So, I’ve had this notebook for a while, and this pen. I don’t know why I even carry them, and after today I decided to jot things down, just to settle my nerves.
Welcome to Colorado. Fuck you, sign. More like “Welcome to Hell.” I’ve been walking for five years, started in Texas. I’ve seen some shit, but today was... different. I have been traveling with a guy who calls himself Trebor Junior. I called him “Trevor” for a few days, until he corrected me. Weird name. And why is he still clinging to “Junior”? I guess we have to cling on to something.
Anyway, me and Trebor had just parted ways with a fellow named Arggo, two G’s. He was an Australian. Good thing he got stuck in USA, I bet Australia is the living Mad Max these days. Or maybe its safe from the infection. Its been five years, who am I kidding? Anyway, Trebor and I had just found a safe settlement, to stocked up on food and supplies. There’s never enough to go around, and I can’t stand being around so many people, all wanting. Some poor idiot drew a gun and the guards put him down with a sharp bang bang. I kept my hatchet packed away. These guys are twitchy. We thought about just staying there, but like we said, supplies were limited. Hunger drove us back out into the wild. Fuck, I’m still hungry.
We headed east. There’s this hideout that got burnt up, and it occasionally has supplies, waiting for anyone that can best the zombies. Anyone who doesn’t just adds to the pile. We like to keep it safe, you never know who you might meet. I had gone five years without taking a life, and Trebor didn’t look like he had it in him, either. We spotted another guy through our binoculars at the hideout, knocking zombies. We hide and watched. I decided to call out to him. I told him we aimed to be friendly, and he said he was ‘cool’, whatever that means. I said something like, “If we walk in there, what is gonna happen? Keep in mind, there’s two of us and only one of you.”
He yelled back that he was leaving. He watched through our binoculars, but we couldn’t see him. Seemed fishy. We decided to skip the hideout, and head for Campos City. Worst mistake.
So, we finally made it to the outskirts of the city. On the way, we went one of those sprinters the safe settlements send out. They gather information about the area, and spread it around. Armed to the teeth, too. He said there was a bandit sighted in Parkerville, the suburb of Campos. So, when we came upon the highway, we had a choice. Trebor wanted to take the highway. We were heading to uncharted territory, and it would have taken us over the city and away. My belly growled, and we were low on food. I convinced him we had to risk it, or starve. I’m a fucking idiot.
We dropped a few zeds, found some food. Everything was going well. Found a fully loaded nine-millimeter magazine for a pistol, but no pistol. Some poor bastard left it in his car. Bet he wish he hadn’t, now. We had some bigger backpacks than most we come across, but we found a nice, big backpack just lying around what I think was City Hall. I snatched it up, I could tell Trebor was a bit jealous. Backpacks were like the new bling. I felt a little guilty, but I had gotten there first, right? Anyway, we found a military checkpoint, over run with zombies, naturally. That’s when shit hit the fan.
We were checking cars in a side road perpendicular to the checkpoint. We had heard other folk saying that cars were the best place to find a handgun. No luck. We started across the street, and I swear we were being careful. Zombies were fucking everywhere. Trebor got swarmed, and I had just enough time after dealing with my own eaters to split the skull of the one biting into the back of his shoulder. That’s when it happened. A gunshot. I heard the bullet snag into something nearby. “Run!” we screamed as we ducked build a building. We quickly pulled out some bandages and wrapped up the wounds we had sustained. A quick fix, really.
All I could hear was the two of us panting. We were checking on either side, and I guess the shot had attracted some more brain-freaks, so we had a small fight on our hands. I spotted a dude roof-hopping, but it looked like he was heading away from us. After we had dropped the zeds, Trebor said, “Maybe he’s running from the shots.”
I just chose to believe him. Until, that is, he turned around and got to the ground. He was heading straight for us, a baseball bat in his hand. Trebor said some stupid shit like, “He’s only got a baseball bat! I think we’re good.” Two against one, and him with a shitty excuse for a weapon. That was until he whipped the shotgun from off his back, cocked it, and kept coming our way. We darted around the building again and ducked behind an outcropping. We just sat there, whispering, “Where did he go?” I guess he lost us. Trebor saw him heading towards the military checkpoint, and I saw a pack of zombies running his way. We fuckin’ ran.
We were running like idiots through the streets, zombies coming at us from all sides. “We need a building!” we both kept saying. I finally spotted an apartment building and ran inside. Trebor followed. We cleared that son of a bitch room by room, floor by floor. Once we were at the top, we looked out the windows with our binoculars, hoping to see that bastard and watch him run away.
Hours past. We’re so fucking tired. We have to sleep. We’re covering ourselves in trash and then its good night. Good? Right. I feel paranoid about sleeping in the city. We could wake up surrounded by bandits.
This could be my last night, so I’ll sleep. If anyone finds this after I’m gone, my name is Haversman and I’m a good man. Well, as good as they come these days. I’m a good man, and we good men don’t deserve this shit. Fuck Colorado.
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