rope ladder. Wide open places like warehouses are dangerous; with so much open space, they are difficult to defend. My qualifications usually rule out most commercial buildings pretty quick, including all large department stores and restaurants.
The old buildings downtown will be best, old houses with narrow stairs and multiple floors. Dangerous though, considering I’ll have to work my way downtown.
It’s always my goal to have at least three permanent locations and maybe a few temporary way stations across town, if needed. I already have the trailer outside town; I need one here in the shopping district and one downtown. And the best place to see it all is atop the highest hill in Danville.’
• excerpt from August 29 th entry
Her binoculars locked on a rather newish building along the South Danville Bypass. A firehouse. Perfect. She looked over her shoulder as she backed up. A zombie grabbed the back of the truck. She floored it in reverse. The truck bounced and bucked as the zombie fry-cook rolled under the tires. She looked through the windshield; braked. The male zombie clawed at the blacktop, his cloudy eyes on the truck. His broken spine might have kept him on the ground, but his stomach kept him moving. She put the truck in gear, turned the wheel; the tires rolled over his skull. Popped it like a watermelon under a hammer.
She drove down the hill. Abandoned vehicles were nose to nose and on the shoulders and both sides of the road. She put the truck in all-wheel drive and took the median, avoided a toppled-over semi-truck of snack cakes. She braked, stared hard at the back doors. All that food with long expiration dates. And all that sugar. Shaking her head, she drove on by; dug in her pack for another apple. The juice sparkled on her tongue, tingled as she swallowed. So much better than high fructose corn syrup.
She slowed as she passed a grocery store, Roger’s. A gas station sat in front of it. Maybe she’d check to see if there was any left later. The tank was still half full. She pulled off the road, drove up the gravel path to the firehouse. An eye doctor’s residency sat beside it. That reminded her, she’d have to hit up an All-Mart soon. She’d been wearing these contacts for almost a month, and they needed to be replaced. She’d have to make a grocery list before she cleared it out too. The truck stopped in front of the station. Only one of the garage doors was open.
She sat for a moment, just looked at the brick building. The front door could be easily boarded up, the sliding garage doors reinforced once she found someplace with sheet metal. No doubt the station would have a few spare axes she could use. A lone fire truck sat in the wide garage. Where the other one was she had no idea. She cut off the engine. Climbed out. Keys in her pocket, gun out, with her crowbar in her other hand, she slunk around the truck, darted for the edge of the firehouse. The building had enough light coming through the windows upstairs to illuminate the floor and metal staircase to the second level. She stepped inside, listened to the slow, steady drizzle on the windows. Nothing else disturbed the silence.
Many of the helmets and overcoats the firemen wore were gone; she stopped by the wall decorated with name plaques. A dozen or so men and women had once worked in this building. Smiling faces looked down from their photos. She moved down the wall, to a small shrine with news articles clipped to it. ‘ Fireman Loses Life in Tragic Blaze ’. Maybe it was the shrine, or maybe the faces of those who worked here, but the brick and cement building still felt occupied, though it was empty. She checked each room, upstairs and down. The only way up was the metal staircase, and it wouldn’t be difficult to tear apart. In fact, she could use most of it as bars for the windows.
Other than the doors and windows there wasn’t much else she needed to fortify. And she had the supplies to handle most of the
The old buildings downtown will be best, old houses with narrow stairs and multiple floors. Dangerous though, considering I’ll have to work my way downtown.
It’s always my goal to have at least three permanent locations and maybe a few temporary way stations across town, if needed. I already have the trailer outside town; I need one here in the shopping district and one downtown. And the best place to see it all is atop the highest hill in Danville.’
• excerpt from August 29 th entry
Her binoculars locked on a rather newish building along the South Danville Bypass. A firehouse. Perfect. She looked over her shoulder as she backed up. A zombie grabbed the back of the truck. She floored it in reverse. The truck bounced and bucked as the zombie fry-cook rolled under the tires. She looked through the windshield; braked. The male zombie clawed at the blacktop, his cloudy eyes on the truck. His broken spine might have kept him on the ground, but his stomach kept him moving. She put the truck in gear, turned the wheel; the tires rolled over his skull. Popped it like a watermelon under a hammer.
She drove down the hill. Abandoned vehicles were nose to nose and on the shoulders and both sides of the road. She put the truck in all-wheel drive and took the median, avoided a toppled-over semi-truck of snack cakes. She braked, stared hard at the back doors. All that food with long expiration dates. And all that sugar. Shaking her head, she drove on by; dug in her pack for another apple. The juice sparkled on her tongue, tingled as she swallowed. So much better than high fructose corn syrup.
She slowed as she passed a grocery store, Roger’s. A gas station sat in front of it. Maybe she’d check to see if there was any left later. The tank was still half full. She pulled off the road, drove up the gravel path to the firehouse. An eye doctor’s residency sat beside it. That reminded her, she’d have to hit up an All-Mart soon. She’d been wearing these contacts for almost a month, and they needed to be replaced. She’d have to make a grocery list before she cleared it out too. The truck stopped in front of the station. Only one of the garage doors was open.
She sat for a moment, just looked at the brick building. The front door could be easily boarded up, the sliding garage doors reinforced once she found someplace with sheet metal. No doubt the station would have a few spare axes she could use. A lone fire truck sat in the wide garage. Where the other one was she had no idea. She cut off the engine. Climbed out. Keys in her pocket, gun out, with her crowbar in her other hand, she slunk around the truck, darted for the edge of the firehouse. The building had enough light coming through the windows upstairs to illuminate the floor and metal staircase to the second level. She stepped inside, listened to the slow, steady drizzle on the windows. Nothing else disturbed the silence.
Many of the helmets and overcoats the firemen wore were gone; she stopped by the wall decorated with name plaques. A dozen or so men and women had once worked in this building. Smiling faces looked down from their photos. She moved down the wall, to a small shrine with news articles clipped to it. ‘ Fireman Loses Life in Tragic Blaze ’. Maybe it was the shrine, or maybe the faces of those who worked here, but the brick and cement building still felt occupied, though it was empty. She checked each room, upstairs and down. The only way up was the metal staircase, and it wouldn’t be difficult to tear apart. In fact, she could use most of it as bars for the windows.
Other than the doors and windows there wasn’t much else she needed to fortify. And she had the supplies to handle most of the
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