Sometimes, I look back on that first day when many of our worst nightmares had come true. I look back and wonder that I survived at all considering how recklessly I was forced to act. Back then there was no saving grace, no way to fight back. There was only survival with raw skill, determination, and strength.
Taking this into account I should have died. Yet, divine providence will not be denied. I survived, I gained a lot.. but like all the survivors..lost so very much.
Excerpts from the diary of the man known as paladin.
Chapter 2: Gittir Done
He finished the last of his turnip as he traced another line on his map. It had taken the rest of the day and a good portion of the night before he had felt his home to be secure enough against the ravenous corpses of his fellow tax statistics. Hastily shoved furniture had given way to calculated planning and hastily crafted tools from scavenged resources.
No matter how powerful the undead outside were, nothing short of a moderately powerful explosive device would allow them entrance. He knew all along that leaving his haven at street level would be suicidal. The alternative would be equally as foolish, but for entirely different reasons.
Scott, finished up his drawings on the map, and took notes. His escape route was settled on, along with two alternate courses. He felt planning beyond that would lead to too much distraction and doubt would settle in.
Immediate concerns lead him towards the acquisition of needed survival materials, and equipment. Food would have to be gathered along the way, as well as better weapons and weapon crafting materials. Despite the well fortified walls of his nigh impregnable fortress, the lack of food and water were going to kill him in another day or two. His soda wet his tongue, but would only serve to make dehydration symptoms worse later. He'd already eaten the damned turnip and wasn't quite willing to attempt eating the baking soda.
A quick inventory of all his materials and supplies lead him to create a hasty pile of junk and crap in the middle of his upstairs hallway. Bits and pieces of things from his renfaire days, a half stocked sewing kit, a few spare batteries, a pair of flash lights, one regular the other the shake light variety that was annoying if useful, some fishing tackle and a reel. The rod was sadly going to be left behind. He could only carry so much on foot, and space along with weight would be a major issue. He had a small handful of useful things like nylon cord and tape, along with a box of the good kind of matches. His supplies though, were critically short.
He also made sure to pack his last hundred bucks. Money was probably going to be useless now, but at leas he'd have something to try and use as a fire starter or last ditch effort toilet paper.
Unlike the roleplaying games he loved so much, his brief stint in the military years ago had taught him the truth about lugging crap around in a backpack. While for short distances less than a mile, a lot less and forget going up hills or climbing stairs, he could carry almost his body weight as long as it was well balanced and distributed. He just didn't have the physical capacity to do more than that.
A far more manageable load of about fifty pounds was his target weight. He rough marched twelve miles with that much gear several times, and always in under three hours. That much weight and at that rate of speed would tear his feet up though. He would be taking a much slower, more methodical, approach to traverse the hellish landscape outside.
He planned to travel roughly twenty miles total on foot, with plan A. Scott would face a thirty seven mile route in plan B, and if all things fail a much shorter trip with plan C. Plan C though was far more desperate in that it would take him perilously close to the middle of the neighboring city. The longer safer routes were preferred. He had determined to take roughly four days doing it too.
While even before the army he had walked twice that far in a single day on a few occasions, without any extra weight, he was dead set against pushing it. There was no rush, no hurry. He had no where specific he had to be, only a journey he was forced to take. He wouldn't get too far with a twisted ankle, broken leg, or massive blisters.
His planning was done. His gear assembled. All that was left was the finishing touches on his hastily crafted body armor. His leather jacket had been reinforced with a few metal pieces he'd ripped out of various appliances, some cloth from cut up clothes, a well worn set of elbow pads, and some crudely woven copper wire braids from the cords of those same pieces of his former life, along with whatever wire he could dig out of his walls. It looked a bit ratty despite it's solid construction. It was bulkier, heavier, and overall more encumbering, but would hopefully last longer and protect better. He'd sown tiny metal parts into his gloves, but didn't finish them yet.
He'd worked on the beginnings of some kind of protective headgear, but had been finding difficulty getting good parts. His legs and feet also had similar issues, until he'd found his old steel toed work boots. A little heavy after some moderate reinforcement around the ankle and achilles tendon area, but necessary.
Eventually, he'd settle on cutting up a lot of his other jean pants. Then he mixed together some weaving and sowing skills to make a hideous looking but effective and snag free pair of pants. He cut away the knee area, and the back of said knee was left critically thin for maneuverabilty. In the place of fabric, he inserted a set of knee pads he had from long ago. He'd eventually added a set of suspenders and made sure they were well attached. He had fears that the bulky material might decide to slip around and he didn't want to be pulling his pants up every three steps while running for his life.
Scott had patched together a helmet out of random tid bits of cloth, some tin strips he'd pried off of the boards under his carpet, fitted in a way that they layered against randomly sewn together chunks of his old football and basketball. It would protect a little, but he still wished he could find something better. His face was covered by a bit of blue quilting he'd attached to his makeshift cap. Some of his fish hooks had been taped together and the hooks bent in a curved slightly to act as a latch. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
His final bit of crafting had to do with weaponry. Scott obviously added his survival knife to his belt since it would be immensely useful and had it's own belt loop. Beyond that he had been momentarily at a loss. His curtain rod had been useful, but it took a lot of force and desperate energy to take one of these things out with the thing. The wood was pine and the only reason it had served at all was the metal reinforcing the inside.
The length had been perfect downstairs, but on the run it might become cumbersome. He eventually solved his issue by using a hacksaw from his basement to cut the weapon into four section. Two of these he attached to a piece of chain, to make a weapon he'd used in martial arts classes when he was younger, but would probably not be all that useful against zombies. Other humans though.. well they'd feel the pain.
One of the pieces he simply attached to his backpack. It would be a spare handle for later. The final one he drilled a few holes in, cringing the entire time the drill was going due to the noise that was definitely going to attract the roving hordes that hadn't come by yet. He attached a promising piece of metal to it that was at one time a replacement blade for some kind of farming implement. It would have in happier times helped to till soil. He had 'found' it on the side of the road on the way home one day. Sure it was just across the ditch from a farmhouse and it's neighboring as yet untilled stretch of dirt, but no one had shot at him so he'd figured it was his due to salvage rights.. right? He'd liked it due to how it look like a curving piece of wavy axe blade.
All the while he made his armor and weapons, solidly constructed despite looking straight ghetto, he avoided the what ifs and whys. The little voices that should have been sniping at his sanity, driving him to madness. He'd kept busy to avoid worry and fear. Any who saw him might say "Now there's a guy that's determined to live! I tell ya what!" To be honest though, despite all the planning, all the crafting and desire to live. He did not do all these things for only survival. He did them so he wouldn't cower in a corner somewhere hugging his knees and wait to starve to death.
His armor might fall apart, his weapons break, or any number of things when he slipped out later tonight. Till then though he'd plan to survive. He'd plan to live. He could rely on no one else to help him. His family lived far away and despite how he loved them, he was in no condition to try and go to them yet.
He'd called a few times only to get no answer before the cell grid went down. Amazing how little time that took really. He'd thought much of it had been more automated than that.
All of his gear was fashioned assembled and weighed on the bathroom scale. He'd actually travel slightly lighter than he'd set out for. His armor and all his weapons and minimal supplies came up to just a little over forty-eight pounds. Evenly distributed over his body as best he could caused it to feel manageable.
Scott took one more thorough check of his defenses, and then blocked off his down-stairs access. He leaned at an angle away from his window blinds at the corners checking on the horde below. He was able to count at least thirty of them milling around out there, with some wandering slowly away and others wandering slowly up. He quirked his left eyebrow and took a breath before removing his gear and settling it into the corner for an attempt at rest. He had scheduled himself to leave a few hours before dawn. Right now it was six hours till check out time.
The young man made a half hearted smile after a brief thought of his mother crossed his mind. Her constant enjoyment of a particular comedian flittered through his mind while he gazed at the armor in the corner. "Gittir Done."