Survivalist Logbook
8/9/07 P.A.*
Great. “Chester the Digester” is making some strange sounds like grinding deep inside. Ol’ “Bob the builder” had to take a sledge to it the last time, diving into the stench and banged and swore for three hours coming out stinking so bad we wouldn’t let him into his own house until he bathed in the river which only smelled half as bad. Maybe it’ll fix itself.
Drove into the city of oil, the land of crazy drivers. Glad I don’t live there any more. Prices for gas are high for outsiders, especially when you get it for free by taking a dump into Chester and tap the stuff from the other end.
People were wary of me there, asking where Phil and Franc were. I told them they were away on business. Took me awhile to get my bearings, the ammo outlet closed and a new one that only accepts creds was in its place. Ralph was still there, said the old guys got turned one night, but the way they looked at each other I think something worse happened.
Had to wait ‘til nightfall for the bravers to show, no one wanted the pelts I had at the usual haunts or they’d try to low-ball me. They liked the chinchilla pelts though, paid top dollar for those. Said the garment workers would pay okay for them. Should have kept a few to breed, even though they stink like the rats they are. “Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda…” One braver liked the coyote pelt, put it on his head like a hat and tied the arms under his chin like it was a hoodie. He looked ridiculous but I didn’t tell him that – he paid me twice. If I could have done that with the other pelts… “Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda…” stop it.
Chester’s quiet now, a little too quiet. Fired up the smoke house fire and he started gurgling. Bob put Chester’s pipes through there to heat the stuff up we toss into him. Went on at length how it turns all the waste into white gas and methane, what gets piped where, how it separates the hydrogen and not to have any fire anywhere near the compressor. That reminded me to clean out the chicken coop which was Franc’s job. Maybe next time I’ll ask around for some more roomies. Woulda done that if they weren’t such cheap so-and-so’s at the pelt store. “Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda…” Stop IT!
Chester’s grinding again, though quieter. Glad I got the creds. Ralph showed up after I’d gotten the rest of the pelts sold to the bravers – what wusses. Come out at night for a couple of hours to show what manly men they are, still wearing their button down shirts and shiny shoes, walking around with their body guards acting tough. Ralph remembered what shotgun I had and started pulling shells from pockets all over his vest, got thirty seven of them. Paid him with some of the creds, he was impressed with my selling – told him how much I got for the pelts and that the guy paid me twice.
What happened? I’m down to thirteen creds! I can’t believe it! I paid Ralph twice! I’m gonna kill him the next time I see him! Should have dealt with him in the alleyway instead like I thought to do rather than in the crowd, I must have gotten side-tracked. “Woulda…” STOP IT!
Chester’s real loud, I better get the sledge and bang on it like I was Bob the Builder.
This is excerpt 3 from the Survivalist POV – a side story that came from “Samuel Shinpike and the Attack of the Roadkill Zombies”
Excerpt 1
Excerpt 2
Excerpt 3
Excerpt 4
Excerpt 5
Excerpt 6
Excerpt 7