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.