This my friends, is hell.
We didn't know much about this new 'Flu', but it damn sure knew much about us. Such as how to make a normal sane human being, like you or me a fucking blood thirsty monster. I digress, but sadly that's what the end of everything you ever knew will do to a guy. Here's what I, myself know 1.) They're faster than the Tasmanian devil on crank, 2.) They don't do anything but kill, 3.) They're thankfully stupid as a fucking goldfish, with about an identical memory. They can be killed just like anything else, just shoot 'em in the head so as to not waste a lot of ammunition. If you want to survive in this new fucked up world you're gonna have to leave all reservations at the door, there's a metric fuck ton to get used to. Rare showering, no music, fresh food, clean water, dirty clothes you have to wear over and over, death everywhere, no family, no friends, no trust, and fucking zombies that want nothing more than to tear your fucking throat out. It's a new world, a new start, and only the tough will survive. Just remember...more people means more help, but it doesn't mean they trust you or that you should trust them.
Goddamn it's late, guess this journal will have to wait.
A man in the fading light of a candle, closes a small composition notebook and puts a pencil on top of it. He stretches to his full height of just over six feet and lets out a long, low yawn.
"Goddammit I hate fucking doing this shit when I'm probably the only one left on this fucking rock covered in water, dirt, mud and goddamn motherfucking zombies." The man lets out a soft chuckle. If Ma could hear me now, she'd probably just laugh and shake her head. Thinking, that's my baby more foulmouthed than a drunken pirate who stubbed his toe. Goddamn it, I miss her so much she better be safe as a fucking baby in a fucking womb or I'll kill every last one of those military motherfuckers with my bare hands. Chuckling to himself the man stands up and walks over to a small bed covered in blankets. He lifts the uppermost blanket up and settles in for the night. Maybe I'll go out tomorrow, get some target practice. The man smiles to himself and falls into a deep sleep.
It's morning, a beautiful one at that, on a beautiful day. The man wakes up and stretches before starting to workout, push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks, lifting the bed as a free weight. He moves back toward the desk and grabs a black duffel bag two feet long, one wide and deep. He grabs clothes from it black boxers, black socks, black muscle shirt, faded blue carpenter jeans, white long sleeved thermal knit Henley shirt, a grey and black plaid flannel long sleeved shirt, and an olive drab green M65 Field Jacket. He gets dressed in his under clothes first, then the Henley shirt, then jeans retrieving a brown leather belt and tucking in the Henley. Then putting on the flannel shirt, rolling up the sleeves and buttoning it up halfway, then he puts on his jacket and finally a pair of scuffed, worn out dirty black leather steel toed work boots.
The man looks in a mirror on the wall to his right, " Why hello there Seamus, looking like ground up shit as usual I see." He smiles at the mirror then looks at his worn face. Long curly black hair, green eyes in a perpetual glare, stubble on his cheeks and chin, pale skin with freckles. He looks over himself, Six foot One inch, 260 pounds, pale as a drowned baby. Just a sign of the apocalypse, but goddamn I'm good looking. "Isn't narcissism a sign of loneliness, just like talking to yourself? Fuck it, at least I have a reason unlike those fucks before the world ended", He smirks and winks at the mirror one last time before waking away.
Seamus then walks into another room, in the old times it may have been a closet but now houses an armory. Looking at the walls he thinks to himself, 4 M16's, 2 M4's, 8 Remington 870's, 3 Mossberg 500's, 2 Mossberg 590's, 1 Winchester 1300, 2 Remington 1100's, 5 Kalashnikov's, 1 Uzi, 1 MAC-10, an Enfield L-85 assault rifle 5.56, 3 Remington 700's, 1 M14, 2 Ruger Mini-14's, 1 Ithaca 37, 2 sawed off double barrel shotguns, 12 MP5A3's, 2 M1911 Colt's, 2 Para-Ordnance P-14's, 2 Glock 21's, 2 Mk. 23 Mod 0's with suppressors, 1 Smith and Wesson Model 500, 1 S&W Model 29 .44 Magnum, 3 Desert eagles .357 Magnum, .44 Magnum, .50 Action Express, 3 LAR Grizzly's .45 Winchester Magnum, .44 Magnum, and .50 Action Express. A USMC KA-BAR CQC knife, 2 fire axes, a chainsaw, 3 Louisville Slugger's, a sledgehammer, a pickaxe, hedge clippers, frying pans, machetes, 2x4's, and an electric guitar. Dynamite, hand grenades, pipe bombs, Molotov cocktails, propane tanks with road flares duct taped to them, gasoline cans, and fireworks. Flares on the walls, 500 foot of rope, chains, oil, tools, axle grease, turtle wax, cleaning supplies, sulfuric acid, misc. chemicals to mix, copper wires, nails, screws, bolts, padlocks, and needles and thread.
After outfitting himself with an M16, Uzi, M14, a sawed off double barrel shotgun, an LAR Grizzly .45 Win Mag, the KA-BAR knife, a fire ax, a pocketful of flares, 6 pipe bombs, 4 Molotov cocktails, and the rope, he set out for the city in search for targets. About 2 hours walking he came across a barricaded Burger King, and scaled the building with relative ease considering the supplies he brought with him. He shrugs of the guns and bags, two duffel's and one containing a folding camp chair. He unfolds the chair and proceeds to empty the bags. First ammo, rope, flares, explosives, and some food and water. Then from the second bag he produces a boom box, 30 Cd's, a small tent, the journal, batteries, about 50 pencils, and a small box. He sets up the munitions in piles with like ammo. Put the pipes and cocktails in a row standing up to his left next to a large box of matches he took out of his jacket. He sets up the tent and puts the food, water, journal, pencils, small box and the empty bags inside it. He loads up his rifle with an extended 30 round magazine, and racks the charging handle. He then loads up the M16 with a 30 round STANAG magazine and pulls the charging handle, chambering a round and setting the fire selector switch to Auto. He loads his Uzi sub machine gun with a standard 32 round magazine, cocks it and sets it beside the two rifles, and finally loads up his sidearm an LAR Grizzly Mark 1, chambered in .45 Winchester Magnum. This is his favorite firearm as it was the first one he ever bought and it saved his life on a number of occasions.
Seamus proceeds to shrug off his jacket, and put it in the tent. He picks up the boom box and Cd's, he walks over to the chair and sets them down. Sitting down he looks through the Cd's, Hm mm, Korn, Metallica, SlipKnot, Black Sabbath, Alice in Chains, Guns N' Roses, Staind, Foo Fighters, Chimaira, As I Lay Dying, Avenged Sevenfold, Hatebreed, Lamb of God, Disturbed, Killswitch Engage. Fuck YES! KSE, let's see Killswitch Engage, Alive or Just Breathing, End of Heartache, As Daylight Dies, Killswitch Engage? I gotta go with Alive or Just Breathing. He put the CD in place, turned the volume up to the maximum, and readied the M14 as Numbered Days started to play and the sound of a massive hoard resounded throughout the city. Seamus just couldn't help but smile to himself time for target practice, he thought with a smirk on his face.
Author's Note: Before I went to spell check this story was LEET you know 1337 yeah now it's 1339. Ah bugger it, it's 6:03 A.M. right now and I wrote this in about an hour and a half give or take so please don't be upset if it isn't as good as it could be. I'll be updating weekly as I like this story and character even though it only popped into my mind around 3:30 this morning. So sit back, relax and comment if you liked it, it you didn't just enjoy a coke and smile and shut the fuck up :D but really let me know what you liked or didn't like as it will help me improve the story later on.