1945
Location: Apartment 0
Reflections:
I have realised by now, that the stress and tension affects me in ludicrous ways. I need to get a better grip on myself. Be ready for anything. The only way to get over the stress is to get used to it. Practice makes perfect!
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I had inventoried the spoils of war from my adventures yesterday, realizing belatedly that I had forgotten all about grabbing magazines for my forearm shields. The newspaper sheets I used yesterday were half soggy from sweat, but they still look serviceable after drying overnight. This necessitates another field trip, eventually of course. However, I was still shaking from that ordeal too much to consider venturing out from home.
The night was spent attempting to glue my hand mirror to the helmet, so I could have a better idea of what's going on behind me. A rearview mirror, so to speak. The effort was spent in vain, as it was not possible for me to fasten it anywhere without impeding my front vision. I gave up, and in my frustration came up with the solution: motorcycle side mirrors! There were still a few motorcycles left in the parking bays when I drove around yesterday, and I wouldn't have to travel very far.
This became my obsession. My immediate plans were to secure "the perimeter", but I couldn't do it while looking over my shoulder every few seconds. I wanted to ensure the corridor on my floor is secure and not have to spend so much time stressing about it the moment I step outside. Plenty of stress to go around without additional burdens. I wasn't about to get complacent just because I had a Problem-free day.
Once again, I put on my personal protection gear, with an empty backpack in case I saw anything I would like to pick up. Golf club in hand, I stepped out, wincing again at the sound of the grill sliding open. I mentally added chicken wire to my wishlist so arms could not reach in past the grill to grab me. The powder I left on the ground yesterday was a little wind-blown, but looked track-free.
Hugging the walls, I crept towards the elevators. The corpse still laid there, discomfiting me. I dinged at the ground floor, but didn't send it up this time. After an interminable age, I found myself in the parking lot, breathing hard. I felt safer in here, as the huge parking complex magnified any sound in echoes. I should be able to hear if anything was rushing towards me. Finding the nearest motorcycle, I twisted the side mirrors off and slipped them into the side pockets of my cargo shorts. Pleased with myself, I started on my way back. So far, so good.
I returned to HQ uneventfully, and set forth preparing my new toy. Trimming the edges with the padlock cutter, I managed to position the mirrors upside down with their stalks glued to my helmet. They were even adjustable!
Lunch was a quick affair. Open cans, chew and swallow. Good thing about Malaysia, our canned foods come in a variety of flavors. I couldn't imagine myself living on Spam everyday.
In the afternoon, I wanted to ensure I had a secure floor. Arming myself with a golf club and carrying canisters of baby powder in a sling bag for easy access, I set out with my helmet and new mirrors on. This time, I left the doors unlocked in case I need to make a quick egress.
Deciding to take the easy path first, I chose the direction I have been using lately and arrived at the familiar lift lobby. I peered into the stairwell, up and down. Nobody home. Good. I deposited the corpse in the stairwell and shut the fire-resistant door, with the assumption that no zombie would have the wit enough to turn door knobs. Just in case, I doused the door knob with a generous coat of powder. The door opened towards the stairs, if they wanted to close the door, they would need to hold the knob to do it. I went past the lobby to the end of the corridor. I could see that it was empty, but it was best to be sure that all the apartment doors were closed and locked.
Satisfied that this side of the corridor was secured, I moved back to my apartment and started down the other way.
There were 3 pairs of elevators that served my block. I had secured one of these pairs. The corridors were dark so my mirrors were not terribly effective. I found myself still making 360 degree sweeps visually, just in case. I reached the middle lobby, inspected the stairwell and shut the door, repeating my powder-dusting. The elevators were at random floors: 12 and 20., which means the last time they were used, it was to access the apartment.
I pressed both the "up" and "down" buttons, as I would not be able to summon the other lift when one arrives. They would arrive at different times, thanks to the difference in distance. The one from 12 dinged open, nothing. I remembered to breathe again. 20 arrived, and the doors groaned open, obviously in need of oil. I flinched at the noise. The elevator was empty, also.
Returning to the corridor, I checked both directions to ensure no nasty surprises came my way before completing my journey to the final lobby. Once again, I peered into the stairwell, and as I dragged the door shut (the hinges felt terribly rusted) I thought I heard a noise.
Time froze.
I could hear my heart beating loudly in my throat and I was sure anybody or anything in the stairway could too. I waited, the door still open one foot wide, listening, or trying to.
Time passed.
I know not how long I waited there, but nothing happened, no more noise came. I shut the door, and dusted it with talcum, wondering all the time if I was going to die from a heart attack instead of a zombie attack. The final two elevators were on ground, I had to risk having both arrive at the same time, and pressed the buttons.
They arrived one after the other, opening seconds apart. Again, empty. I was starting to think that zombies were overrated, and perhaps all the Problematic humans joined the ranks of the dead. I wondered what they would eat, once they ran out of us regular humans. Hope kindled in me.
I powdered the entrances to the elevators with what was leftover in my canisters and did the same for the middle lobby on my way home. I had secured my floor, somewhat. The doors were just shut and were by no means safe. Eventually, power will fail and I would need to start taking the stairs to leave the apartment. I need a better solution. Soon.
I leaned across the balcony of the middle lobby and looked down to the courtyard. It looked empty. I knew we had an in-house grocery store there, and that was the main reason I wanted a lock-cutter. I would have an emergency stash of food available at least, once I've checked the place out later on. I had enough to last for a week from yesterday's raid. Plenty of time to practice my golf swing and make other preparations.
Moments later, I returned home safely. Thoughts geared towards what to do over the next few days instead of agonising about life and how unfair it was. I was alive. I was dealing with it.
I spent the rest of the day tying knots at regular intervals into my ropes. I had a miniature "balcony" outside one of my windows, a 3 by 6 foot section where people mount their AC units on. The balcony had a very sturdy looking metal barrier that I intended to tie the rope to during emergencies. I tied the rope to it now and threw it down to ensure it was long enough for my backup escape plan. There was more than enough rope. I was glad I grabbed so much yesterday. My rope ladder was a legacy of my scouting days. Thank you, Gavin, for teaching me this. He was a rich kid 15 years ago, I hope he made it out alive to Australia.
Pulling the rope back up, I trimmed the extra length in case I needed the rope for other purposes.
Now, I'm going to fill myself up with liquid courage and worry about the coming days later.
End log.
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