day 5

So its day five. For the past four days myself, and three other people have been stashed up in our tiny Austin house fighting off the undead. It sounds so surreal "undead". I had mowed down plenty of Zombies in Dead Rising, and my shotgun skills seemed more than sub-par for resident evil. But now, faced with this unrealistic threat to human kind-its almost surreal. A fuzzy dream land where you just exist-moving in slow motion. Nothing seems real anymore.

I saw my neighbor. Typically Mr. Avalos is always leaning into the hood of his old chevy truck, but last night he was clawing frantically at the window screen, his mouth a frothing mess-almost like a rabid dog. It was terrifying. The same kindly brown eyes that greeted me and my room mates every morning now were two twin voids-empty and lifeless. And angry. He ripped into the window screen, his fingers a meaty mass of rotting flesh, his frantic attempts to enter and rip us to pieces was told in the pus trails on the window. He was promptly "removed". We did not risk losing the window, so Chris, carefully leaning out of the front door, blasted four shot gun rounds into the zombie, one finally hitting its mark. Mr. Avalos's head popped like that yellow balloon from that movie IT. It was not so messy as when a living and breathing person's head is blown off, just a sickening thick pop echoed by the gunshot, and blood and other bits running down the zombie's still moving lower half. Harvey had postioned himself behind chris, holding a small baby browning. It was my gun my dad had given me. It, and the shot gun, are the only type of firearms we posses. But we've got a fuck load of bullets.

My dad... I want to believe my parents are still alive. Holding down their house in Houston with their plethora of pistols, riles, and shotguns.

We can't dial out, or receive calls. The internet is down, the cell phone towers down.

Its ironic because the outdoors seems still so friendly. The cool spring air still blows across the trees, and the weather still brings the sunshine, or a fierce storm. Plants still grow-but there is no life. Its so fucking quiet. The birds have flown off somewhere-to some safe haven that I dream about when I can afford sleep. There are no dogs barking-and the only cat I have seen is our little gray striped tabby-Ivan. He stays in doors.

Our food rations are getting lower. When our bullets run out we will have to resort to household weapons. We dont plan to stay here that long. Soon we will have to move, even if its methodically moving to each neighboring house-re loading on supplies until we can meet up with another group.

I am so terrified. The pen shakes as I write this, my breathing is shallow and fast. Every single scrape, scream, or blast causes me to jump and grab for anything that could be a weapon. I feel like a paranoid crack fiend.

Shit, something is in the front yard. Lets hope its just some lost animal.

Until next time