Zompocalypse Diaries (QUICK edit finished)

November 30, 2012

Nov 30, 2012

Dear Journal,

We picked up another survivor today. It wasn't the nicest way to meet but under the current circumstances you can't really help that.

Jordan and I continued north up the freeway after leaving the motel. We walked all through the day, stopping only to eat.

That night was spent in an abandoned cabin. After checking for any undead residents and finding none, we raided the rustic kitchen for any nonperishables. The rest of the house was checked for any weapons and first aid supplies. Our thorough search rewarded us with restocked rations, a small caliber handgun and a good nights rest in a warm bed.

That day isn't anything of interest or importance though. It was yesterday you'll want to hear about.

After leaving the cabin, we took the short trail back to the freeway and continued on towards Oregon and, hopefully, our safety. We both silently prayed for another uneventful day but those wishes must have been left unheard.

We walked in a comfortable silence under the hot afternoon sun, snacking on trail mix, sipping water and throwing paranoid glances into the forest around us, checking for any sneakies.

"We haven't seen anything since we left the motel," Jordan broke through the quiet, "I'm getting a little paranoid."

"Well, we ARE in the middle of nowhere." I tried to reassure him. "There weren't too many people living around here to begin with so I'm sure that's why we haven't seen anyone, or anything."

"I guess." He agreed, he didn't look too convinced though.

"Stop worrying too much. Wasn't it just two days ago that you let a zombie sneak within a few feet of you? Where did that brave attitude go?"

"It must have gotten knocked out of me when you threw that bottle." He joked, playfully bumping my hip.

Just as I stumbled from the push, a shot was heard from the trees. Jordan grabbed me by the arm and tugged me off the road, into the dense forest beyond.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"I want to see what they're shooting at." He said as more shots popped off, seeming closer this time.

"And what if it's us?"

"What if it's not?" He argued. "What if someone needs help?"

"Help?" I groaned. "If I remember correctly, the last time I helped someone half of my supplies were stolen along with my CAR."

Jordan clamped a large, dirty hand over my mouth, silencing any further ranting. "Be quiet." He scolded. "If they ARE shooting at us, we get out of here. If they need help, we WILL help them. We can just continue on our way if anything doesn't seem right."

"Fine." I said after prying his fingers from my lips. "Your hands are sweaty."

Jordan rolled his eyes and crouched, motioning me to do the same and started through the tightly packed trees, nearing the shots. I followed right behind, holding tightly to the back of his grey t-shirt.

We cleared one particularly dense patch and came upon a scene straight from the best of horror flicks. A heavyset older man with a rifle stood beside a young brunette girl with a shovel, on the roof of their small cabin in the woods.

The group surrounding their home wasn't large. I counted only 8, varying greatly in height, build and level of decomposition. The smell of them wafted to us, making my eyes water.

Many weren't even whole anymore. Their arms ripped from their sockets, one woman's head hung limp to her shoulder, the bones in her neck tearing through the skin. One man crawled. His bottom half was ripped from his body, a bloody trail staining the dirt in his route to the porch.