It wasn’t until Nate came on the scene that I started to level out. As my journal continues, I’m still there with my usual hilarity (shut up, I AM hilarious) but there is a level of clear-headed calm that begins to seep in, as I take in just what a fucked up world we live in now.
In more ways than one, Nate has saved me. It wasn’t just his initial appearance rescuing me from the deprivations of that would-be rapist farmer, it’s the clarity and calm he’s brought to my mental wellbeing that’s had the greatest impact.
Huh. Most people go to church to find their saviour. Me? I just go and chat to the grumpy old marine in his rocking chair in the next room.
Love that guy.
Whew. That was an epic tale of action, suspense, and apocalyptic philosophy, but I’m glad it’s done. I think that was the last piece of notable Lockey history I needed to record. Having this injury - and thus having bugger all to do - has allowed me the time and space to get it down.
As of tomorrow, however, I am back on the roster. Nate and I are going to do our test run beyond the gate to see how the undead are reacting to me, and to set Operation Birthday into motion. Time’s ticking on that clock as the 27th gets ever closer.
I won’t lie, I’m a bit nervous after all the undead tomfoolery (I said I was bringing that word back) of recent weeks. But I’m excited at the same time. I hate sitting on my arse and tomorrow, my lovely Freya, Lockey versus the Apocalypse is back on.
Bring it.
OCTOBER 18th, 2010
THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS
I am pleased to announce that Nate and I are not dead.
Yesterday was my first journey beyond the gate since pulling Nate’s ass out the fire and wrecking my back muscle, and it felt awesome to be gearing up with him again. Equipment and weapons checking, Norah confirming we’d eaten and taken a pee before leaving, Maria ramming fistfuls of vitamin supplements in our mouths, and vehicle checks. Operation Birthday was officially underway.
So, a little bit of a reveal as to my plans. Downtown in that shopping centre - where I played chicken with a zombie horde after blowing up our Prius - there is a small party shop. Balloons, fancy dress costumes, party poppers, candles, banners, the whole nine yards. It was an easy way to get everything we needed in one hit, so we could spruce up the lodge with a party feel and add a little splash of vibrant colour to an otherwise dark and dreary existence.
The shopping centre is basically one long central pedestrian walkway, with shops, banks, cafes, restaurants, pubs, and so forth lining each side of it. We didn’t have to go anywhere near where that pant-shitting legion of undead were located across the main carriageway, as there is a service road that runs off behind the far side along a river, which meant we could pull the pickup behind the party shop and go in the back door. We’d be a long way from where the wall of undead were, as they were located about four fifths up the length of the town centre, and we’d be right down the bottom in the very first fifth. There was a good half a mile between us and them (if they were still there as we weren’t pushing our luck that far to go and check) and they’d have to navigate into the shopping centre through some alleyways from their location. Even then, they’d have to come all the way down the hill, then squeeze through a tiny alley wide enough for just two people to get round the back where we were. Exceedingly long description shortened… we were good, and the wall of the dead wasn’t an issue.
We took a long, circuitous route anyway. The service road is mostly used by delivery vehicles, and we eventually pulled up behind the little back door of the small independent shop. And it really was small. Once you go in, the left to right wall is twenty feet at most. You know the type of stores I mean, Freya; small cosy shops that would feel claustrophobic if you had more than six people in at any one time.
The back door was intact. Unsurprising really, as we didn’t expect anyone looting on the day the world died to be bothered with a small store that had balloons and fancy dress. Such things are not considered essential survival supplies, unless your plan is to add a little colour to the dead world by hunting zombies dressed as a giant gun-toting banana.
We fell into our rhythm and cleared the area first, making sure there were no shamblers sneaking up on us. They were not, and so while I stood sentry with my eyes facing out, Nate grabbed a halligan from the back of the pickup and used it to crack the door open. Thankfully, no hell stench came wafting from the store’s interior, but Nate did his whistle test anyway and waited. With no response, we switched to pistol and flashlight, then entered the store. I am happy to report that it was free of any undead incursion.
This was my show, so once we’d cleared the building, Nate dropped out of the door again to pull security while I went party shopping. I kept nipping out to throw stuff in the rear of the pickup and Nate didn’t really take any notice of the shit I was piling in there. He’s too professional, which is what I was counting on. I wanted to keep my
