After last night’s stay, once again, I hit the ground running. There were a few loners milling around the street across from this old pizza joint I used to frequent from time to time. I realized a few things at this moment that I felt were important to note.
The first was that I hadn’t gotten as far as I had hoped. We’re talking twenty two miles in a week. I made a mental note to try and find some wheels and do it fast. That’s not an easy undertaking right now, believe it or not. I watched enough episodes of Cops in my time to have a basic idea of how to screwdriver-start a car but let’s face it… I’m an office manager, er WAS, an office manager, not a car thief.
Second, I’m grossly ill-equipped at the moment. I have a bag from the trunk of my car which now has some canned goods, a half-gallon jug of water, a swiss-army knife, and some old gym clothes in it. The only other thing I have is a shitty revolver that I yanked off some kid back in the city.
He was maybe thirteen or fourteen. Little fucker tried to rob me after I pulled him free of a crawler and stomped its head in. I got him to a quiet alley to assess if he’d been bitten and he whips out a little snub nose and sticks me up. Here’s the worse part… I gave him my dufflebag which, frankly, had only my gym clothes at the time and told him it was all I had.
Right then he levels his arm and pulls the goddamn trigger! Straight up, I -literally- shit my pants on the spot. I normally would’ve left that part out but, seeing the state of things, I got nothing to prove. So anyway, the gun goes -CLICK!-. I’d come to find out later that there is no safety on a revolver… and that round should have fired. The primer dented and everything. Shitty ammo, crappy gun… shit if I know. What are the odds of that, seriously?!? That was lucky break number one for me.
I’m not proud of this but at that moment I punched him so hard in the fucking chin, uppercut style, that his front teeth hit me in the face. Long story short, I rifled through his pockets and found eight more rounds, snatched the gun and my bag, and left him laying there. It was then that I realized that the good samaritan role might not be for me. I -almost- congratulated myself on my badassery until I remembered I had shitty drawers on. Good times…
Finally, I knew the owner of the pizza place pretty well. Well enough to know he kept a sweet Nighthawk in the desk drawer next to the safe and there was probably some foodstuffs to be had. I got my ninja on and crept past the few on the street and into the shop, hopping straight over the counter and into the office in the rear.
Now, I’m guessing someone reading this is thinking, “Bullshit! He didn’t even check to see if the place was cleared out.” If you’re saying this to yourself then congratu-fucking-lations because you’ve never smelled a deadhead before… they fucking stink. All that shit you heard about them sneaking up (sleepers excluded) was embellished. Geeks don’t sneak, they reek.
Well, my gun-luck must’ve been used up in the city because the gun was gone from the drawer. Man, did that piss me off! I grabbed some water bottles and some canned chili and snuck out through the back, making a straight shot for the treeline with the ultimate goal being the field on the other side.
There was an old water tower in that field and, if I was slick about it, I bet I could hunker down for the night up there. Rain was coming in too so if I managed to actually get -inside- of it, I could stay dry as well. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one with that idea.