Survivalist Logbook
8/8/7 P.A.
It’s quiet here. Kind of peaceful if the memories from last night didn’t keep doing fast flash-cuts like a bad music video. That and the blasted advertisement grandpappy would always slap his knee about where the kid says “I’m the sole survivor!” in mock revelation. Toward the end that’s all he’d watch, over and over: that silly game show where they answer questions and those retro commercials. Good thing he had a private room, would have driven anyone else off the 17th floor the fast way.
I always wondered why Bob built this place with a cellar below the waterline back in the day. He said it was a mistake, that he built it during a drought and didn’t realize what he’d done ‘til the storms came, then he cursed himself. I remember that time, boy was he angry. I didn’t know he was angry at himself, I just thought he was angry in general. Went through a lot of guitars and amps then. Kinda became famous at the local gigs, people would come to watch him trash his stuff. He never trashed Wanda though, that was his better half. He came close one night, about two days before things started to get ugly. The crowd was cheering him on as he kicked over his pristine Marshall stack and raised Wanda over his head, then stopped. The crowd was going wild as he stood there ready to splinter that beautiful semi-hollow body on the remains of the amp while it sparked under his feet. I think that’s when he came to the realization that he was being a complete idiot. He put the guitar in it’s case, walked off stage and bellied up to the bar. Some jerk decided Wanda’s stay of execution was the wrong decision and went onstage, grabbed the case and raised Wanda over his head with the crowd cheering him on. From nowhere both Bob’s boots met with his head in a spectacular flying kick trashing the dude, the drums and the lighting rig. I watch that footage online over and over, and still don’t know how Bob was able to save Wanda. He got a broken rib from his acrobatics, the band damn near lynched him the following day, and none of the bars would have anything to do with them again.
He’d always say “God took one rib, Wanda took another.” He said if he kept this up he’d just be a boneless blob and roll around the compound, then made ramps to everywhere just in case. What a nut job.
While he was on the mend and the zombies started crawling out of everywhere we built the perimeter fence and he built cisterns around the cellar walls where the water was coming in. He’d always put the food in one, and the other one had a big sign saying “Drinking water only, Don’t you dare bathe in here!” Not that you could, he had it sealed up and put an old fashioned hand pump on it. The water’s always real cold in the cisterns, great way to keep the food from spoiling. I get tired of smoked meat after awhile.
That was about the time we all moved in here. I was the lighting crew, having the best truck and an electrical background – and now no job. Of course this is when the landlord showed up at the door. He didn’t knock but I’d been trying to repair the lighting rig. I knew it was him from his limp and got out half the money while I waited for the usual pounding on the door. He’d never take creds, even when Phil offered a couple of times, said he only worked with coin and to check the lease. I waited but he never knocked, never left. That’ll make anyone crazy! Like hearing the chick upstairs kick off her boot then silence while she did who knows what. Did she kick it off onto the bed or what?
I finally opened the door and started telling him about the night before, holding out half the rent. He didn’t want my money though, he stood there in the dark hall and just stared at me. I finally got so pissed I pushed the money into his grubby pocket and he grabbed my arm, about to bite my face off! I got free and slammed the door but that didn’t stop him for long – cheap landlord used hollow-core doors. My transformer rig would boost 110v AC up to 440 for the lights which came in real handy. Plugged the business end into his face like we used to do to crisp up the hams we’d steal from the market when times were tough and our guts were tougher. Zombies must have a lot of MSG or salt or something. Crispy popped zombie. Maybe I left him on too long. Smelled awful.
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Let Phil’s chinchillas out in the yard this afternoon, he’s not coming back, at least not as a human. They’re hard to hit with a bow. Finally took the remaining ones out with the shotgun, and one got too close to the rooster – that was the end of him. The skins should get a good price for trade in the city, at least I hope so. Realized I’m down to five shells after target practice. Nice planning, Malcom – nice planning.
I’m getting low on creds for access too, shoulda gotten Phil’s passcode, he had creds like crazy, and now it’s gonna just sit there and gain interest for nobody. Woulda shoulda coulda, man if only Ida. Great. There’s another one of grandpappy’s sayings that’s going to reel around my head for the next hour. Woulda coulda shoulda – stop! Woulda coulda shoulda – stop it!
Gonna stop writing now, go play Wurld Buildr with the last of my creds. Nice planning Malcom, nice planning – stop it!
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Excerpt 2
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Excerpt 7
This is excerpt 2 from the Survivalist POV – a side story that came from “Samuel Shinpike and the Attack of the Roadkill Zombies”