Zombie Fallout 9 Read Free

heavy drinker. But, yeah, I was fairly drunk. Probably didn’t help that by the end, we were repeating names. I probably toasted Jen three or four times. Paul five or more. How does one deal with the accumulation of loss? It is a cold, heavy feeling that settles into the bottom of your heart where it grows sharp barbs that take root and will not release its icy grip. It slowly chokes your system, making even the most basic and simplest of tasks brutally difficult.

2
Mike Journal Entry 2
    I awoke the next morning with a modicum of prodding from Tracy.
    â€œAny fucking chance this is all a bad dream like some shitty TV program?” I asked, placing my hand against my splitting head.
    â€œHere, take these.” Tracy handed me a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water.
    â€œHow about I just lie here a few days longer?”
    â€œYour son needs you.”
    â€œYeah, I get that.” I sat up with some difficulty and took the pills and water, swallowing them both as fast as I could get the muscles in my throat to move. “I hate this part,” I told her as I stood.
    â€œThe hangover?”
    â€œNaw, I know that will pass. It’s the crushing weight of loss in my chest.”
    Tracy kissed the side of my face. What can one really say to that? I know she felt it as well. She was just less inclined to wear it on her sleeve, where I tended to show it for the entire world to see.
    â€œWhere is he?” I pulled a shirt over my head. “And why am I naked? Did you take advantage of me?”
    â€œYes, Michael. Haven’t I told you how hot, drunk, stumbling men make me?”
    â€œHell, you must have been on fire last night then.”
    â€œJust get out there. He’s at the grave site.”
    Another unfortunate development of the apocalypse was the need for us to revert back to the ways things used to be done early on in the country’s formative years. Out of necessity, we’d had to dig graves on our own land, and that we’d already gone past the original capacity was another unfortunate byproduct. Sure, we’d been more hopeful than practical that we could keep the plot small. Worth a shot, I suppose.
    I walked out of the house and made my way to Justin. I saw him about twenty yards away, his back to me, his head bowed, and his shoulders slumped. He looked so small, like all the spirit had been ripped from him and all that was left was his battered, bruised and misused body. I approached. When I was next to him, I reached out and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. He said nothing; he did not stir, in fact. I wasn’t sure if he even knew I was there.
    We stayed that way for a good, long while. A cold breeze started in the woods off to our right, picking up a swirl of leaves that swept around our feet before going about their way.
    â€œI loved her,” he said with a croak. It was such a strangled sound I thought at first maybe I had imagined it.
    Words eluded me. It wasn’t like this was a high school crush (which it had been) and I could tell him that he was young and there were plenty of fish in the sea. And all that stuff parents tell their kids in the vain attempt to make them feel better. It doesn’t work; we know it, they feel it, yet we do it anyway.
    â€œShe loved you as well. That’s why she came.”
    â€œDad, she made it. She made it, and I wasn’t here.” He turned, and I saw the pain etched deeply on his face.
    I hadn’t taken this angle into account. I should have—ignorance on my part. It just never dawned on me that he would feel guilt as well.
    I squared his shoulders so he had no choice but to look at me. “This is not your fault. This is nobody’s fault. This is a war. People die in wars.”
    He turned away so I couldn’t see his tears.
    â€œYou will see her again. I promise you that.”
    â€œYou talking that reunited in Heaven bullshit? It’s a lie, Dad. There’s no Heaven, only