My name is Chris, Ive lost track of time. It feels like years since I first started running, but I think its only been a few months. Days turn to weeks, and the weeks drags on, such is the new way of life. And yet, despite the violence and chaos, I dont really miss the old world...

Saturday, January 29, 2011


        Days turn to weeks, and the weeks fade into months.  Sitting in my post on the roof I keep an eye out on the streets below.  The snow had been coming down for a few months now.  With the cold weather came a sense of comfort, the undead that had lazily prowled the streets had been frozen solid.  Several groups had been sent out to finish what nature had started with the walking blights.  Leaning back in my chair, I start to relax.  There was no point in a lookout when what was hunting you was frozen, but I still come up here on my allotted days.  It was so peaceful, I was reminded of the walks I would take back in Alaska.  The sense of complete calm a snow covered landscape could bring was welcome.  Periodically, I would look around to see if the teams had come back from their respected tasks, but the streets were clear.  Getting out of my chair, I head towards the stairs.  I had almost reached the door until I heard a distant cry for help, One of the teams had run into trouble.  Running to the edge of the roof, I peer towards the direction of the call for help.  Seeing a man, I think his name was Allen, briskly limping for the gate.  Behind him was a trail of blood, not a good sign, I dart for the door as the steps fly below my feet, Brock needs to know there may be a team injured or gone.
        Making my way towards the center of the first floor, everyone gathered around Brock as he divvied up the tasks for the week, I shout his mane out to get his attention as fast as I could.  "There's been an accident, one of the teams may be in trouble!"  Blurting out as I barely keep myself from running into him.  Right before he could gather a search group, the side door bursts open, Allen staggering in.  A collective gasp of surprise came from the crowd as he dropped to the ground, a sobbing quivering mess.  Running to his side, I kneel to his level, his face pale and weak.  "What happened man?  Is everyone else alright?"  Brock's voice was as worried as if they were all his children.  The longer I stay here, the more respect I find for him, truly a good man.  Walking to the center, he calls for an emergency group, already dressed for the cold I step forward.  "I just need to get my stuff and I'm ready to roll."  Looking back to the crowd, Brock asks, "Well, do we have another volunteer?"
               As I make the final adjustments to my holsters, I make my way to the door.  Allen was sitting by the door, his wounds the result of blindly darting out of "the nest" as he called it.  It was a community center on the coast, used as a hideout from the undead.  Apparently it hadn't held out, the supplies in there were too tempting to pass up.  Knowing whether or not anyone was alive wasn't the problem, it was whether or not I was going to make it back alive that bothered me.  Opening the door, I poke my head out and check the wintry landscape for signs of the undead.  Nothing so far...  Out the door I step as the cold air whips past my face, the smell of salt in the air.  Myself, along with Brock and two others, head across the yard to the gate.  The closer I get to the gate, the harder it is to shake off this looming sense of dread.  I stop in my tracks, the others jog ahead of me.  Time to go, save yourself.  Don't need to be dying for someone else now.    The thoughts were coming back, that self preserving voice in my head was as loud as before, but I didn't want to listen to it.  This was my time to shine.  "Hey, we don't have time to admire the snow!  Come on!"  Brock yelling as he continued in the direction of the blood trail Allen had left.  Suddenly I was back in the real world, and running to catch up.
           Several blocks away we come to an intersection, the blood trail seems to end here.  Taking a closer look someone else finds his foot prints in the snow,  minus the blood.  "Maybe he...maybe he was bit.  Someone needs to warn the others." Brock says as he kneels in the snow, desperately looking for the continuation of the blood trail.  Turning back, one of the men in our group takes this as the time to return to camp.  Me, Brock, and this guy... this just keeps getting better and better.    Here goes nothing.   I  dart out in the opposite direction, checking each window for a broken or non barricaded window to enter.  Not knowing what I was getting into made it easier to dart into blindly, an action that could very well end up killing me.

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