Zombie Fallout 9 Read Free Page A

Hell and we’re in it.” He looked at me defiantly. He wanted a battle I would not give him. He was full of grief, and he needed somebody to lash out at.
    â€œThe pain diminishes.” That was the best I could offer him. “It will never go away. There will always be a dull ache in your heart when you think about her, but it won’t be as debilitating as it is now. I promise.”
    â€œYou don’t know me!” he shouted, twisting his torso so that my hand and arm fell away. “How the fuck do you know how I’m going to feel!?”
    â€œYou’re right, how could I know how you’ll feel? I’m just using myself as an example.”
    â€œGo away.” There was no vehemence in his request; he just wanted to be alone. What I wanted was to hug him tight and chase the demons inside of him away. What I ended up doing was walking away. Another chill wind whipped along my side; frostiness blistered up my spine. I looked up to the house. Tracy was on the deck, her arms folded. She had a look of concern on her face as she looked down at me. It was Tommy, though. He was the source of the cold dread that was spreading through me. He stood five feet to her right, staring off to the east. He was looking at nothing that I could discern, other than the direction of the ocean, which was about five miles from here and definitely not visible.
    â€œHow’d that go?” Tracy asked as I got within range that she didn’t have to shout.
    â€œOh, about as well as you would expect. Tommy, what the hell are you doing?” He had not shifted his gaze in the least.
    Tracy turned to apparently see the boy for the first time. “Tommy?” There was concern in her face. She walked over and placed her hand on his arm.
    He shuddered and jumped an inch or two, shook his head, and then appeared to be trying to orient himself to his surroundings. He said nothing while he turned and strode back into the house. His terror-filled eyes the only clue he’d left to how he was feeling.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with him?” Tracy asked as I came up the stairs.
    â€œI think he ate some of my sister’s cooking.”
    â€œMichael.”
    I shrugged. I told her, “I don’t know,” but I did. Company was coming, and it was unwelcome.

    I t’s been a week since I’ve touched this journal. I’ve oftentimes thought of just not writing in it anymore. Putting the monsters to page seems to only summon my nightmares. Maybe this was the way I could end the cycle. I found the call to write what was happening almost as powerful as a nicotine addiction. Stopping had made my head light and my thoughts scatter. Panic attacks threatened me daily; it was a week later that I finally put the reason to why I was feeling so shaky, with a cause. Writing was my way of dealing with our new world. For good or bad, I was stuck recording my personal history.
    The week had not been completely unproductive, as we worked long and hard at repairing the many areas that needed help. The defenses around the house were as near to impenetrable as we could make them. A fucking whole day and definitely a non-inflated dollar short, but at least we could prevent what had happened before from happening again. Fuck the whole “history repeats itself” shit. Once we were done there, we turned our attention to the destroyed basement. We did some heavy framing and boarded up the massive gap in the wall caused by the bulkers. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effectual. Like placing a Band-Aid over an ugly wound. When we’d finally finished, I pulled up an old La-Z-Boy chair and sat down, facing the boarded up wall.
    â€œFuck, this is a comfortable chair. I could stay here forever. Screw it, maybe I will.” Sucks when you realize how right you just might be.
    Tommy, who had been picking up something off the floor, looked over to me. He seemed to have something to say on the tip of his