650 DAYS GONE
A lot has happened these past couple of weeks. We lost some people, but I’m still here. The question I have been asking myself lately is, do I want to be here? Maybe, I’ve been in this shit too long now. Let’s face it, I could care less about this group of assholes in this camp. They only help me survive and that’s all I need. Sure, I’ve met some decent people along the way, but no one I would jump in front of a bullet for. The only thing I cared about was lost some time ago. I thought if I kept going I could honor her in some way, but that was just a fantasy. Honestly, I should have blown out my brains that day and saved myself from all this.
Enough of my sob story.
We had to be proactive today. There is this group of riders that we call the Raider Patrol. They continue to ride in our area looking for god knows what. They think they’re like the damn police of the apocalypse I guess. Anyway, one of the guys came up with an idea to cut them off because not only are they sending Freakers toward us with their loud motorcycles, but they could have some supplies on them that we need. We’ve done things like this before when we become desperate and today was one of those days. The Raiders have been taking the same route each day for the past few days. Only one rider would travel the road during the day, so we sent three of us out to make sure the job gets done. A couple of days ago, Big Ed came across a junky sniper rifle found at an abandoned camp. Who knows what happened to those people. He cleaned it up the best he could and ensured us it was functional for our plan today. Long story short, it was.
Big Ed decided to climb up a tree to get a better vantage point he said. A little unorthodox I thought, but hey the plan worked. Jim hid in a bush just off the road a little ways not too far from the tree Big Ed was in. I ducked behind an abandoned car on the road. The trap was set and behold, that idiot rider came right into our trap. Big Ed took one shot with his sniper rifle and threw the rider right off his bike. Jim and I jumped out of our hiding spots and dashed toward him. I was carrying a wooden baseball bat and Jim had a hatchet. The rider was a little dazed from being shot in the shoulder, but he got up and fumbled for his weapon attached to his hip. I met him first and took a nice swing to his chest before he could pull his gun up. He bent over from what I assume took the wind out of him. Then I swung at him again, this time hitting him square in the back sending him to the ground. Jim rushed right up behind me and stuck the hatchet right in his spine. He ripped the hatchet out of his back and then struck him again and again until I had to pull him off. I’ve seen this too many times when a man loses control of his feelings and unleashes all his anger on a helpless corpse. It’s disgusting.
I understand the situation of these ambushes we conduct. It’s the survival of the fittest. I just wish so many people didn’t have to die. Freakers are another thing, we kill them because we must. People can be talked to, negotiated with, maybe even helped sometimes. As much as that Raider was annoying me with his motorcycle, there should always be a better way in getting the things we need to survive. I know I’m not myself anymore, but each time I see another man or woman die I lose the good memories. The smile from my daughter’s face, the smell of fresh baked cookies coming from the oven and the holidays we would share with friends and family. All that vanishes with each kill and now I see their eyes. The eyes of the people we have had to kill to survive. The puddles and puddles of blood. All that for what, a little extra meat or some bandages to last us a couple more days. That’s what we got today. That’s all we got.