Sleepy Scout

Attention - This blog post is not to be taken srsly like at all. It has no purpose aside from being a somewhat light-hearted story. In short its a casual take on the zombie apocolypse. I understand if you don't consider this funny/satirical or high octane nightmare fuel. Its just a thought that's been stuck in my head and wanted to jot it down.

P.S. I'm not narrating this one. It focuses on fictional characters.

Being a scout is always interesting. You get to see new locales before your teammates. You find out how dangerous an area is before your teammates. Stores and houses are first-come-first-serve so one always gets the best stuff before everyone else. Water first, bread first, toilet paper firs-

"You see anything yet?" came a voice from his walky.

Hold on, its the boss.

"Fell asleep," I replied. "Sorry."

"You're kidding me! We sent you in an hour ago to investigate the area! Why were you sleeping on the job!?"

"Sir, I got problems. So of course I have to take a breather. I'm continuing the mission, radio silence."

"You piece of s-"

So I turned off my walkie talkie, which was strapped to my one-strap runner's backpack. The construction beam suited me well for a sleeping spot. 9 feet under me stood five zombies, all growling at me. I stood up and started tightrope walking across the beam. At the end, I slid down a vertical pole and started running around the city.

Being a scout means observing places of interest before placing an assault on it. However, unlike the military reconnaisance personel, my scouting consists of freerunning through the streets with nothing but my backpack, radio, and switchblade.

Why do I not have any guns or armor? Well, zombies are slow as hell so why waste ammo when you can run past em. Armor makes me slow which is bad cause you don't want be the same speed of zombies these days.

Hell, I don't even bring food and water. I figured that since I was running around the city, I could just grab anything that's still lying around. No need for extra baggage.

As I run around, I make a mental map of the area. When I get back to my band of survivors, I draw everything on paper with markings of dead zones and supply depots. For the boss however, priority is not on fresh water, food, nor fuel. Nope, its something thats so important that it resides in every hardcore zombie enthusiast's heart.

Guns. Pretty much a fetish to alpha males.

Don't know why the boss wants so many guns. He almost has so much that we're gonna need a military truck thing to haul it all.

Humvees are number two on his list by the way.

So I figure out the layout so the rest of my team can go in and find a spot to stay. They don't want to do this job so I volunteered for it. Funny they send a sleep-prone streetwise orphan to be on lookout.

They didn't want to mess with the zombies if they didn't have to. Since I'm used to being chased (and I prefered not to use guns, which is an approval from the boss), it feels like home. I was raised on the streets so scaling fences and gates is second-nature to me. Which fortunately iis enough to hold zombies back. My usual plan is to run around, attracting as many zeds as I could then lead them into a secure place where they can't get out.

Like this guy's car lot. I go to the very end, let the place fill the zombies, then I run over the cars and climb over the 12 foot fence. Then I jerryrig the gate closed with chains or something. Yeah, its a temporary fix but whatever works you know? Might as well have a collection of zombies in a fixed place than randomly dispersed. Well sometimes.

Leaving the suburban ghetto, I reached our team's safehouse. Why the boss chose a house in the middle of a residential area during a zombie apocalypse?

"Because it can hold all my guns," answered the boss when I relayed my observations to him. My assumption was that he couldn't find a way to carry all the guns. The other two survivors, Allister and Edna, sat in the living room quietly awaiting orders that they probably won't listen to.

Edna "Eddy" Courz, 18, is our local scene girl. She hates happy things and could care less if we bite the dust. To her, the zombie infestation was the fault of "the pigs" of the U.S. government. I actually have no clue what she likes. She doesn't even pinch off to death, which I figured she was into. Her item of importance is her MP3 player with a ridiculously long battery life.

Allister "Gator" Smith, 31, is our local nudist. Willing to walk out with full male frontal, Allister is our man on being unconfortable in every situation possible. I swear, it never cools down even in the cold. Allister has a Masters in Philosophy and Sociology, two degrees that don't help in our situation. His family lived in Europe and he left them to visit an American Nudist Counsolate, who was evidantly a zombie when he arrived. He sometimes wears boots, which do not help the image.

The boss is best saved for last here. He calls himself "Argon", age unknown though lies around 13-ish, our gas-masked tactical commander. He loves guns and military, famed for being the son of some military commander. Never gave a name though. He collects all the weapons that we carry and find. We complain sometimes but his persistance on being better than everyone sends us off. So far he has two sawn off shotguns, a hunting rifle, and a bag of goodies we grabbed from a gun store. He never asked for ammo so I never got any extra.

"So there are no more zombies, private?" asked Argon.

"Well I didn't get every zombie -"

"Thank you for the sitrep, private. You are dismissed." Completely ignoring me, the boss faced the other two. He held up my hand-drawn map and spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, circled here are variable supply sanctions. However our most obvious target is the munitions depot on the corner of 2nd and Wilson."

The three of us made a loud sigh.

"We should focus on getting water," suggested Allister, standing up from the couch to reveal himself. Eddy and I made a face at Allister's exposure. "The water plant is probably not operating so maybe we should grab some bottles first."

"Who is trying to speak out of turn?" asked Argon. "Ideally, zombies will be in the immediate area. What can eliminate them, Private Gator, if not for guns? Surely, water can magically destroy this infestation. This isn't fucking Disney, private."

"You would know, kid."

"Who said that? Was that you Garrick?!"

Can't tell a girl's voice? It's always me. Well I did my job so screw this, I'm going to sleep.