Hello again, my evenly spaced friend. Another week has gone by, and yet I strain to remember the fine details of it. But in an attempt to stall your boredom, I will tell you of my most recent venture for supplies.
Yesterday I found myself blocked from a large section of subdivisions by a bridge practically overflowing with cheap plywood barricades and at least a handful of survivors hidden inside. My recent exploits have somewhat desensitized me to murder, but I refuse to kill a man before seeing his intentions. By the same token though, I've no underlying guilt for stealing from others to survive.
I stepped over the bridge railing and began shimmying along the edge to bypass the barricade. After hopping back on to solid ground, I came face to face with a man wearing metal-laced football padding. It would've been near intimidating if it didn't look like he stole it from an elementary school locker. One size does not fit all, buddy.
At first he simply looked at me, dull, listless eyes devoid of any thought or emotion. Then he raised a pipe and tried to scream. I sprung forward, tackling him to the ground and stopping his alarm. After a brief struggle, I pulled out my knife and rammed it through his throat. I picked up the pipe and crept slowly into a hastily constructed shanty nearby.
Just as suddenly as the first man appeared, a second man slammed into me in a hurry to rush outside. With both of us on the ground, and myself the only one aware of what was happening, I quickly rolled him off of me and hammered the straight end of the pipe through his eye socket. Sweet guys here. I drug him back into the shanty and did a quick search.
There was little to see here. A cheaply made wooden desk with a broken lock only held a long dead cellphone and some sentimental pictures in a sloppy stack. The rest of the room was mostly empty except for a makeshift bed made from old newspapers and a curtain for a blanket, so I stepped back outside.
A large woman and a rather sickly looking male were standing there, ready to fight. With no element of surprise, and the only escape route was over the bridge into the dried up river, I knew what I had to do.
Neither were armed with anything other than a hateful look as they barreled towards me. As the man reached me, I dropped backwards in a roll, taking him with me, and slid the .32 from the back of my pants. When we stopped, I fed him the barrel of the snub nose and snapped the trigger off once before turning my attention to the woman. She'd freed the pipe from the skull of the man in the shack, and was now berzerker charging me with a rage that would put the Hulk to shame.
I lifted the gun deftly and leveled it for her chest. She slowed a little just before I jerked back on the trigger twice, but neither time did anything happen. She smiled when she realized there weren't any bullets in it and laughed when she tackled me to the ground. I can't begin to tell you how sick I am of being sat on.
With no reachable weapons and no real muscle to speak of, she had the advantage now. She raised the pipe high and I froze when it began arcing down with crimson hatred as it's driving force. While I just so happened to angle my head from it's raging path, she hardly missed. With a dull thud, it nearly shattered my collar bone, and through the glaring pain, I still managed to grab her wrist.
A quick twist was all it took to snap a bone or two, and only a brief moment later, I had my knife back in my hand. Sliding out from under her, I flipped around behind and grabbed her by the hair. Some sawing was necessary since this damn thing hasn't been sharpened, but her throat opened up after a moment and I left her gurgling on the ground to find some supplies.
All in all, the pain it took to get through it was a massive waste. 4 cans of soup and a nearly broken machete were inside, but tomorrow I'll get to the good stuff. With well over 100 middle class, cookie-cutter houses beyond the blockade, I could only imagine what I could find.
Get some rest, I want you to come with me tomorrow.