with sharp over reactions. I still don’t know what they intended to do, I bet the radios blared with some juicy information, but zombies crawled on them like ants on a piece of chocolate.
The fiasco cleared the streets long enough for us to run through with little difficulty. I recognized the parallel street from the familiar businesses, and I believe it was the one that would lead us to one of the supposed Hell Gates. I can’t have James discover that I’m simply running on whim. I highly doubt he would find anything comforting about that. Fortunately for me, he has become distracted by another survivor, whom of which I will refer to as Grace. A very distressed young, shorthaired woman, but at least she hasn’t tried to kill us… yet.
We found her in the same damn place we find ourselves trapped in, a fucking clothing store. If I were to believe her story, she was waiting for another to return. What a fucking waste.
The upside is that I’ve located a medical supply kit, and should be able to treat my wounds soon enough, but right now the zombies bash against the barricaded doors, taunting us.
Entry Seventeen, 12/28/14
I highly doubt I’ll be able to continue this log for much longer. With the increase in undead activity—the streets are literally crawling with the dead like ants in an upset ant bed—the little time I already had is threatened with just about every daring step. I scribble this under the stale glow of a dying emergency light as I huddle into a corner away from them. Slow and stupid, the zombies just below us reach with the same enthusiasm. I just hope that James finds a way to rescue the guy that somehow got himself locked behind extremely thick security doors.
The contraption mentioned in the previous log, the one that I so wanted to inform others about to claim my fair share of bragging rights. Being without my laptop and cell phone feels like I’m beginning to lose sight.
It fucking pisses me off that James wanted to help that stupid bitch. I don’t trust her for a minute, and as much as I dislike James at the moment, I can’t deny his advantage. Fortunately the makeshift barrier worked, at least just enough to get us here. A simple but clever design orchestrated from a table, a few metal clothing displays, and shit load of tape and belts to fasten it all together. Unlike my boast in the previous log, the contraption survived only a few minutes before the continuous zombie plowing wore it down. In the end, James and I resorted to hauling ass into this shit-hole manufacturing warehouse. I’m confident that we won’t survive another episode of this shit.
James thanks all this writing will lead to nothing, that I’m wasting my time. Perhaps, but if there is anyone out there, then maybe all of this will prove useful, then again, maybe it won’t matter after all. I’m not so sure anymore, and James is actually contemplating detonating canister of gas next to the door to free the poor son-of-a-bitch.
Entry Eighteen, 12/29/14
We barely made it back before nightfall, fighting through a cluster of dead things with the light of a fading sun. The city lights haven’t turned on today… More importantly, James didn’t make it back. I wanted to go back and save him, pay him back for all of those other times, but the situation wouldn’t allow it. After he set off the explosives the industrial door shattered, but so did part of the catwalk we were on, creating quite a pit for the other to traverse. The man entrapped leapt across, meeting up with us as we headed towards a window in our effort to flee before the zombies ascended to our level. I can’t say exactly what happened, but I can guess it had something to do with the blazing dead wandering around, crawling near extremely flammable areas. Another explosion erupted, taking out a huge chunk of the grated floor, leaving James with an impossible leap.
He went for
The fiasco cleared the streets long enough for us to run through with little difficulty. I recognized the parallel street from the familiar businesses, and I believe it was the one that would lead us to one of the supposed Hell Gates. I can’t have James discover that I’m simply running on whim. I highly doubt he would find anything comforting about that. Fortunately for me, he has become distracted by another survivor, whom of which I will refer to as Grace. A very distressed young, shorthaired woman, but at least she hasn’t tried to kill us… yet.
We found her in the same damn place we find ourselves trapped in, a fucking clothing store. If I were to believe her story, she was waiting for another to return. What a fucking waste.
The upside is that I’ve located a medical supply kit, and should be able to treat my wounds soon enough, but right now the zombies bash against the barricaded doors, taunting us.
Entry Seventeen, 12/28/14
I highly doubt I’ll be able to continue this log for much longer. With the increase in undead activity—the streets are literally crawling with the dead like ants in an upset ant bed—the little time I already had is threatened with just about every daring step. I scribble this under the stale glow of a dying emergency light as I huddle into a corner away from them. Slow and stupid, the zombies just below us reach with the same enthusiasm. I just hope that James finds a way to rescue the guy that somehow got himself locked behind extremely thick security doors.
The contraption mentioned in the previous log, the one that I so wanted to inform others about to claim my fair share of bragging rights. Being without my laptop and cell phone feels like I’m beginning to lose sight.
It fucking pisses me off that James wanted to help that stupid bitch. I don’t trust her for a minute, and as much as I dislike James at the moment, I can’t deny his advantage. Fortunately the makeshift barrier worked, at least just enough to get us here. A simple but clever design orchestrated from a table, a few metal clothing displays, and shit load of tape and belts to fasten it all together. Unlike my boast in the previous log, the contraption survived only a few minutes before the continuous zombie plowing wore it down. In the end, James and I resorted to hauling ass into this shit-hole manufacturing warehouse. I’m confident that we won’t survive another episode of this shit.
James thanks all this writing will lead to nothing, that I’m wasting my time. Perhaps, but if there is anyone out there, then maybe all of this will prove useful, then again, maybe it won’t matter after all. I’m not so sure anymore, and James is actually contemplating detonating canister of gas next to the door to free the poor son-of-a-bitch.
Entry Eighteen, 12/29/14
We barely made it back before nightfall, fighting through a cluster of dead things with the light of a fading sun. The city lights haven’t turned on today… More importantly, James didn’t make it back. I wanted to go back and save him, pay him back for all of those other times, but the situation wouldn’t allow it. After he set off the explosives the industrial door shattered, but so did part of the catwalk we were on, creating quite a pit for the other to traverse. The man entrapped leapt across, meeting up with us as we headed towards a window in our effort to flee before the zombies ascended to our level. I can’t say exactly what happened, but I can guess it had something to do with the blazing dead wandering around, crawling near extremely flammable areas. Another explosion erupted, taking out a huge chunk of the grated floor, leaving James with an impossible leap.
He went for
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