I hit… well, it wasn’t exactly the jackpot, but more like if you got three cherries on those slots. Not particularly amazing, but a welcome and pleasant surprise. I used up all my ID cards on the bunker, but I found a lot of military rations and other items of particular value that I indiscriminately stuffed into my pockets and the motorbike. I took the northern road from the bunker, which led back to Gearhead. As I checked out my surroundings coming out of the forest, I noticed a strange lumpy yellow mountain through the drizzle. It cleared up an hour later, and that yellow mountain turned out to be a giant beehive! Where there are bees, there’s honey. Mmmm… me want honeycomb…
I’m going to hold off visiting the beehive until I can get ahold of some better military hardware. This little Glock has been fine and all, but I need something with a little more kick… a little more chest hair…
After dumping off my boon at the safehouse and checking the integrity of my fortifications, I set off again to the town to the east. I didn’t expect such a grand welcoming committee! I spent the first two hours on this new holiday slaying zombies across several buildings like clockwork. I was about to lose the main horde through a house when from the alley came the familiar explosions of landmines! I looked over in the direction of the explosion because, really, who wouldn’t, and I saw the victim of the mine; Bruce Banner! Not that an explosion to the face deterred the walking tank, but I have sort of lost faith in those things when I walked away from one almost unscathed… not that I’m underestimating my odds. They’re still mines, and they still hurt like hell. Even after stepping on two more and losing a sizable portion of his mass, he was still coming after me. I quickly put distance between us and tossed a molotov right in front of him. On fire, missing tens of pounds of muscle, and still coming. Even Rasputin would have given up by now! Fortunately, I was able to drop the bastard after several shots to the head from my Glock. Just to make sure he wouldn’t get back up, I chopped off his head, then his limbs, and then cut his body up into cubes. I left the hide I normally take from his corpse, on the off chance that it was still alive and would try to strangle me in my sleep after I made it into a jacket.
Sleeping outside of my safehouse took me back to when I was an unskilled shlub running away constantly from ol’ Zed. Now I could take on the horde in open combat, wielding my steel spear like I’m King Leonidas. Months of survival have made me into a hardened warrior… not that I want to be. I would like to get back to my boring ass job doing… what was I doing?
I found myself awake this morning, sitting up in bed with my arm outstretched towards the now broken window at the foot of the random bed I crawled into. I checked outside. There was a dead zombie holding my spear in what little of his head remained, most of it now splattered across the floor. I reclaimed my weapon and wiped the blood off on his tattered clothing. A hardened warrior indeed…