Garbage Man Read Free

with Pam. But he had them now and he cared very deeply for them.
    He imagined a time of freedom when he was older, somehow believing there would be less at stake when the kids had grown up and moved away. Such a time would probably never come. For now, and forever probably, pornography would have to suffice. It was dangerous enough like this. Stories about rings being smashed by the police and men like him being dragged into court were in the news all the time. He knew because he watched for those stories more than any other. He hadn’t allied himself with other people, though, and he hoped that would be enough to keep him safe.
    As soon as he’d ejaculated, guilt flooded every cell of his body. He sweated it, smelled it on himself. It was always the same. He cleaned up carefully, even down to picking up moulted pubic hairs from the carpet. Everything would be flushed away down the toilet. He checked his file system and saw how much footage and images he’d accumulated. It made him nauseous to think of what might happen if his computer was seized.
    Suddenly he was finding it a struggle to breathe. His heart was labouring but this time in a different way. It was beating like a baby bird’s heart but it didn’t feel like it was pumping enough blood. The rushing sound came back to his ears and rose in volume. The study seemed to go grey and all he could see was what was right in front of him. The computer. The files full of digitally-recorded exploitation.
    It had to go. All of it.
    This was the last one. He’d promised himself and he was going to make good on that promise this time. There was no untraceable way to erase files from a computer. He knew that. There were programs that would write over the disks hundreds of times but traces could be found no matter how many times the data was erased and overwritten. And the obvious question to be asked by the authorities in such a case would be: what on earth was so private it had to be concealed with such obsession?
    Tomorrow he would see to the problem and make his home and his family safe. Then it would be time to buy himself a brand new, totally ‘clean’ computer. A computer he would not befoul with his fixation.
    ***
    My name is Ray Wade. My username is The Survivor. It is a world of nightmares now, worse than anything I could have imagined.
    I spend the day collecting useful items and clearing out houses one at a time, one street at a time throughout the city. Houses are easy; they yield bounties for a minimum of effort at minimal risk.
    I’ve been scratched a few times but bitten only once. Not the sort of damage I need to worry about. However, while I’ve managed to collect ammunition of many kinds and plenty of medical items in various packs, the entire day has been fruitless because I have discovered no firearms. No rifle. No shotgun. Not even a pistol.
    Daytime is never too bad, never too dangerous. It’s my chance to recuperate and stock up on necessities. Take rest, drink a supplement, raid the silent town for anything that might be useful. Minor scuffles are usually the worst I encounter while the sun is up. At first I only had a flick knife - for use at very close quarters. It’s all about technique; dodging bites and grabs and lunges, darting in between these, scoring a single wound and getting back out of reach again . With patience, striking with precision, this is the way to overcome them.
    Dozens of them lie motionless around the town in my wake. Dead again. Dead for good and ever.
    That first day, with nothing but my flick knife, had been difficult. The first night which followed it was worse. Many was the time I began to believe I wouldn’t make it, that I’d lost too much blood or carried too much infection in my system. Somehow, eking out my meagre packful of possessions, I stayed alive. Every new house I came to, every storeroom I found, was a bonus . I lived from one moment to the next, thinking only