Journals of the Damned
Page 49
crammed them in place along the weathered railing that goes around the front porch. I put them there to let Jannie know at a glance I was inside. I'll stash them here and re-use them every time I stay here, waiting for her.
I hear somebody...I think Jannie's arrived!
The following is written in the hand of a different person.
My name is Janet but everyone calls me Jannie.
Allan was a good friend. He was for the most part honest and generally loyal. Those are two hard qualities to come by in these times. He was one of the few people I got along with and that counts for a lot when you're locked up inside in close confines for extended periods of time.
His body will be buried. He deserves that at least.
It was his fate to die I suppose and he played a hand in his own undoing. Smarts wasn't one of his qualities but I don't want to speak bad of the honorable dead. At least the cruel Gods spared him from being eaten alive or having his corpse desecrated.
I was making my way here, as I always do on Fridays, planning on reaching the house I have set up across the street and two doors down by about twelve-thirty. I always watch the old safe-house from there. It's secure and I have an excellent vantage point to watch the comings and goings. I heard through the small grapevine that he had resurfaced. I was looking forward to meeting back up with my "dumbass" friend.
I need to tell you that after reading this journal of his, that I will keep it with my other treasured possessions. I'll keep it right next to mine.
I can't believe he had actually found my old journal. I had searched the house repeatedly for it with no luck. I thought it was lost forever.
He was killed by one of the "Red Death" hunting squads. Of the four that killed him and were about to take his body back to their unholy lair, only one escaped. I had my dealings with them before, had killed a handful of them before but now it was going to be my personal goal to kill them all.
I heard the sound of the UPS truck earlier that day. I heard it enter the neighborhood somewhere and shut down. I know how they operate and knew that this meant they were dispatching a hunter-killer team to look for food. As in food, I mean we survivors. If they were on a raid they wouldn't often shut down the engine, they would keep it going 'till they got what they wanted and drove off again.
The infected bastards, for all their drug-addicted, parasite addled minds, were very proficient at raiding.
The parasitic colony in their cursed bodies also gives them another, huge advantage. Once the colony of single-celled leeches reaches a certain mass in their host, other colonies no longer see it as a possible food source. Once the "Scarlet" is visible over around sixty to seventy percent of their body, give or take, with its red splotches, they can run through the zeds with impunity. Some have said that the large swarms, or herds, have at the core of them a "Red" or two that have fully been taken over (but their immune system is such that those carriers of the infection stave off actually dying).
I had barely reached my post when I heard gunfire coming from the old safe-house. I scrambled as fast as I could to the unboarded upstairs window and got into a firing position.
I heard the UPS van's engine start up again and knew it could only be coming here to make a pick-up.
It was plain to see why the Reds had found him. Allan had stuck a stupid number of those idiot car flags on the porch railings. One would have been sufficient. One in a window, on the inside, and I would have easily noted it and knew what it meant. That and there were fresh killed zeds almost on the front lawn, uneaten by stray dogs, insects or the always hungry birds.
I thought Al might be alive yet and my hopes were dashed when the van drew up. Immediately one carrier got out the back and took up a defensive position at the rear of the truck. Just as quickly one from inside the house, who I noted with some happiness was holding a bleeding arm, took up a position on the lawn by the front of the truck.
When I saw one of them dragging out the body of my dumbass, who I recognized in an instant, I fired a shot from my AR15 and blew his neck out. It wasn't my best shot as I was aiming for his head. Anger had flared and tainted my aim. My next shot was better.
None of them actually knew just where that first shot had come from and they momentarily froze, giving me time to send a bullet into the Red's right eye who was at the rear of the truck.
Then the van driver started to yell for his wounded ally as he revved the engine and started to duck down.
I missed completely with my third shot, aiming for the wounded bitch who I thought was running back to grab Al's corpse. Instead he grabbed the weapon and walkie-talkie from his throat less buddy who had bleed out fast and nothing could save his life. The soulless fuck dodged and weaved and immediately went out of sight, the van blocking my view. The next I saw of him was his furtive hand reaching for the head-shot gang member's weapon and my forth shot removed half of it, fingers flying away in a spray of blood.
The delivery van sped off then, and I was able to get one last burst off. I had a nice angle, being up on the second floor, and could see the driver as he practically drove from the passenger side floor. I'm sure I placed a round in his ear and one in his shoulder.
The van started to careen wildly, taking out a mailbox and I was hoping it would crash so I could finish the last one off. It wasn't to be though. I suppose the wounded piece of shit grabbed the wheel.
I emptied the rest of my clip in the back end of the now bullet ridden van and watched as it drove manically out of sight.
I didn't have much time to grab Al's corpse before the wave of ravenous undead arrived from all the noise. I fireman carried his corpse to my post, hoping he was still alive but he was gone.
He died on Friday, January 3, 2014.
You will be missed Al.