What the Old Man Did 22

December 12, 2012

Hovering at the edge of consciousness, I feel myself slipping into a dream. I’m standing in the middle of a white room, alone. I cannot discern the corners and edges of the room it is so uniform. Suddenly a man seems to appear out of nowhere. I feel my heart rate increase to panic levels. He has a syringe in his hand and I realize I’m actually secured to a vertical post with some kind of material and I’m naked. Looking wildly around, I try to move but it is useless. The man moves closer and smoothly pushed the needle into my side and injects me with something. “Good luck,” he says. I wake again to the rhythm of water sloshing and I gradually remember where I am. Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.
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What the Old Man Did 21

November 25, 2012

A building loomed up ahead. I see the two enter it and though I’m exhausted, I begin to run again. Glancing over my shoulder I see my five pursers.

I make it to the building, almost a twin of our prior residence. Jumbled thoughts are running through my mind. Searching for something to jam the door I find a mop handle. I push it against the sliding door to prevent it moving.

Pressing on, I move slowly, listening for anything. I hear something treading on the stairs in rapid fashion. I follow.

What the Old Man Did 20

July 13, 2012

I sat there in the aging office chair for maybe 20 minutes. All was quiet. Until I heard something. A noise coming from downstairs, our former hideaway. Time had taught me caution. I went quietly to the basement door and peered down the stairs. Something was moving down there. I shut the door and ran up the stairs. I found Toni and Sarah with a book on the top floor.
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I woke slowly, relaxed, like you do when you know where you are and feel safe. Muted sunlight filled the room. I was on a thin foam mattress on the top floor of our little glass house as we called it. Lying there, I drifted back over the last three weeks. Toni was not there. I presumed she was out hunting for food. My last foray those three weeks ago had attracted every critter for miles. They still milled about the blown out bank building. It made it relatively safe to move north for scavenging.
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After what seemed like hours, I decided to walk on. Besides, it was getting creepy sitting in the dark. About 50 feet further on we came to a junction. Another tunnel intersected at right angles. We turned left. That, I thought, must take us nearer to the glass building that had become my home in Atlanta. As we walked, the ground shook. We didn’t get much noise but certainly this was the explosion I was counting on.
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My face was stinging like hell. We headed for the basement.

“Do you have any bandages or things like that?”

She went to a closet on the left side of the room and opened it. I followed her and saw that, yes, there were medical supplies. A considerable cache of injectables, dressings, bottles of pain meds, antibiotics, and other more exotic stuff plus some kind of lab equipment. I grabbed a bottle of iodine and some scrubs and took it to one of the tables.
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Three buildings were up ahead. I had been running for five minutes and my pursuers had fallen behind. But I knew they would keep coming unless I could distract them somehow. I took the three story office building on the right. The front door was open but apparently intact. Running through the doorway, I realized my mistake. Stopping dead, I looked around. Nothing in sight. I let my breathing slow down. Taking the door marked stairway, I was faced with near total darkness. Given past experience, I felt that old alarm that raised the hair on the back my neck. I held the door open, looking for something to prop it open. A book was laying the floor and I shoved under the door, pulling the door over it to wedge it tight. Then I turned to the stairwell. A shadow moved on the steps above me and I saw a figure in the gloom that gave me chills. It was a young girl. Maybe seven or eight years old, coming down slowly, with the deliberate motion I knew so well. Without thinking, I brought the rifle up. But before pulling the trigger, I just had to say it:
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Two weeks in this building and I was starting to get stir crazy again. Also, something was bothering me. Where did the identical zombies come from? Why two of that? Both equally ugly and equally weird. Aside from that upfront puzzle, there was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put together in my head.
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What the Old Man Did 14

April 27, 2012

Two days in the basement brought it home to us that confinement like this was nearly as bad as facing down the undead. We were getting on each others nerves a bit. After a week we had become quiet mostly. There wasn’t much to say it seemed. We could still hear movement outside the top door.
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What the Old Man Did 13

April 21, 2012

We drove on for a few minutes, hoping to spot a decent place to wait out the storm. It was raining now and the sky had a funny cast to it, like there were green bubbly clouds.
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