This is another one of those dreams I have that seem just too real not to be real. My feeling of pain was real, my fear was real, my places and people were close to real, but it was not. I must be going crazy but maybe not as crazy as the last story of unreality, �Driftor the Demon Slayer.� The beginning is kind of slow, but things go crazy as I ramble further on. I found the best pics that I could to go with the story.
I remember being in Texas at the time. I was in Northern Texas, around Dallas, to be specific. Something was wrong though, very wrong. Every other TV station that I turned to had something about the dead coming back to life. Even worse, every other station that I saw was saying that it was spreading. Almost all of the businesses were closing down because people wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Some businesses like Home Depot, and gun dealerships stayed open to make a fortune in sales. Everybody knew what was coming but few of them did anything about it. They all figured that they could just wait this one out, or something like that.
Luckily for me, I am just are aware in my dreams as I am in real life. I made my Mom get in her truck and drive to Home Depot. I thought we could buy some $400 planks of wood to board up our home with. Instead of finding overpriced goods, we found a riot. People were killing each other over the supplies. The looters had killed the store employees. Ironically, the dead employees rose from their slumber to feast on the looters. Through all of this chaos we managed to gather a large stockpile of wood, nails, hammers, and assorted tools. The gun dealerships were much safer because they had armed guards. Unfortunately for us though, the cheapest gun that was for sales cost several thousand dollars. We could not afford the price and had to go away empty handed.
My Mom began to drive to her home in Texas. That was when we remembered that my little brother was in Mississippi (beats me why) with the rest of my family. We made an about-face and headed toward good old Mississippi. This is where my Mom put her defensive driving skills to the test. After dodging countless wrecks and other roadside horrors, the truck ran out of gas. We pulled over on the side of a country road. There was nothing in site for miles. I couldn�t see any towns, any signs, or any people (living or dead). She said to me �You stay here and watch the truck, I�m going to get some gas.� �No�, I replied, �I can run a lot faster for a lot longer than you. I can get the gas a lot faster.� After some more discussion that I don�t remember to well, it was greed that I would go run down the road to the nearest town and bring back the gas, and she would watch the truck. I ran as fast as I could. I mean I really ran my ass off. I must have run at least 20 miles. I was almost about to pass out by the time I actually found a gas station. The gas station was empty. No living soul could be seen so I took it upon myself to loot the place of it gasoline. I found as 5-gallon tank, with a handle, that was full or gas. I accidentally knocked something over as I was picking up the gasoline. Whatever I knocked over created quite a racket. The undead heard it and were quick to pick up on my location. I made a break for it and seriously ran as fast as I could back toward the truck. God only knows how I carried a 5 gallon drum of gas all the way back to that truck without being eaten alive but I did.
We headed toward Mississippi again, but with no supplies and low gas. At long last the truck finally pulled into my hometown. It was chaotic as hell. Everything was on fire. People were running frantically from the very few undead that were in town. I called my grandparents and told them that we got back safely. Just after I said �safely� and turned off the cell phone, our truck took a drivers side impact from Hummer. It felt like the hummer only hit me. My internal organs were spasuming, and aching. My head felt like it was both floating and like a fat man was tap dancing on my brain. I looked over at my Mom only to see a bloody mess of mess of body parts. I tried to open the door but it was jammed. The glass on the window was broken, so I just climbed on out. I was so hurt that I was unable to land on my feet. I must plopped out of the window and lay on the ground few a few moments. Then I heard the moans of the undead.
I stumbled and fumbled my way around until I bumped into a sign. It was the name of a street that was just blocks away from my house. With as much energy as I could muster, I continued to fumble and stumble all the way home. It is very lucky that I was not mistaken for a zombie and shot.
At last I was home. Strangely, the door was unlocked. I opened the door, came in, then locked and bolted the door shut again. I used an old towel to wipe some of the blood off my face and put on a new set of cloths. They were black, long sleeved, long panted, and very thick. They may have been hot, but they could protect me from a weak bite or two. I think I found some boots to put on too. As I sat in the house all I could here were the screen of the people dying outside and the explosions across town. There I was, just sitting there, alone, in my house, which I almost died trying to get to. My little brother was long gone, and nobody else that I knew was anywhere near me. It was very lonely for a few moments. Then super Driftor kicked right back into gear and got a move on. I went to the gun closet. When I got there, all of the rifles were gone and there was no ammo to be seen. There was something in the closet though. Sitting on the bottom shelf where the rifle stocks would rest, there was a handgun with a pink ribbon tied to it. It was a chrome plated Colt .45. As I picked it up, I noticed a note underneath the gun. It read:
�Driftor,
Don�t worry about your brother. I knew you would come for him. We left for the hills a few days ago. As you can tell by now we took all the guns and ammo. With some luck we can wait this one out. I hope you like your present.�
I untied the ribbon on the gun and checked the clip. It was fully loaded with all twelve bullets. Twelve bullets wasn�t much, but it was better than nothing. And considering the prices of guns these desperate times that must have cost a fortune. As soon as I was done reading the note, I heard a car pull into the drive way and honk the horn twice. I knew immediately who it was. I tucked the gun into my pants, ran to my room, grabbed my di-katana (yes I do have one in real life, they are overrated), and headed out the door. Just as I thought it was my grandmother in her golden car that came to pick me up. I was glad as hell that I had made that phone call a while back. I hopped in the car and was on my again.
�Where is my grandfather?�, I asked. She sighed and then replied, �He is at the house. He asked me to come get you while he waits there.� After a moment or two of though I asked �Why would he want to wait there?� She answered, �We could have left town days ago but we were waiting for you. He holds down the house, while I drive around and wait for you to show up. We�re going to go pick him up of course.� I could see the house from far away. It was sitting right in the middle of a large residential district that I like to call �Zombie City�. �I�m not going into that death trap to pick him up�, I said. She replied, �I�m driving, and we�re going.� After a few moments thought I realized the terrible sacrifice that they were willing to make to save me, yet I wouldn�t try to help him. How selfish of me. She ran over several of them on the way to the house. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, we saw a group of ghouls break down the door. All I heard was screams and a few gunshots. If you thought this was bad, my day (or night) was about to get much worse.
In the few seconds that it took us to accept our loss something horrible happened. One of those rotting bastards came out of nowhere and punched in the driver�s side window. It began to maul my helpless old grandmother as it drug her out of the car. When she had been drug almost completely out, I could see through the broken window that many more of them were coming for me. I opened my door, grabbed the di-katana and headed out. I ran out the door, but something held me back. I realized the di-katana was too long to fit out he door the way I was pulling it. There was not time to push it back in and then take it out at a different angle. I dropped it and ran.
It beats me which direction I ran. I ran the opposite direction of hoard of undead that was following me. These suckers were fast too. Almost as fast as I was, and they were certainly had more stamina. Sadly, there were two in front of me; one was slightly ahead of the other I think. What do you do when you are being chased by a hoard of zombies, and there are a few running right at you from the front? Do plan Driftor. I kept running as fast as I could, but right at the ones in front of me. I drew the gun and kept running. When the first one was just close enough to touch me, I put a bullet in his face. Two seconds later I did the slower one the same favor. Letting them get that close is risky, but it�s hard to miss from six inches away. Ammo is important when you only have 12 bullets. I kept running.
I ran around town, across bridges, through woods, just about everywhere. I ran until my body ached and my lunges burned. Then I ran some more. The further I went, more and more of them picked up on the noise made by the ones already chasing me. Thus, my crowd of cannibal followers grew larger and larger. I met a few from the front. I had to use plan Driftor again on them. I played run and gun until I was about die from exhaustion. More importantly, by my count, there was only one bullet left in my gun. Somehow I ended up downtown.
The cliff made sure the undead could only approach from one direction. The old hospital had been barricaded by a group of highly organized armed men. They had placed sandbags and some of those dividers that separate highways all around the building. A few of the makeshift walls had barbwire fences too. All of the windows were boarded on the outside and on the side. There were people on the roof with high-powered rifles (hunting rifles). Most of the people on the ground had shotguns or submachine guns. I don�t remember any assault rifles. They were creating a perimeter for the last few living souls in town to try to make it in. I saw a person or two ran though the groups cover fire. They were backing up. The perimeter was getting smaller and smaller. It looked like I would be the last person to make it in alive, if I made it in alive.
Against the wishes of those holding the doors open, three men stayed out there to give me some cover fire. The undead were now swarming in on me from all directions. As I was approaching the door, a zombie jumped on a man covering me with an MP5. I kept running and did plan Driftor one more time. I ran up to the sack of bones and shot it in the head from about two inches away. The blood splattered all over the face of the man I just saved. I grabbed him by the collar and drug his ass inside just before the undead really closed in on us.
When the door was bolted and sealed up tight. I saw a group of blacks hammering wooden planks into the door as fast as they could. I thought to myself, �Could these guys be the same blacks that stole my Mom�s wood?� I heard a deafening series of gunshots. We�ll it was really like a spraying of gunshots. As soon as we were inside, the men on the roof really opened up on those foul things outside. They cleaned up the entire hoard that was following me. The place was very well organized. They had planned to men on the roof so they can keep the crowd of zombies rather thin. The thinness would likely prevent an attempt to break in, or at least a successful attempt. The outer walls they had set up were there to provide minimum space around the door so that no matter how many zombies did get close enough they wouldn�t have the leverage to break down the door.
This plan worked for a while. The gunshots were heard day and night. They zombies outside were kept pretty damn thin. The hospital itself was less organized though. We had about enough people in it for each of us to have our own five or six patient rooms. There was plenty of food for now, but the leaders of the group were busy calculation how long it would last. A person or two had been bitten and had to be put down. We were running the hell out of the tap water while it would still run, putting as much into pots and pans as we could. The only really strange part of all this was that a group of much more heavily armed men and women had taken control of the basement. It was �their basement�. They wouldn�t let anyone go down there. I tried once but only found myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The guard would not let me pass. I settled for the upstairs rooms.
All good things must come to an end. When the undead hit, they hit hard and fast. I imagine it was about 4:00 a.m. when they came. The men on the roof couldn�t see them too well because it was dark. I heard a hard crash on the door and knew it had cracked. I ran downstairs just in time to see the second and final crash. The door collapsed and the door guard was torn to shreds in a matter of seconds. I made break for one of my upstairs rooms. I was running through a maze of death, one wrong turn and I was toast.
The other undead smelt my rottenness and very slowly shambled downstairs to the basement. The guard that had turned me down was quietly letting in the sneaky few that had made it to the basement. The infection was beginning to spread. I began to feel like a zombie by now. My disguise worked too well. He saw me and put a shotgun round in my chest. I responded by drawing my pistol and shooting a few times as I fell to my knees. Realizing what we did, we just starred at each other. We were both dying. The bolting of the final door didn�t matter anymore. We both fell over and that was that. At least for him, I had been bitten.
