Day 12 (Will)

I pick up the empty pistol, and slide in a new clip. I sit there, my pistol ready to fire at any ghouls that come our way, however, I holster the pistol, and take out my crowbar. I hold it in two hands, there are ghouls blindly walking around the woods, my fellow survivors  sleeping next to me. The silhouettes of once living men still walking blindly.

I was bored as hell, and got up. Pertaining a tight grip on my crowbar I walked over to the five ghouls. I took it in one hand and smashed a ghoul over the head. He fell to the ground suffering from brain hemorrhaging. The other four turn to me I stab a ghoul through the eye.  I pulled out my crowbar and smash the last three ghouls over their malformed heads.

Tiredly I walked back to the camp. “We should keep moving while possible,” I tell the group of sleeping survivors. They all get up and collect their supplies.

The trip through the woods was slow and boring, everything was the same. We came to a point where the woods ended. There was nowhere to turn but the Interstate.

We walked along the Interstate, many cars stalled or abandoned on the road. It was practically dormant, I liked that. I pulled out my map of Texas. It says that from the Interstate that we’re on we have about twenty miles to go. I tell the group, there are groans among the crowd. Besides Austin, “We’re almost there, hopefully they haven’t left yet. How many more days would you guess we have to travel?”

“About two, maybe three,” I respond distantly, staring at the map. I fold it up and put it back into my bag. I replace for my copy of  The Zombie Survival Guide I open to the section about “On the Run”, it advises against this sort of travel, because there might be maura-

“Freeze!” a voice booms. “Give us all your supplies and you die quickly.”

“Oh, really now?” I ask the man with the 12 gauge shotgun.

“Y-Yeah . . .”

I rip the shotgun from his hands and hit him in the stomach with the butt of the gun. He slumped down on the ground holding his abdomen. I raised the shotgun over my head and struck him. He fell onto the ground, holding the back of his head.

“Let’s go before he gets back up,” says Austin. I pull the shotgun apart and throw it at the kid. He was foolish trying to take a group of five people all by himself.

The sun was about halfway into the sky, noon. We trudged along the Interstate. We passed a green sign scarred with bullet holes, in white paint it read: San Antonio 20.

Twenty more miles, and the sun is high in the sky, we would definitely be there in a few days.

We traveled for at least six more hours before we decided to stop for the day, I would judge that we had at least ten, or maybe less, miles to go. We took refuge in an old gas station. We were lucky there was no one in there. There was still plenty of food left, albeit not very healthy, still we got something in our systems. I decided to get some sleep for tomorrow.


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