The Minstrel Entries 1-2

**Phatnutsack** 5th September 2009, 3:51 pm

The Minstrel

Well, we have traveled for a while on foot. So far there are 3 of us. I Greg, I have brown hair and I'm cocasian, tall, skinny and I eat alot. But kind of hard for me to eat when there's hardly any food. Then there's Roderick. Half black, half Mexican. Black typical hair color, extremely dark, and he's a pretty ok size guy. Then the 3rd, a man with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and he says he's Irish and German. He's pretty tall, about 6 foot 1 or 2, and slim and very athletic. He wont give out his name, maybe he fears something about us, or just doesn't trust us enough yet. But his nick name he said is Knoxville. That's us so far, and nothing really is going on. I'm just sitting here, in a cargo crate we found suitable to stay in. With a single flashlight held in my mouth as I write our journy. I guess you can say I'm the sort of minstrel of these guy's adventures. I have never been much of a fighting person, hell never even been in a fight. With zombies outside, I fear they'll soon catch our scent and bombard us. But let me tell you how we basically got here.

Well this basically happened in the middle of June. Some reports about sick animals at zoo's. I thought it was just a flue, but then that one night, that one night I felt like I had fucked up on everything. It was late one night and a buddy of myne, Abel, were hanging out with I guess you can say a bad crowd. Well we had uhh, well we smoked weed. And it seemed so weird after that. It felt as if this was not supposed to happen in my whole life line. But it wasn't odd being "high". It was just relaxation, enjoyment of those around you, hunger of course. I'm giggling as I remember some of those memories. "Shh, but not too loud," I say to myself, "control yourself, they'll hear." And all those rumors about it changing a man and killing someone is all lies. Even though there was only about 6 hours since I smoked that final joint, there was no signs of me being stupid, insane, or just plain lazy. But moving on.

We're in some cargo crate like the ones they load up on ships. And it's pouring outside. With no hoodie jackets or umbrellas, or even a damn car, we were forced to camp here for tonight. So there's a lil pit we had made with some rocks we had found outside, leaning against the crate, and used them to create a safe pit to cook. Now we have some beans, potatoes and whatever we wanted to eat in the pot. The fire is still blazing. As I look into it, and for some reason fires seem to mezmorize you, I though about my past life.

Who'd think we'd be here right now. Struggling to survive, as when we were just kids, we're enjoying the youth. The teachers calling our names for answers or saying, "Don't stick your finger in there!", but now our names are being called for warnings. "Look out." or, "Behind you!" they say. As kids we would think we would live to be like our grandparents. Having experience with life, knowledge about random things. But no, God didn't let us have their life style. He had just thrown a big, "FUCK YOU." stick at us. Bruising us on our arm, and letting it stay there for a while, thinking it's ok. Until you realize it became infected and turned into a huge nasty growth some how. And now they're doing surgery on you. That same feeling of being able to live a life like that as I grew up, seemed impossible to acquire. Like if they stopped at one generation. As if it all stopped as the last baby of a 16 year old girl, came into this hell. Now there's a chance that baby didn't even get to go home with the young girl, and her caring parents, even though they did something very wrong.

Now I shake my head, pulling myself away from the fire's hypnotism. Bed time. I need to conserve the batteries of the flashlight. And it's not as simple as just walking into an abanded store and reaching up on the shelf and swiping them. He have to now use what we got. And if there is no batteries available, we move on to another store. But now, I need to rest. Hopefull by the time I wake, they wont be waiting by the door like an angry mob.

Entry 2

Well I was right. They did wait for us. Now we have to fight our way out. It ain't gonna be easy though. We have 3 sides to cover, there's 3 of us. But there could be one on top of the crate or more, just ready to ambush us. Well anyway, we can't just stay here and let the numbers grow. So Knoxville was the first one out, then Roderick, now me. I had two Desert Eagles, badass aren't I. Rod, I'll call him Rod for short, has a R700 sniper rifle. And Knoxville has got two weapons, an MP5 and Colt .45. He insisted on carrying two since he was capable of carrying them. We rushed out as soon as Knoxville did. With a D'Eagle in one hand, and a D'Eagle in the other, I felt unstoppable. Knoxville had his MP5 in the left hand, and the Colt in the other. And as we shot our way out, back to back, Rod was shooting madly. He was blowing their brains out. With one bullet he shot down two. My job was to stun them. Knoxville's job was to damage 'em.

Well we had ran for our life as we shot back. There was no time to waste. They were bloodthirsty now. We had quickly climbed a fire escape we had found in an alley way. Some crippled zombies climbing out of the trash cans, but nothing really bad. Then we had heard a giant screech. And the next thing I know, I'm on the ground, taking impact from a woman zombie. I don't know why they're the ones who could climb and leap. But I had shot at it, missing a bunch of times, as she tried to bite me. I quickly grabbed her jaw like a dog, and snapped it sideways. With one end looking like a petri dish, and the upper jaw looking like the mouth of a cave, I smiled. Why did I? Is it normal to be pleased with this kind of violence? Or it could be that this was the only sort of entertainment I had for a while. What a rush. And during this whole time, I wondered where the rest of my group was.

Then I heard gunshots. Finally. I quickly climbed the ladder as they seemed to chant my name. As I began climbing the 1st set of stairs, I took note of my trophy kill. She was so pale. Her hair was a mess, tangled and wildly set. The massive amount of blood on her messed up jaw and shirt told me that she was a great killer. Then there was another one of those things. She was grey though. Strange, why not pale like the other.

I finally reached the roof to join my companions. As they helped me up, one of the girl leaped up some how 30 feet high, and began to tug on my legs. Now I was in a motion where my force of gravity relied on my bubbies, and the zombie. Then I felt some movement at my legs, then my ankle. "Let go Knoxville!" And without hesitating he did. My left hand was free, and I turned my head and gun, and shot her in the face. The kill seemed to be in slow-motion. As the blood came out like a fountain, and as her head jolted back, she had fallen about 5 stories down to her death. I took note of that kill as well. Now gravity came back to me, and my knees hit the side of the building and feet landing on the fire escape. "Arrrgh!" I yelled out. The worst spot to get hit at this point were the knees.

I was helped up, and now I'm limping. Not a relativly good sign. But now we make our way across the roofs, jumping forward or down like spider man. Roof jumping that's the word. As we examined the area, wondering where's the best place to exit, we saw some pots for vegetables and a small cheaply built green house. We saw a motionless shadow, as only the hands moved. Then full body movement began, and out the man came. "HEY! Over here!" We all waved as his eyes met us. Then he brought out some binoculers from a drawer of a desk that was used to grow the plants. He cheered in joy, knowing he wasn't the only one. Now there was only one problem. He was across the street.

Since There isn't enough space and I'm going to keep on writing, I'm gonna post what I have so far.