July 4th - Bryndisized

I'm hiding, as you all know, well, at least the one's reading this. I haven't disclosed my location due to the fact that the internet is still working and, for all I know, these people could be reading this blog and come and eat me (not something that you're used to saying, I have to mention).

From my vantage point I've been able to see both the woman, that pulled me into this hell, and the man, who killed the person before, walking by. It's an odd situation and, being a psychology major, I'm looking forward to examining it, in detail, at some future date. Now, however, is how I made it back to 'Stitches' in one piece.

Patrick, last I heard, was off to the grocery store to meet with, what would appear is, our masters, the new government in town. I came over here to find food and...well, I don't know what else, something, hope, whatever you want to call it.

I'm hiding and during my time in hiding I can see a bunch of other people in hiding. They're inside the cologne case or inside the Reidel cabinet but they are hiding, all the same. Meanwhile the two fucks inflicting all the mayhem are stumbling around, ax and tool in hand, waiting for someone to show themselves. It's bullshit of the highest degree and I'm about tired of it. After a few hours i can see that there's a pattern to their madness. I just need to know where their hide-out is .

So, when the bitch that pulled me out of the heating duct walks by, I follow. Quietly, I keep behind old lady clothing as I follow her through The Bay. She looking for someone hiding not someone following her so it's not as hard as I thought it would be. When she's only looking for noises from where she's looking at I can be, pretty much, as loud as I want to be from behind, or beside, her.

She's got white trash hair, bleached to the bone and dried to the crisp, and even though she's in a 'higher end' department store she still hasn't upgraded her lipstick. It's fire engine red and looks like it could contain the same cancer causing agents that caused the world to go without red m&m's for thirty years. Her skin is dried and caked, or, at least, her foundation is. I almost feel bad for her, in the sense that this is the most power she'll ever have in this life. Here, looking for other lost and lonely, scared, people, is the epitome of her self confidence and worth.

Sucks that I'm the one that'll put an end to it, but...well, someone has to, right?

She does her rounds, not finding anyone. By this time, the rest of us, scared of having our brains bashed out by a crazed person, are experts at hiding. Honestly, at this point, with the world run over by Zombies, wouldn't you rather be eaten to death by the apocalypse that happening all around you, rather than having your head bashed in by some psychopath that could have claimed your life at any moment previously?

I follow her, slowly, by creeping from one clothing round about to another, until we're at the housing section. From here on in it's all beds and couches. Of course this is where they're hiding, where would you hide in a store that sold serta's and lazyboys?

She sits on the couch and pulls a bowl, full of Godiva chocolates, to her face and begins to feed her mouth like it's a boiler on a train.

From here it's easy. Couches and headboards where made to be hidden behind. I, quickly, like a game of Tetris, snake my way down the rows of furniture, the ax that I've procured, from the near the fire extinguisher, in my hand. They sit there, watching the new Star Trek movie, in blu-ray, on one of the big screen tv's, unbeknownst to my approach.

Let me say this. I'm a humanitarian, to a certain extent. I'm all about 'live and let live' until you're either 'undead' your your life begins to encroach upon my life, then, it's survival of the fittest and fastest baby.

They're watching Spock, as he attempts to pull an emotion out of his ass, as I pull up behind the couch and swing the ax at his head. The white trash bitch doesn't even know what's going on until she hears the ax make a sickening sound, as I pull back and remove the blade from betwixt the two halves of his cranium. And, even then, she's all shock and awed. She can't believe it. It was the perfect little world, they had created. I'm guessing she thought all this, from the look on her face. I didn't have long to soak in that look, before I gutted her with the ax. Never one for being repetitious, doing the expected, I sent the ax into her gut, instead of her head. Part of me wanted to make her suffer a bit more, since she was the one that pulled me into this abyss. When I pulled back on the blade, this time, it came with some entrails attached. It was like reaching into a bowl of spaghetti looking for a meatball. I shook the ax for a bit, hoping to loosen her guts grip on the blade and then realized, it didn't matter. She was bleeding out all over the sofa and only had a couple seconds to recognize what, exactly, was happening.

In some respects, they were the lucky ones. They never experience the sensation of a group of people eating their flesh. They both suffered quick and less drawn out deaths.

As the white trash bitch died she let go one secret, in her last breath.

"Helicopter" She croaked.

July 5th

I'm on security, sorry to take so long, but writing this has taken longer than thought.

I don't get to call home, pass go, collect 200 bucks, or anything. I just get to pull the next shift on security. I don't get to let Selma know what I'm up to, or anything.

Instead, I get to grab my blue smock, of choice, and join the ranks of all the other blue smocks.

At first, I have to be honest, I'm not too upset by all this. First, I thin that John, our fearless leader is a hot jock type that holds a big... personality and I'm all eager to please. Second, I'm happy to be having food in my belly, meat and cheese, at that.

I'm working with some guy, named Brad. He's, egotistical and whatever, but passable for normal, which, honestly, is all we want, at this stage.

Brad is holding the door and I'm holding the hallway, holding is code for securing, at this stage, by the way. At our point in survival, terminology is all the rage.

We're making our patrols and I'm not even sure how so much time has passed since my departure. One minute I'm running across the parking lot with only Calvin Klien as my protector, while the second I'm defending our food source from infection, with some guy named Brad as my dissenter.

Now, let me say, Brad seemed like a nice guy. I said seemed as thought he's been eaten by a million Zombies and we might never know of his existence if I hand`t blogged about it.

All I have to say is that one second he`s standing beside me and the second he`s running for the vacant zombie lot, like he missed some important flight, or something.

He pushed through the emergency exit and out into the dark, so quickly, that I wasn`t even sure what might have happened. I heard him scream, oddly enough, for a helicopter, and then he was yelling my name.

I ran out, into the night, and saw that Trixy, was cradling him, in her lap, holding him, as she ate his traps.

At first, I was disgusted. Then, remembering her eating her lunch, at work, I thought, this is no different. Like an empty McDonalds bag, she was eating his soul. It had been used and now it was spent.

`We had a helicopter.` He yelled, through the pain. `A helicopter.`

It would take a few days to figure that little bit of info out. Until then, however, after Trix had eaten all she could eat, I walked out and gathered his remains, a piece of lip, a comb, some hair, random bones, and I brought him back to the store, in a bag, I held him like I cared, respectfully, as respectfully as you can when their contained within a plastic bag, and it wasn`t until, after Bryndis escaped from the Bay, that I realized what a douche Brad was...and, quickly, jettisoned, him away. I turned the compacter on and heard it breaking down those small fragments of bone into dust.

In retrospect, we all appear like douches but have to prove ourselves otherwise. In the case of a zombie-apocalypse what`s the difference, truly.

July 4

Sorry 'bout that, the noise I heard was a huge rat, we'll call him dinner, running down the air duct and onto the main floor of the store.

So now, I left off with me being attacked from behind, by Trix, whilst trying to climb into a recycle bin, that held Paulo and the unfortunate lady from the parking lot.

Trix had me from behind and she was, like, trying to bite through the three Calvin Klein suits I had bundled around my torso. I threw my head back, without thinking of the implications, and head-butted her. Her long hair hung in the air, in front of her, like a comet tail, as she fell backwards. Then I was off running. I became aware of a wet spot on the back of my head, but didn't think anything of it, until I wiped at it with my hand and came back with blood on my fingers. Fuck, I thought, I must of hit her teeth with my head. In effect, I infected myself with Zombitus, or whatever you wanna call it.

Still, I ran towards the grocery store. The TCM van was still sitting there and I could hear Macy inside laughing, the smell of pot hanging in the air. I guess things were alright, in there.

From inside the Zombielot looked empty but, now, running through the fucker proved otherwise. It was like a Carnival Haunted house. I was in the cart and shit was popping out from just about everywhere. It was a new game “Hungry, Hungry, Zombies!” Heads with gnashing teeth burst out from under cars, inside cars, jutting out the windows, and from behind just about every stationary object, trash bins, signs and shopping carts.

I finally got to the side door. They must have seen me running, flailing, across the Zombielot. The door opened, just as I arrived, and a group of welcoming arms pulled me in.

It was less welcoming than I had thought, at first. The arms pulled me in and kept pulling me, until I found myself locked up in a dry storage room, with a small group of others, that I recognized from various businesses in the mall, a girl from the coffee shop, one of the guys from the jewelery store and another girl from the electronic store. Everyone looked as if the trek across the asphalt, outside, had taken it’s toll. One girl, in the corner, segregated in the already segregated group, sat in the corner, a buffer of empty seats around her. She was sitting in her chair, holding her arm. She moved and for a brief second I caught the glimpse of distinct puncture marks, teeth had perferated her forearm.

Nobody was looking at her, let alone talking to her.

"What happened?" I asked, sitting down next to her, feeling as if we were kindred spirits, now that I had a hidden bite mark on the back of my head.

She just looked at me, like..."What the fuck does it look like happened?!" But I kept her gaze and waited for an answer.

She took a breath and began. "I was running from Herbal Magic, trying to get here, when I got bit. He was around the corner and I wasn't looking, I was just running. I came around the corner and ran right into him. He was trying for my face but I threw my hands up and he caught my arm."

I looked around and saw that everyone else was listening in on the story. I had been the first to ask and so this was all new news to them.

"There were a lot of them out there." I conceded. "Too many, really. It's as if they know the area still has some life in it."

I was about to ask what was going to happen to her, when the door opened.

A small group of men, wearing blue smocks, came bustling in and grabbed her. Everyone sat where they were sitting, nobody fought or put up any type of resistance, probably because...well...what was the point? They took her and we never saw her again.

We sat in silence for, what seemed like, hours and then a blue smock came and walked us into their orientation room. On the table was a huge plastic plate with cold cuts and cheese and everyone had their own bottle of Coke. All he said to us, before closing the door, was "Enjoy."

I'd like to say that we all just nibbled on the food and sipped at our drinks but, truthfully, it had been a few days since any of us had anything more than water. The platter was gone in seconds. Everyone took a seat and we waited for whatever came next.

I know I'm paraphrasing and jumping through things but, again, I'm trying to put all this down quickly, sorry.

A guy came in, tall, blonde and pretty built, like they say...a brickhouse.

"We're in a situation." He said, matter of fact. I felt like laughing, no shit Sherlock, I thought. Sensing my mood, he focused on me. "What do you understand about our situation?" His eyes were piercing, intense.

"I'm guessing, of course. The radio went out pretty quickly and the internet's been spotty, at best." I didn't tell him about my blog but nobody would assume the internet was still viable, to be honest. News organizations haven't updated, since the beginning. The blogs have been carrying the news to the people and, even though I'm speaking to you through a blog now, they've been pretty spotty with the accuracy of their posts. "I have it on good authority, though, that it's a damned Zombie Apocalypse."

"Right." He was looking at me with a strange glint in his eye, now. My answer, I thought, must have been too brash and not what he had wanted. I had either pissed him off or brought myself to the front of the class. "Zombies. More than that, I have to say..." He began to walk around us, using his hands to speak. "...the worlds different and will never be the same again." An eyebrow went up and he looked around the room, for dissenters or anything. "We're now experiencing the final days of modern man, as we know it."

At this, I wanted to sigh. Anytime anyone mentions 'the final days' I want to physically harm them even if, as in this case, he had been making a good point.

"Believe what you want but civilization isn't what it was just a few days ago. Cell phones are down, the internet's limping, television's dead and nobody here knows anything about what's happened to their families, even though some of us only live a few blocks away." He went to the front of the room, grabbed a chair and, turning it around, sat down by straddling it. "We're all we have. You need us and we need you." He paused, for dramatic effect, I'm sure. "Normally I would propose that we work together but I think the current events have forced our hand and I don't believe we live in a democratic society anymore. We have food, you have clothing," he looked at me, "you have tools," he looked at the guy from Home Depot, "and together we need each other." A few of his Blue Smocks had entered the room behind us. He looked at them and then back at us. "I've made the decision that food trumps both clothing and tools. So, I'll be calling the shots."

He went on for a while but, honestly, you can see where this was going. Before long we were putting our hands into a hat and pulling out little pieces of paper with the jobs we were now required to fulfill, in order to bring food back to our prospective stores.

I got security. I hadn't told anyone yet about, and nobody had noticed, the blood on the back of my head.

July 3 - Bryndisized

Hey there, see that Patrick posted a bit today, interesting to read about it from where I am, just a wall away. More interesting, is the fact that I'm in hiding. Not from Zombies, mind you. But we'll get to that.

First up -

That goddamned heating duct. I have a friend who works on said a/c units and the ducts attached to them and, I'm going to be giving him a piece of my mind, that is if he's not a flesh eating Zombie right now and actually wanting a piece of my mind. It was gaaaarohs, gross. Little dead mice and bugs, under my hands and feet, I crawled through that fucker and out into the other side.

I pushed out a vent and found myself waaaaay to high to simply climb down. I had forgot that The Bay is two stories and has extended ceilings, at that. So I sat there for a bit, looking out over the store, the beauty products, to be exact, and as I'm sitting there this lady goes running by. I was about to call out to her but thought better of it, as she had a Zombie-ish look. I was about to turn back and just head back to Stitches when out of fucking nowhere this guy comes running up behind her, whilst carrying an ax, and, grabbing her hair, throws her to the ground. He yells something at her, something like "Who the fuck do you think I am!" and then buries the fucking ax in her head. Right about this moment I'm thinking, let's just go back to Stitches and pretend we didn't see anything. But then I look down and see the grate, I pushed out, laying on top of a rack of clothing. I realize that if he sees that he'll know someone came over. As I'm contemplating all of this he begins to pull her body to the back of the store, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.

I was still sitting there thinking about how to get the grate when I see one of the cabinet doors, in one of the glass cases holding face cream, open and an older woman sticks her head out. One side of her head is matted and red and holding itself flat, as though she fell asleep in a puddle of blood. She looked around, I guess to see if the murdering bastard was still around, and almost as if she knew where I was, she looked up and caught me looking at her. I know the world must have changed, and me with it, because my first thought is...now I have to kill the bitch. Those exact words ran through my mind. Survival first, baby. But something else came over me, sympathy, maybe? No, maybe not. But something, something that told me I need to step up here and save these people from the savage with an ax.

She walked towards me, her eyes desperate. Looking around and seeing no one, she broke the silence. "Save me, pull me up." She ran at me.

Her arms came about halfway up the wall.

"Grab the vent." I tell her, thinking it would make up the distance between our arms.

She grabbed it and held it up, a divining rod looking for safety.

I grabbed the top of the vent, feeling the cold metal cut into my skin, and, forcing my feet into the corners of the duct, I was sitting in, began to pull.

Well, no longer will I listen to some unidentifiable voice in my head about how to handle life altering decisions. That fucking bitch pulled me down, so hard, I crashed into the clothes rack with a loud clang. My shoulder pretty much dislocated and a buzzing in my head, I gave her a quizzical look. She just looked back at me with this "Sorry, sucker." look upon her face and then she opened her mouth.

"HERE!" She yelled. "HERE! I'VE GOT ONE!"

Laying on my side, on the floor of The Bay, I kicked her knee right the fuck out, sending her down onto her side and gasping for air. Then I put my heel into her face and got up and ran.

Now I'm hiding, not going to say where, since I don't want the word to get to the ax wielding maniac. Now I wish I had listened to that lady, yesterday, the one running by the store bleeding and yelling about some 'crazy' guy.

We're in a different world now and even the smallest of details can cost a life, she was not a small detail, a bloody, hysterical, woman, running into the Zombies, instead of away.

She was a sign.

More, later, after I decide what to do and if I'm still alive to write it.

July 3

What to say about the last 40 hours, or so....? I held a man, as he died in my arms, I ran like a bitch through the backroom of a grocery store and I secured us some 'trade' with the most powerful member of the Parkwood coalition. I won't be able to get this all down in one post, too much happened. And besides, I always try to keep my posts mid-length, in case the internet suddenly goes out, or the power dies.

The beginning...

The only way, I could think of, to get over to the Save-More, as I was directed by the note, to do, was to layer myself with clothing, enough to be bite proof, and hike it across the Zombielot like a roadrunner in heat. So I did just that, I covered myself with suits and pants and sports jackets and, on top, a thick leather jacket that looked as if it could protect me from even the gnarliest of teeth.

Bryndis had already gone up the heating duct and over the rainbow, for all we knew, so it was just Selma to wish me good luck. Beth was still in a change room, though, we were beginning to hear a lot from her lately. She was in there crying and moaning and, before I left, it sounded as if she were standing there, repeatedly, hitting her head against the wall.

Selma stood by the back door, her eastern European accent so thick that there was no possible way I could understand anything she said. "Vu gu na cm ack sun!" Or, at least, that's how I translated it. In my head it sounded more like, "Get food and don't bring back Zombies!"

I had to look through the peep hole, in the door, to see if there was anything undead walking around out there, Selma being too short to do so. I looked at her and I nodded. She yanked open the door and began pushing me out. I had though I was ready for it, the mad sprint across the Zombielot, but if my brain was up with the plan, my body wasn't. Her small, sub-one-hundred pound, body was pushing at my, two-hundred-plus frame, trying to get me outside, so she could close the door again. My feet weren't moving, though. We sat there for a few seconds, her pushing, and me pushing back, until we began grunting at each other. My hands were on the door frame, so her efforts, truly, were in vain, but, for a small European chick, she was pretty strong, probably from pushing those plows in the Ukraine.

It wasn't until Trix poked her head around the buildings corner, ahead of us, that the struggle became frantic. Now, for sure, I didn't want to go outside, but since Selma didn't want to be eaten, like a human strudel, her efforts tripled. Trix held the position, head poked around the corner, almost like she were a bird, stalking a worm. Her eyes were focused on us, as if she was trying to figure out what she was seeing. Then, in a burst of recognition, her whole body spasmed and she turned the corner and began to run towards us.

Now, FYI, our back door opens out into a small alcove, with only enough room for trucks to back up and drop off stock. There is, fortuitously, a cardboard recycle bin. Suddenly, Selma's adrenaline peaked, and she shoved me so hard that I fell forward. If not for all the clothing I was wearing, I'm sure I would have broken something. Before I could get up, I heard the back door slam shut behind me and the deadbolt slide home. Ahead of me, I could see Trix lumbering in my direction. She was trying to run, but her legs were coming up too high, like a member of a marching band, and then descending too fast. Her un-coordination would be my Saviour.

The layers of clothing made it difficult to get up. The strangest things come into your head at the strangest times. As I was fumbling to get up, feeling almost as clumsy as the Zombie coming towards me, I thought of that movie, "A Christmas Story", and the kid bundled up for winter, trying to get away from the bully. He was me and I was him.

I managed, however, to get my hands under me and push, slowly I got to my knees and then I was on my feet. Just in time for Trix and I to have a show down....

I feigned left and then right, while she stood still. Her arms were out, similar to how you would try to catch a stray dog, or something. Her mouth was moving, gnawing at the air, in her head she was already eating me, I could see it in her eyes.

I made for the recycle bin, thinking that a safe haven could be found there. My hands were on top of the green bin and I began to pull myself up. But, what do I see inside? Paulo eating that screaming chick from earlier that day. She looked as if she had already made the conversion from human to Zombie but he was eating anyway. Enough soft tissue was missing that she couldn't struggle much. She was cognizant, in her head, it seemed, from the look on her face, she was perfectly aware of being munched on, but her body was missing enough muscle and structure, to do anything about it.

I was about to abort my dive into the dumpster, now that I knew it was occupied, when Trix had me from behind, the layers of my clothing providing a more than adequate handle.

Hmmm, what's that noise????

To be continued, I just heard something in the heating duct.

July 1

Canada Day -

We woke, this morning, to a letter, stuffed through the front door mail slot. It was written on letter head from the grocery store.

Meeting Tonight 7pm
to talk about the Pineview Coalition and distribution of goods and services. Send a representative to the loading dock, behind the building.

I'm no genius and I'm quite hungry so the idea of a sudden, rushed, coalition sends shivers of dread down my spine and my tummy rumbling. Quickly thrown together, temporary, governments are never a good thing, or so history, tv, books, video games, newspapers, the internet and comic books have taught me.

Bryndis, Selma, Macy and myself, are standing there, reading this note in front of the front door, and some lady goes running by screaming. "HE'S CRAZY!!! CRAZY!!!" Almost on, cue. I'll tell you that little incident didn't do any good for my itchy spine.

"A representative?" Bryndis continues, without acknowledging the lady running off into the distance. The short time in this new world had changed us, all, in big ways. No longer were we surprised by such trivial things as a woman running, bloody, through the parking lot. Taking her chances with the Zombies, rather than the crazy man she mentioned. "Who should be our representative?" She finished.

I offer Beth, who's still hiding in a change room. At some point, last night, she switched up her hidey place, presumably, due to the large amount of excrement she had left in the old one. She might have 'lost it' but she still has her standards, and hygiene is one of them. Lucky for her we have five change rooms to rotate through.

Nobody notices my remark, my subtle humour having no effect.

"I'll be heading up the heating duct, today, so it can't be me." Bryndis, looks around. "Patrick, you should go."

I expect some fight from the other two but get only nodding heads, affirmation.

"How am I supposed to get over there?" I mention, because, unlike the crazy lady running through the parking lot, I'm not as delirious with panic that I'm willing to suspend reality and believe that I'd be able to make it past what I'm going to, from this point on, call the Zombielot. I mean, hell, Trix is still standing there, pawing at the window, like a cat with yarn, her undead eyes beckoning us outside for breakfast. "And before we do 'anything' today, we need to liberate our bathrooms. It's getting disgusting in here."

"I, totally, agree." Macy said, throwing her hair over a shoulder and smiling. "I just took a piss and almost knocked over the garbage can." Her eyes got wide. "Could you imagine, what kind of mess that would have made?"

I could see Bryndis' hand twitching, as though she were about to swing a slap towards Macy's face. Instead she settled for a firm reprehend. "You knock over a piss bucket and you clean it up."

This was the second kicker of the day, for me. The fact that one of us could use the term 'piss bucket' and, instead of laughing, mean it, was disturbing. "What have we come to?"

Quickly Bryndis laid out a plan to evict out two bathroom squatters.

We built a wall, out of table tops and boxes, funneling the exit from the bathrooms to the emergency back door. The trick, though, was getting someone to open all three doors and then get back behind the barricade, before being eaten. (third kicker - typing the words 'before being eaten') We did it the old fashioned way. We grabbed the broom and pulled out some straw, which, I've never noticed before, isn't really straw anymore, it's plastic that looks like straw. Of course, I didn't notice this until I'm trying to cut a short straw out of the group, with my teeth and notice the distinct flavour of dirt in my mouth. Anywho...in the end, it didn't matter. As I'm doing it in a traditional, anybody could lose the gamble, manner, gnawing away at dirty plastic, Bryndis, firmly plants a foot in Macy's back and kicks her into the arena and then yells. "Open them!!!"

From our vantage point we really can't see anything. We can hear Macy cursing and her heels hitting the linolium and then doors being opened. Oddly, Macy opens the bathroom doors first and then goes for the emergency exit. From here I had a good view, a slit in-between boxes, and can see that she has no room behind her to turn and make it back to our side of the barricade. The Zombies, Paulo and one of the security dudes, that we used to see patrolling the Zombielot every twenty minutes, or so, are right behind her. The only option, and she decides to take it, is to push the emergency door open and run for it. She's out of sight but not out of hearing range. The sound of her high heels hitting the pavement, in short quick succession, sounds like a heartbeat, overcome with fear. Suddenly they stop and so does she.

Bryndis is around the barricade and has the door closed before the rest of us, Selma and I, can even think of what to do. Then she's standing there with a couple water bottles in her hands. She tosses one to each of us. "Drink up bitches."

Well, that all just happened, so it's still pretty fresh in my mind. Bryndis is already claiming that she didn't kick Macy into the arena or even that she said 'Drink up bitches." History is truly in the eye of the survivors.

Anyway, now I'm off to brainstorm a way across the Zombielot and Bryndis is packing for her expedition, up the heating vent. Her hopes are that she can make it through the Bay and into the Pita Pit, bringing back food. She's got her netbook and she'll have access to the blog, so she can detail her news, as well.

BTW, we just saw Macy, she's in the van with the Trenchcoat Mafia Guys, TMG for short, they rolled the window down, just long enough for her to hurl off some insults at us, then quickly, as Trix was walking toward them, and Macy, seeing a dead co-worker stumble towards her, squealed, they rolled it back up.

June 30

Nothing much happened today. Well, for us, anyway.

Bryndis chickened out on her "Raise the Roof" tour by refusing to climb the heating duct and see if there's a way get out of here that doesn't include, first, being eaten by a Zombie and, second, becoming one of the 'said' Zombies. She claims it's too windy and with her heels it might be too dangerous. I'd do it myself but I'm like, six foot two and weight a good two hundred pounds.

Beth has refused to come out of the change room; she's been in there almost fifty hours, or so. I've even promised to stop shouting "Zombie".

The big event today didn't include us.

A van pulled up, outside. It was a cause for celebration, as we all thought that some type of rescue was about to ensue. We were wrong, however.

The van swings into the parking lot and promptly putters out. I imagine that they were headed to the gas station, across the way, adjacent to the grocery store, and almost made it.

It sat there for a while, maybe a couple hours, with no sign of movement, except the van rocking back and forth, every so often. I'm sure it wasn't the type of van rocking that the mind immediately jumps to. Eventually the doors slid open, quietly. Out pop these four teenage boys that look like they belong to the trench coat mafia, long stringy black hair and makeup. Even, if the Zombies weren't strange enough these guys would have put the icing on the enchilada, so to say.

They jump out of the van, stealth like, and begin to creep, car by car, towards the gas station, one of them carrying a gas can.

I could see the guys on top of the Save More, the grocery store, watching, as well. I found part of me was pulling for them. Those four losers, I mean loners, out there battling the elements. The other part, though, irked by the ludicrous sight of them, couldn't wait to see them become the main ingredient in a geek sandwich. I imagine it was akin to watching a gladiator fight...back in the day.

Sure enough, the one in front, closest to the gas station, is going car by car by pressing his back to the metal car doors and then looking around to see if it's safe to go on to the next car. He backs up to a car and peers up and over the car door and a Zombie also pokes it's head up, from inside the car, and the munching begins.

I know Zombies are supposed to be mindless eating machines and I know this was just coincidence but it was pretty funny, all the same. The guy was flailing his arms about his head, hoping, I guess, to knock the Zombie away. But too late, dude, the thing's removed one of your ears and a good portion of skin around your skull, you're either going all the way down it's gullet or your one of them. Better days, my trench coat friend...better days.

The guy screams out, pretty much placing him and his buds on the Zombie radar. His friends flat out ran, no looking behind them, back into the van and slammed the door shut. I'm not sure why they all felt the need to go to the gas station anyway...you would think they'd elect one and then sit, wait, and watch. Oh, well.

We've been pissing in the trash bins and, well, we're gonna need to liberate, at least, one of the bathrooms tomorrow.

That's for sure.

Food's, also, becoming an issue. We have a handful of Paulo's sandwiches, he had been bringing a ton of food to work but was only eating a fraction of it all, and we've divided them up. But, seriously, a man can't live on half a PB&J a day.