1930
Location: Apartment 0
Reflections: When things are going your way, do not over rejoice or shit happens. If they are going against you, do not think that things can't get any worse, or they inevitably will. This is life's way of saying: Up yours, human!
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Dawn found me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I exited HQ Alternate with a lighter heart, gladdened to have found an alternative abode. The funeral pyre from yesterday left a black patch in the small garden, with nothing but ashes to remind me of the unpleasantness of it all.
I climbed the gate to have a good lookout of the neighbourhood. The coast was clear, so I opened the auto-gate and backed the sedan away from its blockade position. Locking the place up, I loaded the Vellfire up with my belongings and exited the porch, clicking the auto-gate button on my way to shut it. The spare gasoline containers and my backpack were transferred into the back from my old drive. The MPV drove like a dream, though it took a little bit of acclimation to driving an automatic transmission.
On my way out of the neighbourhood, I drove past a Giant hypermarket and my stomach growled to remind me it was empty. I stopped near the entrance of the hypermarket and debated with myself whether to venture out. It made sense to reconnoiter the place if I was making this my HQ Alternate anyway. Might as well start now. I withdrew a candy bar from the backpack and finished consuming it in the Vellfire before grabbing my helmet and golf club.
This was the first time I have wandered into a new place in awhile (not counting HQ Alternate), so my senses were on full alert. I walked into the building warily. The place was a total wreck. It was obvious that being located in the middle of a housing neighbourhood had made it the target of looting, unlike The Mines. I saw little in terms of humanity, rotting or Problematic. Even my rubber soles raised echoes as I went deeper into the mall.
Giant hypermarkets tend to have shops like a regular mall, but with a giant (no pun intended) hypermarket outlet to anchor the mall. Hypermarkets are like mini-marts multiplied a hundred-fold, selling anything from groceries to cheap clothes. I walked into the hypermarket outlet proper and was dismayed to find most of the aisles already emptied. Looks like the mob were very thorough. No signs of zombies though.
I left the outlet and started back towards the entrance/exit. Pausing halfway as something grabbed my eyes from the second floor, I climbed up the escalator and walked into a miniature warzone. A bank outlet with the glass shattered was littered with corpses of people (or zombies). The state of decomposition was too severe for me to have any inclination to ascertain the cause of death. I stepped past the bodies gingerly and saw a headless body clad in the uniform of a security guard, shotgun held in its hands facing upwards. Evidently the late guard had thought his position untenable and shot himself at the very end. I guess I knew then the cause of death of the bodies outside.
Gleefully, I dropped my club and pried the shotgun away from the guard, thanking him under my breath. I had never handled a gun before, but a shotgun looked easy enough to use. I pumped the shotgun the way I saw in the movies, and a shell popped out. Sighting down the barrel, I mimed making a shot and liked the feel of the gun in my hands. I would need to practice shooting somewhere safe, of course, but having a gun gave me better options at self-defence, or even on offence. My mood felt celebratory.
A flicker of movement in my helmet mirror caught my eye and I barely turned in time to have something grab me by the arm. Crazed eyes bore down on me and everything moved in slow motion as I watched a zombie open its maw and clamp down on me. Teeth bit in and found paper as my forearm magazine bracer did its job. I reacted instinctively, twisting away and swung my weapon into its stomach. The zombie bucked and its hold loosened enough for me to free my arm and I frantically beat at its head with the shotgun. Realising belatedly that it lacked the mass necessary to deal heavy damage, I dropped the shotgun and grabbed my club while the zombie was reeling from my blows.
It snarled at me, I screamed at it, and caved its skull in with my nine iron. Take that, filthy rabid undead being! Except I have found that the Problematic humans were not really undead, were they? My eyes darted everywhere, I was near panic. Where the hell had that creature come from?
I took deep breaths and calmed myself down. Things looked safe, for now. But then again, it felt safe earlier too. Whatever.
I regarded the shotgun on the floor. Much to my chagrin, the barrel was bent and warped out of shape from my abuse of it. So much for my visions of shooting zombies. Goddamn it! Trying to salvage what I could from a shitty situation, I dug around the guard's dead body and came away with a pouch containing spare shells. I counted 6, not much, but better than none. I looked around for the second guard (banks usually had at least two) and made no headway before it hit me that my assailant wore the same uniform as the headless guard. Sighing, I saw no signs of where the erstwhile guard's shotgun was, but managed to salvage another pouch of ammunition. I'll find a gun somewhere, I hope, but ammunition would be hard to come by, so I might as well start my collection now. At least I had some idea of where to scavenge for guns after this. That's food for thought.
The journey back to the car was nerve-wracking, this was hostile territory after all. I grabbed some magazines from a newspaper stall on my way out. I found a wall tap outside the mall and ran water on the head of my golf club thoroughly. The mangled magazine on my arm free was cut free with a pocket knife, and discarded it on the sidewalk and the knife thoroughly rinsed too. I was not risking contaminating my belongings with the virus.
Settling myself into the seat of my new vehicle, I tried to relax before driving. The cushions were comfortable enough to help me bleed the stress off. I started the engines and left the hypermarket. The drive back was a blur, my mind was still wandering and coping with the adrenaline bleed-off.
When I arrived at my apartment complex, I realised that I had left my access card in my old car. Grumbling to myself, I stopped the vehicle at the guardhouse and strapped my new magazine over my bare forearm. I noticed idly that it was a food magazine. I hoped that would not be an omen in the future for the zombies. Alighting, I walked into the guardhouse and found the button to open the boom gate. On the bright side, at least I got to raise the boom gate while there was still power.
I parked my new car in my usual lot, taking some extra time to master manoeuvring a larger vehicle. Gathering my belongings, I returned to my Headquarters without further incident and treated myself to a big meal and a rest before completing my shimming exercise. It was only midday and I wanted to give myself a peace of mind after the ambush at the bank.
Rested and fed, I made my way to the far stairwell and started shimming the doors downwards. I arrived at Ground without any significant incident, and took the elevator back to 14.
15 went by without problems, then 16, 17, 18 and 19. I panted my way to 20 and was about to congratulate myself for mission accomplished when the sound of feet shuffling on the other side of the door froze me into inaction.
The door was slightly open, and I was still 4 steps away from the landing, and another 8 feet or so to the door. I made a pretty good impression of a deer caught in headlights and stopped breathing. The shuffling sound was rhytmic and seemed directionless. I reached into my sling bag and very slowly withdrew two shims. I held one between my lips, the other in my right hand. Deciding speed made a better defence than the club, I very gently set it down on a step, with the head dangling off the side to avoid the heavy clink.
I braced myself, and cleared the steps in one explosive leap, took the two strides necessary to reach the door and rammed it shut with my left shoulder. I jammed the shim in the middle of the two hinges with my right hand and took the one from my lips and jammed that one below the door. The sound of forceful impacts greeted me from the other side. The doors were fire escapes, I was reasonably sure they could withstand the pounding, for a while anyway. I back down and retrieved my club, and drove shims into the door liberally. By the time I was done, it looked like the door was a porcupine, at least where the shims fit anyway. I had at least 8 shims on each side, 6 below the door and another 6 above it. Throughout this, the sound of pounding fists (or something else) came from the other side.
I had no idea how many zombies were behind that door, so I backed away to the landing between 20 and 19 and waited. It took more than an hour, but the pounding gradually stopped and faded away. Finally. Exhaling in relief that the door held, I climbed back to 20 quietly and checked the door. Things looked secure, at least for now, and my theory that they lacked the presence of mind to turn door knobs seem to be holding true.
Light-headed, I made my way down the stairs back to 14 and thanked providence I had not taken the lazy path and went directly up to 20 by elevator. I closed the door at 14, and dusted it with half a bottle of baby powder. Shaking my head at my silly action, I checked all 3 elevator lobbies and satisfied myself that all was well before returning home.
I took a long hot shower in the safety of my apartment and will partake liberally of liquid courage after writing this.
End log.
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