.   That really slowed him.   A second arrow in the top of his head made him buckle and I thought he was done for, but from the angle of the barb I realized I might have missed his brain as it penetrated through the crown of his head and protruded like one of those trick Halloween arrows with a bend in it that was supposed to make the arrow look like it went through your ears or something.   Burger Bob straightened just in time to get a third arrow right between his eyes.  That one did him in. 

Continuing in retreat, I shifted my angle to a more circular path to bring me back around towards the cabin instead of further from it in case I had to make a run for it.  I didn’t want to be any further from it than necessary.   I didn’t know if these things could run as well or not.  So far, they showed no evidence of real speed and all seemed to lumber at the same rate.   A teenage looking female in a dress with half her face eaten off was now in the lead.  Even in her diseased dead state it was easy to see at one time she was probably a looker and popular with the boys.   Too bad, she was one of those things.   She seemed to be a little more aggressive than the others and the smell she gave off was absolutely putrid.   Putrid was a good name for this one.   A single shot literally exploded her head and she dropped.  

The last one was really rotten looking.  He had very dark skin, sagging, and  had a really vile appearance.   I thought I might have seen an autopsy scar on his chest and stomach.  Was this guy already dead before he came back?  Given his appearance I would say not only was he dead when he came back but somehow managed to crawl out of a grave where he had laid for who knows how long until whatever evil magic brought it back to the surface.  His fingernails were broken and dangerous looking.  One swipe from those told me whoever it hit would in for a serious infection.  Disease was written all over the guy.   I dubbed the reanimated dead guy Twitchy because of the nervous jerking movements he made as if he was going through drug withdraw.   He was a bringer of death if I ever saw one.   An arrow to the knee took his leg off, but at didn’t stop him.  In fact, he didn’t even bleed.   Blood contamination wouldn’t be a problem then.  These things had no working circulation.  He continued to crawl towards me and that was a break I needed.   Pulling my axe free I was able to jump past his reach, turn and make several hard swings to the back of its head.   He got in one lucky swipe which sent stars through my body, but failed to break the skin.  A nasty bruise may form by morning, but I ignored the pain for two more quick hits that finally made him still.  

He was carrying something in his pockets.  Holding my breath, I shoved my hands into his trousers and came up with the barrel of a gun.  It was a 9mm barrel to be exact.  If he were carrying pistol parts it meant in all probability there might be real weapons someplace in this desolate land.   Suddenly the body contorted and what was recognizable human was more like a human puddle.  It was sickening to look at and even worse to smell.  I accidentally hit with the axe as I attempted to step away from it and slipped in something oozing from it.  The body popped like a balloon leaving behind a trace of rotted flesh and fat.  As disgusting as the fat was, I could see it was very oily.  Oil meant it could burn and be used for candles and torches.  Fat could easily be rendered into lard, and lard was used to make candles for centuries.   I might need this stuff to survive and scooped it into my bag; hoping not to puke in the process.  The other bodies produced various things from a few additional cans of food to a bottle of water.  Once popped most left only rotted flesh in their wake with only one other giving up any kind of fat at all.   Well, three torches would be better than no torches.  

The cabin door was damaged, but unlocked.  Entering I struck a flint to ignite my one torch to provide some light.  The building was in bad shape, but not to the point of falling down.  Using my glue plants and my axe for a hammer I was to quickly able to reinforce and lock the wood door.  It wasn’t fancy, but it might slow whatever those dead things were.   Looking around I understood the flashing command to make wood boxes.  The entire structure was made of solid wood boxes stacked on top of each other, and not the modern two-by-four upright studs my home and most homes were constructed from.   The boxes were simple, but ingeniously made and within a few minutes I was able to   craft a number of them and place them within the walls were some were missing.  Other spaces were repairable.  I thanked the heavens for the natural glue discovery as it made work quick and easy.  I also discovered the boxes could be double reinforced by adding cross slats to them, making the walls even stronger, and sought to make as many as strong as I could.   Once I had my three blocks placed and reinforced, I realized what all these commands were.  There were simple training exercises to teach me the bare basic skills I would need to survive.   Who was sending them and how they were sending them I didn’t know, but in a way, I was glad they were there as building with boxes wouldn’t have dawned on me.   They were simple, fast to create and reinforce, and any kind of structure from temporary to enduring could be constructed from them. The best part was until the side boards were attached, they could be folded flat which meant several could be easily strapped to the back pack for quick set down.   Not only that the construction method made for easy ladders to an unlimited number of uses such as stair cases to pitched roofs by simply changing the angle of the box.   A wide range of different construction methods and materials began to flash in my head including the materials needed to create forges, concrete, stone blocks, gun powder, and various weapons.   Someone or something was programming my brain with all I needed to know.   Not all instructions were complete and images of various book titles required to fill in the blanks also raced through my head.  I guess whoever it was didn’t want to make it too easy for me.

“Build a campfire” was the next command.  Required materials were eight stones and wood.  That was easy enough.  Cleaning out the fire place I chose to set my fire ring in it as it would carry the smoke outside.   The fire felt good as the cool dampness of evening began to set in.   “Congratulations Survivor” the instructions read.  Welcome to Navezgane.  It told me it was time to visit one of its friendly traders.   So, there were other people alive and trading posts as well.  That gave me some hope.  The instructions indicated a map would mark the position.   Digging through the pack I found a hard sheet of glass like material.   On it was my position and the terrain I had already experienced.  Far off to the south was an icon I took to be the trading post.   It was nearly four kilometers away or just a little less than two miles.  Not a really great distance as the crow flies, but what I had already seen of the terrain I realized on foot it was probably several times that and perhaps not as easy as the map made it look to get there.  Tomorrow would tell.  For now, I needed to see if there was anything worth salvaging in cabin.

A search of the cabinets, stove, and refrigerator revealed three tin cans, four empty jars and one Dutch oven pot.  The bathroom held two bottles of murky looking water that was probably unsafe to drink until boiled and even then, having questionable taste, but beat dehydration in a pinch.  The medicine cabinet contained two pain pills and a bottle of grain alcohol.  It wasn’t much of a cache to start with, but it beat nothing at all.  A weathered staircase led to a loft bedroom with one queen sized bed so moldy I would never use it.  Instead I easily broke it up for cloth and iron fragments.   Speaking of iron, I noticed while breaking boulders I had also obtained some crude iron ore that had been imbedded in the stone along with some nitrate powder.   It was unusual to find these in stone, but everything in this place was unusual and I had to make the best of it.  Digging it out I found I could scrap it into actual iron ingots by beating it with a rock and knocking the impurities from it.  They were small flat discs; not much good as they were, but if I could fashion a forge to smelt them the possibilities were potentially limitless.   My first thought was metal arrowheads instead of stone ones, but even steel knives could be created or perhaps other weapons or tools.   I constructed a simple storage chest to store these and the flatted cans, along with some back up stone and a few arrows in case I needed an emergency stash.  Confident they were secure, I built a square box on which to set a campfire ring, and used the pot to boil the murky water into something more drinkable. A layer of sand in the bottom of the ring kept the box from burning.  Sailors used this trick to cook on wooden ships in days gone by and I used it now

I crushed a number of yucca pods into juice to fill the remaining jars, while munching down on the remainders.  Somewhere I picked up what I thought was snow berries and chow down on them as well.  They were bitter and too many made me very nauseous.  I would have to limit my intake of these to a few at a time and only when nothing else was available.   I needed a base camp and this cabin would do for now.  Laying my sleeping bag down I heard the map ding and a bed icon appeared on it. How did the map know?  Was I being watched?   Inside the back pack was a black iron box with a red flag on it I recognized as an early land claim block.  I needed the pack space and set it within a hole in the floor.  Had I used my brain earlier I would have used it to place my campfire on.  The land claim block would have reduced the chances of an accidental fire greatly.   It was too late to correct my choice of fire boxes now.   Using the bed cloth, I fashioned two torches from the collected fat and made a makeshift holder to place them on the wall.  They produced a good deal of light in the darkening room for what they were and helped keep the structure warm.  

It was nearly dark by then, and I sat down and began fashioning new clubs attempting various combinations of laminated wood and techniques to improve them.  Each club was just a little better than the last, and I was learning fast what wood was better for what application.  To my delight, I discovered these same techniques could also be applied to my bow, making them equally stronger as I experimented and learned.  For some reason I wasn’t tired and couldn’t sleep.  In fact, I didn’t feel sleepy at all.  If sleep was impossible in this world then why create a sleeping bag?   This place had to be dream but it wasn’t.   It would take some getting used to.  

The hours slipped by as I crafted one weapon after another including making and improving my axes along the way.   I was amazed as how the pieces were able to be rearranged to make each new invention even better than the last.  It was like being inside a giant Rubik Cube working the puzzle from the inside.  Perhaps that was what this world was; a giant puzzle box waiting to be cracked from the inside.  That might explain the box construction of the cabin as well but all the possibilities was too much for me to ponder at the moment.  I needed to use this down time to fashion the best weapons I could.  

                                                                                                                         

 It was probably around 2:00 AM when I heard the first groan followed by a crash of wood.   More of those things were back and they were trying to get in.   Hoping the walls and door would hold I readied my newest bow and axe in the event they penetrated just as the door gave way.   In strode Burger Bob.  “What the …” I uttered seeing this reincarnated creep.  I had killed him!   Well, if he could die once then he could die again.   Then he bolted.   I couldn’t believe my eyes!  Those slow walking things in the afternoon were now fast running maniacs darting to and fro like some kind of out of control top.   I knew I was in trouble.   If they got up the stairs, I was a dead man.   Snatching several collapsed frames from my pack I dropped the empty boxes stacked several deep on top of each other to block the stair case and quickly glue hammered slats on them hoping to create a wall that will slow them down and buy some time until I could think a way out of the predicament, I was in. 

 Looking out the window, I saw more of them.  More than one Burger Bobs?  What kind of clones were these creatures?  There were two Nurse Ratchets, several Putrid girls, and a new crawling thing similar to twitchy but couldn’t walk.  He was the most destructive to the wall and appeared to be suited for breaking boxes and or digging.   Breaking the window frame out I took aim and dropped an arrow into the middle of the crawlers back.  He yelped a growl, did a quick flip around and flipped around again coming towards the house.  Something told me this guy was tough as nails and probably one of the harder ones to kill.  Several more arrows proved this hypothesis correct.   Aiming in front of him I let loose a fifth arrow and succeeded to pin this new thing to ground.  He went limp.  Obviously, only a head shot would be the only thing capable of stopping this creature in its tracks.   The second one was already working on the block foundation.  Firing an arrow into his leg made him scream and flip around.  I had to be quick, and notched another arrow and fire it into his back and temporarily pin him to the ground just long enough for me to get a final arrow into its head.  It too went limp just as the first crawler morphed into whatever puddle these things morphed into once dead.   It was like decay caught up to them once they were taken out.

 Burger Bob was attempting to wreck my barricade.   Breaking the rear banister of the staircase with my stone axe for a clearer shot, I quickly put an arrow through his skull.  He slumped without a sound and rolled down the stairs just as Ratchet and Soccer Mom clone took his place.  My first shot wasn’t as lucky as Burger Bob’s shot had been, but it was close second.  Attempting to control my fear and breathing, I drew a second time and watch happily as Ratchet collapsed down the staircase, followed by Soccer Mom.   Putrid was running to fro beneath me apparently jumping on the table and breaking out the floor.   A box collapsed.  Stepping over to it I drew down on it and sent Miss Putrid back to the Hell she spawned from.  Another one was growling outside and from the rapid drum of the sound, it was running in place.   As long as it stayed there I was content, for now, to leave it alone.  

Morning came sometime after and the running sound ceased.   Apparently, these creatures were only able to run at night and the sun slowed them down.   I made a mental note to make sure to be out of their reach before night fall.    As fast as they moved, I knew I couldn’t outrun them long.   Breaking my staircase barrier, I crept downstairs and immediately stepped into a people puddle.  It was thick and gooey and I nearly got stuck in it.   It was empty of anything useful and I popped it with my axe getting only rotted meat, which left alone would liquefy and evaporate within a short time unless placed in an airtight container.   I recognized this was another reason to get rid of the remains as quickly as possible.  I couldn’t afford to step in one of them and get mired if a horde of them came upon me.  These bodies had to be disposed of as quickly as possible.  The remaining bodies yielded only a bandage and splint from what I thought might have been Ratchet.   The girl had a disgusting sandwich on her that I stored away with a vow to consume only in an emergency.   Once outside I found my runner in place, stuck within the broken boxes of the front porch and growling like an angry cat.  She was quickly dealt with and disposed of leaving behind some fat and another equally disgusting sandwich made of the same canned meat.   A nearby can with a picture of the meat read Shamway.  So, did this mean the found ones were a Sham Sandwich?   I laughed at the thought.  It was as good of a name as any.   Some food, no batter how bad, beat not having food at all.

DAY TWO…    The Journey

The sun had been up nearly two hours before I was ready to start out for the trader location marked on my glass map, taking extra time to repair any damage to my shelter.  My first order of business was to break up a few trees for the needed wood and to knock out the stair case so there would be no future night visits from the unwelcome dead. Succeeding in getting the staircase shattered was a little more work than I thought, but well worth the effort.   I then created a box wall to the second floor and placed ladders on them so I could access the upper loft.   I didn’t know if these things could climb one or not, but after seeing the zombie stuck in the porch, I concluded they couldn’t jump very high.  I had no problem jumping and left the bottom three feet of the ladder off the wall in hopes they couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to figure out how to access it.   I would probably know soon enough if this was a feasible solution.  Noticing the trees produced a few seeds after being chopped, I took a few moments to plant them.   It might take some time for the trees to grow, but not knowing how many years I might be stuck in this amalgamated alter reality they might come in handy some day; besides, trees are a very renewable resource.

A dirt road of sorts led off in another direction away from the trader, but curiosity had the better of me and I followed it, hoping it might turn towards my final destination or at least intersect with better trail or road.   It had to go somewhere and going somewhere appealed to me better than just running across nowhere.   There were intermittent bags of trash where someone had dumped them along the path in the past in various states of decay.  At this point anything might prove useful and I took the time to peek into as many as were feasible.  Most held little or nothing, but a few would produce a can or empty jar here and there, and sometimes lead and brass objects I might someday need to smelt down into something more useful; like bullets.   Collecting these I continued on for about an hour, seeing nothing, but hearing the distant cry of one or more of the skin walkers.   In the movies these creatures would be called Zombies, but these things were more like walking bags of flesh that disintegrated into a foul spray before evaporating into nothing.   Around a bend I discovered another cabin, only this one was much better made with a flag stone bottom first floor and a wider top surrounded by a veranda.   That meant if I could keep those things out of the bottom floor there was no way they could get to me on the second floor.   The only problem was there were a half dozen Skins claiming it as home.   I suppose I could have asked them nicely to leave, but I knew that wouldn’t work and there was only one way to evict them.

Readying my weapons, I crept as far forward as I could without being seen, keeping as many weeds and a large boulder between myself and them.  It was getting warm and I was beginning to sweat; not all of it from heat and exertion.   I won’t tell you I am hero.  I was plenty scared alright and after the whack I took from one of them yesterday I knew these things were very dangerous.   I had closed about three-fourths of the distance before Twitchy detected me, and growled an alert to the others who also immediately turned their attention in my direction.   Well, there was no sense in hiding now.  Rising to full height from the ground, I raised my bow and lobbed an arrow towards Twitchy striking him full in the chest.  He stumbled, but impact didn’t slow his momentum down.   He was too far for a guaranteed head shot so I considered whatever part I could hit a bullseye.  Two more arrows seemed to slow Twitchy considerably, and one more brought him down.   So, they could be killed with body multiple shots.  It appeared it took several to do this, but since arrows were free for the making, and I had constructed nearly a hundred of them, I had plenty to go around for the rest of the herd.   

Twitchy had a twin brother.  He was my next target, and I missed.  I missed again.   Swearing in disgust, I began to back walk, firing as I went.  Why in heck was I missing this thing?  Then I realized why.  These things didn’t really come at you head on.  It was more like a sideways angled walk towards you.  I thought it was a very clever adaptation for survival.   Whatever these Skins were, and whatever created or mutated them it had given them the skills they needed to survive as well.  Certainly, they weren’t as skilled as a living person, but they moved in unison like a flock of birds and were able to communicate through their grunts and growls.  They understood basic pack tactics as well.  I noted a few veered off in an obvious flanking move.   “You are clever!”  I shouted at the Skin thing, more out of frustration than hopes it would understand, “But not clever enough!”  Compensating for the illusionary moved I didn’t fire where it was, but where it would be and the arrow struck home; ripping its way down through its neck, lungs (if it had any), liver and side.   Twitchy Two dropped cold, hit the ground, contorted, and popped.   It must have landed on something sharp. That was one less to clean up.

A crack of a twig behind me warned me one of them had gotten close.  Whirling around I barely missed being struck by Nurse Ratchet, her foul breath blowing in my face.   I didn’t have time to gag even if my stomach did do a painful heave.  Grabbing my axe from a makeshift tool belt around my waist I swung full force for her head.  The blade landed with a solid hit, but it only stunned her.  So, I hit her again, and then a third time as fast as I could swing.  This time she slumped to the ground, temporarily out but not dead.   I didn’t let up either.  I hit her several more times before she stopped moving.   A quick search retrieved three pain pills and a bandage.  

I saw stars and was sent sprawling.  Dazed; the world swam before my eyes.  Burger Bob was nearly on me.  I quick rolled to the right just in time to avoid his grasp.  Seeing me down, the other two attempted to converge on me with wide open mouths ready to bite.   I was in serious trouble, and managed a half-ass back flip a split second before they had me.   This was no time to stand your ground and I bolted for a very large boulder, retrieving my bow from where it had fallen as I went.   I scrambled just as fast as I could over the sandpaper surface of the rock to its top.  The skins were only moments behind me and began pounding at the stone with their bare fist.   Good Grief!  They were actually breaking the stone and wearing it down.   Whatever mutation or creation they were they were impervious to pain and their limbs had be as hard as steel to withstand the punishment they were getting from the impact against stone.  No wonder they could hit so hard! 

Notching an arrow, I fired at Soccer Mom and missed its body but managed to send the arrow through the elbow severing her arm.  The limbs might be made of steel like flesh, but apparently the joints were weak points and easily shattered.   That was a plus in my favor.  Who knew when I might be locked in a hand to hand death struggle with one of those things and might need to know what I just discovered; not that I ever intended to let one that close to me, but hey, a few minuets before it was nearly such an event.   I notched another arrow and set it this time straight through Mom’s head.   She was down and only Burger Bob and her daughter Putrid remained.   I don’t know if Putrid Girl really was or was not Soccer Mom’s daughter or not, but when you have nothing else to occupy your thoughts, creating a family structure out of the skins seemed appropriate at the time.   Twitchy was the father, Soccer was the mom, Putrid the daughter, Burger Bob the big fat basement dwelling brother who sat around in urine stained underwear all day playing video games, and Crawler was the perverted uncle that like to creep around in the bushes for a free show.    Just one big, happy, dead family out for a bite of whomever they could catch.   Well, today lunch wasn’t going to be me.    Bob was down, and Putrid was scaling the rock, now enough chunks of it had been dislodged to allow her to do so.   F that noise!  I ripped the wooden club from my belt and used it like a baseball bat to turn her head into a beautiful explosive spray.   With luck the cabin was now mine.  

Breaking in the door, I hastily created a replacement and reinforced it as best as I could.   Inside, a metal reinforced door sealed a stone closet or storage room to my left with a desk, chair and filing cabinet to its right and what turned out to be a bathroom under the staircase.   The bathroom had a double tier of metal wall lockers and I nearly squealed with joy as I recovered a pair of worn cowboy boots; even if they were one size too big, an honest to God real shirt, and a pair of jet-black jeans.   Now I could dress just like a real person and not some hermit on a deserted Island.   Shedding the fiber clothing I quickly dressed and once again felt like a whole man.   The medicine cabinet held a bottle of grain alcohol I thought might come in handy for sterilization, but nothing else.  The toilet had a bottle of murky water.   The filing cabinet contained paper and I discarded it.  I didn’t think I would be writing any letters to home any time soon.  The desk held a cowboy hat I quickly donned and pair of unfashionable sun glasses.   Beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I put them on.   Any relief from the glaring sun and dust was appreciated no matter how silly the glasses looked. 

My attention turned towards the metal reinforced door.   There had to be something good in there to make a door that strong.  Using my axe and working up a sweat, I finally managed to beat my way through it.   The room was small and contained an upright black metal safe.  My heart sank.   It would take some doing to crack open this thing, but I had no choice.  Safes of this type were used to store guns, and guns meant safety so I set to work beating on it with my axe.  Four axes later and a couple of thousand hits it popped open.  My heart sank.   No guns, but there were gun parts.  The safe contained a long shotgun barrel, a set of .44 caliber pistol grips, a short shot gun stock and the lower receiver of a 9mm pistol.  Well, at least I was on part closer to a complete 9mm.  Taking these, I drifted upstairs to find a very large room with a kitchen in the far corner.  A table and sofa made the room comfortable looking.  The skylight was knocked out and it was obvious the weather had played a critical role in prematurely aging the floor, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a little wood.  The room was airy with lots of windows for light.   A book case stood against one wall with perhaps a dozen books still on it.  Most had gotten wet and were worthless.   A filing cabinet scored a little better.  In it was an Enforcer magazine.  Not just any Enforcer magazine, but one that contained the schematics showing all the intricate workings of this powerhouse of a handgun.  The magazine went as far to provide step by step instructions on how to assemble and repair a .44 caliber pistol.  This knowledge would certainly come in handy if I ever found this magnificent hand-cannon or enough parts of one to create a complete one.   So far gun parts were more plentiful than actual guns, but at the rate I was finding them I was optimistic that I would find either an intact one or all the parts to one.    I had hope, and often hope is enough to keep one alive.

Walking onto the veranda I soon learned a stair case on the opposite side of the building from where I entered provided an alternate access point to the structure.   This WOULD NOT do.   Taking my axe, I made quick work out of destroying the staircase and began walling it up.  As I worked a thought struck me.  The Skins seemed to attack the open points of the cabin.  They went for the doors first or any window second.   Some damage to the wall was there as well, but for the most part they preferred to hammer where the least amount of effort was required.   What if there were no doors or windows on the first floor?  Would they still try to get in and focus their energy on one or two points or would they be forced to spread out and beat blindly on the walls looking for a weak spot?   I could access this building via a ladder up this wall and didn’t need a bottom door or window for that matter.  It would, in effect, become a blockhouse giving me the advantage of remaining above them out of their reach with the ability to shoot down on them when necessary.    But where would I obtain the material needed to do this?  The stone was the easy part, and I needed a binder.  I recalled the early settlers used clay as a binder in cobblestone and flag stone which proved quite strong when cured.   But where could I find that much clay.   Looking at my glass map I noted the distances I had already traveled.   The bed icon indicated my initial base location, but in between there were various colors of blotched areas.   What did they mean?  Putting my finger on one of the spots a legend appeared.  This color meant a sand deposit.  Another meant a cave.  I scored!  Another color meant a clay deposit was nearby.   Using my map as a compass I narrowed in on the spot I was searching for.   A large garden of cotton was growing on this spot as well.  Did cotton patches indicate a clay deposit?  I saw it growing here and there in no great quantity, but on the indicated clay bed a whole lot of it grew.   I made a mental note that a large patch of cotton might mean clay and I would keep that in mind.  Cotton also meant a better type of yarn for cloth and cloth meant clothing, torches or bandages.  I gathered the cotton first, and then proceeded to create a crude shovel from stone.  The ancient Native Americans used shovels like these to dig with, and if they could do it, so could I.

I worked fast and hard and was rewarded with a great deal of clay within a couple hours of effort.  Additionally, I also had a nice pit that might be used to trap approaching Skins.   I wasn’t going to waste this hole and quickly used my wood to make pongee sticks that should at least cripple the bastards if not flat out kill them.  Any advantage I had over them I was going to take.   My stomach growled.   I realized I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours and the exertion finally caught up with me.  I was starving.  The canned food I had was minimal and at least slaked my hunger for now, but to conserve what I had,  I was also forced to eat one of those disgusting Shamwhiches.  It was greasy, and turned my stomach, but it would keep me alive.   I wondered how anyone ever managed to this canned crap.  Water helped wash the slime down, and eased some of the queasiness, but did little to remove the aftertaste.   I was thirstier than I thought and quickly consumes several jars of water.   I knew I had to find a replacement source soon or face a larger problem.  I could go days without food under normal conditions, but I couldn’t go long without water.  The Yucca Juice would help and it was renewable, but I didn’t know how far I would have to travel before finding something close to a safe place, or even if one existed.  

Hauling my newly dug catch back to the cabin I fashioned some cobblestone frames from wood and fiber before destroying the door once more.   It had served its purpose and I was able to salvage at least some of the wood I used.   I placed the frames into the door opening and began filling it with stone and clay to make a secure wall.  Walking around the cabin, I broke the window frames out as well and blocked those in.  I now had a fairly solid bottom wall I felt would keep the creeps out far better than the wood house I had sheltered in the first night.   Climbing the ladder to the veranda, I proceeded to destroy the interior stair case as well and repeat the process I used outside to create an interior wall and ladder system I could use, leaving the bottom rungs off. 

Satisfied with my work, I consulted my map once more and placed a red flag icon next to the bed icon.  I then created a second sleeping bag and placed it on the upstairs floor.   The bed Icon moved to my present location.   Apparently, I could only have one base at a time.  I wondered what the significance of this was.   Climbing a ladder on the veranda gave me access to the roof where I found another bird nest and collected two eggs and 14 feathers from it.  Knocking the glass frames out, I simply filled in the skylight with reinforced wooden frames.  It made me feel more secure than having a glass roof over me where some midnight surprise might choose to drop in for a bite.   My next mission was in replacing the wooden frame widows in the second-floor walls.   There were a lot of them, but I needed to see what, if anything, might be coming my way before it reached me.   During this process I heard it.  A low droning sound like a distant engine was overhead.   It was a plane!

A plane meant people, and people meant civilization someplace.  I saw a parachute open with a bright orange streamer.  Did someone bail out?  The plane didn’t appear to be in trouble and it continued on without so much as a sputter or change of pitch in the engine so mechanical failure wasn’t the reason for the bail out.  Perhaps whoever bailed was part of a search and rescue team.  If so, I hoped she was good looking, I mused to myself, and not some dog face soldier.  I had seen enough of those during my tour in the Middle East, before … before I ended up wherever here was.   The chute was in the opposite direction of the trader.   I wondered for a moment if this was intentional by whoever was pulling the strings, and then dismissed it.  It didn’t matter anyway.  If someone was out there, they wanted to be found, otherwise they wouldn’t announce their arrival with a smoke streamer.   I had to find out.   It would another nine hours to dark and I was confident I could get there and back in that time if needed.  My glass map showed where the parachute landed in a grey area without detail.  I set my course for it as quickly as my legs could carry me.

The ground was rough with steep hills and lots of obstacles to leap over or go around.  I would stop briefly to shatter a few of the smaller trees or raid a bird nest along the way as well as grab some likely looking fibers, but not for long.   Usually these events were confined to catch my breath breaks.   In the Middle East I was in great physical shape.  Here in this body the grey in the beard was showing its age.  This body wasn’t weak by any means but strength and endurance are two different things.  I had strength, but I had yet to build up the endurance.   Climbing another bank, I caught the scent of burnt wood.  My heart raced.  Was it the smoke of another “survivor”?   Perhaps there were other people here other than myself.   Topping the hill, I saw it.  A dark, charcoal burnt land with blackened dead trees and mostly destroyed buildings that had once been homes.  My heart sank like a rock in deep water.   What was I looking at?  It had to be the back gate to hell itself.   Some of the wood glowed with heat, but it wasn’t actually burning.  In fact, it was actually smoldering without being consumed.  The wood looked as if the fire had magically been frozen in place, to burn forever.   The crackling of burning wood could be heard all around me.  Wood that burned, but didn’t burn filling the air with sound and smoke that wasn’t smoke.   It held eeriness to it unlike anything I had ever seen.  Stephen King would have loved this world and so would have Edgar Allen Poe.  Too bad they weren’t here and I wasn’t somewhere else.  I would gladly trade places with either of them in a nanosecond; well, maybe not Poe.  He was long gone dead.       

Small stones and bird nests littered the ground making gathering these items easy enough, as well as small trees that broke even easier than those I had previously encountered.  As bad as this hell was, it did have some advantages.   Working my way cautiously through the charred landscape I began to search the house remains looking for anything of value.  Murky water, a few more pots, tin cans and occasional pieces of lead and brass items seemed to be the most common.   Birds had built a nest in nearly every one of them adding to my feather and egg catch.   I was probably into my third ruin when the crackling sound of burnt wood changed to a rhythmic clacking sound.  Turning around I was horrified to see a burning man-thing coming at me.  His entire body was glowing red from some internal heat source, blackened and cracked in large fissures throughout his body.  How did this thing even live, let alone walk?   I swear I wet my pants at the sight of this creature.  There was no way I was going to let this thing touch me.

Yanking my bow free, I fired my first arrow straight into what should have been its heart.  It yowled as if in pain and continued on with the arrow bursting into flame and the shaft falling harmlessly to the ground.   I fired again doing a little more damage before and slowing the thing.   It was closer now.  Far too close for my comfort.  I could feel its heat now, yet I waited, bow ready.  It raised its hand to swing and I fired point blank into its face.   Its head exploded, and it went down.  The glow stopped.  He cooled, his body contorted into a skin bag like all the others and popped into an evaporating spray.   Good enough for me.  It was dead and that was all that mattered. 

The next two foundations produced a couple of cans of food and a forth made me catch my breath as I recovered a working 9mm from the toilet back along with a dozen extra rounds of ammunition.  The cabinet held a monkey wrench that might come in handy for breaking down metal objects should the need arise.   The gun wasn’t in the best condition, but by far, it was better than no gun at all.  In time, I might be able to improve upon it, but for now just having one made me feel far more secure than at any other time since this nightmare began. I must have been enthralled with my new-found treasure because I failed to hear another Burner come up behind me.  A sharp crackle-crack alerted to its presence causing me to turn just in time to see it grasp at me from behind.  The foundation being a couple of feet off the ground was just high enough to keep him from getting up to the same level with me and keep me out of its reach.  Without thinking I turned and fired t\the pistol directly into its face.   It died a second later.  Now, I felt powerful as if I held all the cards in my hand.  For a fleeting moment it was a good feeling, but also a foolish one.  I didn’t have near enough ammunition to make any kind of stand against these things and had to caution myself to not waste what bullets I did have.  I needed to keep the gun in reserve for a last-ditch emergency and vowed to do so, even if temptation told me otherwise.   A gun doesn’t make a man invincible; it only evened up the odds a little for as long as the bullets held out.  Once empty the odds often went against you in a hurry.

All this house to house searching was eating up time and taking me off task.  I needed to get back to finding whoever bailed from the plane.   Leaping over the flesh bag, I didn’t take time to search it.  These Burners smelled worse than the others and I didn’t like idea of leafing through burnt grease.  With my luck it would have one of those nasty sandwiches on it and as greasy bad they were, the thought of having the oil from these things on it was enough to make me gag.   Moving again towards the icon I nearly stumbled across a half-eaten man.  So, there were, or at least had been, other people here.  Perhaps this poor guy was just the last person dropped into this pit of despair and didn’t make it.  The thought of ending up like him sent shivers down my spine.  Searching what was left of him revealed a treasure trove of three shot-gun shells, eight more 9mm bullets, and the never-ending supply of two-more sandwiches.   I supposed I should have been grateful for any kind of food I came across; however, the large Buck deer that just walked in front of me appealed much more to me as food.   Drawing my arrow, I let fly and the deer gave a grunt squeal of pain and bolted.  The race was on, taking me in yet another direction away from both the trader and the parachutist.  

My heart raced as I chased after the deer that was attempting to make as much distance as it could from me.  I couldn’t afford to lose it and unlike a modern broad head arrow, the stone points were making it bleed internally and there would be no blood trail to follow. 

The earth was hard baked and no tracks were being left either, making it imperative I keep this beast in sight or risk losing it to as a Zombie snack.  The buck certainly knew the land better than I and ran me through every thicket it could find.  Bounding over a burn pile of sizzling wood, the deer halted briefly giving me a chance at another shot.  I was far too short.  Adjusting my aim higher I was too far.   The deer bolted again, preventing me from attempting a third shot.   It ran behind a boulder and disappeared.   “Where in Hades did that thing go?” I muttered to myself in frustration while attempting to catch my breath.   It was gone!  A flicker of a branch caught the corner of my eye.   It wasn’t a branch at all.  It was the tip of an antler.  The clever animal took refuge behind a large cluster of small trees that concealed it very well, but not well enough.   Had it stayed still and not moved its head looking or even attempting to smell me, I might have missed it entirely.   I had buck fever now, and I could feel my hands shaking from excitement and exertion.  Crouching down, I tried to control my reactions with little success.   I could sense the kill was close and the deer could sense I was too.  It would be a matter of who moved first to determine the outcome of this dance.   Slowly, I moved back around the boulder to the right careful of each foot placement.  Any twigs or object that might crack under my weight was gingerly brushed aside before me next footstep was placed to avoid alerting the beast.  Around the boulder, and behind a thicket of grass in a long arch I duck walked to get to the far side of the brush pile where the buck was waiting me out.   Sweat rolled down my face and burned my eyes, but I didn’t dare raise my hand to my face and wipe it off out of fear the deer might detect the movement.  I knew the creature was just as wary as I was and it was hurt, making it even more attune to its surroundings.   Finally, I had the animal in clear view.  I raised my arrow and let loose.  It grunted once again and bolted.  The race was on again.

Weaving in and out of one tree bunch and leaping over burn piles, I finally gained a little on the tiring deer.  I let loose an arrow and it went wide to the left of my prey, forcing it to turn to the right.  Another went wide right, turning it again to a straight on run.  My third shot struck home somewhere in its haunches and it grunted once more, but continued to race only a little slower this time.   I had little doubt the arrows inside the body cavity were being worked back and forth, cutting internal blood vessels and damaging internal organs with each leap and step it took.   The wavering shafts protruding from its side attested to the damage it was doing as they were attempting to work their way out with each muscle contraction that caused the shaft to slowly lengthen outward and cut upward and downward more vigorously with each new inch of exposure.

The deer attempted to climb a hillside, staggered against a rather large boulder, rose up on its hind legs, squealed one last time, and fell over backwards dead. 

Ripping my ax from my belt I didn’t waste time trying to process the animal into porter house steaks and flanks.  I cut as much hide away as possible and simply cut chunks of meat from its body, using the hide as crude bags to store it in.   Deer have very little fat, and I salvaged what I could of it for future torches.   I then shattered a couple of long leg bones.  I needed a real knife, and a well worked sharpened bone made a great one.   I used the boulder as a grinding stone and ground the bone to a sharp edge as a make-shift dagger. In a pinch these would also make an effective defensive weapon.  

For anyone following me and who happens to find this journal, here is a tip when it comes to working bone.  Work it while it is fresh.  Do not let it dry as it becomes very hard and brittle.  It takes a long time for bone marrow to rot out of a bone and you won’t have this much time.  In a normal world, or the world before this, a person could break the end of a large bone off and place it next to an ant hill and allow the insects to eat it out for you, but you won’t have time for this in this world, nor have I seen any ants or any insects at all for that matter.  Besides you will risk the bone drying out and causing you more work.  The best way to work your bone into a knife is by carefully splitting it length wise.  This can be achieved via a sharp edge of a rock using another rock as a hammer and gently tapping it.  Cutting a groove along the edges of the long bone will help guide you and make the split cleaner.   Once apart, eat the marrow.  It is iron rich and full of nutrients.   In time you will need what it can provide so don’t waste it.  Shaping the bone is best done in water against an abrasive stone.  The water will keep the stone grains clean.  If water isn’t available, then find a large boulder to work on.  You will need to shift your grinding area as you go as the bone will quickly fill in the grains of the rock.  You will know when it happens as the area will become slick and stop grinding.  Once shaped up, set it in the sun on a hot rock.  Depending on temperature and humidity at the time, the bone will dry sufficiently in a few hours to a couple of days.   A sharper cutting edge can be obtained by working the dry bone on finer and finer grained stones.   You will be surprised at how sharp bone can get once it is thinned down and shaped up.  I hope this information helps you stay alive. 

I could smell the blood in the meat through my pack.  If I could smell it, that meant the Skins probably could too.   I needed to get where I was going fast or find a place to hold up.  Most of the afternoon was now gone and I could feel the evening coolness setting in.  Heading out again I passed a number of unsearched house foundations, and skirted at least a dozen Burners without being detected.   I was grateful for any breaks I was getting.   This burnt land was vast.  It looked almost as if a whole city had once been here or at least the suburbs to one.  It was hard telling how many families once thrived in this place.  Now they were either dead or had become one of those things constantly stalking me.  After another hour of running through Dead Mayberry I finally threw in the towel.  I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the jumper, and it was too far back to either base camp.  There was no real shelter available other than the corners of what used to be homes.   I would have to make do.  Doing my best to ensure I had enough split wood and plant glue, I chose one of the foundations as my next defensive position.  Breaking some of the damaged boxes and repairing others allowed me to jump from the top of a trash can to the next level.  At one point I had to add a short ladder to scale two boxes to get to the next terrace.   Reaching the top, I broke away the shattered box to create more or less a level corner and began to fashion other boxes and place them in the corner of the building, improving them as I went.  The plant glue was strong, but I didn’t know if it was strong enough to hold the weight of the boxes and myself.  After lying several, I cautiously tested my weight on them.  They felt solid.  To make sure they were secure, I jumped, landing my full weight with pack on them as well.  Not so much as a shudder was felt.   Confident this would work I created a six-box-by-six box floor, or roughly a 12-foot-by- 12-foot platform.   Working my way outward, I sensed the far edges were becoming weak and the glue, as strong as it was, might not be able to support the weight of my body and other boxes and ended the expansion to the dimensions I had

The sun was going down, and I sat down to wait when the first snow flake hit my face. Just a few moments ago it had been near 90 degrees and within minutes the temperature had begun to plummet to near freezing.   Talk about bone chilling cold!  I went from sweat to ice cubes in minutes.   Shivering, I knew I was about to experience hypothermia if I didn’t act quickly.  Creating an additional box and campfire ring I lined the top of the box with a thick layer of clay before setting my ring in place.   Quickly, I kindled a fire and immediately felt relief from the cold.  Setting a pot into place I had just enough eggs to make a crude version of bacon and eggs – well, deer wasn’t exactly bacon but this was my world and if I wanted it to be that then so it was; I laughed at myself.  Besides, thinking of it as bacon and eggs sounded far more appealing than Bambi and bird embryos.  One hunk of meat was left over and using a jar of water I boiled it.   The food smelled terrific and sent my stomach to growling.   I ate nearly all of it before my hunger was satisfied.  In the meantime, I boiled all the murky water I recovered and a re-jarred them.  I now had 12 waters, 5 of which I drank.  

Having nothing better to do, I then sat down to improve my tool and weapon making skills based upon new ideas I had while searching.  My mind was never a quiet one, and it seemed for the past couple of days it had been in over drive constantly attempting to think of new construction techniques or how to make my survival tools better.  Some ideas were ridiculous of course, but every so often one would pop up that seemed feasible and it drove me nearly crazy until I had the chance to try it out.   Bows evolved from the simple stick and string to a three-part laminate to a five-part laminated one made of various wood each layer being thinner, more supple and stronger.  By placing  pegs in the floor I was able to shape the bow into a recurved one that proved to far superior than anything I had created so far.  

Reconfigured hand grips became notched for arrow support and easier to hold while the limbs remained three parts laminate and thin.  The killing power of my original ten-pound pull bow had morphed into something more like a one-hundred-pound force killing bow.   It took more strength to pull the latest version to full draw, but I wasn’t lacking in strength and managed to do so with minimal waiver off target.  In a couple of days of practice my fingers and tendons would strengthen, and there would be no waiver, and I would have a smooth draw.  My arrows became more flight stable as I learned to straighten the shafts better and make thinner and lighter arrowheads from stone.   Eventually, I would replace the stone with iron or steel, but until then it didn’t hurt to ensure I had the best of whatever I could make.  A man’s defense is often only as good as his skill, the weapons he used, and the quality of the weapons.  I had a strong desire to beat this place and it drove me to create a quality far more than I thought possible.  

The snow finally stopped and melted.  The temperatures began to rise again and I doused the fire to save wood.   Recovering the pot, I sat down again to work on my latest invention idea when the first Skin arrived growling and howling.  Good lord, these things were fast at night.  Putrid looked like a whirling top when she moved, skittering first in one direction then another.   It wasn’t long before the entire family was howling beneath me calling in burners as well.   They didn’t appear to be a real danger to me at the moment and I chose to ignore them while crafting my latest version of arrows.  I stood the noise for about 90 minutes, before the constant screeching finally got on my nerves.  Rising up I began hurling arrows downward at the Skins.  Most were hung up on the block foundation, while a few of them ran back and forth in some strange pattern.  Hitting them would be hard while running, but I noted they often stopped in the same place for a few seconds at a time.  Instead of shooting at them, I chose to gauge their speed and fire where they stopped instead.  It took a few arrows before I had the exact spot locked and my timing right, but I took great pleasure each time my arrow found it’s mark.   Eventually the runners were dead – if you could really kill something already dead – and then concentrated on the ones directly below me.  Even basically not moving other than swaying, the angle of the shot conflicted with the position I physically was in, made hitting them difficult.  I knew I had to leave the platform and edge down the broken wall in order to quiet them or just live with the noise.  I chose not to live with the noise.  Edging slowly box by box I dropped beneath my platform just enough to allow for a clear shot of the Skins.  A dozen arrows later they were finally quiet.

Climbing down I started to search the bodies, finding the usual stray sandwich, a couple bottles of water, and six .223 rounds.   The .223 rounds perked my interest considerably.  If there were rifles, the food problem might not be as much of a problem in the future as it now was.  There seemed to be plenty of deer running loose, and I swear I thought I saw a couple of pigs as well.  The smaller game such as wild chickens and rabbit wouldn’t provide enough meat to justify using bullets on them, and for the most part I discounted them as a source of reliable food.  Protein gain versus energy expenditure was always a consideration.  If the food expended more calories to obtain it than it gave starvation would eventually take over.   

A far-off bark sounded.  Was that I dog I heard?  Could I be that close to a settlement and not have known it?  The thought of real conversation with something other than myself or the Skins appealed to me.  Another bark from a different direction sounded.  Then a third from yet another direction echoed the first two.  Perhaps there was more than one survivor out there.  The thought of safety in numbers thrilled me, and I moved towards the closest dog bark.  That turned out to be a really big mistake.  Before I could blink a snarling beast of what looked like it might have once been a Doberman pincher came barreling out of the night and lunged for me.   I barely had enough time to react to the charge.  Twisting aside the beast sailed by me.  It was just as foul smelling as the Skins, having large open bites or sores on its sides and massive canine teeth the size of those found on some extinct species of Saber-tooth-cats!  “Crap on a Christmas Tree!” I yelled half out of fright, “What in blue-blazes are you!”   It didn’t answer, but lunged a second time just in time to meet the blow of my axe.  The dog stopped, shook its head, and lunged again getting a partial bite on my right leg.   For a moment I thought my leg had gotten caught in the jaws of a giant earth mover.  I howled in a mixture of extreme fright and pain.  The dog attempted to twist and tear at my injured limb, but I wasn’t about to give it the chance.  I knew if this thing got me on the ground I was done for.  Swinging full force, I cracked the dog’s head several more times with the axe and it let go, backed into a hunched leap position, just I made one final desperate blow between the creatures’ eyes.  It died with a horrific screeching sound, that seemed to set the other two dogs off in a series of fast-moving hunting barks coming in my direction.  I could hear the paws of one coming in low and fast.   I didn’t have time to waste, I scrambled for the house ruin once more and barley got out of reach of the second dog as it grasped for my foot.   I was bleeding and bleeding out fast.   Yanking a bandage from my pack and quickly unrolling it, I noticed a gel like substance on it.   I didn’t know what it was and didn’t care.   Slapping it on the wound as tightly as I could, I tied it off with a strong square knot.  Whatever the gel was it burned like fire, but quickly stopped the blood loss.  I was weak, but grateful.   Another couple of minutes and I might have bled out or at least passed out, which would have made me a Scooby-snack for certain.  

It took a couple of minutes of rest before I could attempt to stand.  I felt woozy and little unsteady on my feet, but the gel had numbed the bite pain and it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would.  By that time the last snarling beast had caught up and both were doing their best to tear the ruined house down with little success to get to me.   I had had enough of these things and fired arrows as fast as I could without taking the time to aim.  Some arrows missed while others hit, causing the canines to yelp with each strike.  I hoped to the sky it hurt like hell.   I was angry and I wanted them to hurt.  Any compassion I might have had for anything in this unfortunate place was gone.  If anyone could hate anything, I hated these things with a passion no sane person could understand.  One arrow found a dog’s head and it died with the same scream as the first.  Then the last one fell the same way.   I didn’t hear any other barking in the distance, but I wasn’t taking any chances.   The sun was about to rise and I wasn’t going to risk anything else in the dark.  I made a vow to myself, if it was at all possible, never get caught on ground level at night again.  

Day Three…. Finder’s keepers

Dawn came without further incident and I consumed the last hunk of boiled meat.   I should have known carrying fresh meat, cooked or not would draw more problems than it solved.   I would have to make certain in the future I got it back to camp and stored as quickly as possible and to not walk around with a pack full of it.  Carrying it on me last night just about cost me my life.   Climbing down on my injured leg was a little difficult as it had begun to stiffen up slightly and hurt some.   I was able to walk on it though without too much of a limp and after a bit it seemed to loosen up enough for me to attempt a slight jog.   It began to itch, then burn.  At first, I took this to be just sweat in the wound, but after a few miles, my head began to swim and I could hear a humming noise in my head.   Leaning against a tree for support, I started to shiver.  It was awful cold to be so darn hot that morning.   I realized I had a fever.  The dog had infected me with something.   I prayed it wasn’t like the T.V. series Walking Dead type bite and I was doomed to become one of those skin things.   I swore to myself I would save a bullet and brain shoot myself first.   There was no way I was going to spend eternity as one of those walking stink bags.  

I could see the smoke from the parachute off in the distance and remembered thinking, for a smoke flare; the smoke had lasted an awfully long time.  Was it possible someone was constantly setting off smoke grenades as a signal?   Gathering my strength, I made a straight line for the smoke.  A hill  steeper than any I had encountered so far, stood between myself and the smoke.   I could see no way around it or an easier way to access it, so I was forced to climb.  Dirt and rock skidded out from under me causing me to slip several times and skin my shins on top of the bite wound, but I managed to hang onto my perilous perch by my finger tips.  Going straight up would soon be impossible and I shifted my ascent to a sideways crab crawl up the side of the hill at an angle.   The ground was slightly terraced and offered a more secure footing climbing this way and I made better time than I believed I would have otherwise.   Sweat was pouring off me by the time I finally pulled myself over the lip of the hill leaving me gasping for breath.  Every muscle in my body quivered from the strain of exertion.   I greedily gulped several bottles of water and two jars of yucca juice.   The yucca juice seemed to cool me faster than the water and actually had a noticeable energy boost with it.    Rising, I continued on and soon found myself in a broad expanse of green grass land with lots of trees.  The field was dotted with clumps of cotton, blotches of yellow marigold flowers, and bright red chrysanthemums.  These would make an excellent tea, and I gathered as much of all three of these plants as I could for later use.   

So far this was the most favorable Biome for habitation I had found.   I could see a large lake in the distance and thought I smelled a river as well.   Crossing the next rise, I encountered a pond and quickly refilled my empty jars with water.   The water was just as murky and vile smelling as any other non-boiled water I had encountered thus far, but at least it was wet and with luck the flowers would flavor it enough to make it more palatable than the brakish boiled water which left a nasty sulfur-iron aftertaste in your mouth.   A skin walker could be seen in the distance and I froze in place, waiting for it to move away.   Once I was sure it hadn’t detected me, I continued towards the smoke.   A part of the parachute could be made out hanging from a tree.  My excitement rose at the sight of this and with hopes of a possible rescue.   I couldn’t be free of this place soon enough, and wanted answers to how and why I got here.   Topping the next rise, my hopes failed.   There wasn’t another human waiting for me.  There was only a large wooden box.  Overhead another plane droned by, dropping another parachute in an even more impossible direction away from my goal.   I ignored it.   Summoning up my resolve, I lumbered down the hill towards the package.   Since I had come all this way, I might as well see what was inside of it.

Using my axe, I began to break into the crate. The wood gave way easy enough and I had no trouble pulling it apart.   Peering inside I saw the crate contained three med-kits, two schematics; one on how to make leather gloves and another on how to make iron boots, as well as 5 antibiotics, and two beakers.   It wasn’t much for such a large box, I thought, but every bit helped, so I gathered them all up, read the schematics carefully, and then put it all away into my back pack.   The box must have been rigged against tampering, because as the last item was removed it suddenly exploded into splinters sending a flash of flames over the parachute and left nothing behind to indicate the package had ever been there.    I guess that was one way to not leave a mess, and to avoid confusing any would-be recipient of which containers had something in it and which did not.  

I used some of the antibiotics immediately, and one of the med-kits.  The drugs must have been some super anti-viral pill, because within a very short period of time I could feel the fever breaking.  The med kit appeared to be comprised of a fast injecting IV blood bag, that caused immediate relief to flood my body.  At least I wouldn’t have to worry about becoming a skin job this time anyway.   I considered my options.  I could go after the other package first or I could try to get to the trader.   The package was closer so I set my sights on it on a dead run.  Within moments of the injection, my leg felt good as new.  Stopping for a moment of rest I yanked the bandage off and was shocked to find the leg completely healed!  “What kind of Nano-bot, stem cell surgery was just preformed on me?” I swore under my breath. This just didn’t seem possible.   How could a wound that severe be healed so quickly?  This wasn’t normal.  Well, this wasn’t a normal place either and I took the miracle at face value, knowing if I ever got out of this dream, I would have a lot of questions I wanted answers for.  Even my back pack didn’t conform to the laws of nature.  It had multiple pockets in it, and as long as I kept the same item in the same pocket, I never ran out of room nor did the pack get any heavier.  It was as if there was some kind of futuristic black-hole-flat-space technology was built into the pack.   Trying to understand it, made my head hurt, so I stopped trying.   Some things just had to be accepted as they are, and one had to be content with it.   I swear, if things got any crazier in this world, I was going to become like the guy Tom Hanks played in a movie who was stranded on a deserted island and drew a face into a bloody hand print he put on a soccer ball and named Wilson.   I didn’t have a soccer ball, but I did have an axe.  Perhaps, I should draw a face on it and name it Chops.  

I wasn’t that crazy yet.

Continuing on, the grassland gave way to steeper ground.  In the distance I could see more house structure remains.   As I approached, the land changed into twisted steel, burnt out cars, and piles of rock and brick rubble.   If there was ever garbage dump in Hell, this was it.   Skins milled about in various places, and I could see a couple of those freak dogs patrolling as well.   Making my way slowly, I began to break up and collect iron for future use.   There was little to loot as far as structures go, but the cars were another thing.  Opening them up as I came across them, I discovered some still held water, others had ammunition, and one even held a miner’s helmet.   I wasn’t sure what good a mining helmet would do me, but I put it on anyhow.  If nothing else, it might keep me from bumping head on something sharp. Replacing my cowboy hat with it, I tore the co hat into cloth strips for future use.  No sense in carrying anymore than I needed.    A warning bark told me a dog had scented me.  Panicking, I had no place to go, but the car roof top.  It wasn’t much of a perch, but it was all I had.  Scrambling, I braced myself for an onslaught.   I didn’t have to wait long.

The dog came in a snarling bound, hit the side of the car and flipped around for another leap.  I couldn’t afford to give it a second shot at me, and fired my bow striking the dog in its haunches.  It yelped, lunged again, and caught the next arrow full in the chest.  It slumped in its death howl.  The previous night experience told me to expect two more, and sure enough a fast approaching dog was coming in from my right.  Turning to meet it, an explosion suddenly ripped the air apart, nearly knocking me from the roof top from the concussion, and sent the devil dog spinning high in the air.   “Great,” I thought to myself, “Not only do I have to deal with Skins and demonic dogs, but I have to worry about mines as well.”  At least I now knew they were there and I would have to pay extra attention to where I walked from now on, but who in their right mind would drop mines in a place like this?  Whoever it was, must have been one sick practical joker.   The last dog appeared behind me and was headed for the hood.  I had no doubt this creature would and could mount the car here because of a mound of dirt it had crashed into.   “Screw this!” I shouted, slinging the bow aside as I drew the 9mm pistol.  Taking aim just in front of the barreling beast I fired three times.  My hits were good and Fangs died in a howl. As terrible as the death screech might have been to someone else, in my ears, it was a beautiful sound.

A skin moaned and I saw Burger Bob coming at me followed by Soccer Mom, Uncle Crawler, and Putrid followed by her sister Putrid.   Obviously, there were only so many different species of mutations or clones in this place, and variety wasn’t a top priority for whatever created this place.   Reloading as quickly as I could, I fired twice at Bob.  Both were good hits that dropped him in his tracks.   Soccer Mom took one in the shoulder, which seemed to really piss her off.  Apparently, they could feel some pain if only for an instant.   She continued to quickly close the gap. 

“To Hell with this!” I shouted from the car roof top as I holstered the pistol and jerked my bone knife.  I had more than enough of this crap!   Leaping to the ground I charged Mom full on, caught her by the waist, lifted it into the air and dropped it head first over my back.  Turning I plunged the knife deep and hard at her temple, stilling her quickly.  Putrid and Putrid were next.  Putrid number one went down easy, but Putrid number two sent me sprawling from a slap across the back, knocking some of the wind from sails.  Springing to my feet I dodged a second swing and stepped in for a stab.  It was good, but not good enough as she whirled and made another attempt to strike me.   I ducked under this blow, came up from underneath her swing, and drove the bone knife up through her chin and deep into her brain, twisting it back and forth as I went.   She slumped and fell.    Quaking, I began to search the bodies before they contorted.   Two sandwiches and a cylinder for a .44 magnum revolver and 5 more pain pills.  No wonder these creeps didn’t react to pain.  They were stoned on pain pills!  It was bad enough the Skins were zombies, but junkie zombies had to take the cake!

I had spent more than enough time in this place and forgot about salvaging completely.  Picking up my pace I attempted to navigate what might have once been a road as evidenced by wrecked cars on either side of it, and prayed if there was a mine, I would see it before it found me.   If and when I had better weapons, I would come back here for the metal, but not before.   There was no way I could withstand a serious Skin onslaught as I was presently armed.   I doubted if I had more than a dozen 9mm bullets left.   Threading my way in around fallen debris I saw a small candy container ahead of me lying on the ground.   A nail protruded from the top lid of it.  For a moment, I thought nothing of it, but a sixth sense caused me to pull up short of it, and back up.  The hairs on the back of my neck felt like they were trying to stand up.  Drawing my bow I took careful aim, fired, and missed by inches.  The next arrow struck home and ground erupted into an explosive spray or rock and dirt.  I had never seen a mine like this.  I now knew not to trust anything at face value.

The package was just ahead, hanging a few feet from the ground caught in tree.   Cautiously I circled the tree, looking for anything out of place, anything sticking up out of the ground, and anything trying to bite me.   Seeing nothing I approached and began to break open the container.   UREKA!  Inside, was an honest to goodness hunting rifle!  A schematic on how to repair shotguns was there as well as one on how to make steel body armor.   Another five pain pills, and two beakers rounded out the find before the crate did its classic self-destruct move.   Testing the rifle, I liked the weight.  I didn’t like the fact it was a breech loading single shot, nor did I think much of the sights.  Whoever designed this thing had the sights on backwards.  The peep site was at the end of the barrel while the blade was near the bolt.   Aiming this bastardized rifle was going to take some getting used to and I didn’t have the bullets to waste.  I would have to simply trust my shooting instincts and Kentucky windage to get me through until I could get sufficient ammo to make certain use of it.   It was now time to try to get to the trader, and I set out on a dead run, hoping I didn’t miss anything that might ruin my day along the way.  I had to swing wide, to clear the wasted lands I was in and I marked this location on my glass map as the Wastelands for short. The name fit it perfectly.  

An hour later I was free of it and back into the Grasslands.   Darkness was coming soon forcing me to take time to gather sticky plants, collect shatter wood from the trees, and break rock.  Of course, I didn’t pass up any birds’ nests or eggs as I went.  Confident I had assembled a decent amount I began to assemble box frames, and headed for the largest boulder I could see.   I knew the Skins could eventually get on them if the worked on the stone long enough, but like my new base, I had an idea if I placed a platform over one, they wouldn’t be able to.   Scrambling up the rock face I laid my first box in place and improved it.   I then began laying more around it until I couldn’t place them any longer.  Jumping down, I moved to a new position, dropping a box or two to gain height where needed, and placed a few more.   On one end I stacked up a pillar beneath the platform, placed a ladder on it, climbed to the floor to finish boxing it in.   The pillar added some stability, but the ladder meant insecurity.  I didn’t need it to get down from the platform and it had served its purpose.   Using my axe, I broke it free from the pillar and watched it crash to the ground in a splintered pile of scrap wood.  

Building a fire, I boiled the murky water and then boiled tea out of both the marigold and chrysanthemums as far as the water would go.  The tea did make the water better tasting, but not entirely.  It still had an aftertaste, but it wasn’t nearly as bad.  Searching the bag for something to eat, I discovered all I had remaining were those greasy gobs of a sandwich.  I had to eat, and I had to force myself to eat.  Gagging, I swear I had contracted food poisoning and could feel my health drain a little with the last bite.   Rolling over on my back, I waited for the sickness to pass.   Those things had to be replaced with something healthy soon, and I prayed to the stars that I would find a better source of food than zombie burgers.  

The night remained quiet as I recovered and the stars shone brilliantly above me.   If it could stay like this forever, I might actually learn to like this place, but I knew for the foreseeable future the likelihood of that was somewhere between slim and kiss-my-ass-none.   I wished I could go back to sleep.  I was well into my third night without it, but I didn’t feel tired and sleepy.  It simply felt abnormal to not sleep.  I had to resign myself this was going to be a 24-7 around the clock world and not one offering some escape from daily stress via the dream world.   The only thing I could do to pass my time was to work on my weapon improvements and make new arrows.   Drinking a jar of red tea, I took my sticky plants out of their flat-space hole and began squeezing the glue into the jar, until it was full and tightly sealed, thinking it would be easier to apply from a container than squeezing it from a plant as I went.   Setting the jar aside, I continued with my weapon making.  It was becoming very difficult to improve both my tools and weapons.   I was consuming a lot of material before I made even one upgrade in improvement.  The loss of material meant more time harvesting it, but as frustrating as it was, that one improvement might mean the difference between life and death for me.  That thought alone gave me the persistence and drive to continue trying new and hopefully better adaptations when time allowed.  

The tranquility was shattered just like clockwork with the arrival of a small horde of 6 Skins.  Fangzilla and his buddies also arrived in a snarling pack tearing at anything that moved.  Everyone and everything were doing its best to get to my position.   Then I saw something that made my heart leap with joy.  Fangs, turned and shredded a Skin after it accidentally slapped it in his zeal to smack my boulder to pieces.   “Good job!” I thought with a smile, “Too bad I have to kill you anyhow.”   Knocking an arrow, I shot the distracted animal through the back of its head.   It howled, curled up in a ball, then went still.  The bow improvements had upped the killing power tremendously.   Now it was time to deal with the rest of the Creepers.  

Taking my time, I picked my targets of opportunity.  Attempting to hit the runners was simply not feasible as they became more and more unpredictable in the erratic runs, so I concentrated on the ones running in place and beating the rock at the same time.   At one point, I had to break one of the floor blocks out in order to fire down on a Nurse Ratchet  to take her out.   The crawlers were hanging back in the shadows making them difficult to see.  My head gear shifted slightly, reminding I had a miner helmet on, and the helmet had light on it.  Flicking it on, the ground lit up immediately making Uncle Pervert a very visible target.   Despite being animated, crawlers can only crawl so fast and they were much easier to hit than those who really could run.   Four arrows later Pervert one was down for the count and five arrows more his twin brother fell as well.    One of the dogs leaped for the platform, struck and cracked the block.  Leaping again, it shattered the outer wood leaving only the frame.  A third leap destroyed that as well, giving me the opportunity, I had been waiting for.   It crouched for a final spring through the newly created hole, leaped, and caught my arrow head on; a death howl following in its wake.  

Feeling the platform quake, I knew a significant portion of the rock had been compromised.   If I didn’t do something, I believed the whole thing would collapse before morning.   There was only one thing I could do and that was to destroy my loft from the outside inward one block at a time until I could locate and dispatch Burger Bob, and the remaining dog.   The dog I was pretty sure was nearly directly under me, as I could hear its claws ripping and tearing at the rock.   Bob was someplace on the other side of the rock banging away as if they were working together to tear the boulder in half and drop me down between them.  The platform shook a little more with each of his blows.    Breaking blocks as fast as could I leaped frog over, leaving a couple in place to act as a stabilizing bridge, and broke one out where I thought Bob’s blow were the loudest.   I had guessed correctly, and quickly placed an arrow into his right eye.  Bob howled, swayed a little, and struck the rock again, this time causing some of my blocks to dislodge and collapse on their own.  I couldn’t afford a miss, and fired again, this time putting the arrow straight down through the top of his head where it disappeared quickly somewhere inside of his body.   The shot was a good one, and Bob was done for.  That only left the dog.  

Killing the dog was going to be the tricky part, as it was well inside the rock.  Pulling my club, I dropped over the opposite side of the platform just as the entire thing came cascading down around the boulder.   The dog sensed the crash and attempted to turn, but his rock cave put him in a severe disadvantage.   He was stuck, but the cave was far too small for me to effectively swing and hit the dog as well.   Realizing it was trapped in a pit of its own making it ripped and bit furiously at the stone in an effort to tear out to the other side.   I was amazed at the power its jaws had, but didn’t have time to admire the beast before it broke free.  My headlamp was showing cracks in the stone and rays of light were peeping through onto the ground on the far side of the rock. I had no choice but to switch to the 9mm and fire half my magazine into the dog before it sustained enough damage to die.   There wasn’t much left of the boulder, but I took refuge on top anyhow waiting for sunrise.  It came without further attack.  

Day 4 …. The Stranger

It was getting warm.   In fact, it was getting too warm.  Stripping my shirt off helped to make the heat bearable.   My stockpile of feathers was now at a very comfortable level and I stopped raiding bird nest, so I was making better time.    The grass was thick and lush, and the trees were magnificent.  Occasionally, I would stop long enough to take down a dead tree, adding to my wood stock, and exceeding my storage space.  Apparently, the space wasn’t unlimited after all.  At 600 “pieces” of wood the space became full and I had to either stop harvesting or use another pocket.  I chose to stop harvesting, not knowing what I would find.   Last nights kills yielded little in the way of loot.  I was able to salvage hide and fat from the dogs which brought my torch stockpile up to 14, and 12 hides to do something else with.   The thought of leather clothing didn’t appeal to me.  It was thick, heavy, and hot, so I held onto to it.  I now had 18 pain pills, 4 more slimy Z burgers, two bottles of water, and a short shotgun stock for a sawed-off shotgun that I would never use.   Sawed offs were only good really up close, and I had zero desire to get up close if I didn’t have too.  Yeah, I know I took on some skins with a knife, but I was pissed off, and when I get pissed off, I tend to do stupid things, but that didn’t mean I always set out to do stupid things, and using a sawed off when a long barrel might be had was a very stupid thing.  

Topping a rise, I saw my very first insect.  It was a very large bee, and by large I didn’t mean bumble-bee sized large.  I mean this thing was as large as collie dog hanging in the sky and buzzing like a drone.   I was mesmerized by this thing, and wondered how something once so small could become so large.  But shoot, nothing in this world could surprise me now; or so I thought.   The bee apparently saw me and began to descend.  For its size it barely moved, in fact outside the beating of its wings it floated more like a big balloon being reeled in.   The bee tucked its abdomen and a wicked stinger protruded.  Obviously, this thing wasn’t docile and I was a snack waiting to be taken.   “I think not.” I told the bee as it floated in my direction, and knocked an arrow.  It came slowly, and the sound nearly lulled me into a false sense of security.  The sound was almost hypnotic and it made wonder if this is how the bee made its kills, by inducing a mild trance and disarming its prey that way.   Shaking the fog out of my head, I waited for it to get about 8 feet from me and let loose.  The arrow struck, and the bee did something I never heard a bee do.  It screeched like a panther in a high pitched nearly female like shriek that curled my blood and chilled my spine.  It folded and died.   Taking my bone knife, I poked at the bee and saw what looked like honey leaking from the abdomen.   Sticking a finger into it, I tasted the substance and discovered it really was honey.  Taking an empty jar, I filled it with the thick syrup like substance.   Honey was great for energy, but few knew it was also a blood thickener that could help clot a wound or act as an antibiotic.  A few years just before the flash scientist where just beginning to discover all the mysteries of honey.  I don’t know what took them so long to realize what was written in numerous ancient text for its uses wasn’t hocus-pocus witch-craft magic, but were real medical uses that actually worked in some cases.  Even the Bible had scriptures regarding the use of honey, and despite what a disbeliever thought, I had yet to find a lie in the Bible.  Nearly everything written in it about what existed and what happened turned out to be factual.  Even the man named Goliath was found inscribed in stone and Egyptian hieroglyphics contained references regarding the burial of Jacob, father of Joseph, and the coat of many colors. 

Below me, I could see the patchwork outline of a distant town.   I was far too high to actually see the town, but a block like pattern  of ground indicated it was there.   For the first time I had real hope some kind of civilization existed.   I prayed deep down it had real people in it and not more of those walking dead things.   Sliding down the bank and watching for tripping roots and rocks, I made my way down the hill towards the valley below.   I had to resist the urge to run, because I was so happy, but to run now might mean a broken leg or neck.   The Skins would like that, but if they got me, I wasn’t going to help them do it.   Rocks skittered before me, making more noise than I would have liked, but that couldn’t be helped.   I made sure to keep a sharp eye below me for any Skins that might have heard the noise and came to investigate.   I was way too close to hope to screw up now.  

It took nearly an hour to transverse to the bottom and another air-drop had come and went while I was making my descent.  That was fine by me.  I was far too close to worry about opening a surprise box that could wait.   Nearing the bottom, a low grunt caught my attention.   Stopping in my tracks I tired to find the source of this new sound.  It grunted again and bush shook.   I caught my breath at what emerged.   “What the FRIG are you?”   I heard myself whisper.  It looked like a bear, but this pup, wasn’t any bear like I had ever seen, even in pictures.   This creature was bigger than a buffalo, and when it stood on its hind legs had to be 15 feet tall, and its front paws weren’t paws at all.  This bear had something equivalent to a hand and demonstrated its massive powers by pulling down a tree and shredding it like confetti for fun.   This was one bad mother, I knew I DID NOT want to tangle with.   Large open sores were on its hide, but it moved deliberately and with ease knowing it was the king of the bush!  Its fangs were equally huge and the closest thing I could come to describing this creature was something along the lines of a skeleton of a prehistoric cave bear I once saw in a museum, only this guy was probably larger.   I sank further back into the brush and quietly enlarged a small recess into the hillside to back into just in case it smelled me.  For once I was glad, I didn’t have any fresh meat on me. The Z burgers were beginning to look not so bad after all.   Nothing wanted to eat them.

Fortunately for me, most of the hill in this spot was clay with very few rocks and digging it larger and deeper was fairly easy without too much sound. As a side benefit, I was collecting a lot of the clay for future use as I dug. When I was sure I was out of the bears’ reach, I created several scrap iron frames and placed them over the opening to add some protection.   I dug a little deeper and came against solid rock.  My shovel cracked and the bear heard it.   The sound it made tearing its way to my created cave was something like stampeding horses.   The bear ripped the brush away and struck the scrap iron frames with a ringing blow, but the metal held.  Tearing my rifle from its pack strap I jacked the bolt back and dropped a .223 round into the chamber. 

The .223 is often an underestimated round as far as killing power, but much like the 5.53 military version, which had something like an eighth-of-an-inch more cone length and a tad more powder and power, they were pretty much the same bullet.  Both had one characteristic in common.  They liked to tumble on impact and make a very big hole as it passed through the body.  They also caused an effect known as cavitation.  Cavitation are best described as the hole left behind boat propeller in the water.  The shock wave it creates can literally liquefy internal organs in area about the size of a human fist as it passed through the body.   I have seen the round of a 5.53 pass straight though a body leaving only what appeared to be a pencil sized entrance and exit wound, and the autopsy later reveal a mass of destroyed organs and vessels on the inside of the body.  I have also seen it enter the size of a pencil and punch out the size of a grapefruit; enter the leg and tumble out a man’s ear, blowing skull and face away.   The bullet moves so fast there is no telling what direction it will take on impact with flesh and bone.  

Firing the weapon, the bullet struck the bears head and skidded off into space.   I had to blink twice to believe what I just saw.  Chambering a second round I fired for the shoulder.  The bear sagged a little and renewed its beating of the metal frame even more vigorously than before.  I could hear the metal crack.   My heart was pounding in my ears by now, and I knew I was in deep doo-doo, if I couldn’t stop the monster soon.   A third round broke the other shoulder and seemed to slow it down some, but not by much.  Putting a fourth round into the weapon I simply waited.  Looking back, I wasn’t sure if I had just accepted my fate, or if I was simply waiting for an opportunity.  A subtle calm had settled over me as I watched the frames break one by one.   The bear then began to tear at the clay in an attempt to make the hole big enough for it fit through.   Clumps of clay flew in all directions as the gap between it and I became shorter.  I didn’t move, and I am not sure I even breathed as the beast inched its way towards me.  The entire time, I kept my weapon pointed at the bear with no particular point of its body singled out.  Then it happened.  The bear raised its head exposing the ball of its throat and without thinking I squeezed the trigger.  The rifle bucked, smoke flew and the bullet tore through the monster’s windpipe, neck vertebra, and shattered the base of its skull. The animal’s eyes widened and seemed to momentarily glow with shock, and slumped the ground making an effective tunnel plug.   I had to dig upwards to get out as the bear blocked my exit.  In fact, I had to stack boxes under me as I dug upward in my effort to break the surface, and a few more after that in order for me to lift myself out. 

Moving towards the bear, I gave it a swift kick in the rump for scaring me so bad, and then proceeded to skin it.  There was a lot of hide there, as well as a fair amount of animal fat and meat.  Now if the Skins or dogs didn’t smell it before I could store it, I might do alright with my new-found bounty.

Walking towards town I could see most of it remained intact.  Some of the windows were broken out or boarded up, but the majority of the buildings were solid looking.  I could even see a few store signs, which might mean traders or possible supplies.  From a distance I saw people milling about and my prospects for the moment were considerably lifted.  Another bee buzzed overhead and without thinking I raised my rifle and shot it, hoping the report would alert the town someone new was coming.  People can be paranoid, especially in a hostile environment like this world was, and I didn’t want to be mistaken for a Skin.   In retrospect, firing the rifle might not have been the best idea either.   The people weren’t people at all.  They were Skins, and I just rang the dinner bell for them.   “Shit!” I swore seeing what they were and realizing what I had done.  I had to think fast.  So far, no dogs, so that was a plus.  

I quickly skirted the large horde that was approaching in a long V shaped line in a trot only to run headlong into a second V shaped line coming from the same direction I was running to get around the first group.  I was trapped between two large bodies of bodies.  I could see they were very hungry looking bodies and I was their Christmas goose.   Not waiting for an invitation to run like hell, I took off like a shot for the nearest store.  It had a “Working Stiff” sign on it which I took to be some kind of tool or hardware store catering to the working class.  I would have loved to peek inside, but the Skins had other ideas so I veered down one side of it without breaking stride, hoping to make them lose sight of me by tactically placing the building between myself and them.   It didn’t work out quite so well.  

Skidding to a halt, I saw a third line coming from the houses across a small field and was now trapped within a circle of Skins.  Looking around, there was only one thing I could do.   The store had a metal ladder going up the back wall to the roof and I bolted for it for all I was worth, scrambling up it as fast as I could, just as the first of the third wave reached for me.   I didn’t have long to wait before I heard the ping of ascending footsteps on the ladder.   I remembered the ladder reached all the way to the ground and now I knew for certain these things could climb one.   Yanking the club from my belt I waited for its head to appear, and cracked it one on top of its noggin, sending it sliding back down.  A muffled thud followed by two more muffled thuds told me a second one was behind the first one and the fall of the one I hit had taken them both off the ladder.  They both hit the ground hard, but not hard enough for them to not try again.  By this time, I had dropped my back-pack and pulled out three of the frames I carried with me and snapped them open; dropping them where the ladder came up and one on each side.   The Skins could reach the top rung, but couldn’t climb over the box barricade, and fell back down.  I doubt if the fall killed any of them, but peering over the edge I saw one had begun to crawl with a severed leg and a shattered bone protruding from the stump.  The other part of its leg was a short distance away.   I made two more boxes, placing one on top of the ladder access box to give it more height and by carefully leaning over got one to stick where the ladder ended and effectively created a stop block.  The Skins couldn’t break the box and hang onto the ladder at the same time and when one tried, they simply fell back to earth taking anything else below them with them.  It was a grand sight to behold from where I stood.   Soon, they stopped trying to get to me, and settled for tearing the building wall up instead.  That was fine by me.

Taking stock of my situation, I had a look around.  Behind the roof air-conditioning ducts, I found not only a moldy back pack containing some water and canned food, but another partially eaten body of some unfortunate who probably had experienced what I just went through, but wasn’t as lucky.  Searching him, I found a steel hunting knife that had seen some wear, but it was better than a bone knife by far.  My pack was nearing the end of pockets so I traded the steel blade for my bone one.  I could always make another bone one if needed.   In another pocket, I found a bottle of adhesive and a roll of duct tape beneath his body.   Seeing the duct tape, gave me an idea.

Sitting down I began to spin all the cotton I had gathered into yarn and weave the yarn into pieces of various sized cloth as my skill – or should I say – lack of skill allowed.  Now, a person might wonder how you take cotton and turn it into yarn.  It isn’t that hard to do.  All one needs is a round piece of wood or stone or even a big bead and wooden stick with a slight barb or notch on the end.  The counter weight is placed near the opposite end of the barb or notches about three-quarters of the way down.  The heavier the weight the tighter the yarn would become.  The cotton ball is then pulled to make some of the fiber come out and either placed on the barb or wrapped around the notch.  Using your finger and thumb the fiber is then moved back and forth between the finger and thumb causing the spindle to rotate.   As the spindle rotates the cotton fibers begin to wrap around each other into a twisted yarn like cord a little at a time.  As one cotton ball nears exhaustion the process is repeated.  The trick in creating enough yarn is to get the following cotton ball fibers to mix with the one before it and twist itself into the cord.  As the spindle nears the ground the yarn is removed from the spindle while carefully keeping the end pinched tightly until it can be tied off.  The freshly created yarn is then either clipped and tied into a 3 foot or so length and placed off to one side.  The process is repeated over and over until either the cotton supply is exhausted or the weaver has enough yarn to make whatever cloth they can with it.

I found it was better to clip the yarn off in three-foot lengths, than to try to continue to spin with it on the ground.  Once at floor level, the newly created yarn gets in the way and will often ball up like a coiled snake, making a mess of the efforts.   If for some reason a person wanted to weave something like a large blanket, the yarn can be untied at the end and the braid pulled apart and then meshed together and hand twisted again to fuse them into one long strand.   Having had studied prehistoric cultures and my passion for collecting artifacts before this world was paying off in big dividends in many ways.  I at least had an idea or some basic working knowledge of how Stone Age people might have survived, but I really did prefer the modern gun age over the prehistoric one. 

My glass map vibrated.   I thought I imagined it, and then it vibrated again.  Pulling it out a message appeared.  “Another survivor has entered your area.”  I shook my head in disbelief.   Real humans did exist and I wasn’t alone.   Another message popped up.  It was from the survivor.  “Hello?  Are you there?” it read.  I responded with a simple yes.

“Where are you?” it asked.

“I haven’t got a clue.” I responded, “On top of a Working Stiff store trying to keep from being eaten.”

“A Working Stiff Store? Really?”  It asked.

“Yes.” I replied, thinking why I would lie about something like that.

“Cool.  Maybe I can help you.” The screen declared.

“That would be great.” I echoed back, “It will be dark soon.  You better hold up until morning as these things go crazy after dark.” Before adding, “How will you find me?”

“I will send my location to you.  Click on it, and it will show me your location.   I will see you sometime tomorrow.”  The response read.  “Holding up is good advice.”

A set of coordinates appeared. Pressing it, a blue-green triangle appeared on my map.  From the looks of it, he was a good distance away.  I had no idea the map could be used to communicate, but why would I?  Until now there was no one to communicate with.

“How did you get here?” I asked hoping if he found a way in, there was a way out.

“I don’t know.” Came the reply, “I guess the same way you did.” 

Well, so much for that idea.    

Turning away, I noticed the darkening sky.   Another storm was coming and I hastily began to build frames.  Choosing the false front of the store as a back wall I built outward from it to create a sixteen-foot-by-sixteen-foot room.  I left two boxes open on each side of the door as a defense against any night visitors that knew of a way onto the roof that I hadn’t seen.   Using my axe, I quickly sealed the boxes up to create a respectable wall and hopefully dry ceiling.   I was pleased the glue in a jar turned out to be a work saver.   I then built a campfire, and began to boil what untreated water I had and turn it into tea with what I had left of the flowers.   After this task was complete, I then began creating bear-bacon-and eggs to eat.  Before the first pan full was complete, the smell of it drove my stomach crazy and I gulped the first one down hot and nearly scaled my throat and tongue in the process.    Cooling my mouth with some red tea helped, but I knew in a few days the roof of my mouth would begin to itch and peel.   Too late to do anything about it now, but I did take my time and let the food cool before attempting to eat any more of it.  The smell of the cooking food must have drifted down to the Skins as well, as they began to groan a lot louder and beat on the building even harder.   Eating my full, I crafted a storage box, and sealed the last three bear-bacon-and egg omelets in it.  That seemed to calm the Skins down as a few began to move away; hopefully giving up or forgetting I was there.   I set about to finishing off my cotton and cloth task, then using the collected fat turn them into torches; three of which I used to light my room up.  

It didn’t just rain.  It poured torrential buckets full.  The entire roof was soon standing in three inches of water and the drain ports were bubbling full, unable to handle the water being dumped on it.  Even my room was beginning to take on water, forcing me to stand on a box.  The rain turned to snow in minutes and the snow piled up in a tooth chattering blizzard, forcing me to light a second campfire and stand between them to ward off the chill.   As fast as it started, it ended and the snow melted as if a furnace had been turned on.  It went from freezing to humid hot in less than 30 minutes.   If there was such a thing as real climate change, this crazy weather sure was evidence of it.  It made me wonder, if I was still on earth and not some far away planet, and made me wonder what could have messed the weather up so bad.   Perhaps someday I would find out.  Until then I just had to be prepared for anything.  

Dark came swiftly on the heels of the storm, and with it nearly every skin walker in town.   I had to swallow hard, to keep from crying at the sight of so many creepers, and I prayed the building would hold up to any onslaught they might inflict upon it.   Dogs came from every direction as well, drawn by the noise and perhaps my cooking as the winds at roof top might have carried the scent further than it would have at ground level.   Even a few Burners were clicking their way towards my location.   I had a little over 250 arrows in my pack, and I knew I would need most of them to deal with the crazy dead below.  Their howling and screeching were deafening, making it necessary to plug to my ears with cotton to reduce their caterwauling to a bearable level.     Grasping my bow and arrow pack, I jumped to the knee wall surrounding the roof.  The majority of Skins were concentrating on the ladder attempting to climb over each other to get to it.  In the process, they tore a large chunk of the bottom section down.   At least for the time being I didn’t have to concern myself of the possibility of one of them getting through to the roof.  

Some of the skins were attempting to jump onto the loading dock area and looked like silly, almost human, pogo sticks bouncing in place, while others did their usual mindless zip around race to nowhere.   What was it about the night that drove these creeps crazy?   Drawing back an arrow I let fly not really aiming at anyone in particular.  They were so clustered up, there was almost no chance of a miss.  I fired another arrow, and then another arrow followed by a half dozen more arrows which also disappeared into the crowd.   Every few shots one of them would fall, but I couldn’t tell if they were down for the count or simply got back up because they all looked the same to me from my narrow perch.   It didn’t matter, I was going to keep on shooting until there were no more left or I ran out of arrows.   One zombie struck another in the mêlée and fights were on, until one of them was dead or severely crippled.   The dogs played their part in decimating the horde as well, and I was grateful for any help I received even if it was unintentional.   One dog tried clawing its way into the building, and I put it down with an arrow.   Then I heard a really shrill screech followed by clicking sounds.  

“What in bug juice was that?” I asked myself peering into the darkness for whatever it was coming my way.  Flicking on my helmet, I saw them.  There were two male skins with short cropped hair walking on all fours headed my way, making clicking sounds as they went.   They seemed to be walking on their finger tips and toes and not their feet or hands.    Upon reaching the dock wall they simply climbed up the side and then up the building wall without changing the way they crawled.   What kind of spider men things were these?   A narrow ledge three-quarter the way up the wall seemed to stop them from getting any higher and forced them to continue around the side of the building unhindered by gravity.   Shaking my head and muttering, “Whatever” I turned my attentions back the thinning horde below me.   I could see the better part of a dozen contorted Skins scattered on the ground below me being trampled by the reaming live ones.  Some began to pop under the feet of the living.   Dropping two more, I felt a blow to the back of my legs that nearly dislodged me from the knee wall and into certain death.  A bone cracked sending sharp pains throughout my body.  The impact was followed by the spider man shriek.  Somehow, they had gotten onto the roof.  The false front, of course!  It didn’t have a narrow ledge on it.  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that when they started around the walls, but then again, I had never seen these mutations before either and didn’t know what they were capable of doing.  

I winched at the pain in my leg, as I hopped down from the knee wall.  The bone was broken in a closed fracture, but not separated, which was a good thing for me, but a bad thing if I screwed around too long on it or one of the spiders whacked it again.   I could feel the bone wanting to move each time I took a step away from the spider men, Spiders for short.   These guys were tough!  I fired four arrows into one of them and yet it would simply drop to the ground and then bounce right back up.   Most Skins fell from the wounds these things received, but not these guys.   Finally, I drew my club and half hopped over and sidestep its swing at my leg, and lowered the boom on the back of it head.  I could feel the thing’s neck break under the impact.  I shriek and curled up into a dying cockroach position with arms and legs kicking skyward before folding down on its body.   Bug man number two was more aggressive after this and a heck of lot harder to take down.  Between a mixture of beating its brains out and using the hunting knife to decapitate it, I finally got the human insect to die.   Every muscle in my body was vibrating from the effort.   Sitting down, I quickly fashioned a make-shift splint and tied it off on my leg in four different places; one tie above me knee near the end of the brace, one near the end just above the ankle, one near the top of the knee, and the final one just below the knee.  It still hurt to stand on, but at least the bone now felt stable and should heal in a couple of weeks – or sooner – depending on what weirdness this place had in store for me when it came to getting well.  

I resumed my knee wall perch, and methodically eliminated the reaming horde.  Some had begun to wander off with the appearance of the Spiders, and only about half were left.  All in all, I exhausted 175 of my 250 arrows.   Before I left the roof top, I would have to replace them.   Taking up the materials I began creating new projectiles, and then an idea came to me.  If those things could climb a ladder, perhaps I could rig a trap that might save me from a future assault if I needed to take refuge on the roof again.  Putting my arrow making aside I limped over to where the ladder came up to the edge of the knee wall and broke this section of knee wall out.  I then destroyed that section of the ladder.  This would make it easier for me to gain access on or off the roof instead of simply dropping over the edge of the knee wall as I could use the knee wall left on both sides of the ladder as hand grips.  I then began breaking the roof out.  The concrete was hard, and sweat poured off me as I exhausted two stone axes.  The cement block shattered only to expose a second layer of cement block beneath it.  I beat on it until it shattered as well, and found myself looking down into a public restroom.   Turning around I repeated this process until I had something like a 3-foot-wide by 6-feet-long hole in the roof.  Carefully, I lowered myself into the hole, aimed for a metal trash can and let go.  The can broke my fall but the floor still caught my butt in a jarring stop.   Getting up, I was otherwise un-hurt and began rummaging through the bathroom interior.  The medicine cabinets held more pain pills, 3 bandages, and one grain alcohol.  The toilets held 4 murky waters and one, better condition than mine, 9mm.   It seemed the inhabitants of this place had had a fixation about guns and toilets and I wondered if it was a subliminal message meant to say the toilet was the idea place to get rid of shit.   I didn’t care.  I liked guns, needed guns, and most of all needed bullets for those guns and this gun held 15 more rounds of ammo than I had before.   The trash cans were empty.  

Looking up, I gauged the distance and created the number or boxes to reach the floor to the ceiling for all three sides of the hole and set them in place.  After reinforcing them, I then proceeded to check out the rest of the store.   The back room contained the most crates and after breaking them open I had just about exceeded my pack storage limit.  I was able to recover an anvil, a set of calibers, three grill grates, a sledge hammer, a carpenter hammer and 15 rebar frames.   In the front section I found several other boxes that contained the schematics to making a nail gun, a rechargeable battery, and better than average pipe wrench.  There were two checkout counters with cash registers.  One was empty and the other contained 15 Duke’s Casino Tokens.   I wondered if this was used for money instead of good old Uncle Sam Green Backs.   My questioned was answered almost immediately when I turned to the vending machine behind me.  Sure enough, it was stocked and it required more tokens than I had in my pocket.  The cooler, on the other hand had 3 bottles of purified water which I immediately appropriated and drank.  They were ice-cold and tasted better to me, at the time, than any cold beer I ever drank on a hot summer day.  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I checked the filing cabinets and found the usual paper.  I decided to keep it this time so I could write down what I had learned and hopefully help the next unfortunate person that found their way into this upside-down world.   If I had not done this, you would not be reading this now.  I went back into the storage room and looked at a wall safe in the far back corner.   Using the sledge hammer I pounded on it for all I was worth, and the safe broke in fewer than two dozen hard strikes.  Nothing, but a book entitled Minnie Bikes for Dummies.   What was I going to do with a mini-bike?   I wasn’t some Shriners Clown rolling around on an undersized bike honking horns at the kids for laughs, but I sat down and read it anyhow.  Actually, it was ingenious!  It clearly laid out how to craft one of these, how to obtain the motors and batteries needed for them, and how to craft tires from automobile tires.  It assured the reader it would have plenty of power to handle their weight and would nearly triple their ability to carry salvage.   Now that part interested me greatly as my pack was nearing capacity.   It was so simple, it was stupid, and I felt even more stupid for not thinking of it. 

Walking back to the front of the store, I used some of my clay and stone to create a cobblestone mixture then created cobble stone frames.  I knocked out the broken storefront windows and blocked them up with the frames, and filled them in with cobble stone.  I did the same for one of the two doors.   Returning to the bathroom I walled up the top half of the front section leaving only a doorway to walk out of.   Going outside, I looked closely for any lingering skins.  Seeing none, I went around back and repaired the bottom part of the broken ladder.  Searching the bodies, I came up with a batch of steel head arrows; 20 in all, and 5 iron arrowheads without arrows.  I also found twenty more rounds of .223 ammunition, ten .44 caliber bullets, 15 shotgun shells, one .44 magnum frame of questionable integrity, and some shotgun parts.   My pack was now maxed out.   Climbing to the roof, I removed the frames blocking access to it and carefully jumped sideways to avoid my trap.   I then crafted 4 sets of iron reinforced pongee sticks and tied them in a bundle.  Using some of my yarn, I weaved a make-shift rope and carefully lowered the spikes into the hole and waited for day break.  

Climbing down the ladder, a shot rang out and wide patch of buckshot struck the wall just above where I stood at the ladder’s base.   Had I not let go and dropped the last few feet It would have caught me full force.  It had to be the person who contacted yesterday. Another shot rang out, but I was already climbing as fast as I could hand over hand.  That load hit where I had just stood.  Clearly this bozo was trying to kill me.  Side stepping the hole, I yelled again.  “Why are you doing this?  Wouldn’t we do better working together?”   Laughter followed.  

“Why should I?”  The voice answered.  “You done and treed yourself on that roof, and I got the gun.”   Obviously, he didn’t know I had one too.  Good, that might make the difference.  

“I need your stuff.” He called out.

“Hey, I will give it to you.” I lied, “Then we can go our separate ways.” 

“And have you follow me later?  I ain’t that stupid.  Besides, I am hungry and you look down right fresh.   You should make some really great eaten.” 

What the heck?  How long had this guy been running loose in this place to make him a cannibal?   “You eat people?” I asked dumbfounded.   “How long have you been here?”  

“Since yesterday.” It replied.   “Don’t know how I got here either.  I was setting down to a nice snack of leg-mignon with my family and there was this flash of light.  Next thing you know, here I am and there you are ripe for the taking.”

“You mean you were always a cannibal?”   I asked trying to locate the voice.  I dared a peek over the wall and nearly got a face full of buckshot.  

“Stick your head out again!” Hannibal Lector shouted, “I will make it nice and easy for you.  Better than me saving you for more than one meal at a time.”

“NO THANKS!” I shouted back, “If you want me you will have to earn it.  He laughed again.  

“But to answer your question,” he started, “Raised that way.  Whole family was and my family too.   We only took the homeless and other dregs that would never be missed or never amount to anything, along with the occasional pimp or whore we didn’t like.  You might say we were eating society clean of parasites.   Enough talking for now.   I see you don’t have a gun or you would have shot back by now.  You hold nice and still when I get there and I will make it painless.”

I could hear whoever it was climbing the ladder.

“Here I come!” he yelled, “Uhhh…”

A crash of splintering wood followed by several screams followed by a trashing sound told me my trap worked.   I could hear him moan several times before the sounds stopped.   Peering cautiously into the trap, the man looked dead with a half dozen long spikes sticking through his body, legs and arms.  Blood had sprayed everywhere, but I wasn’t taking any chances.  Pulling the hunting rifle from its holster, I took aim at the back of his head and fired.   The top of his head, along with his brains splattered all over the wall and floor.   “Bon Appetit, Skins!” I shouted, “Asshole being served!”

Day Five…. No Tip

For the most part my run towards the trading post went without a lot of fanfare.  In fact, it was so calm I sat down once to finish eating the remainder of my bear-bacon and egg omelets, and drinking three teas to wash it down; two red teas with a yellow tea.  In between omelets,  I made the arrows I needed to replenish my stock. Afterwards, I broke   up some smaller trees to replace the wood I used making them.   So far three things were an absolute must.   The first was water, the second was wood, and the third was arrows; or at least arrows until I managed to acquire better weapons.  As primitive as arrows sound, they have an advantage a gun does not.  For the most part they are virtually quiet, which meant I could take down game without drawing attention to the Skins, any hungry bear prowling out of sight, and some other jerk who meant me ill will which happened to enter my world.   I knew now, no one could be trusted, and should not be trusted until they proved themselves trustworthy.  How I was going to determine that I hadn’t figured out yet, but I was pretty certain I would eventually figure out a way to do it.

I found myself fairly close to the cabin I had established as a base camp, and made a slight detour to it.   Reaching it, only one Skin was still milling around it and it was easily dispatched with a few arrows.  Searching it I recovered another slimy Zombie Burger and a hand drawn map.   A handwritten note contained this message:

“To whomever finds this map.   Friend the end is near.  The monsters are breaking down my door but in my final moments I can only think of how I want to be remembered.  Not as a coward but as someone who thinks of others.  I leave you this map to one of my secret buried chests.   God Bless you.”  Signed Jennifer.

My glass map buzzed, and a treasure chest icon appeared on it.   How did it know I had a map?   “Can you see me?” I shouted at the map.   No response.  “Can you hear me?”  I shouted again.   The map buzzed again. “Where am I and what do you want from me?’ I pleaded.  The map remained silent.   I won’t post the string of verbal profanities I unleashed at this moment nor will I expose all the obscene thoughts I had I could have used to express my disgust for whatever or whoever had put me in this place for what ever perverse reason it or they, had to do it.   It’s a wonder I didn’t have a stroke as ticked off as I was at the time.   It took at least an hour for me to cool off enough to resume what I set out to do.  

Some of the trees that had been full grown when I left the cabin were now dead.  The two trees I planted were the size of 50-year-old trees.  What kind of life-cycle was going on here?   How could something sprout, grow to full height in about a week, and die within?  What?  Perhaps, they only lived a few months.   I had no idea how long the trees had been there before I arrived.   Taking my axe, I harvested the dead trees, giving me nearly 1200 more pieces of wood I would store in my chest for future use.   I wondered if my life span in this world was limited to the same kind of cycle.   I dismissed this idea.  If I were aging as fast as tree, I would be something like 140 years old right now, so human life must be on a different life span than the vegetation.  

Climbing the ladder, I entered the upstairs loft and opened my storage box putting what gun parts I wanted to hold onto and keeping the rest I wanted to sell.   I sat on the floor with the intent of combining the better parts of the two 9mm’s I now had into one better 9mm and quickly discovered, although it looked and operated like every other 9mm I had ever used, it didn’t come apart like all other 9mm’s.  In fact, I couldn’t figure out how to get it apart.   “How do I fix this thing?” I asked aloud, and the glass map buzzed.  A message appeared, “You must read the proper schematic before you can assemble or repair this item.”  So, the son-of-a-dog-hind-leg pulling the strings in this place could hear me, and I had little doubt could see me as well.   Another buzz and a second message appeared.  “You now have 50 skill points to spend.”  I blinked stupidly.   “What are skill points?”   The screen buzzed again providing a list of… What could I call them?  Perks?  Added abilities?  New information on how to improve things?  I chose to call them perks.   Besides each option a point cost was displayed and next to it what reward I would get for choosing it.   Every new perk had a maximum cap of 100 points which I took to mean I had learned everything there was to learn about whatever it was I learning.  

My skills must have been developing all long as I apparently had 40 skill points already in my weapons making and a 20 in tool making, as well as 20 in scavenging.  My archery skill was a dismal 8 and my guns even less.  Yeah, I missed a lot; so, what?  I would get better in time.   It appeared for every level I went up I obtained 5 extra free points to spend in a long list of things I assumed would help me craft better weapons and other useful items.   “What is this?” I asked the map, “Some kind of reward system for staying alive?”  The map buzzed twice I took for “Yes”.    I had no idea what I needed the most.  It looked like I was doing OK in crafting weapons, but I was miserable in scavenging and the quality of it sucked.   I spent 30 points on Quality Joe, in hopes it meant I would now find better stuff, and 15 on treasure hunting as it said it would make the search area smaller.  The last five I splurged on mining tools as it said I would get more material with less effort, and I was all about less effort.   O.K.  Call me lazy, but even Adam in Eden didn’t do much until God saw him getting fat and lazy eating apples under the blue-berry tree.  To keep Adam on his toes, God gave him a Honey-do named Eve, to keep him busy with work only a woman could dream up.  Maybe that isn’t the way the Bible really read, but I had to retain some sense of humor or go bat-dog crazy.

The treasure seemed to be in the Burn Lands.   Well, that wasn’t too bad of a place as long as I paid attention.  The dogs didn’t seem to be as plentiful in that part of the world as they were in the Wastelands.  I could save that mission for another day.  My goal was the trader.  Leaving the cabin, I continued on an intermittent run, jog, walk, and pace as my energy allowed and I could feel myself gaining new strength and agility with each day.   My broken leg had healed in less than a day, and felt as good as new.  By rights I should have been down for as much as six weeks.  After the med kit episode, I simply took things like healing as it comes.  Obviously, I was being given extended physical abilities to ensure my survival, unless the med kit miracle was still working within in me.  I wasn’t going to question it.  I was simply grateful it was in my favor.  

The noon day plane buzzed overhead and another chute dropped.  This one was sort of the way I needed to go and depending where it actually ended up, I might attempt to retrieve it.  The ground was getting rougher to transverse and I could feel coolness in the wind.  I really hoped it wasn’t another rainstorm coming.   The last one could have drowned a man, it rained so hard.  Rounding a bend of a hillside, my heart sank.  A snow field lay before me.   If it wasn’t too wide, I might be able to breech it before dark.  If not, I would have a problem pretty darn fast as I certainly didn’t have a cold weather coat on me.   Sucking in my courage I set out across it in as straight of a line as I could for the trader.   Something caught my attention in the top of a hollow looking stump.  Stopping briefly to peer into it I was surprised to find a pair of night vision goggles.  They weren’t generation 3, but they would come in handy if I couldn’t afford to have my helmet light on at night.  Making certain they were in the off position I put them on. To turn them on in bright daylight would do two things; burn the unit out quickly, and probably leave the wearer blind.  In some cases, permanently blind or vision impaired.   The retina of the human eye could only handle so much light before it is damaged.  If someone thinks not, try looking directly into the sun for any length of time.   They can’t.  It’s too bright and the eye protects itself by causing pain and forcing the person to look away.   Night vision goggles create as much light as the sun only in a very pinpoint and concentrated spot that burns out the retina in a few seconds.   Better models like the ones I used in the Middle East had a shut off device to prevent this.  The enemy knew we used these devices to see in the dark and would ambush the wearer with super bright spot lights that would destroy the device and hopefully put the wearer out of commission.   To combat this and auto shut off feature was built in that immediately killed the light intensification provided by the device for the person to see and could not be turned back on while a certain amount of light was present.   The wearer might experience a flash bulb effect from the quick shut off, but their eyes were protected, and more importantly the device.   Yes, friends, sometimes a device is more important to the survival of a unit than the ability of one man to see.  We are all expendable and the goal is to keep as many of us alive – not necessarily all of us – just most of us while killing all of them. This pair was not one of the good ones.

The stump also contained a jar of honey, and heavy sweat shirt which I quickly put on.  It helped with the cold, but it didn’t stop it all.   I had seen other stumps in the distance in the Grasslands, but it never occurred to me until now that past survivors had used them as emergency storage containers or simply to put extra gear in hopes of helping the next person who came along.   I would have to learn to be more curious from now and check them all.  

My teeth were chattering despite the sweatshirt.  It was really cold in this unforgiving place.  Reaching into my pack I extracted a jar of grain alcohol, and drank it.  The burning liquid caused a warm flush feeling to wash over me dispelling the cold.   I know alcohol is actually a depressant and the effects are an illusion as it actually causes the body to lose heat; thus, the warm feeling, but at the time I didn’t care.  I simply wanted to feel warm, even if it was temporary.   Instead the usual buzz I received from drinking I actually felt energized from it; just the opposite of what should have happened.   I remembered thinking what a backwards world this was and took off running again.  Surprisingly, I didn’t fatigue nearly as fast and was able to keep up a quick pace far longer than I should have.  Apparently, the grain alcohol was being processed as some kind of raw super-sugar and not as an intoxicant.  I would have to remember this in the future if I ever found myself in a position where I needed unending speed to escape something that could run faster than I normally could.    The sound of crunching snow, brought me to a standstill.

In front of me was a very big man coming my way.   His completely blue face and bushy beard made him appear to be a giant-sized Papa Smurf.  This guy was big, with telephone size biceps, and heavy muscled chest.   I thought Burger Bob was big, but this Paul Bunyan like creature, dressed in jeans, and plaid insulated shirt wearing a floppy French toboggan complete with fuzzy ball made nearly two of him.   He strode in large, powerful strides.  Everything about him said this lumberjack of a Skin was the most dangerous thing I had seen yet.  I had little doubt one solid blow from it would, and could, fracture my skull.   If this thing had a blue ox, I sure as heck didn’t want to see it.   Backing away from the advancing creature, I yanked my bow out, and sent a missile his way, striking him full on the breast bone.  He made a strange squawking sound on impact that sounded something like, “Waack, Waack!”    I kid you not!  If this thing wasn’t so dangerous, I might have laughed at the idiotic sound it made, but at the time nothing was funny.  

I fired again, and it squawked.   Crunch, Crunch, Crunch, another one was coming.  No, make that four more of them were coming; all of them from different directions and converging on the first, in near military like formation.   These things were not stumbling, lurching creatures either.  They moved in deliberate fashion all focused on the brass ring that happened to be me.   “I think not!” I yelled at the lumbering lumberjacks.  Common sense should have told me, with the new-found energy from the grain alcohol still super-charging my body, I should have simply beat feet out of there, but not me.  I just had to see what these behemoths were made of, so I continued to fire one arrow after another.  These guys could take punishment and it took nearly six well placed arrows to drop them.  Some took several shots to the head before they went down.   As fast as one Smurf died, the crunching footsteps of another approaching one could be heard coming to take its place.  These woods had to be crawling with the Popsicle freaks! Then I stopped moving all together.  I had backed myself into a tree, and gotten hung up on a broken branch or something like it.  I struggled to free myself and by the time I broke free they were really close.  I bolted, ran out of steam, and came to a near halt in the snow.   I asked myself why I didn’t listen to myself a few moments ago.  I had no choice, but to yank the rifle from its make-shift scabbard and fire at the first one point-blank, while attempting to back-crawl out of there. It was enough to take this injured one down.  I didn’t have bullets to waste, and fired again into the head of the one behind him, and it dropped, a third shot dropped the next guy as well, but only for a moment.  It rose behind the other remaining two.  Fumbling for the rifle breech, I ran out of time; dropped the rifle in a near panic, and yanked the 9mm up emptying all 15 rounds in the heads of the remaining three.  The last one literally dropped at my feet and I could feel his slimy face wiping itself off on my sweatshirt as it slid to the ground.   I might have had another 8 rounds left  in the second 9mm I carried, but who was counting at the time?   My knees buckled, and I went to the ground heaving my guts up.   Every nerve screamed, “STUPID, SO and SO!” at me, and they were right.  I was a stupid so-and-so for doing what I did.  After several minutes of self admonishment, I recovered enough to retrieve the rifle; brushing the snow from its breech before it froze, and reloaded it with one of my few remaining rounds.   I didn’t even bother to loot these things, I simply wanted to get out of this frozen urine pit as fast as I could.

An hour later, I was back in the desert, and sweating like a pig.  Yanking the crusty sweat shirt off, I shredded it for cloth with my hunting knife, discarding the brown caked part that had been my shirt front.  I was glad to be rid of it and the snow.  That biome was no place to live, and I was no Eskimo.  In fact, I am more of a sunny-beach type guy where it remained summer all year round, and right now the desert was summer warm and its sand was my sunny beach compared to the Igloo land I just left.   I was happy to sweat, and was eating up distance at a good rate, not stopping to pick the yucca fruit as I was still OK on food and water for now.  Off in the distance I could see a large flag flying over what looked to be some kind of fort.  According my map, that had to be the trader and I quickened my pace glad to be somewhere other than nowhere.   I could use some conversation with another person.

The fort was made of heavy logs and X placed cross logs between the massive upright pillars, reinforced with barb wire. I wondered how the trader got them way out here.  Perhaps the post was around when more people were around.  It didn’t matter to me, it was here and so was I.  Entering the fortification, I could see a number of trash-can spot lights and defensive towers and what remained of an old house for the back wall the trader no-doubt lived in.   A sign read Trader Joe.   Entering what looked to be like a converted mobile home, a balding hawk nosed man greeted me with, “Phew!  You smell like the dead!  But if you have the money, I suppose I can stand your smell.”   I was in no mood for insults after what I had just come through, and I remember thinking, “Maybe so, you menthol smelling crumb dungeon reject from an old folks home, but if you keep mouthing off I just might shoot you between your eyes too.” 

He must have been reading my thoughts, or perhaps it was just another one of his bull-donkey-horse-pie lines he used to sound tough, he said, “You keep your hands away from your guns, or you will meet the business end of my .44.”  I wondered if this ancient bag of dust bones was even strong enough to lift a .44.  Well, I wasn’t there to argue and simply began selling what I didn’t need for what I did need, and that was mainly bullets.   The entire trade took less than 10 minutes and I was on my way out the door when the reject from a mummy convention spewed a profanity laced tirade that ended in how great he treated me, “And you didn’t even leave me a F’N tip!”  Only F’N wasn’t the word he used in saying it.   A moment later, a loudspeaker announced Trader Joe would soon close.   It was getting night time and I had no where to go.  Going back inside the fort and begging for shelter wasn’t going to work as the gates slammed shut and locked.   

A very large boulder was a short distance away, and I contemplated building another platform on it, but then another idea struck me.   The sand was fairly soft, and deep, and few feet down it was actually backed pretty solid; not stone solid mind you, but solid enough to not cave in immediately.  If I reinforced the hole with improved boxes as I went down, and under the boulder, it just might keep the Skins from getting to me.  Creating a stone shovel and about 50 box frames to start with, I began to dig first in front of the boulder to where I could dig under the rock and then straight down.   I was down about 20 boxes when I finally struck stone. I then began to reinforce the wooden shaft I laid as I went down and placed ladders starting from the bottom to the top as I went, improving each box along the way.  Once near the top I then sealed the shaft with reinforced boxes, two boxes deep, and the moment I did it got really dark in that hole.  Thank the Lord, I had a mining helmet.   Flicking the light on allowed me to see what I was doing and prevented me from falling while attempting to climb back down.  Once at the bottom I started breaking rock.  It took some work and quite a few shovels, but in time I was 8 boxes deep in bedrock, and began to enlarge the area to something along the lines of 10 boxes wide and 16 boxes long by six boxes high.  Night had fallen by this time and I could hear the first of the Skins high above me growling and howling as they tried to figure a way into get me.   I ignored them and continued to improve my pit house by lining it with wooden boxes; filling in the deeper spots in a not very square hole, with boxes to ensure the hole would be as strong as possible.  Creating a storage box, I placed it along one wall, and placed a small amount of supplies including some plant fiber, stone, wood, arrows, an axe and a bow as a precautionary against suddenly being without.   The thought of being robbed and having noting to fall back on didn’t appeal to me at all.