Survivalist Logbook
8/10/07 P.A.
Good thing I was up beating on Chester, a coyote and a wolf got into the compound and were scaring Sparkie. I tell you, I’m getting no rest with all the peace and quiet being the sole survivor. Bob said we did a good job on the periphery from the zombie attack in the early spring, but he was up on the walk peering over the side and must have missed seeing that spot. Got a couple of shots off but I don’t think I made a connection, I’ll have to check in the morning while I fix the hole they came through. I doubt they’ll be back tonight.
Blasted dogs! They took my favorite ham! The one I cooked up myself! There’s only a couple of weeks worth of meat left – that’s enough for me to cure some more, but that’ll mean I’ll have to do some hunting. Think we scared the deer away last fall, haven’t seen anything but those mangy coyotes and the odd chipmunk. I remember when we used to do target practice when we were kids and only had slingshots back in the Meadow. Took down a lot of chippers but I was young then, used to going home and getting charred burgers. Dad said “Good job hunting! Now skin’em, dress’em and put’em on the grill!” Granpappy slapped his knee and laughed like crazy. I thought he was watching his show and rooting for the tornado – that always made him fall over, then I realized he was staring at me with his bulging eyes full of tears. I must have had quite a face on, ‘cause he just kept laughing as I walked away with my quarry. I showed them though, I brought them back cooked’em and ate them. All of them. I didn’t share and I didn’t care. Didn’t share, didn’t care. Grandpappy woulda liked that little rhyme – oh man, I’m turning into grandpappy! Stop it! Shut up Chester!
Chester was getting cranky again. He got me up again at four in the morning moaning like a banshee. I negotiated with him using the five pound sledge and he quieted down again. Of course after a good workout like that I couldn’t sleep so I went out and grabbed a hunk of venison and cooked it up. Sometimes you find a little mold this time of year, but cutting it off and heating it up you can still eat it. Momma would never touch anything we brought home, she was strictly spoon roast and ‘tatoes. “You guys go ahead and eat your Bambi, I’ve got what I want right here.” she’d say, pouring on the gravy. She got so upset with us when we put venison gravy on her ‘tatoes when she wasn’t looking. She took one bite then looked at dad while she turned green and that was the fastest I’d ever seen her get to the sink! Hoo hoo! That was something! Think the smack upside the head with the number six frypan hastened grandpappy’s move into the home. I still remember the ring of that ol’ number six. Good times. That was just before I left and joined the band.
I must have missed that coyote with my favorite ham, hit a good shot through the steel though, had to take down some of Sparkie’s paddock to repair it but they won’t be getting in there any more. Set up more traps too, couple of them were tripped and there’s got to be someone messing with me too – some fur lover is putting sticks across the traps so they won’t catch anything. They’re good too – no tracks. Set up a log ram at one of them – that’ll show them – when they come near that one three hundred pounds of pine will flatten their face if they’re lucky enough to be turned that way. I’ll hear it too: put ol’ number six on the business end when that swings and catches them… I can’t believe it – I just cackled like grandpappy! I’ve got to get out and do something, I must be getting stir-crazy in here.
Okay, got my compound bow, got my arrows, honed them to scary-sharp, even shaved with one of them! Don’t know why I did that, now every time I look in the mirror I see myself and remember the black and white pic of my dad when he was in the papers. He was one of the first to be turned. Said this whole zombie thing was his fault even though there were several before him. Made my family run out of town. They never realized I was his son since I had my beard then.
I shoulda cleared him instead of laying low. Woulda-shoulda-… Shut up grandpappy! Shut up Chester! Gahhh! I’m outa here!
~~~
This is excerpt 4 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