What. The. Fuck.

I came home from my toga party into a total shit storm. First of all, I got back right when everyone should have been getting off work, at the closest thing we have to rush hour. Not a car on the road. What the hell? I flipped on the news when I got home (I never used to watch the news this much) and all it said was “stay in your homes” over and over again as they went over how widespread the biting shit had become, apparently literally overnight while I was in Duluth (where my friends said they were experiencing a similar problem).

But for the most part, everything seemed fairly normal. No more arrests or hospitalizations than the normal amounts caused by immigrant stabbings. At least not noticeably. Then I get back to this ghost town. Which is kind of a misnomer because everyone’s just hiding in their houses. Right? Like during the Black Plague when everyone was ordered to stay inside. And I didn’t see any carts full of bodies go by down the street either. Not at that point, anyway.

So, as the news instructed, I hung out inside. That’s not to say that I’m one to obey in most situations, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the only person outside. And I would have been. So I went online. At first it was the usual, check out my webcomics, check out my video game news, Youtube. Same shit, different day. Then I drifted over to Facebook and what are my Bemidji friends posting? “Get out of town.” “As fast as you can while you still can.” “Get away from civilization.” “North to the woods.” “West to the plains.” “Run.

What. The. Fuck. I peeked out my front window. It was dark but I could see what was going on with the help of the light on the garage across the street. A lady was trying to get in her car when another person lunged out of her hedges and took her down. I snatched my cell off my desk and punched in 9-1-1. All I got was a recording that went something like “All dispatchers are currently unavailable. Please hold while-” at which point I hung up because holy shit. This was at about midnight but here’s where it gets really fucked up.

When I pulled it to town at 5, I had to drive past the graveyard again. I didn’t really pay attention at the time because I was wondering where all the traffic was, but I’m pretty sure all the new graves looked disturbed. Or I don’t know, messed with. Like someone had exhumed the bodies, but not enough dirt had been displaced to make it look like the whole coffin had been pulled up. Which sounds stupid like the crap the recycling guy told me, but now I know it’s not stupid and the stuff he told me wasn’t crap.

After not getting a hold of the cops, I heard one of my windows shatter near the back of my house. Just for kicks, I tried 911 again, but there was nothing. I’d have to handle it myself. I sprinted to my bedroom and snatched my Five-seveN out of my nightstand like I had just done on Tuesday. And today, like on Tuesday, I shot a guy.

YEAH, I KILLED A GUY. He attacked me at my own house. I didn’t need the cops to either not be able to find him or at best, give him a fine for assault. The guy knew where I live. I don’t need that shit forever. And after today, the cops have proven to me that they are no help. Not to me at least.

So I’m raiding the back end of my own god damn house and I find the busted window in my spare room. I move toward the door I didn’t come through and there’s the same fucking hobo I killed on Tuesday. I put a round in his chest. Double tap. The good ole three from Tuesday. My whole clip. The shots slowed him down, but he didn’t even flinch. And he sure as hell didn’t go down like home invaders are supposed to when you shoot them. But now I had a problem. I was out of bullets and this jerky, moaning, dirt-covered fuck was staggering up in my grill.

I Sparta kicked him back through the doorway and speed-scanned the spare room for something, anything I could use to save my bacon. I have a lot of crap in my spare room but nothing looked like- there! Baseball bat.

This was not going to be fun.

I grabbed the Louisville Slugger from the corner as the should-be-dead hobo struggled to his feet. I swung the bat horizontally, trying to match up the sweet spot of the bat with the sweet spot of his head. The bat sunk into his skull with a sickening crunch, splattering the wall with gore, grey matter, and chunks of bone. He dropped (finally, dammit), but was twitching. I hesitated, then brought the bat down on his cranium one last time, causing drops of blood to fly up and hit me in the face.

So uh, then it was wash my face first or get rid of the body first? I decided on the body. I meant to drag out to my garage, but once I got to my driveway, in the light from a street lamp, I saw a silhouette slowly making its way down the alley toward me. I dropped the body right then there because the cops were too busy to even bother with me, at least for now, and also because fuck that. Fuck that.

Then I washed my face and tried to wash my floor. As well as stay quiet as possible. Periodically I peeked out the windows and watched the occasional person stumble by like a trickle of drunks coming out of the Toasty Beaver at 2 in the morning. I put my dog in the basement with a big bowl of food and a soft bed. He’s been quiet. He’s a good dog.

Now I just need to figure out if I should stay put (like the news said) or get the hell out of Dodge (like the Facebook said), neither group being one I normally trust for advice. Does anyone know what the fuck is going on?


2 responses to “What. The. Fuck.

  1. Pingback: No post, been busy. | Weblog at Gunpoint

  2. Pingback: Studio Tours | In An Ocean of Noise

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