Misty’s dad gave us a shotgun a while back. It was originally Misty’s great-granddad’s, and dates to the 1880s. It’s broken the noses of three generations of Clarks, so of course it’s a family heirloom.
I never thought I’d fire it. As old as it is, getting ammunition for it is difficult. You have to order it special. I did order some, just because I had to fire the gun at some point.
That point was this afternoon. I was at home helping take care of Eli and Liza while Misty went to the doctor, and after she came back, well, it seemed like the opportune time.
Of course it broke my nose.
I don’t actually know that it’s broken, but it hurts terribly, and there’s blood all down the front of my shirt. I wouldn’t have even gone through with firing the gun except for the two zombies that were trying to break into my house.
I’ve canvassed the neighborhood. Not that many people made it home from work. Lucky I was here, I suppose. My next door neighbor Richie was home. It looked like he’d been bitten by one of the other zombies, which he’d killed with a handy axe. The bite looked bad, so I shot him in the face. I remembered to compensate for the kickback this time. With Liza, Eli and Misty next door, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Redstone Arsenal isn’t too far south of me. When the Army created the arsenal in World War II, it was used to create and store chemical munitions. They shut that part of the base down years and years ago, or so they claimed. Needless to say, it’s clear where the zombies came from. I’d have wondered if it was due to the NASA center here in town, but they haven’t really been in the business of going to space and bringing back things they found for a long time.
It’s just as well. Even though Amy and Jeff live so close to us, their cars both require high-octane gas and aren’t that fuel efficient. We’re loading up and getting out of Dodge before the zombies overrun us. I’ve been trying to figure out our best plan. The big family car gets so-so gas mileage but has a 14-gallon tank. As I calculated just this afternoon, my new Fit is getting some 36 miles to the gallon, but it only has a 10-gallon tank. Decisions, decisions.
If any of you read this and — I can’t stress this enough — aren’t yet zombies, call me on my cell phone, assuming power doesn’t go out. If you can’t reach me, I’m headed towards Tennessee. There’s a place we intend to hole up. If we can hold off the zombies, fine. If not, we’ll at least have fun dying.
Can zombies track you by the smell of blood? I’d stop to shower and change before we go, but the kids are scared and I’ve wasted too much time on this post as it is.
[tags]zombies, shotgun, broken nose, buckshot-it’s-what’s-for-breakfast[/tags]