Thursday, July 8, 2010
I go on in a full on sprint for as long as I can handle it. I look back and I estimate that I must have sprinted at least four hundred yards. I've always been good at running, its just been my thing. I knew keeping up with it would come in handy one day. I take a look around and quickly notice that I've walked into a makeshift morgue. It looks like the CDC set up shop here and ran out of room to put the bodies because as I walk down the street the sidewalks are lined up with body bags. Side by side and stacked up on top of one another. I continue to tread carefully because you never know where these things are. The rain has now slowed down to a slight drizzle and the howl of the wind continues to pound my ears like a drum. The smell on this street doesn't even phase me at all. There has to be hundreds of bags here. I eye a bar called "Wasted Days and Wasted Nights" on the right side of the street. Not really the time for a drink but that would be the only place at the moment I can find some sort of weapon. I make my way across the body bags on the sidewalk and check the door to the bar. Its open of course. Surprisingly enough when I enter the bar it looks like nothing has been touched at all. No chairs or tables knocked over. No broken windows or mirrors. Weird. I move behind the bar and take a look to make sure there's nothing or no one around. Nothing. Now to look for a gun or something. I start digging through drawers and cabinets. Come on, the bartender had to have had some sort of protection in case of unruly drunks. Jackpot! A sawed off double barrel shotgun! This is so perfect that I think I may cry. Even better, there's a pretty good amount of ammo here too. I spot a small courier bag in one of the cabinets and start filling it with shells. I think I'm ready to go. I look around the bar and see a bat in a glass case above all the bottles of liquor. I could use a nice Louisville Slugger. I smack the glass case with the shotgun and take the bat. It feels kinda old and has writing on it. Who the hell is Ty Cobb? Reminds me of corn. Oh well. As I keep wandering around I see the first sign of an attack here. I see a group of five people on the floor grouped together around instruments. Must be the house band. They are so decomposed that I can't even tell if each person is male or female. There's a table set up close to them with CD's on it. Looks like they were selling their music the night of the outbreak. The Tipsy Whiskey Gypsies? Sounds interesting. I miss listening to music. I can't even recall the last time I heard a good song or even hummed any kind of melody. Maybe if I come across a CD player or something I can pop this in. I grab a CD and throw it in my bag. I walk over and take a seat at the bar. "Bartender, I want a whiskey!" I say to no one. "You make sure its 20 year Pappy! What?! You think I've had enough?! No! YOU'VE had enough!". No one answers back. "Fuck me?! Fuck you buddy! Just give me my whiskey and I'll be on my way. I said. Give. Me. My. Fucking. Drink!" I start screaming like a madman as I take my bat and start bashing everything in sight. From mirrors to bottles to light fixtures. Nothing is safe from my rage. The corn guy that signed the bat would be proud. I take a moment and realize what I just did. Am I losing my damn mind? Maybe. Do I care? At this point it might be the most useful tool I have. What I do know is that there's one person I need to find and ask a few questions........The Pastor.