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Holy (un)holy Nightmare Batman.

Oh Dark Thirty, and I am awake, and staying that way. :\

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Waiting at my father's house for him and a brother to return from picking up "the guns" at the hunt club. We have good defensibility, many things done on this property are just for this day. Then when they return, we inexplicably leave. Dad says we had to do something before dark.

We drive across the connector road, down the east-west corridor and get on 95 south. Sitting in the back seat of a convertible late 70s Dodge Dart, I wonder if a late 70's convertible Dart was even *made*. Where did this car come from, I think.

I check my gun. Why the fuck did I put 2 firecrackers where the rounds should be? If I had known we were driving through the zombie apocalypse, I probably would have brought a full magazine, sans firecrackers. Come to think of it, more than one. :\

I mention offhand that I sure am going to miss my son. I think for a moment I've angered everyone the car. Dad turns hard left, then cuts across the highway and stops. I ask why we have stopped on the shoulder of a road backing up to woods. Mention we will be Zeke food if we don't move out. Dad points at the sun. It seems we have driven all the way south to St Lucie county or so. The sun is setting over the Mets Stadium. We can see the stadium from the highway. Dramatic shot, and pause.

I ask why we came here, and dad shrugs. Says we "had to run." I said you don't run from zombies, you stay in our house, the second building was on stilts, and we had about 200 yards LOS. zombie proof. Not Bad Guy proof, but stilts mean zombie proof, I scream. "Why? You have condemned us all to death out here, and for what, for nothing?!"

"You miss your son, you said." I nod, and remembered saying that. "Well, I miss everyone whose ever been in my house. 50 people we love are out there right now, eating rat brains and moaning their way across the land each night. I can't take it there any more. Let's just fight."

"Fight?" I say. We might as well just take turns kissing each other's asses goodbye. I turn and see a few dozen zombies coming from the back of the Mets stadium. One is my son. I think, "wow, he made great time."

Scene.

Comments

Wow...

ok, that sucks.

I remember leaving the house, and noting that the doors had been tarred, and thinking, that will keep the scent from leaking. Tarred like inside the jamb, when you closed it, it made a squishy seal.

Ingenious zombie dream move me! I approve of my zombie prep scent reduction ideas, heh.

Fuck that.

Thats why I stopped drinking whiskey

I think you are on to something here ...