It's hard to explain the pride I felt as I watched my son anxiously copying me as I showed him how to load, cock and safe the 9mm pistols I had pulled from the cabinet for him. He didn't flinch, didn't complain, wasn't nervous; he simply watched and listened, making sure he understood the entirety of the process and then silently loading each pistol into it's shoulder holster, snapping them shut and turning to scan his surroundings. Such a trooper. Literally, a trooper.
We loaded as many shotgun and pistol rounds as we could find into our carts, grabbed gun cleaning kits, a couple of hydration backpacks and sundry other outdoor gear. Although there were only seven one-gallon tin cans of stove fuel, we grabbed them all - I knew we needed it, and we could always switch to gasoline once we ran out. We grabbed all the matches we could, and lighters. We grabbed sleeping bags, camouflage jackets, anything we could think of.
And we realized we were overloading our carts. We still needed food. And to leave enough room in the truck for us and the dogs to ride back.
"We'll have to make trips, Dad."
"I agree, but the more time we spend running back and forth between the store and the truck, the more we expose ourselves to attack."
"It's been a while since the last one, though, Dad."
"True. I wonder why."
The dogs remained silent, watching us, watching our surroundings. Their ears were pricked forward and their hackles never went down, but they remained silent. They were an excellent early warning system. I wondered, if we loosed them, whether they would take off or remain at our sides to protect us. I wasn't sure I wanted to try that experiment quite yet.
We began to make our way back to the truck, each struggling with our overloaded cart. Perhaps our impromptu shopping trip was a bit over the top, but who knew how long we'd have to stay in our mountain retreat?
Although we could hear the creatures still moving about the store, we were still unmolested. I wasn't sure why this bothered me, but it did. We'd killed several, we'd made a lot of noise and the zombies obviously wanted our flesh for food - why weren't they pursuing us?
At the doors, we had to stop and drag bodies out of the path of the carts. I grabbed Marie's remains and pulled them to the side. Looking up, I was surprised to see Bill doing his part, moving the man's body aside without being asked. I would have done it - but I was glad he was dealing so well with the situation.
We loaded our goods into the back of the truck, ammunition last, so we could get to it. We had plenty of room, but the look on Bill's face confirmed my thoughts: we needed a definite plan - a list of what else to get, so we could do it quickly and efficiently. Although, ideally, we'd take enough to fill the back of an 18-wheeler, we didn't have the time or the space. Weapons were one thing, but it was time to show a little more discernment in our preparations.
"Let's make a list, Son."
Bill simply nodded. We started discussing what we had and didn't have both at home and at the cabin. We knew we'd need fresh items, but those wouldn't last forever, so we thought in terms of storable items. We also thought of things like extra clothing we might need - and then though about saving that for the sake of carrying more immediately needed, survival related items.
And then we cut the list in half, because we still had to have enough room to load the dogs back into the truck and head for home.
This was becoming more complicated than we had thought.
And we had to go back in to the zombie infested store ...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
H1Z1 Chapter 12
I snapped the last bullet into the magazine, shoved it into the pistol and chambered the first round just as the source of noise rounded a rack of sleeping bags to my right. He was dressed in hiking shorts and a tech-shirt. Obviously a customer who had stopped before a morning trek. And obviously heavily infected.
"Bill, hold the dogs," I warned, raising the pistol. The sound of the gun drowned out any other noise, even the low growl of the dogs. My pistol shooting skills were a bit out of date. Two rounds hit the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back and down as I, almost on auto pilot, kept pulling the trigger on the big .45. Boom! Boom! Boom. click. Uh-oh.
The zombie was dragging itself toward me with its right arm, a weird high keening noise coming from its throat. I could see shattered bones poking out the back of its shirt, the result of the two rounds that had actually hit. Slamming the pistol down onto the counter, I reached for my shotgun.
BOOM!
Bill beat me to it. I hadn't even noticed him rounding the corner from the shelves, but he had, and had immediately raised his shotgun and took action, blasting an almost neat hole through the back of the creature's skull, spreading its face across the floor and splashing little bits of brain on my shoes.
I was frozen, that little voice of terror trying to make its way back into my conscience. Bill, face ashen, promptly leaned over and threw up. He then calmly reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a shell, replacing the round he'd fired from his shotgun.
I managed to eke a "thank you" out as he turned back into the aisle he'd been searching for the right sizes of shoulder holsters. He simply nodded. When had my little boy turned into a cowboy? I didn't have time to continue that line of thought, though, and returned to the task at hand, loading magazines.
There were more zombies in the store, and between my wasteful unloading of an entire magazine and Bill's single shotgun round, we'd practically given them a foghorn to guide them in. We needed to hurry.
I loaded the mags for each pistol without incident, then turned back to the cabinet, selecting a pair of 9mm's for my son. He could handle a 9mm a lot easier than the big .45s I had chosen, and the rounds would be just as effective if he aimed for the head.
Bill returned, pulling his head into his second shoulder holster. "Jump back here and find spare magazines, Son.
".45's for me, 9mm Ruger for you. And get rounds. All you can find."
I began loading Bill's magazines, listening for the creatures I knew were approaching, our fresh flesh their only aim. The dogs' hackles raised again, and their low growls confirmed my fears. We still had to pull supplies together. We still had to get everything out to the truck and loaded. We had too much to do, and the danger increased the longer we stayed in the store. The only good thing about the situation, if there could be a good thing, was that there was a finite number of the creatures in the store. Bad, however, was that by now, they were probably all coming right for us.
"Bill, hold the dogs," I warned, raising the pistol. The sound of the gun drowned out any other noise, even the low growl of the dogs. My pistol shooting skills were a bit out of date. Two rounds hit the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back and down as I, almost on auto pilot, kept pulling the trigger on the big .45. Boom! Boom! Boom. click. Uh-oh.
The zombie was dragging itself toward me with its right arm, a weird high keening noise coming from its throat. I could see shattered bones poking out the back of its shirt, the result of the two rounds that had actually hit. Slamming the pistol down onto the counter, I reached for my shotgun.
BOOM!
Bill beat me to it. I hadn't even noticed him rounding the corner from the shelves, but he had, and had immediately raised his shotgun and took action, blasting an almost neat hole through the back of the creature's skull, spreading its face across the floor and splashing little bits of brain on my shoes.
I was frozen, that little voice of terror trying to make its way back into my conscience. Bill, face ashen, promptly leaned over and threw up. He then calmly reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a shell, replacing the round he'd fired from his shotgun.
I managed to eke a "thank you" out as he turned back into the aisle he'd been searching for the right sizes of shoulder holsters. He simply nodded. When had my little boy turned into a cowboy? I didn't have time to continue that line of thought, though, and returned to the task at hand, loading magazines.
There were more zombies in the store, and between my wasteful unloading of an entire magazine and Bill's single shotgun round, we'd practically given them a foghorn to guide them in. We needed to hurry.
I loaded the mags for each pistol without incident, then turned back to the cabinet, selecting a pair of 9mm's for my son. He could handle a 9mm a lot easier than the big .45s I had chosen, and the rounds would be just as effective if he aimed for the head.
Bill returned, pulling his head into his second shoulder holster. "Jump back here and find spare magazines, Son.
".45's for me, 9mm Ruger for you. And get rounds. All you can find."
I began loading Bill's magazines, listening for the creatures I knew were approaching, our fresh flesh their only aim. The dogs' hackles raised again, and their low growls confirmed my fears. We still had to pull supplies together. We still had to get everything out to the truck and loaded. We had too much to do, and the danger increased the longer we stayed in the store. The only good thing about the situation, if there could be a good thing, was that there was a finite number of the creatures in the store. Bad, however, was that by now, they were probably all coming right for us.
Monday, September 07, 2009
H1Z1 Chapter 11
Leading the way, I gingerly stepped over the body lying in the automatic doorway and into the entrance. Bill was right behind, the dogs on either side of him, guardians with hackles raised, noses busily determining which direction the next threat may come from.
We angled over to the cart park and each grabbed one. "I should pull both the carts, Dad. That way your hands are free with the shotgun."
"Good thinking, Son, but what about the dogs?"
In reply, Bill unbuckled his heavy canvas belt and passed the loops of both leashes through it.
"OK, but if they sense something, another ... zombie, they'll try to go after it."
"I know, Dad, but I can push the cart in between me and the thing and then you can shoot it."
"All right. Straight to the outdoors section. Move beside or behind me, don't stop, and keep your head on a swivel."
"I never understood what that meant until today, Dad." Smart boy. The saying hearkened back to my Navy days - the skipper of the aircraft carrier I was stationed aboard would say it to the flight deck crew before every cycle. It meant "keep your eyes open, 360-degrees around you." Good advice.
We entered the inner doors to quiet. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be alive. Sarah let out a slight whimper which Steve replied to with a light growl.
"Knock it off, you two," I said, almost a reflex. They were excellent dogs, but they could be a little high strung. Probably a good trait in this circumstance.
Bill and I began moving toward the outdoors section. Not exactly marching, not exactly strolling. Both of us moved warily and scanned our surroundings, searching for sign of another creature. As we rounded the final tall display shelf into outdoors, we both sighed with relief. There was the gun counter, nothing and no one around it, and our goal directly in sight.
"OK. Shells. 12 and 20 Gauge. Load up your cart, Son."
Bill broke left to the shelf with the shotgun shells while I stepped through the gate behind the gun counter.
"Shit!"
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"Keys. They're on Marie's body."
"Oh, shit."
"Bill!"
"Sorry, Dad. What will we do?"
I raised the butt of my shotgun and rammed it into the lock on the drawer which held the trigger lock keys. It burst immediately. Some security.
"I guess that works, huh?" Bill asked, one eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of my own wry expression. "Keep working, Boy."
It was funny that he retained his budding sense of humor even in our current predicament. I quickly located the cabinet key and unlocked the shotgun rack, pulling out the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 20-gauge I had been eyeing for my son for months.
"Grab a shooting vest, Bill. And toss me a box of shells." He already had a vest his size on, and was filling the pockets. He looked up and threw me a box with a handful of shells left in it. I removed the trigger lock and began to load, racking one round into the chamber so I could push a fifth round into the gun. "Here, Son," I said, clicking on the safety and tossing the loaded gun across the aisle to the boy. He snagged it deftly from the air and turned to the rack of rifle straps. Smart, smart boy.
Just then, I realized that I was hearing something. A kind of dragging sound, and the moaning we'd heard earlier was back.
"Hurry. I want you to find shoulder holsters - you'll need a woman's small, I need an extra large. Automatic pistols - we'll need the extra bullets."
Bill nodded and turned to the next aisle, clicking the safety off of his gun.
I unlocked the counter-top pistol case and began pulling out handguns. .45 calibers for me - a pair of matched stainless steel Smith and Wessons. I grabbed them. "Left and right shoulder for both of us, Bill," I shouted as I pulled the trigger locks off of the pistols.
Pistol shells were behind the counter. Ejecting the magazines onto it, I turned and grabbed a box of .45 rounds, dumping it out on the glass top. The moaning was getting louder. And the dragging sound nearer. Hurriedly, I began jacking rounds into a magazine, looking under the counter for the guns' cases as I did so. Too much time. This was all taking too much time.
Both dogs began to growl.
Time was almost up.
We angled over to the cart park and each grabbed one. "I should pull both the carts, Dad. That way your hands are free with the shotgun."
"Good thinking, Son, but what about the dogs?"
In reply, Bill unbuckled his heavy canvas belt and passed the loops of both leashes through it.
"OK, but if they sense something, another ... zombie, they'll try to go after it."
"I know, Dad, but I can push the cart in between me and the thing and then you can shoot it."
"All right. Straight to the outdoors section. Move beside or behind me, don't stop, and keep your head on a swivel."
"I never understood what that meant until today, Dad." Smart boy. The saying hearkened back to my Navy days - the skipper of the aircraft carrier I was stationed aboard would say it to the flight deck crew before every cycle. It meant "keep your eyes open, 360-degrees around you." Good advice.
We entered the inner doors to quiet. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be alive. Sarah let out a slight whimper which Steve replied to with a light growl.
"Knock it off, you two," I said, almost a reflex. They were excellent dogs, but they could be a little high strung. Probably a good trait in this circumstance.
Bill and I began moving toward the outdoors section. Not exactly marching, not exactly strolling. Both of us moved warily and scanned our surroundings, searching for sign of another creature. As we rounded the final tall display shelf into outdoors, we both sighed with relief. There was the gun counter, nothing and no one around it, and our goal directly in sight.
"OK. Shells. 12 and 20 Gauge. Load up your cart, Son."
Bill broke left to the shelf with the shotgun shells while I stepped through the gate behind the gun counter.
"Shit!"
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"Keys. They're on Marie's body."
"Oh, shit."
"Bill!"
"Sorry, Dad. What will we do?"
I raised the butt of my shotgun and rammed it into the lock on the drawer which held the trigger lock keys. It burst immediately. Some security.
"I guess that works, huh?" Bill asked, one eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of my own wry expression. "Keep working, Boy."
It was funny that he retained his budding sense of humor even in our current predicament. I quickly located the cabinet key and unlocked the shotgun rack, pulling out the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 20-gauge I had been eyeing for my son for months.
"Grab a shooting vest, Bill. And toss me a box of shells." He already had a vest his size on, and was filling the pockets. He looked up and threw me a box with a handful of shells left in it. I removed the trigger lock and began to load, racking one round into the chamber so I could push a fifth round into the gun. "Here, Son," I said, clicking on the safety and tossing the loaded gun across the aisle to the boy. He snagged it deftly from the air and turned to the rack of rifle straps. Smart, smart boy.
Just then, I realized that I was hearing something. A kind of dragging sound, and the moaning we'd heard earlier was back.
"Hurry. I want you to find shoulder holsters - you'll need a woman's small, I need an extra large. Automatic pistols - we'll need the extra bullets."
Bill nodded and turned to the next aisle, clicking the safety off of his gun.
I unlocked the counter-top pistol case and began pulling out handguns. .45 calibers for me - a pair of matched stainless steel Smith and Wessons. I grabbed them. "Left and right shoulder for both of us, Bill," I shouted as I pulled the trigger locks off of the pistols.
Pistol shells were behind the counter. Ejecting the magazines onto it, I turned and grabbed a box of .45 rounds, dumping it out on the glass top. The moaning was getting louder. And the dragging sound nearer. Hurriedly, I began jacking rounds into a magazine, looking under the counter for the guns' cases as I did so. Too much time. This was all taking too much time.
Both dogs began to growl.
Time was almost up.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
*Author's Note*
Hey you zombiefiles! Sorry it took me almost TWO months to whip out H1Z1 chapter 10 - it's been a rough summer, to say the least.
In brief, I am suffering a debilitating back injury and it's been rough making my way through not only the military medical system, but the struggles of narcotic painkillers, muscle relaxers and depression iincluded in no longer being able to lift even my cat (and she's a little damned cat).
I am trying very hard to keep my positive (or at least pragmatic and probably a bit sarcastic) outlook and learn to deal with my newfound disability. Hopefully, I'll bbe able to get surgery and fix this so I can re-start my zombie survivalism training.
But, no matter what, I'll keep pluugging away at the H1Z1 saga 'cause, damn it, we need to be prepared when H1N1 mutates and people start re-animating in search of fresh human brains!
In brief, I am suffering a debilitating back injury and it's been rough making my way through not only the military medical system, but the struggles of narcotic painkillers, muscle relaxers and depression iincluded in no longer being able to lift even my cat (and she's a little damned cat).
I am trying very hard to keep my positive (or at least pragmatic and probably a bit sarcastic) outlook and learn to deal with my newfound disability. Hopefully, I'll bbe able to get surgery and fix this so I can re-start my zombie survivalism training.
But, no matter what, I'll keep pluugging away at the H1Z1 saga 'cause, damn it, we need to be prepared when H1N1 mutates and people start re-animating in search of fresh human brains!
H1Z1 Chapter 10
There are no words to fully describe the horror which was pulsing through my mind and charging through my body as the thing in front of me stopped it's grotesque motions almost at the same time as the resounding boom of the shotgun shell echoed off the wall of the building beside us.
I watched as, in slow motion, its skull disintegrated, blood and ichor spraying across the pavement and painting a macabre moire of pinkish death where a man's head once lay.
I wanted to vomit.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run, the raving voice in my head screeching that this wasn't possible, this wasn't real, I couldn't have just killed two people, there are more there are more there are more there are ...
"Dad," Bill whispered, the dogs looking calmly at me as though they knew that the immediate danger was over. "Dad, are you OK?"
I turned to look at him. He was calm. His young mind wasn't raving like a lunatic, screaming to get out of here, to run, to hide, to pretend it had never happened. His young mind, I realized, was flexible enough to acknowledge and understand the shift in reality the world around us had taken, and to take it in stride. His young mind saw that I had a good plan and that it was up to us to make sure the rest of our family survived the zombie pandemic. His young mind, and his clear, calming eyes brought me back, and I firmly shoved the madman in my head, kicking and screaming all the way, to the back of my consciousness.
"Son, you handled that well. I am very proud of you. Way to keep the dogs safe, too - good job, Son."
"Thanks, Dad. But, I ..."
I looked him over, searching his small frame. "What is it, Son?"
"I was scared, Dad."
"Well, so was I. There's nothing wrong with being afraid. It's what you do with that fear that makes a statement, Son. You did good."
"Thanks, Dad," he managed, still looking at the ground. "But can we grab some clean underwear and a clean pair of pants while we're in there? Please?"
It was then that I saw what was bothering him. In the terror of the moment, he'd wet himself. Yet he'd stood strong, even as his little body was betraying him. All thoughts of my own fear were gone and I smiled with both pride and compassion. "Of course we can, Son. I may need a new pair my own self."
He didn't believe me, but he met my eyes and slowly, my smile.
"I guess we'd better get to work, huh?" I asked, tousling his hair and reaching down to pat the dogs each on the head.
"Well, it's now or never, Dad."
I turned to the door, swallowing, as the fear tried to return to the forefront of my mind.
Not this time. It's time to just head in and kick some zombie ass, I thought, stepping over Marie's corpse.
I watched as, in slow motion, its skull disintegrated, blood and ichor spraying across the pavement and painting a macabre moire of pinkish death where a man's head once lay.
I wanted to vomit.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run, the raving voice in my head screeching that this wasn't possible, this wasn't real, I couldn't have just killed two people, there are more there are more there are more there are ...
"Dad," Bill whispered, the dogs looking calmly at me as though they knew that the immediate danger was over. "Dad, are you OK?"
I turned to look at him. He was calm. His young mind wasn't raving like a lunatic, screaming to get out of here, to run, to hide, to pretend it had never happened. His young mind, I realized, was flexible enough to acknowledge and understand the shift in reality the world around us had taken, and to take it in stride. His young mind saw that I had a good plan and that it was up to us to make sure the rest of our family survived the zombie pandemic. His young mind, and his clear, calming eyes brought me back, and I firmly shoved the madman in my head, kicking and screaming all the way, to the back of my consciousness.
"Son, you handled that well. I am very proud of you. Way to keep the dogs safe, too - good job, Son."
"Thanks, Dad. But, I ..."
I looked him over, searching his small frame. "What is it, Son?"
"I was scared, Dad."
"Well, so was I. There's nothing wrong with being afraid. It's what you do with that fear that makes a statement, Son. You did good."
"Thanks, Dad," he managed, still looking at the ground. "But can we grab some clean underwear and a clean pair of pants while we're in there? Please?"
It was then that I saw what was bothering him. In the terror of the moment, he'd wet himself. Yet he'd stood strong, even as his little body was betraying him. All thoughts of my own fear were gone and I smiled with both pride and compassion. "Of course we can, Son. I may need a new pair my own self."
He didn't believe me, but he met my eyes and slowly, my smile.
"I guess we'd better get to work, huh?" I asked, tousling his hair and reaching down to pat the dogs each on the head.
"Well, it's now or never, Dad."
I turned to the door, swallowing, as the fear tried to return to the forefront of my mind.
Not this time. It's time to just head in and kick some zombie ass, I thought, stepping over Marie's corpse.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
#H1Z1 - Chapter 9
Automatic doors. All this time I'd been outside of the store, talking with my Son, getting the dogs out of the truck, loading my shotgun, calling 911 - all this time, and it just now hit me that they were automatic doors. All the front entrance doors - four sets - to the Wad-Mart were automatic. A motion sensor at the top triggered them. You simply needed to move in front of it.
Or stagger.
"Dad! Behind you!" Bill shouted as the dogs surged forward, hackles bristling and showing fierce snarls I never imagined my two goofy mutts were even capable of.
I whipped around, raising the shotgun to my shoulder just in time to see the remains of Marie lurch through the automatic door and stumble toward me.
"Don't come any closer, lady!" I shouted. My hackles, if I had any, were raised as well, and my flesh seemed to want to be somewhere else, goose-bumps instantly covering every inch of me. The voice in the back of my head was screeching now, tearing through my resolve to the forefront of my mind and refusing to be controlled. "Get back lady! Get away from us!"
Her eyes were so bloodshot they almost appeared red. A long string of saliva hung from one corner of her twisted mouth and she was actually gnashing her teeth - making chewing motions as she reached toward me. Her skin was white. I could see the branch-like tracery of veins through her eerily translucent skin. She was obviously dead, yet somehow walking. My brain raged at that, terror ripping the silence, or so I thought, with gut-wrenching screams.
Somehow, she managed a kind of half-hiss, half-moan and took another shuttering step.
I pulled the trigger of my gun.
Nothing happened.
Standing there, aghast, shocked, terrified, my mind quickly racing toward the precipice of abject terror, I almost didn't hear Bill's admonishment. "Safety, Dad! Take off the safety!"
It was too late. Marie was right in front of me, inside the 30-inch reach of the barrel of my skeet gun. She reached out, hands like claws hungrily trying to catch my shooting vest.
Call it reflexes. Call is survival instinct. Call it dumb, blind luck, but I managed to stave off the terror trying to peel itself out of my brain and run gibbering down the street for home and react.
I did the only thing I could. I swung the stock of the gun down from my shoulder and whipped it up in a sharp blow to her chin, knocking her head back with every ounce of force I could muster in so short an amount of time.
Her head shot back - too far back - and the momentum of my blow sent her sprawling backwards through the still open door, landing hard on the concrete pad beyond with a sickening crunch. I saw a pool of blood forming under her skull as her body writhed slowly through a sickening kind of death throe.
Then, her remains, her re-animated remains, seemed to collapse. She, no, it (I had to start thinking of them as 'it') cease to move altogether.
I had done it. I had killed my first zombie. How in the HELL was I going to deal with that when this was all over?
Bill's shout brought me back from this brief reverie. Why was he shouting, anyway? And why was I so detached all of a sudden?
It felt as though the air were made of gelatin rather than gasses as I turned toward my son and the dogs he was barely restraining.
Standing in front of the dogs, inches from their snarling, snapping jaws, was the second one. The second zombie from inside of the store. The man. Reaching - clawing for my son.
I didn't have to think this time. My finger snapped the safety off. I raised the shotgun and shot from the hip, aiming for center mass. I was to the right side of this second catastrophe, and was standing fairly even with the creature that threatened my son. Bill was clear of any shot, but the dogs weren't. No matter. This thing was not going to get my Son, I thought as I pulled the trigger.
At such short range, the tightly choked gun punched a hole deep into the side of the man - of what was left of the man. The force of the blow knocked it sideways onto the ground and it was close enough to the muzzle of the shotgun that it's shirt caught fire.
It writhed for a moment there on the ground before, astonishingly, beginning to lever its self up onto its knees, never losing sight of its target, my Son and our two dogs. But I had bought Bill the time he needed and somehow, I felt a flush of pride through the still gibbering terror which ran rampant through my mind as he dug his heels into the pavement and yanked the pair of savagely snarling animals back from the creature before them.
My shotgun was a semi-automatic, so I didn't have to pump it to chamber another round - it was already cocked and loaded. I raised it to my shoulder this time, taking aim for the center of the creature's chest and pulling the trigger again. It was sickening to watch as the shot ripped through its chest. It was blown back onto the ground again, but still, it writhed. Again, I shot it. Still it moved, clawing at the ground and trying to right its self so that it could pursue the child. Finally, I aimed for its head, something telling me that that would stop the creature. I pulled the trigger.
Or stagger.
"Dad! Behind you!" Bill shouted as the dogs surged forward, hackles bristling and showing fierce snarls I never imagined my two goofy mutts were even capable of.
I whipped around, raising the shotgun to my shoulder just in time to see the remains of Marie lurch through the automatic door and stumble toward me.
"Don't come any closer, lady!" I shouted. My hackles, if I had any, were raised as well, and my flesh seemed to want to be somewhere else, goose-bumps instantly covering every inch of me. The voice in the back of my head was screeching now, tearing through my resolve to the forefront of my mind and refusing to be controlled. "Get back lady! Get away from us!"
Her eyes were so bloodshot they almost appeared red. A long string of saliva hung from one corner of her twisted mouth and she was actually gnashing her teeth - making chewing motions as she reached toward me. Her skin was white. I could see the branch-like tracery of veins through her eerily translucent skin. She was obviously dead, yet somehow walking. My brain raged at that, terror ripping the silence, or so I thought, with gut-wrenching screams.
Somehow, she managed a kind of half-hiss, half-moan and took another shuttering step.
I pulled the trigger of my gun.
Nothing happened.
Standing there, aghast, shocked, terrified, my mind quickly racing toward the precipice of abject terror, I almost didn't hear Bill's admonishment. "Safety, Dad! Take off the safety!"
It was too late. Marie was right in front of me, inside the 30-inch reach of the barrel of my skeet gun. She reached out, hands like claws hungrily trying to catch my shooting vest.
Call it reflexes. Call is survival instinct. Call it dumb, blind luck, but I managed to stave off the terror trying to peel itself out of my brain and run gibbering down the street for home and react.
I did the only thing I could. I swung the stock of the gun down from my shoulder and whipped it up in a sharp blow to her chin, knocking her head back with every ounce of force I could muster in so short an amount of time.
Her head shot back - too far back - and the momentum of my blow sent her sprawling backwards through the still open door, landing hard on the concrete pad beyond with a sickening crunch. I saw a pool of blood forming under her skull as her body writhed slowly through a sickening kind of death throe.
Then, her remains, her re-animated remains, seemed to collapse. She, no, it (I had to start thinking of them as 'it') cease to move altogether.
I had done it. I had killed my first zombie. How in the HELL was I going to deal with that when this was all over?
Bill's shout brought me back from this brief reverie. Why was he shouting, anyway? And why was I so detached all of a sudden?
It felt as though the air were made of gelatin rather than gasses as I turned toward my son and the dogs he was barely restraining.
Standing in front of the dogs, inches from their snarling, snapping jaws, was the second one. The second zombie from inside of the store. The man. Reaching - clawing for my son.
I didn't have to think this time. My finger snapped the safety off. I raised the shotgun and shot from the hip, aiming for center mass. I was to the right side of this second catastrophe, and was standing fairly even with the creature that threatened my son. Bill was clear of any shot, but the dogs weren't. No matter. This thing was not going to get my Son, I thought as I pulled the trigger.
At such short range, the tightly choked gun punched a hole deep into the side of the man - of what was left of the man. The force of the blow knocked it sideways onto the ground and it was close enough to the muzzle of the shotgun that it's shirt caught fire.
It writhed for a moment there on the ground before, astonishingly, beginning to lever its self up onto its knees, never losing sight of its target, my Son and our two dogs. But I had bought Bill the time he needed and somehow, I felt a flush of pride through the still gibbering terror which ran rampant through my mind as he dug his heels into the pavement and yanked the pair of savagely snarling animals back from the creature before them.
My shotgun was a semi-automatic, so I didn't have to pump it to chamber another round - it was already cocked and loaded. I raised it to my shoulder this time, taking aim for the center of the creature's chest and pulling the trigger again. It was sickening to watch as the shot ripped through its chest. It was blown back onto the ground again, but still, it writhed. Again, I shot it. Still it moved, clawing at the ground and trying to right its self so that it could pursue the child. Finally, I aimed for its head, something telling me that that would stop the creature. I pulled the trigger.
H1Z1 - Interlude 2
Current WHO phase of pandemic alert
Current phase of alert in the WHO global influenza preparedness plan
Pandemic preparedness
In the 2009 revision of the phase descriptions, WHO has retained the use of a six-phased approach for easy incorporation of new recommendations and approaches into existing national preparedness and response plans. The grouping and description of pandemic phases have been revised to make them easier to understand, more precise, and based upon observable phenomena. Phases 1–3 correlate with preparedness, including capacity development and response planning activities, while Phases 4–6 clearly signal the need for response and mitigation efforts. Furthermore, periods after the first pandemic wave are elaborated to facilitate post pandemic recovery activities.
The current WHO phase of pandemic alert is 5.
In nature, influenza viruses circulate continuously among animals, especially birds. Even though such viruses might theoretically develop into pandemic viruses, in Phase 1 no viruses circulating among animals have been reported to cause infections in humans.
In Phase 2 an animal influenza virus circulating among domesticated or wild animals is known to have caused infection in humans, and is therefore considered a potential pandemic threat.
In Phase 3, an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus has caused sporadic cases or small clusters of disease in people, but has not resulted in human-to-human transmission sufficient to sustain community-level outbreaks. Limited human-to-human transmission may occur under some circumstances, for example, when there is close contact between an infected person and an unprotected caregiver. However, limited transmission under such restricted circumstances does not indicate that the virus has gained the level of transmissibility among humans necessary to cause a pandemic.
Phase 4 is characterized by verified human-to-human transmission of an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus able to cause “community-level outbreaks.” The ability to cause sustained disease outbreaks in a community marks a significant upwards shift in the risk for a pandemic. Any country that suspects or has verified such an event should urgently consult with WHO so that the situation can be jointly assessed and a decision made by the affected country if implementation of a rapid pandemic containment operation is warranted. Phase 4 indicates a significant increase in risk of a pandemic but does not necessarily mean that a pandemic is a forgone conclusion.
Phase 5 is characterized by human-to-human spread of the virus into at least two countries in one WHO region. While most countries will not be affected at this stage, the declaration of Phase 5 is a strong signal that a pandemic is imminent and that the time to finalize the organization, communication, and implementation of the planned mitigation measures is short.
Phase 6, the pandemic phase, is characterized by community level outbreaks in at least one other country in a different WHO region in addition to the criteria defined in Phase 5. Designation of this phase will indicate that a global pandemic is under way.
During the post-peak period, pandemic disease levels in most countries with adequate surveillance will have dropped below peak observed levels. The post-peak period signifies that pandemic activity appears to be decreasing; however, it is uncertain if additional waves will occur and countries will need to be prepared for a second wave.
Previous pandemics have been characterized by waves of activity spread over months. Once the level of disease activity drops, a critical communications task will be to balance this information with the possibility of another wave. Pandemic waves can be separated by months and an immediate “at-ease” signal may be premature.
In the post-pandemic period, influenza disease activity will have returned to levels normally seen for seasonal influenza. It is expected that the pandemic virus will behave as a seasonal influenza A virus. At this stage, it is important to maintain surveillance and update pandemic preparedness and response plans accordingly. An intensive phase of recovery and evaluation may be required.
**Actual World Health Organization document found here.
Current phase of alert in the WHO global influenza preparedness plan
Pandemic preparedness
In the 2009 revision of the phase descriptions, WHO has retained the use of a six-phased approach for easy incorporation of new recommendations and approaches into existing national preparedness and response plans. The grouping and description of pandemic phases have been revised to make them easier to understand, more precise, and based upon observable phenomena. Phases 1–3 correlate with preparedness, including capacity development and response planning activities, while Phases 4–6 clearly signal the need for response and mitigation efforts. Furthermore, periods after the first pandemic wave are elaborated to facilitate post pandemic recovery activities.
The current WHO phase of pandemic alert is 5.
In nature, influenza viruses circulate continuously among animals, especially birds. Even though such viruses might theoretically develop into pandemic viruses, in Phase 1 no viruses circulating among animals have been reported to cause infections in humans.
In Phase 2 an animal influenza virus circulating among domesticated or wild animals is known to have caused infection in humans, and is therefore considered a potential pandemic threat.
In Phase 3, an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus has caused sporadic cases or small clusters of disease in people, but has not resulted in human-to-human transmission sufficient to sustain community-level outbreaks. Limited human-to-human transmission may occur under some circumstances, for example, when there is close contact between an infected person and an unprotected caregiver. However, limited transmission under such restricted circumstances does not indicate that the virus has gained the level of transmissibility among humans necessary to cause a pandemic.
Phase 4 is characterized by verified human-to-human transmission of an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus able to cause “community-level outbreaks.” The ability to cause sustained disease outbreaks in a community marks a significant upwards shift in the risk for a pandemic. Any country that suspects or has verified such an event should urgently consult with WHO so that the situation can be jointly assessed and a decision made by the affected country if implementation of a rapid pandemic containment operation is warranted. Phase 4 indicates a significant increase in risk of a pandemic but does not necessarily mean that a pandemic is a forgone conclusion.
Phase 5 is characterized by human-to-human spread of the virus into at least two countries in one WHO region. While most countries will not be affected at this stage, the declaration of Phase 5 is a strong signal that a pandemic is imminent and that the time to finalize the organization, communication, and implementation of the planned mitigation measures is short.
Phase 6, the pandemic phase, is characterized by community level outbreaks in at least one other country in a different WHO region in addition to the criteria defined in Phase 5. Designation of this phase will indicate that a global pandemic is under way.
During the post-peak period, pandemic disease levels in most countries with adequate surveillance will have dropped below peak observed levels. The post-peak period signifies that pandemic activity appears to be decreasing; however, it is uncertain if additional waves will occur and countries will need to be prepared for a second wave.
Previous pandemics have been characterized by waves of activity spread over months. Once the level of disease activity drops, a critical communications task will be to balance this information with the possibility of another wave. Pandemic waves can be separated by months and an immediate “at-ease” signal may be premature.
In the post-pandemic period, influenza disease activity will have returned to levels normally seen for seasonal influenza. It is expected that the pandemic virus will behave as a seasonal influenza A virus. At this stage, it is important to maintain surveillance and update pandemic preparedness and response plans accordingly. An intensive phase of recovery and evaluation may be required.
**Actual World Health Organization document found here.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
H1Z1- Chapter 8
I reached in to the pocket of my shooting vest and began shoving shells into my twelve gauge. Bill watched intently and nodded his approval when I chambered a round and replaced it with an extra shot in the tube.
"Should we wear earplugs, Dad?" he asked, ever mindful of the safety training we had taken together and which I reenforced with him regularly.
"I am not sure. I know we need to take care of our ears, but I think we also need to be able to hear if one of those people try to come toward us."
"That's true," was his reply. His young mind grasped the logic immediately.
"Now, here's what we need to remember - these people were infected with the flu. We don't want to breathe the same air they exhale and we don't want any contact with their bodily fluid."
"I understand, Dad, but what do I do if one of them gets too close to me?"
"Do your best to keep that from hapenning, Son. The dogs will help. But try to keep them from getting too close, too."
This was almost an impossible task - the two mutts together weighed more than 120 lbs, and they could each pull at least that individually. But they were obedient, to a degree, and they were definitely fiercely protective of their boy. I knew they would do their best to keep one of the ... creatures from touching their charge.
"Ok, lets go Son. We'll go in the doors, then you grab a cart and I'll grab a cart. We go straight to outdoors first, get the keys to the gun cabinet and get you a shotgun." Bills eyes got rounder and rounder as I spelled out my plan, but I could tell he was tracking. "Then we get shells. As many as are on the shelf. Twelve and twenty gauge only, got it?"
"Yes. Do you think maybe we should get more than one gun, Dad?"
"I like the way you think, Son. Once we're in there, I'll decide, but I think a pistol or two, and maybe a .300 Winchester Magnum would be a good idea. We're not going to have a lot of time, but we should probably arm ourselves for bear, huh?"
Bill solemnely nodded his agreement, eyes never leaving mine.
"Son, this is not going to be fun. Or easy. Just think about getting home to our family and getting them all to the cabin safely."
"I know, Dad, but its still scary."
My heart felt like it was coated in lead. A voice in the back of my head kept up a steady stream of niggling doubt. How could I lead my son back into a building which had to be completely infested with undead people? How could I risk exposing him and myself to something so horrible? How could I go back in there? Especially after I'd seen a woman die, then get back up and try to chase me? Was I insane? Was I stupid?
I mustered enough courage to shove the voice deeper into the back of my mind before it could wedge its constant doubt and fear into the depths of my heart where what courage I had was bound. I had to think beyond the terror which waited for me on the other side of the automatic door. I had to think of my wife, of Bill, of the other four children back at home, hell, even of our two cats. We had to survive this, and we had to get ourselves to the safety of the mountain. That was my goal. That was my only goal. In. Out. Home. Mountain.
"Ok, Son, we have to do this, so let's do this."
Bill only nodded and wrapped the dogs' leashes around his gloved hand once more.
"Should we wear earplugs, Dad?" he asked, ever mindful of the safety training we had taken together and which I reenforced with him regularly.
"I am not sure. I know we need to take care of our ears, but I think we also need to be able to hear if one of those people try to come toward us."
"That's true," was his reply. His young mind grasped the logic immediately.
"Now, here's what we need to remember - these people were infected with the flu. We don't want to breathe the same air they exhale and we don't want any contact with their bodily fluid."
"I understand, Dad, but what do I do if one of them gets too close to me?"
"Do your best to keep that from hapenning, Son. The dogs will help. But try to keep them from getting too close, too."
This was almost an impossible task - the two mutts together weighed more than 120 lbs, and they could each pull at least that individually. But they were obedient, to a degree, and they were definitely fiercely protective of their boy. I knew they would do their best to keep one of the ... creatures from touching their charge.
"Ok, lets go Son. We'll go in the doors, then you grab a cart and I'll grab a cart. We go straight to outdoors first, get the keys to the gun cabinet and get you a shotgun." Bills eyes got rounder and rounder as I spelled out my plan, but I could tell he was tracking. "Then we get shells. As many as are on the shelf. Twelve and twenty gauge only, got it?"
"Yes. Do you think maybe we should get more than one gun, Dad?"
"I like the way you think, Son. Once we're in there, I'll decide, but I think a pistol or two, and maybe a .300 Winchester Magnum would be a good idea. We're not going to have a lot of time, but we should probably arm ourselves for bear, huh?"
Bill solemnely nodded his agreement, eyes never leaving mine.
"Son, this is not going to be fun. Or easy. Just think about getting home to our family and getting them all to the cabin safely."
"I know, Dad, but its still scary."
My heart felt like it was coated in lead. A voice in the back of my head kept up a steady stream of niggling doubt. How could I lead my son back into a building which had to be completely infested with undead people? How could I risk exposing him and myself to something so horrible? How could I go back in there? Especially after I'd seen a woman die, then get back up and try to chase me? Was I insane? Was I stupid?
I mustered enough courage to shove the voice deeper into the back of my mind before it could wedge its constant doubt and fear into the depths of my heart where what courage I had was bound. I had to think beyond the terror which waited for me on the other side of the automatic door. I had to think of my wife, of Bill, of the other four children back at home, hell, even of our two cats. We had to survive this, and we had to get ourselves to the safety of the mountain. That was my goal. That was my only goal. In. Out. Home. Mountain.
"Ok, Son, we have to do this, so let's do this."
Bill only nodded and wrapped the dogs' leashes around his gloved hand once more.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 7
It felt as though a huge black cloud was drifting over me as I pulled my cell phone back out of my pocket and dialled 9-1-1. We had seen the fire truck earlier, lights but no sirens, but we hadn't seen anything else - no sign of the police, no helicopters, nothing. I wasn't sure what, if anything, the police could do for me, but I had to make the call - not just to reassure Bill, but to reassure myself, too.
"9-1-1 operator, please state your emergency."
"I'm at the Wad-Mart and there seems to be ... All the people are either dead or they're sort of not dead."
"What is your emergency, sir?" Great. This bodiless voice wasn't going to make things easy.
"They're dying here! They have the flu, and then they ..." I couldn't help but hesitate, even though I'd seen it, even though it had happened before my eyes, I struggled to say the words aloud because they were simply too terrible. "They die, then they come back to life and the lady tried to attack us."
There. Confused, jumbled, scared and scary, but I was able to spit it out.
"You were attacked at the Wad-Mart?"
"Yes."
"By a dead woman?"
"Yes. A zombie, I guess. H1Z1 - the flu - everyone in the store seems to have it."
"Sir, we're getting similar reports all over town. I have no police officers to dispatch. Please stay calm and remain indoors. There's nothing further I can do to help you," said the bodiless voice.
"Stay indoors? No police? Lady, there's something terrible going on here! What are the police doing about it?"
"Sir, we're doing everything we can, but I don't have a car to dispatch to your location. I can't send you any help."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" I was becoming more and more frustrated by this disembodied voice. How could she be so calm when it was obvious that the whole city seemed to be going to hell?
"According to the latest instruction from the mayor's office and the governor, the National Guard has been called in and all uninfected citizens are to remain in their homes until help arrives. That's all I can tell you, Sir."
Well, there it was. Sit and wait and pray you're not infected. Lot of help the National Guard was going to be if the whole town was suffering from this. I hung up the call and put my phone back in my pocket.
"I guess we're going to have to do this on our own, Son," I said to Bill as I turned back the tailgate and began loading the pocket of my shooting vest with shells.
"Dad, I'm scared." He looked at me intently, young eyes seeing through any bravado I may have tried to muster. I could do nothing but be honest with him, especially since I was taking him back in to the hellish experience we had just escaped inside the store behind us.
"Me, too, Son. Me too."
"9-1-1 operator, please state your emergency."
"I'm at the Wad-Mart and there seems to be ... All the people are either dead or they're sort of not dead."
"What is your emergency, sir?" Great. This bodiless voice wasn't going to make things easy.
"They're dying here! They have the flu, and then they ..." I couldn't help but hesitate, even though I'd seen it, even though it had happened before my eyes, I struggled to say the words aloud because they were simply too terrible. "They die, then they come back to life and the lady tried to attack us."
There. Confused, jumbled, scared and scary, but I was able to spit it out.
"You were attacked at the Wad-Mart?"
"Yes."
"By a dead woman?"
"Yes. A zombie, I guess. H1Z1 - the flu - everyone in the store seems to have it."
"Sir, we're getting similar reports all over town. I have no police officers to dispatch. Please stay calm and remain indoors. There's nothing further I can do to help you," said the bodiless voice.
"Stay indoors? No police? Lady, there's something terrible going on here! What are the police doing about it?"
"Sir, we're doing everything we can, but I don't have a car to dispatch to your location. I can't send you any help."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" I was becoming more and more frustrated by this disembodied voice. How could she be so calm when it was obvious that the whole city seemed to be going to hell?
"According to the latest instruction from the mayor's office and the governor, the National Guard has been called in and all uninfected citizens are to remain in their homes until help arrives. That's all I can tell you, Sir."
Well, there it was. Sit and wait and pray you're not infected. Lot of help the National Guard was going to be if the whole town was suffering from this. I hung up the call and put my phone back in my pocket.
"I guess we're going to have to do this on our own, Son," I said to Bill as I turned back the tailgate and began loading the pocket of my shooting vest with shells.
"Dad, I'm scared." He looked at me intently, young eyes seeing through any bravado I may have tried to muster. I could do nothing but be honest with him, especially since I was taking him back in to the hellish experience we had just escaped inside the store behind us.
"Me, too, Son. Me too."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 6
As I headed for the truck, I called the boy over, watching the dogs carefully as they turned toward me and we all met.
"How long has Mom known I'm teaching you to shoot, Son?" I asked, pulling the drop down tailgate of the SUV open.
"It's no big deal Dad, I promise!"
"No, no. You're not in trouble. I was just wondering." As I talked with him, I was methodically pulling out the objects I felt I would need to use on the trip back in to the store. My shooting vest, which had a pocket that held more than 30 shells. A pair of leather gloves, I didn't want to touch someone affected and catch the virus that way. The box of 12 gauge shells we had just left the store with.
"Take these," I handed Bill a pair of gloves, too. "We have to go back in. You keep the dogs with you because they'll protect you."
"Why are we going in again, Dad?"
"Mom wants me to get you a gun. I think we may need some other things, too."
"Mom said that? Really?"
"Yes. And I think we need to pack for the cabin."
I was forming a plan in the back of my mind. We had a cabin up in a pass in the mountains. We had canned food and supplies there all the time, so that all we'd need for a quick weekend away was a few fresh supplies and to load all the kids into our two cars. It was almost a hundren miles from any large concentration of people, so there would be much less possibility of infection. There was wood nearby for fires and there was wildlife should we have to stay so long that hunting became necessary. Yes, I thought, this would work.
But it meant that we needed to bring about two cart-loads of supplies out of the store with us, not just a second shotgun.
I began explaining my plan to my son.
"OK, Dad, but what do we do for the dogs?" Another large, bulky object. Dog food. We'd have to grab some.
"What about paying?" I had worked hard to ingrain a sense of responsibility to all the children, and he knew I was talking about a high-speed raid through the store, filling the cart with what we thought we needed as quickly as possibly, then simply taking it, not trying to stop and pay a clerk who would most likely be trying to attack us, not assist us.
"I don't think we need to worry about paying, Bill. I don't think anyone in there really cares."
"That still doesn't make it right, Dad."
"No, Son, it doesn't."
Finally, I realized I had forgotten something.
"Bill, have you heard any sirens? Have you heard any police?"
"No, Dad. We should call."
"Yes, we should."
I could see our escape to the mountains becoming more complex, but I could also see that, if we were to do things right, we had to try to make sure we followed through with every option, and the next civilized option we had was to call the police and see if there was any hope of not only some help, but some kind of official word on what was really going on.
"How long has Mom known I'm teaching you to shoot, Son?" I asked, pulling the drop down tailgate of the SUV open.
"It's no big deal Dad, I promise!"
"No, no. You're not in trouble. I was just wondering." As I talked with him, I was methodically pulling out the objects I felt I would need to use on the trip back in to the store. My shooting vest, which had a pocket that held more than 30 shells. A pair of leather gloves, I didn't want to touch someone affected and catch the virus that way. The box of 12 gauge shells we had just left the store with.
"Take these," I handed Bill a pair of gloves, too. "We have to go back in. You keep the dogs with you because they'll protect you."
"Why are we going in again, Dad?"
"Mom wants me to get you a gun. I think we may need some other things, too."
"Mom said that? Really?"
"Yes. And I think we need to pack for the cabin."
I was forming a plan in the back of my mind. We had a cabin up in a pass in the mountains. We had canned food and supplies there all the time, so that all we'd need for a quick weekend away was a few fresh supplies and to load all the kids into our two cars. It was almost a hundren miles from any large concentration of people, so there would be much less possibility of infection. There was wood nearby for fires and there was wildlife should we have to stay so long that hunting became necessary. Yes, I thought, this would work.
But it meant that we needed to bring about two cart-loads of supplies out of the store with us, not just a second shotgun.
I began explaining my plan to my son.
"OK, Dad, but what do we do for the dogs?" Another large, bulky object. Dog food. We'd have to grab some.
"What about paying?" I had worked hard to ingrain a sense of responsibility to all the children, and he knew I was talking about a high-speed raid through the store, filling the cart with what we thought we needed as quickly as possibly, then simply taking it, not trying to stop and pay a clerk who would most likely be trying to attack us, not assist us.
"I don't think we need to worry about paying, Bill. I don't think anyone in there really cares."
"That still doesn't make it right, Dad."
"No, Son, it doesn't."
Finally, I realized I had forgotten something.
"Bill, have you heard any sirens? Have you heard any police?"
"No, Dad. We should call."
"Yes, we should."
I could see our escape to the mountains becoming more complex, but I could also see that, if we were to do things right, we had to try to make sure we followed through with every option, and the next civilized option we had was to call the police and see if there was any hope of not only some help, but some kind of official word on what was really going on.
Friday, May 15, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 5
Although he didn't want to, I pulled Bill to a stop just outside the automatic doors to the store. For a moment, the two of us just stood there, nothing but the sound of our own gasps for air and the thundering of our hearts in our ears.
"Dad," Bill managed between gulps of air, "She was, sh-she was ..."
"Yes, Son," I replied, myself struggling to fill my lungs with clean, cool early-morning air. "She was dead. And then she was standing up again."
Bill just stared at me. I could only respond by staring at him. I think we each could see the gears in each others' minds turning and turning, trying to fit the sentence I had just managed to spit out into our conception of How the World Works.
Bill, being ten, and therefore much more resilient than I was at my almost-mid-life age, straightened up and with a deep breath asked, "Well, what do we do about that?"
It's amazing how quickly and easily my young son can assimilate new facts or situations. It seems to me as though his little mind, so eager for growth and knowledge, just raced through new concepts, filing them neatly under real or not real, fact or fiction, fun or hard work like a computer parsing its next set of instructions. For me, even as my amazement at his rapid acceptance of this terrifying fact, this realization, that a dead woman, a woman who had died from an obviously horrible and most likely highly communicable disease, had risen and ... attacked us - the realization wasn't as easy. It had attacked us. This fact snapped me out of it and back to the here and now.
"What are we going to do ...?" I mused back at him. "First, we call for help, because I think everyone in that store is either just as sick as that lady was or will be very soon, how's that sound?"
Having Daddy announce a definitive action seemed to bolster the boy, who stood a little straighter at the thought of some kind of positive action in the face of this horrible thing he had just seen.
"Why don't you go put the dogs on their leashes and walk them around a little, Son?"
"OK Dad, but I am not letting you out of my sight. That lady scared me bad!"
"Good, I think that's smart." With a mission to perform, the lad was able to settle down some. Besides, the dogs were not small, and Bill always felt safer with his furry friends by his side.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and realized it had been off all morning. Although my wife had merely rolled over and mumbled when I kissed her cheek and headed out for the morning's activities, as soon as the phone's operating system booted up, the message alert popped on. You Have Voicemail, it chimed in an artificially cheerful voice. I nearly lost myself in a befuddled rage at that - how could this stupid device be cheery after what I had just seen? I caught myself and instead hit play.
"Honey, did you see the news this morning? Call me now!" Liz was a little high-strung on occasion, but this was real fear in her voice and I wasn't used to hearing that. I dialed immediately.
"There you are!" She yelled into the phone.
"You'll never believe what just happened to us," I gushed at the same moment, relieved to hear her voice and know that she and the rest of our five children were safe.
"You first," We both said at the same time. This was usually my cue to remain silent, but it seemed that she wanted to hear my news because the silence on the line stretched out for a few seconds before I began. "The lady at the outdoor counter in Wad-Mart just died right there in front of us!"
"You have Bill with you? Did he see that?" Ever the protective Mom, she immediately asked after our youngest son.
"Yes dear, and yes, he was with me when it happened, but that wasn't the worst of it - I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all."
"She came back to life, didn't she?" Liz preempted.
"How did you know?" I asked, mystified at her seeming clairvoyance.
"It's all over the news - it's this flu! They're calling it the Zombie flu!"
"I've been hearing about it, but Zombies? I mean, come on!" I replied, my incredulity spilling through the phone and out onto her shoulder.
"No honey, the governor was just on TV - it's what woke me up," I always turned the TV on for her when I left in the morning, usually on the Discovery Channel, as I had this morning, to help her, not much of a morning person, to wake up.
"How'd you hear the governor? I left the TV on Discovery!"
"I know - he came on so I changed the channel. He was on every channel - it was an emergency broadcast. He said that the Zombie flu is here. It's killing people here! You need to come home now! And get Bill a shotgun, too!"
That last part brought me up short. "What do you mean?" I tried to deflect, but my heart sunk as I realized I'd been caught.
"Go back to the gun counter and get Bill a 20 gauge. You know he can't keep a secret."
Damn that motherly instinct. I'd been an idiot to think that she'd not realize I was teaching our son to shoot.
"Get home as fast as you can, honey. I think we all need to get somewhere else - somewhere safe."
"All right. I'll grab another gun, and be there as soon as I can."
I looked toward my son as he wandered around the parking lot following the dogs' noses. Should I bring him back in with me? Into there? I noticed that both of the dogs' hackles were raised and that they weren't sniffing for sign of other animals to cover with their own scent. Quite the opposite, the were both fully on guard, one on either side of the young boy, and were warily searching for the source of the danger they clearly sensed. Yup. Better bring all three of them in - it would be useful, because in the back of my mind I had already accepted that everyone in Wad-Mart today was infected, and every one of them was after one thing and one thing only ... living flesh.
Damn. This today wasn't going to be much fun after all.
"Dad," Bill managed between gulps of air, "She was, sh-she was ..."
"Yes, Son," I replied, myself struggling to fill my lungs with clean, cool early-morning air. "She was dead. And then she was standing up again."
Bill just stared at me. I could only respond by staring at him. I think we each could see the gears in each others' minds turning and turning, trying to fit the sentence I had just managed to spit out into our conception of How the World Works.
Bill, being ten, and therefore much more resilient than I was at my almost-mid-life age, straightened up and with a deep breath asked, "Well, what do we do about that?"
It's amazing how quickly and easily my young son can assimilate new facts or situations. It seems to me as though his little mind, so eager for growth and knowledge, just raced through new concepts, filing them neatly under real or not real, fact or fiction, fun or hard work like a computer parsing its next set of instructions. For me, even as my amazement at his rapid acceptance of this terrifying fact, this realization, that a dead woman, a woman who had died from an obviously horrible and most likely highly communicable disease, had risen and ... attacked us - the realization wasn't as easy. It had attacked us. This fact snapped me out of it and back to the here and now.
"What are we going to do ...?" I mused back at him. "First, we call for help, because I think everyone in that store is either just as sick as that lady was or will be very soon, how's that sound?"
Having Daddy announce a definitive action seemed to bolster the boy, who stood a little straighter at the thought of some kind of positive action in the face of this horrible thing he had just seen.
"Why don't you go put the dogs on their leashes and walk them around a little, Son?"
"OK Dad, but I am not letting you out of my sight. That lady scared me bad!"
"Good, I think that's smart." With a mission to perform, the lad was able to settle down some. Besides, the dogs were not small, and Bill always felt safer with his furry friends by his side.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and realized it had been off all morning. Although my wife had merely rolled over and mumbled when I kissed her cheek and headed out for the morning's activities, as soon as the phone's operating system booted up, the message alert popped on. You Have Voicemail, it chimed in an artificially cheerful voice. I nearly lost myself in a befuddled rage at that - how could this stupid device be cheery after what I had just seen? I caught myself and instead hit play.
"Honey, did you see the news this morning? Call me now!" Liz was a little high-strung on occasion, but this was real fear in her voice and I wasn't used to hearing that. I dialed immediately.
"There you are!" She yelled into the phone.
"You'll never believe what just happened to us," I gushed at the same moment, relieved to hear her voice and know that she and the rest of our five children were safe.
"You first," We both said at the same time. This was usually my cue to remain silent, but it seemed that she wanted to hear my news because the silence on the line stretched out for a few seconds before I began. "The lady at the outdoor counter in Wad-Mart just died right there in front of us!"
"You have Bill with you? Did he see that?" Ever the protective Mom, she immediately asked after our youngest son.
"Yes dear, and yes, he was with me when it happened, but that wasn't the worst of it - I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all."
"She came back to life, didn't she?" Liz preempted.
"How did you know?" I asked, mystified at her seeming clairvoyance.
"It's all over the news - it's this flu! They're calling it the Zombie flu!"
"I've been hearing about it, but Zombies? I mean, come on!" I replied, my incredulity spilling through the phone and out onto her shoulder.
"No honey, the governor was just on TV - it's what woke me up," I always turned the TV on for her when I left in the morning, usually on the Discovery Channel, as I had this morning, to help her, not much of a morning person, to wake up.
"How'd you hear the governor? I left the TV on Discovery!"
"I know - he came on so I changed the channel. He was on every channel - it was an emergency broadcast. He said that the Zombie flu is here. It's killing people here! You need to come home now! And get Bill a shotgun, too!"
That last part brought me up short. "What do you mean?" I tried to deflect, but my heart sunk as I realized I'd been caught.
"Go back to the gun counter and get Bill a 20 gauge. You know he can't keep a secret."
Damn that motherly instinct. I'd been an idiot to think that she'd not realize I was teaching our son to shoot.
"Get home as fast as you can, honey. I think we all need to get somewhere else - somewhere safe."
"All right. I'll grab another gun, and be there as soon as I can."
I looked toward my son as he wandered around the parking lot following the dogs' noses. Should I bring him back in with me? Into there? I noticed that both of the dogs' hackles were raised and that they weren't sniffing for sign of other animals to cover with their own scent. Quite the opposite, the were both fully on guard, one on either side of the young boy, and were warily searching for the source of the danger they clearly sensed. Yup. Better bring all three of them in - it would be useful, because in the back of my mind I had already accepted that everyone in Wad-Mart today was infected, and every one of them was after one thing and one thing only ... living flesh.
Damn. This today wasn't going to be much fun after all.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
H1Z1 - Interlude
What to Do If You Get Flu-Like Symptoms
May 7, 2009 7:15 PM ET
The novel H1N1 flu virus is causing illness in infected persons in the United States and countries around the world. CDC expects that illnesses may continue for some time. As a result, you or people around you may become ill. If so, you need to recognize the symptoms and know what to do.
Symptoms
The symptoms of this new H1N1 flu virus in people are similar to the symptoms of seasonal flu and include fever, cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, body aches, headache, chills and fatigue. A significant number of people who have been infected with this new H1N1 virus also have reported diarrhea and vomiting. The high risk groups for novel H1N1 flu are not known at this time but it’s possible that they may be the same as for seasonal influenza. People at higher risk of serious complications from seasonal flu include people age 65 years and older, children younger than 5 years old, pregnant women, people of any age with chronic medical conditions (such as asthma, diabetes, or heart disease), and people who are immunosuppressed (e.g., taking immunosuppressive medications, infected with HIV).
Avoid Contact With Others
If you are sick, you may be ill for a week or longer. You should stay home and avoid contact with other persons, except to seek medical care. If you leave the house to seek medical care, wear a mask or cover your coughs and sneezes with a tissue. In general you should avoid contact with other people as much as possible to keep from spreading your illness. At the current time, CDC believes that this virus has the same properties in terms of spread as seasonal flu viruses. With seasonal flu, studies have shown that people may be contagious from one day before they develop symptoms to up to 7 days after they get sick. Children, especially younger children, might potentially be contagious for longer periods.
Treatment is Available for Those Who Are Seriously III
It is expected that most people will recover without needing medical care.
If you have severe illness or you are at high risk for flu complications, contact your health care provider or seek medical care. Your health care provider will determine whether flu testing or treatment is needed. Be aware that if the flu becomes wide spread, there will be little need to continue testing people, so your health care provider may decide not to test for the flu virus.
Antiviral drugs can be given to treat those who become severely ill with influenza. These antiviral drugs are prescription medicines (pills, liquid or an inhaler) with activity against influenza viruses, including H1N1 flu virus. These medications must be prescribed by a health care professional.
There are two influenza antiviral medications that are recommended for use against H1N1 flu. The drugs that are used for treating H1N1 flu are called oseltamivir (trade name Tamiflu ®) and zanamivir (Relenza ®). As the H1N1 flu spreads, these antiviral drugs may become in short supply. Therefore, the drugs will be given first to those people who have been hospitalized or are at high risk of complications. The drugs work best if given within 2 days of becoming ill, but may be given later if illness is severe or for those at a high risk for complications.
Aspirin or aspirin-containing products (e.g. bismuth subsalicylate – Pepto Bismol) should not be administered to any confirmed or suspected ill case of novel influenza A (H1N1) virus infection aged 18 years old and younger due to the risk of Reye syndrome. For relief of fever, other anti-pyretic medications are recommended such as acetaminophen or non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. For more information about Reye’s syndrome, visit the National Institute of Health website.
Check ingredient labels on over-the-counter cold and flu medications to see if they contain aspirin.
Teenagers with the flu can take medicines without aspirin, such as acetaminophen (Tylenol®) and ibuprofen (Advil®, Motrin®, Nuprin®), to relieve symptoms.
Children younger than 4 years of age should not be given over-the-counter cold medications without first speaking with a healthcare provider.
Emergency Warning Signs
If you become ill and experience any of the following warning signs, seek emergency medical care.
In children emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:
In adults, emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:
Protect Yourself, Your Family, and Community
If you are sick with a flu-like illness, stay home for 7 days after your symptoms begin or until you have been symptom-free for 24 hours, whichever is longer. Keep away from other household members as much as possible. This is to keep you from infecting others and spreading the virus further.
Learn more about how to take care of someone who is ill in "Taking Care of a Sick Person in Your Home"
Follow public health advice regarding school closures, avoiding crowds, and other social distancing measures.
If you don’t have one yet, consider developing a family emergency plan as a precaution. This should include storing a supply of extra food, medicines, and other essential supplies. Further information can be found in the "Flu Planning Checklist"
Source: Centers For Disease Control article, "What do I do if I get flu-like symptoms" http://www.cdc.gov/h1n1flu/sick.htm
May 7, 2009 7:15 PM ET
The novel H1N1 flu virus is causing illness in infected persons in the United States and countries around the world. CDC expects that illnesses may continue for some time. As a result, you or people around you may become ill. If so, you need to recognize the symptoms and know what to do.
Symptoms
The symptoms of this new H1N1 flu virus in people are similar to the symptoms of seasonal flu and include fever, cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, body aches, headache, chills and fatigue. A significant number of people who have been infected with this new H1N1 virus also have reported diarrhea and vomiting. The high risk groups for novel H1N1 flu are not known at this time but it’s possible that they may be the same as for seasonal influenza. People at higher risk of serious complications from seasonal flu include people age 65 years and older, children younger than 5 years old, pregnant women, people of any age with chronic medical conditions (such as asthma, diabetes, or heart disease), and people who are immunosuppressed (e.g., taking immunosuppressive medications, infected with HIV).
Avoid Contact With Others
If you are sick, you may be ill for a week or longer. You should stay home and avoid contact with other persons, except to seek medical care. If you leave the house to seek medical care, wear a mask or cover your coughs and sneezes with a tissue. In general you should avoid contact with other people as much as possible to keep from spreading your illness. At the current time, CDC believes that this virus has the same properties in terms of spread as seasonal flu viruses. With seasonal flu, studies have shown that people may be contagious from one day before they develop symptoms to up to 7 days after they get sick. Children, especially younger children, might potentially be contagious for longer periods.
Treatment is Available for Those Who Are Seriously III
It is expected that most people will recover without needing medical care.
If you have severe illness or you are at high risk for flu complications, contact your health care provider or seek medical care. Your health care provider will determine whether flu testing or treatment is needed. Be aware that if the flu becomes wide spread, there will be little need to continue testing people, so your health care provider may decide not to test for the flu virus.
Antiviral drugs can be given to treat those who become severely ill with influenza. These antiviral drugs are prescription medicines (pills, liquid or an inhaler) with activity against influenza viruses, including H1N1 flu virus. These medications must be prescribed by a health care professional.
There are two influenza antiviral medications that are recommended for use against H1N1 flu. The drugs that are used for treating H1N1 flu are called oseltamivir (trade name Tamiflu ®) and zanamivir (Relenza ®). As the H1N1 flu spreads, these antiviral drugs may become in short supply. Therefore, the drugs will be given first to those people who have been hospitalized or are at high risk of complications. The drugs work best if given within 2 days of becoming ill, but may be given later if illness is severe or for those at a high risk for complications.
Aspirin or aspirin-containing products (e.g. bismuth subsalicylate – Pepto Bismol) should not be administered to any confirmed or suspected ill case of novel influenza A (H1N1) virus infection aged 18 years old and younger due to the risk of Reye syndrome. For relief of fever, other anti-pyretic medications are recommended such as acetaminophen or non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. For more information about Reye’s syndrome, visit the National Institute of Health website.
Check ingredient labels on over-the-counter cold and flu medications to see if they contain aspirin.
Teenagers with the flu can take medicines without aspirin, such as acetaminophen (Tylenol®) and ibuprofen (Advil®, Motrin®, Nuprin®), to relieve symptoms.
Children younger than 4 years of age should not be given over-the-counter cold medications without first speaking with a healthcare provider.
Emergency Warning Signs
If you become ill and experience any of the following warning signs, seek emergency medical care.
In children emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:
- Fast breathing or trouble breathing
- Bluish or gray skin color
- Not drinking enough fluids
- Severe or persistent vomiting
- Not waking up or not interacting
- Being so irritable that the child does not want to be held
- Flu-like symptoms improve but then return with fever and worse cough
In adults, emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:
- Difficulty breathing or shortness of breath
- Pain or pressure in the chest or abdomen
- Sudden dizziness
- Confusion
- Severe or persistent vomiting
- Flu-like symptoms improve but then return with fever and worse cough
Protect Yourself, Your Family, and Community
- Stay informed. Health officials will provide additional information as it becomes available. Visit the CDC H1N1 Flu website.
- Cover your nose and mouth with a tissue when you cough or sneeze. Throw the tissue in the trash after you use it.
- Wash your hands often with soap and water, especially after you cough or sneeze. Alcohol-based hand cleaners are also effective.
- Avoid touching your eyes, nose or mouth. Germs spread this way.
- Try to avoid close contact with sick people.
If you are sick with a flu-like illness, stay home for 7 days after your symptoms begin or until you have been symptom-free for 24 hours, whichever is longer. Keep away from other household members as much as possible. This is to keep you from infecting others and spreading the virus further.
Learn more about how to take care of someone who is ill in "Taking Care of a Sick Person in Your Home"
Follow public health advice regarding school closures, avoiding crowds, and other social distancing measures.
If you don’t have one yet, consider developing a family emergency plan as a precaution. This should include storing a supply of extra food, medicines, and other essential supplies. Further information can be found in the "Flu Planning Checklist"
Source: Centers For Disease Control article, "What do I do if I get flu-like symptoms" http://www.cdc.gov/h1n1flu/sick.htm
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 4
Perhaps it was that sweet remainder of the little boy in Bill that snapped me out of my terror-induced funk; he grabbed my hand, and the feel of his fingers inside of mine brought me back from the black brink of terror, the edge of which my mind had been teetering once I realized that Marie had died. I had to be calm right now, and I had to be rational right now, if not for my own sake, then for the sake of my son, who wasn't even old enough to understand the horrific memories which had begun to play across the view screen of my inner mind.
"It-it's going to be okay, Son," I managed. I could still feel terror clawing, raging, trying to escape from deep inside me, trying to make its way out of my mouth and take over my actions, like some bizarre alien whose gestation lead to an oral-ejection and which, once born, would jump onto my head and sink ganglion through my skull, becoming an alien "driver" controlling my every action.
"Let's pick up these shotgun shells, OK?" In spite of my fear, some part of me tried to maintain an illusion of normalcy, even though this situation was anything but normal.
"Dad," he hesitated, but seeing the look I shot him, Bill bent and began to scoop up hands full of errant shotgun shells.
As he scurried about the tile and shoved different gauges into their appropriate boxes, I surveyed the aisles surrounding us. I could hear the strange moaning, and I saw a person who appeared to be suffering from the same illness Marie had been suffering - he was lurching around in the hardware aisle two over from the beginning of the sporting goods. That way his body moved was unnatural. He wasn't walking, wasn't limping; I couldn't even label what he was doing as a shuffle. He was lurching. Unnaturally. He was lurching this way.
"How you doing with those shells, Son?" I prodded.
"Just a few left," Bill grunted, down on his hands and knees, stretching to reach under a rack of rain jackets.
"Hurry up then," I said, just barely keeping the raw edge of fear from seeping out the sides of my mouth.
The man lurched closer. Slow, but shortening the distance between his aisle and me and my son, who grunted with satisfaction as he slid the last 20 gauge shell into its box. "Got 'em. Let's go now, Dad. Now!"
"Alright. All we have to do is pay and we're out of here," I assured him, taking the proffered hand and turning toward the check-out stands.
Marie stood right in front of us, spittle and blood flecked lips curling back and her, no, not her any more, it's, I think might be more appropriate, teeth, made to look all the sharper because of the bloody-spittle in the creases between them, bared in a death's head grimace. An unearthly growl from deep inside her chest managed to writhe itself free of it's lips, but when it had finished, it's chest didn't rise again to refill it's lungs. it shuffled toward us with that same blank stare, barely seeming to register that we were there, yet coming after us as though we were it's goal.
"Dad!" Bill shouted as I leaped backward, nearly yanking his arm from its socket.
"We need to run, Son," I said as I continued my backward scramble, pulling him back and up in order to keep him on his uncooperative feet.
Finally, he managed to get his feet under him and together, hand-in-hand, Bill and I ran, me a step-and-a-half ahead as we made for the exit doors and the safety of anywhere but here.
"It-it's going to be okay, Son," I managed. I could still feel terror clawing, raging, trying to escape from deep inside me, trying to make its way out of my mouth and take over my actions, like some bizarre alien whose gestation lead to an oral-ejection and which, once born, would jump onto my head and sink ganglion through my skull, becoming an alien "driver" controlling my every action.
"Let's pick up these shotgun shells, OK?" In spite of my fear, some part of me tried to maintain an illusion of normalcy, even though this situation was anything but normal.
"Dad," he hesitated, but seeing the look I shot him, Bill bent and began to scoop up hands full of errant shotgun shells.
As he scurried about the tile and shoved different gauges into their appropriate boxes, I surveyed the aisles surrounding us. I could hear the strange moaning, and I saw a person who appeared to be suffering from the same illness Marie had been suffering - he was lurching around in the hardware aisle two over from the beginning of the sporting goods. That way his body moved was unnatural. He wasn't walking, wasn't limping; I couldn't even label what he was doing as a shuffle. He was lurching. Unnaturally. He was lurching this way.
"How you doing with those shells, Son?" I prodded.
"Just a few left," Bill grunted, down on his hands and knees, stretching to reach under a rack of rain jackets.
"Hurry up then," I said, just barely keeping the raw edge of fear from seeping out the sides of my mouth.
The man lurched closer. Slow, but shortening the distance between his aisle and me and my son, who grunted with satisfaction as he slid the last 20 gauge shell into its box. "Got 'em. Let's go now, Dad. Now!"
"Alright. All we have to do is pay and we're out of here," I assured him, taking the proffered hand and turning toward the check-out stands.
Marie stood right in front of us, spittle and blood flecked lips curling back and her, no, not her any more, it's, I think might be more appropriate, teeth, made to look all the sharper because of the bloody-spittle in the creases between them, bared in a death's head grimace. An unearthly growl from deep inside her chest managed to writhe itself free of it's lips, but when it had finished, it's chest didn't rise again to refill it's lungs. it shuffled toward us with that same blank stare, barely seeming to register that we were there, yet coming after us as though we were it's goal.
"Dad!" Bill shouted as I leaped backward, nearly yanking his arm from its socket.
"We need to run, Son," I said as I continued my backward scramble, pulling him back and up in order to keep him on his uncooperative feet.
Finally, he managed to get his feet under him and together, hand-in-hand, Bill and I ran, me a step-and-a-half ahead as we made for the exit doors and the safety of anywhere but here.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 3
As I caught up with my son, who, in his haste to get away from the woman, hadn't waited for me, I heard a sound I hadn't noticed before. All through the store, there seemed to be a low keening sound, like a cross between a growl and a moan. There had to be at least 50 people in the store at any given time, and it seemed like every single one of them was making the same noises as the lady behind the gun counter.
Her name was Marie.
The realization stopped me cold in my tracks. Not because I had just remembered what her little blue name tag said in friendly white lettering, but because, in my mind, I had thought 'was'.
Was.
"Bill, wait," I managed, turning back toward the outdoors section.
"No, Dad. We can't go back there! Something is wrong with that lady and I'm scared!"
"I know, Son," I said as calmly as I knew how, trying to disguise the terror that kept trying to claw its way up the back of my throat. "You just wait right here while I go back."
"No!" This, he yelled, in spite of his usual amenable attitude. "I'm not leaving you! And I am NOT going back there!"
With that, Bill dug his heels in to the floor and my momentum pulled him over, both of us cancelling one another out with single-minded determination as the shotgun shells under his arm broke free of their boxes and spilled across the tile.
I wanted, no needed, absolutely had to go back and find out what was wrong with this lady; Bill was equally compelled to flee the store as rapidly as his little legs would allow. Althouh his flight instinct held sway over him almost completely, I couldn't help but feel pride in the fact that even though he was ready to run for his life, he would not leave my side - he'd run, all right, but not without my permission.
"Here," I said, dangling the keys to the truck in front of him. "Why don't you go wait in the car?"
"Uh-uh," he said, flatly determined that the two of us would not separate. "I am not going anywhere without you, Dad. Something is wrong here. Very wrong, and I want to get out!"
"Yes, Son, I know something's wrong." I could tell there was not going to be a happy medium here, so I let the steel of my "Daddy voice" temper my words. "We need to find out what it is and whether or not we can help."
"No Dad," Bill pleaded, his eyes gone dark with fear. "Please no."
He knew I had made up my mind, though, and his shoulders rounded with acceptance as I pulled him back to his feet.
"We'll just be a minute, Son," I promised, turning back toward the gun counter.
The lady, Marie, was gone. My steps faltered as I saw the empty corral.
"Look, under there!" Bill hissed, squatting down and pointing under the bottom edge of the swinging corral door.
"Why are you whispering, Son?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper itsself.
"I don't know," he whispered back.
"Ma'am," I continued, this time at regular volume, voice cracking a little. I didn't want Bill to hear how scared I actually was.
"Ma'am, are you ok?"
I leaned over the gate to the gun counter and looked down at her - she seemed to have passed out, and was lying flat on her back with a trail of blood-flecked foam dribbling down the side of her face.
"Stay here," I told Bill as I reached inside the counter to undo the catch on the swinging door.
This time he didn't resist, simply standing there, eyes as wide as ever I'd seen them and every muscle in his body as taut as a bow string. At a nod, he'd run; I could tell it was everything he could do not to take off down the aisle we'd just come up
I looked Marie's body over again. I could tell it was a body: she wasn't wheezing any more. In fact, her chest didn't move at all. Feeling for a pulse in her wrist as I bent down, I couldn't help but flinch at the slightly rotten smell I'd noticed before. It reminded me of the scent of a mass grave I'd ridden by in the back of a military truck in Sumatra after the tsunami hit in December of '04. It was all I could do to keep my racing mind from following that memory; I'd been dealing with the nightmares of that experience ever since, and the smell was something that would never, ever leave me.
Death. She smelled like death. She had smelled that way while she was still standing, while she was still moving.
"Dad, is she ..." Bill couldn't bring himself to end his question as I dropped her lifeless arm back to the ground.
"Yes, I'm afraid so, Son." Never had a phrase rung so truly. I was afraid. Very afraid.
Her name was Marie.
The realization stopped me cold in my tracks. Not because I had just remembered what her little blue name tag said in friendly white lettering, but because, in my mind, I had thought 'was'.
Was.
"Bill, wait," I managed, turning back toward the outdoors section.
"No, Dad. We can't go back there! Something is wrong with that lady and I'm scared!"
"I know, Son," I said as calmly as I knew how, trying to disguise the terror that kept trying to claw its way up the back of my throat. "You just wait right here while I go back."
"No!" This, he yelled, in spite of his usual amenable attitude. "I'm not leaving you! And I am NOT going back there!"
With that, Bill dug his heels in to the floor and my momentum pulled him over, both of us cancelling one another out with single-minded determination as the shotgun shells under his arm broke free of their boxes and spilled across the tile.
I wanted, no needed, absolutely had to go back and find out what was wrong with this lady; Bill was equally compelled to flee the store as rapidly as his little legs would allow. Althouh his flight instinct held sway over him almost completely, I couldn't help but feel pride in the fact that even though he was ready to run for his life, he would not leave my side - he'd run, all right, but not without my permission.
"Here," I said, dangling the keys to the truck in front of him. "Why don't you go wait in the car?"
"Uh-uh," he said, flatly determined that the two of us would not separate. "I am not going anywhere without you, Dad. Something is wrong here. Very wrong, and I want to get out!"
"Yes, Son, I know something's wrong." I could tell there was not going to be a happy medium here, so I let the steel of my "Daddy voice" temper my words. "We need to find out what it is and whether or not we can help."
"No Dad," Bill pleaded, his eyes gone dark with fear. "Please no."
He knew I had made up my mind, though, and his shoulders rounded with acceptance as I pulled him back to his feet.
"We'll just be a minute, Son," I promised, turning back toward the gun counter.
The lady, Marie, was gone. My steps faltered as I saw the empty corral.
"Look, under there!" Bill hissed, squatting down and pointing under the bottom edge of the swinging corral door.
"Why are you whispering, Son?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper itsself.
"I don't know," he whispered back.
"Ma'am," I continued, this time at regular volume, voice cracking a little. I didn't want Bill to hear how scared I actually was.
"Ma'am, are you ok?"
I leaned over the gate to the gun counter and looked down at her - she seemed to have passed out, and was lying flat on her back with a trail of blood-flecked foam dribbling down the side of her face.
"Stay here," I told Bill as I reached inside the counter to undo the catch on the swinging door.
This time he didn't resist, simply standing there, eyes as wide as ever I'd seen them and every muscle in his body as taut as a bow string. At a nod, he'd run; I could tell it was everything he could do not to take off down the aisle we'd just come up
I looked Marie's body over again. I could tell it was a body: she wasn't wheezing any more. In fact, her chest didn't move at all. Feeling for a pulse in her wrist as I bent down, I couldn't help but flinch at the slightly rotten smell I'd noticed before. It reminded me of the scent of a mass grave I'd ridden by in the back of a military truck in Sumatra after the tsunami hit in December of '04. It was all I could do to keep my racing mind from following that memory; I'd been dealing with the nightmares of that experience ever since, and the smell was something that would never, ever leave me.
Death. She smelled like death. She had smelled that way while she was still standing, while she was still moving.
"Dad, is she ..." Bill couldn't bring himself to end his question as I dropped her lifeless arm back to the ground.
"Yes, I'm afraid so, Son." Never had a phrase rung so truly. I was afraid. Very afraid.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 2
As we stepped through the door, it seemed as through eerie was the word for the day - Wad-Mart is usually a zoo on a Saturday morning, even if it was this early. Obviously, with the flu scare, no one was venturing too far from their hovels, but I don't remember the store ever seeming this empty.
Doors automatically sliding closed behind us, Bill and I immediately aimed ourselves to the back right of the store and the outdoors section. We rarely shopped anywhere but the outdoors section, unless one or the other of us needed a new shirt or my wife dragged me, kicking and screaming like a distruptive two-year-old through the store on a shopping expedition.
"Dad," he asked, and the tone in his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up even further, if that is even possible. "Where is everybody?"
"I'm not sure, Son," I replied, shaking my hand free of his so he didn't notice how sweaty my palms had suddenly become. "Let's just go get some shells and get out of here."
As we strode with purpose down the aisle between the electronics and toys, I scanned the cashier stands at the front of the store. This place was huge - a warehouse, more than anything, but I could usually see a cashier at one of the 30 or so check out stands. I thought I might have seen someone's head way down at the other end of the store (it seemed like it was half-a-mile away), but I couldn't be sure. One of the reasons I loathe this stupid store so much is that they have so many check-out stands, but it seems like no more than three are manned at any given time.
'Great,' I thought. 'Only one line open. Good thing we seem to be the only people in the store.'
"Why are we the only people in the store?" my mini-doppelganger echoed.
"We're not the only people in the store, Son," was my automatic, thoughtless reply. "At least, I don't think we are.
We rounded the corner to the outdoor aisle and went directly to the shelf of brightly colored boxes designed to entice us to "Buy this ammo! None is better than ours!"
"Grab two boxes of the skeet-load," I instructed, watching as Bill scanned the labels, diligently trying to find the right kind of shells. He hesitated at the middle shelf of boxes, which were not the right ones, before his hand darted one shelf down to the correct loads just before I reminded him of what he was looking for.
"Wow, these are heavy, Dad," he grunted, hoisting the boxes under his arm.
"I know, but when you think about what's in there, you understand why.
"Did you check the box to make sure it was steel shot, not lead?" Bill was envirenmentally minded, and I had explained the differences between lead and steel shot to him, and the repercussions of all that lead in the ground at the range.
"They're all steel now, Dad, you know that!" was his reply. I never could trip him up when it came to things like this - the child had a mind like a bear trap.
"Why don't you grab a box of 20 gauge, too, Son?"
His eyes almost glowed as he nearly whooped out, "Really?"
I'd only let him shoot a few times, but he was a natural at it, remained calm and focused on the range and we had taken the range safety course together. I knew he was not only able, but that he really enjoyed shooting with me on the occasion I could smuggle him out from under his mother's watchful eye.
As he addded the box of 20 gauge shells to his pile, I turned to look at the gun counter and froze. Staring back at me was a woman in a Wad-Mart uniform. She wasn't moving, just staring, except she seemed to be staring through me - her eyes were glazed looking and didn't move around. She just stared. I noticed something else, but it didn't quite register at the time - she was drooling. In fact, a thin line of slaver ran almost all the way down her chest to the bottom of her blue vest. Her mouth was open and there was a kind of wheeze coming from her throat - not exactly breathing, not exactly coughing. But her chest barely moved - she sort of shuffled toward us. Lurched might more be the word.
"Dad? ..." I could hear the raw edge of terror in Bill's voice.
"It's ok, Son. Just be calm.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" I asked, taking a step toward the corral behind the gun counter where she was standing.
She wheezed. She didn't talk, didn't answer - it seemed like my voice registered in her head, but she didn't seem to understand what I had asked.
"Ma,am?" I asked, beginning to feel that edge of fear in my own mind.
"Dad, let's go," Bill urged, tucking the boxes of shells under his arm and tugging on my shirt sleeve.
"Just a minute, Son. I think this lady needs our help."
I took another step toward her and she lurched toward me again - spittle bubbling in her mouth and a froth beginning to spill from her lips. A bloody froth.
"Lady! Can you hear me?" I shouted, torn between getting closer and turning tail and running.
My spine felt like a rod of ice - my blood, however, burned as it raced through my limbs. I could not only see that there was something terribly, terribly wrong with this woman, but, and my mind balked at this realization, I could smell something wrong with her.
"Dad! No!" Bill spurted as I reached out to touch her. She was burning up - I could feel heat through the sleeve of her blouse as I gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes were still looking through me, but she seemed to recognized my touch and lurched toward me again, hitting the little swinging door of the corral and stumbling.
It took me a minute to understand that I was hearing a feral growl from deep in the back of her throat, but by this time, instinct had taken over and I jerked my hand away, subconsciously wiping it clean on my shirt as I took a step back from her.
"Dad, we need to go!" Bill said, pulling harder at my sleeve.
"Yeah, Son. Yes. I think we do," I said, backing away, eyes not leaving the slavering, lurching woman as she bumped against the corral door over and over, not seeming to realize she had to unlatch it to get out from behind the counter.
Doors automatically sliding closed behind us, Bill and I immediately aimed ourselves to the back right of the store and the outdoors section. We rarely shopped anywhere but the outdoors section, unless one or the other of us needed a new shirt or my wife dragged me, kicking and screaming like a distruptive two-year-old through the store on a shopping expedition.
"Dad," he asked, and the tone in his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up even further, if that is even possible. "Where is everybody?"
"I'm not sure, Son," I replied, shaking my hand free of his so he didn't notice how sweaty my palms had suddenly become. "Let's just go get some shells and get out of here."
As we strode with purpose down the aisle between the electronics and toys, I scanned the cashier stands at the front of the store. This place was huge - a warehouse, more than anything, but I could usually see a cashier at one of the 30 or so check out stands. I thought I might have seen someone's head way down at the other end of the store (it seemed like it was half-a-mile away), but I couldn't be sure. One of the reasons I loathe this stupid store so much is that they have so many check-out stands, but it seems like no more than three are manned at any given time.
'Great,' I thought. 'Only one line open. Good thing we seem to be the only people in the store.'
"Why are we the only people in the store?" my mini-doppelganger echoed.
"We're not the only people in the store, Son," was my automatic, thoughtless reply. "At least, I don't think we are.
We rounded the corner to the outdoor aisle and went directly to the shelf of brightly colored boxes designed to entice us to "Buy this ammo! None is better than ours!"
"Grab two boxes of the skeet-load," I instructed, watching as Bill scanned the labels, diligently trying to find the right kind of shells. He hesitated at the middle shelf of boxes, which were not the right ones, before his hand darted one shelf down to the correct loads just before I reminded him of what he was looking for.
"Wow, these are heavy, Dad," he grunted, hoisting the boxes under his arm.
"I know, but when you think about what's in there, you understand why.
"Did you check the box to make sure it was steel shot, not lead?" Bill was envirenmentally minded, and I had explained the differences between lead and steel shot to him, and the repercussions of all that lead in the ground at the range.
"They're all steel now, Dad, you know that!" was his reply. I never could trip him up when it came to things like this - the child had a mind like a bear trap.
"Why don't you grab a box of 20 gauge, too, Son?"
His eyes almost glowed as he nearly whooped out, "Really?"
I'd only let him shoot a few times, but he was a natural at it, remained calm and focused on the range and we had taken the range safety course together. I knew he was not only able, but that he really enjoyed shooting with me on the occasion I could smuggle him out from under his mother's watchful eye.
As he addded the box of 20 gauge shells to his pile, I turned to look at the gun counter and froze. Staring back at me was a woman in a Wad-Mart uniform. She wasn't moving, just staring, except she seemed to be staring through me - her eyes were glazed looking and didn't move around. She just stared. I noticed something else, but it didn't quite register at the time - she was drooling. In fact, a thin line of slaver ran almost all the way down her chest to the bottom of her blue vest. Her mouth was open and there was a kind of wheeze coming from her throat - not exactly breathing, not exactly coughing. But her chest barely moved - she sort of shuffled toward us. Lurched might more be the word.
"Dad? ..." I could hear the raw edge of terror in Bill's voice.
"It's ok, Son. Just be calm.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" I asked, taking a step toward the corral behind the gun counter where she was standing.
She wheezed. She didn't talk, didn't answer - it seemed like my voice registered in her head, but she didn't seem to understand what I had asked.
"Ma,am?" I asked, beginning to feel that edge of fear in my own mind.
"Dad, let's go," Bill urged, tucking the boxes of shells under his arm and tugging on my shirt sleeve.
"Just a minute, Son. I think this lady needs our help."
I took another step toward her and she lurched toward me again - spittle bubbling in her mouth and a froth beginning to spill from her lips. A bloody froth.
"Lady! Can you hear me?" I shouted, torn between getting closer and turning tail and running.
My spine felt like a rod of ice - my blood, however, burned as it raced through my limbs. I could not only see that there was something terribly, terribly wrong with this woman, but, and my mind balked at this realization, I could smell something wrong with her.
"Dad! No!" Bill spurted as I reached out to touch her. She was burning up - I could feel heat through the sleeve of her blouse as I gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes were still looking through me, but she seemed to recognized my touch and lurched toward me again, hitting the little swinging door of the corral and stumbling.
It took me a minute to understand that I was hearing a feral growl from deep in the back of her throat, but by this time, instinct had taken over and I jerked my hand away, subconsciously wiping it clean on my shirt as I took a step back from her.
"Dad, we need to go!" Bill said, pulling harder at my sleeve.
"Yeah, Son. Yes. I think we do," I said, backing away, eyes not leaving the slavering, lurching woman as she bumped against the corral door over and over, not seeming to realize she had to unlatch it to get out from behind the counter.
Friday, May 01, 2009
H1Z1 - Chapter 1
It started innocently enough, I guess. I mean, it's a flu virus, right? How bad can that be?
Yes, I remember the Spanish flu outbreak of 1918, yes, there have been several outbreaks since then and a lot of people have died, but it's 2009 for goodness' sake! We've made such huge medical advances since then - and we can't handle a little outbreak of some new flu virus?
I took it in stride. Went to work. Washed my hands. Went "tch tch" at news reports coming from Mexico about the spread of the virus. Now big deal, right? It's just the flu - I had my flu mist this year, I am good to go!
Then the reports started changing. At first the chatter all seemed to point to it being a myth - I mean, really? Zombies? You're kidding, right?
I kept living my life. Kept going to work. Washed my hands like the news said to do. Stayed clear of large public venues where snot-nosed children put their hands on everything - you know, Wad-Mart. I thought I was safe.
I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong.
Ironically, it was a trip to Wad-Mart that brought the reality of the new and very different viral strain, H1Z1, to light for me - that one fateful trip.
As usual, I climbed into my SUV on a sunny but somewhat wind-swept Saturday morning with the intent of hitting the store for some shells and heading out to the skeet range. I brought my son with me just to give the wife a break - besides, I could rent him a 20-gauge at the range and let him shoot with me (she didn't know I would do this and I wanted to keep things that way, but the boy needs to learn to hunt!).
Our neighborhood is quiet on an a Saturday at 8:00 a.m. no matter what, but this morning I didn't even hear dogs barking, which seemed fine with my two furry knuckleheads, who piled into the back of the truck like it was Christmas morning and they could smell a huge pile of dog treats wrapped in a present. I absolutely love the enthusiasm of my silly dogs, but sometimes, I wonder how much actual brain action is going on in those furry skulls.
The four of us, me, the boy and the doggy doggy headed out - my thoughts were not on what I was doing, but I really couldn't tell you now what it was that was whispering in the back of my mind and making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
There was almost no traffic - a fire engine whipped by me at the stop light - lights on but no siren, but beyond that, I only saw a few other early morning adventurers out on the road. Again, not that unusual, it is, after all, a fairly small city.
The closer we got to the store, the more the dogs seemed to be picking up on whatever it was that had my hackles raised, because theirs began to raise, too. The bitch, Sarah, started to whine as I turned into the Wad-Mart parking lot.
"What's a matter, baby?" I crooned, using that sweet, soft voice every dog owner uses with their pet when it seems nervous or scared. Funny, that voice - you could be the toughest, meanest, baddest-assed biker punk on the planet, but you talk in that funny, sweet voice when your dog is upset. Go figure.
Sasha looked at me with her head cocked as Steve, our male, started whining, too.
"It's OK, babies," I crooned, looking at my son, who was petting Sasha and crooning to her as well. He just shrugged and kept trying to soother her.
Not too busy here this morning, thank goodness. I am never a fan of the huge super-we-have-it-all stores in the first place, but I sincerely loathe Wad-Mart. There's something about the parade of skinny idiots in wife-beaters with mullets and overweight, frazzled mommies with 27 1/2 kids that simply puts my teeth on edge. My strategy? Get in, go straight to what I want and get out.
As I made sure my son had cracked his window for the dogs, I noticed that it was eerily quiet here, too. I mean quiet. 'You know, this is that moment in the cheesy horror movie where the sacrificial (your fave here - bimbo, minority, dumb jock, etc ...) whoever goes, "Yeah, too quiet ...", I thought to myself as I locked the door. I almost said the same to my son, but refrained.
At ten, Bill is my spitting image. It's like me-redux but with lighter hair. Same eyes, same chin, same bit of paunch and tendency toward love handles when we don't get out enough. The only thing that marks us apart when you look at photos of my tenth year and him, today, is a scar on my chin just below the lip. I got that one when I was three or four - I fell on my face and shoved my bottom teeth through my lip. I can still remember having stitches sewn into it; not a favorite memory of mine.
This morning, we were both dressed for the range - jeans, light shooting jackets with shoulder pads, he in a favorite, smelly beat-up ball cap, me in my empire Stetson. My shotgun was dutifully racked in the driver's side window in the back of the SUV - barrel NOT pointed at my head as I drove. I was thinking about picking up a 20-gauge of his own for Bill this morning, but still wasn't sure how I'd get that idea through to my pacifist wife, who only rolled over and mumbled when I got up at 6:00 a.m. to shower, shave and throw some bacon and eggs on the stove for the boy and I.
We, "The Bobsy Twins" as my Mother called us, walked toward the entrance of this disgusting, over commercialized, price-cutting, wage raping establishment, alone. Utterly alone. One of the dogs gave us a single bark as we walked off from the truck, as if to say, "Wait! You don't know what you're getting in to!"
'I know," I thought. 'I've gone through this before. I can handle the idiots at Wad-Mart."
Bill looked back at the truck, biting his lip like he does when some thing's bothering him.
"Dad?" He asked. "Can we bring the dogs in? They look lonely."
"Son, you know we can't bring them in here," I replied. "But we'll stop at the Pet-Mart on the way out-of-town and we can take them in to buy them treats, okay?"
This seemed to mollify him and he reached out to grab my hand as we walked through the automatic doors. I love the fact that, even though he's ten now, and a Big Boy, he'll still reach out to hold me hand in a crowded place, or when we're all alone.
Yes, I remember the Spanish flu outbreak of 1918, yes, there have been several outbreaks since then and a lot of people have died, but it's 2009 for goodness' sake! We've made such huge medical advances since then - and we can't handle a little outbreak of some new flu virus?
I took it in stride. Went to work. Washed my hands. Went "tch tch" at news reports coming from Mexico about the spread of the virus. Now big deal, right? It's just the flu - I had my flu mist this year, I am good to go!
Then the reports started changing. At first the chatter all seemed to point to it being a myth - I mean, really? Zombies? You're kidding, right?
I kept living my life. Kept going to work. Washed my hands like the news said to do. Stayed clear of large public venues where snot-nosed children put their hands on everything - you know, Wad-Mart. I thought I was safe.
I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong.
Ironically, it was a trip to Wad-Mart that brought the reality of the new and very different viral strain, H1Z1, to light for me - that one fateful trip.
As usual, I climbed into my SUV on a sunny but somewhat wind-swept Saturday morning with the intent of hitting the store for some shells and heading out to the skeet range. I brought my son with me just to give the wife a break - besides, I could rent him a 20-gauge at the range and let him shoot with me (she didn't know I would do this and I wanted to keep things that way, but the boy needs to learn to hunt!).
Our neighborhood is quiet on an a Saturday at 8:00 a.m. no matter what, but this morning I didn't even hear dogs barking, which seemed fine with my two furry knuckleheads, who piled into the back of the truck like it was Christmas morning and they could smell a huge pile of dog treats wrapped in a present. I absolutely love the enthusiasm of my silly dogs, but sometimes, I wonder how much actual brain action is going on in those furry skulls.
The four of us, me, the boy and the doggy doggy headed out - my thoughts were not on what I was doing, but I really couldn't tell you now what it was that was whispering in the back of my mind and making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
There was almost no traffic - a fire engine whipped by me at the stop light - lights on but no siren, but beyond that, I only saw a few other early morning adventurers out on the road. Again, not that unusual, it is, after all, a fairly small city.
The closer we got to the store, the more the dogs seemed to be picking up on whatever it was that had my hackles raised, because theirs began to raise, too. The bitch, Sarah, started to whine as I turned into the Wad-Mart parking lot.
"What's a matter, baby?" I crooned, using that sweet, soft voice every dog owner uses with their pet when it seems nervous or scared. Funny, that voice - you could be the toughest, meanest, baddest-assed biker punk on the planet, but you talk in that funny, sweet voice when your dog is upset. Go figure.
Sasha looked at me with her head cocked as Steve, our male, started whining, too.
"It's OK, babies," I crooned, looking at my son, who was petting Sasha and crooning to her as well. He just shrugged and kept trying to soother her.
Not too busy here this morning, thank goodness. I am never a fan of the huge super-we-have-it-all stores in the first place, but I sincerely loathe Wad-Mart. There's something about the parade of skinny idiots in wife-beaters with mullets and overweight, frazzled mommies with 27 1/2 kids that simply puts my teeth on edge. My strategy? Get in, go straight to what I want and get out.
As I made sure my son had cracked his window for the dogs, I noticed that it was eerily quiet here, too. I mean quiet. 'You know, this is that moment in the cheesy horror movie where the sacrificial (your fave here - bimbo, minority, dumb jock, etc ...) whoever goes, "Yeah, too quiet ...", I thought to myself as I locked the door. I almost said the same to my son, but refrained.
At ten, Bill is my spitting image. It's like me-redux but with lighter hair. Same eyes, same chin, same bit of paunch and tendency toward love handles when we don't get out enough. The only thing that marks us apart when you look at photos of my tenth year and him, today, is a scar on my chin just below the lip. I got that one when I was three or four - I fell on my face and shoved my bottom teeth through my lip. I can still remember having stitches sewn into it; not a favorite memory of mine.
This morning, we were both dressed for the range - jeans, light shooting jackets with shoulder pads, he in a favorite, smelly beat-up ball cap, me in my empire Stetson. My shotgun was dutifully racked in the driver's side window in the back of the SUV - barrel NOT pointed at my head as I drove. I was thinking about picking up a 20-gauge of his own for Bill this morning, but still wasn't sure how I'd get that idea through to my pacifist wife, who only rolled over and mumbled when I got up at 6:00 a.m. to shower, shave and throw some bacon and eggs on the stove for the boy and I.
We, "The Bobsy Twins" as my Mother called us, walked toward the entrance of this disgusting, over commercialized, price-cutting, wage raping establishment, alone. Utterly alone. One of the dogs gave us a single bark as we walked off from the truck, as if to say, "Wait! You don't know what you're getting in to!"
'I know," I thought. 'I've gone through this before. I can handle the idiots at Wad-Mart."
Bill looked back at the truck, biting his lip like he does when some thing's bothering him.
"Dad?" He asked. "Can we bring the dogs in? They look lonely."
"Son, you know we can't bring them in here," I replied. "But we'll stop at the Pet-Mart on the way out-of-town and we can take them in to buy them treats, okay?"
This seemed to mollify him and he reached out to grab my hand as we walked through the automatic doors. I love the fact that, even though he's ten now, and a Big Boy, he'll still reach out to hold me hand in a crowded place, or when we're all alone.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
It very well may be the end!
Evidence is surfacing that H1N1 has actually mutated into H1Z1! The Zombie Apocalypse is upon us!
I, for one, am stockpiling shotgun shells, gas and 2-stroke oil for my chainsaw, about 100 bottles of vodka to make Molotov Cocktails with, and anything else I might be able to use to defend myself from the putrescent horde.
This very well could be it, my friends. The day of the Zombie is upon us!
I, for one, am stockpiling shotgun shells, gas and 2-stroke oil for my chainsaw, about 100 bottles of vodka to make Molotov Cocktails with, and anything else I might be able to use to defend myself from the putrescent horde.
This very well could be it, my friends. The day of the Zombie is upon us!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
So now what?
I got a phone call a little while ago. A phone call I was not very pleased with.
Looking at my cell, the number was familiar only in that it was the base switchboard. I always hate answering these calls because they are almost always either my boss needing me to come back in or the clinic calling to tell me how many ways my body is rebelling against youth and good health.
It was the latter.
"Mr. Guhrilla? This is 'Nan' from the base Clinic calling you to tell you that you have a referral to Orthopedics."
"What? Why do I have that?" I asked, fighting that 'wonderful' feeling of my stomach clenching as I tried valiantly to keep it from crawling up my throat by way of my spine. My eyes actually began to tear up. A referral.
"They didn't tell you?" This, she asked with just as glib a voice as the one she used to announce to me that I had been "referred."
"No ma'am, they didn't."
"We got the results from your MRI and you have a bulging disc."
Now I ask you, who, in their right mind, calls an almost middle-aged man who has been suffering with extreme lower back pain for months (at this point) and tells him, over the phone no less, "Oh by the way, you're on the path to life-long pain, discomfort, eternal physical therapy and we might be able to throw in repeated surgeries, too! YAY!"
I could almost visualize Miss Super Happy jumping up and down and clapping as she dropped what, to me, felt like a virtual death sentence in my lap. I swear I heard her office-mates blowing on those obnoxious party whistles and the rustle of confetti in the background as she dumped an uncertain but constantly painful future square in my lap.
I realize a bulging disc isn't the end of the world, but you have to realize, I have always been the guy who, when no one else in the shop could pick it up, would simply walk over, lift the offending item and nonchalantly ask, "Where do you want it?"
Now I'm the guy who limps and hunches over a little because his back can't stand to stand straight and take long steps. I can't sit in one position for too long, I can't stand for too long - heck, I have to take a painkiller and a muscle relaxer just to be able to sleep fitfully and wake up miserable.
Always been strong as a horse - always. And now this. Is this the punishment I deserve for growing one more year older? Is this the curse I deserve for wanting to be that strong, virile man for ever and ever?
Well, damn it, I am NOT going to take this lying down. No. I am going to fight. I am going to win, too. It is MY body, damn it, and I refuse to let it tell me how to survive. I am going to find a way to fix this doggone disc, even if it means a rusty X-acto and a mallet! I refuse to let this break me!
Now, where's that box that needs to be put up on that shelf. I'll ...
go lie down and rest and then supervise my son as he puts it where it belongs.
Damn.
Looking at my cell, the number was familiar only in that it was the base switchboard. I always hate answering these calls because they are almost always either my boss needing me to come back in or the clinic calling to tell me how many ways my body is rebelling against youth and good health.
It was the latter.
"Mr. Guhrilla? This is 'Nan' from the base Clinic calling you to tell you that you have a referral to Orthopedics."
"What? Why do I have that?" I asked, fighting that 'wonderful' feeling of my stomach clenching as I tried valiantly to keep it from crawling up my throat by way of my spine. My eyes actually began to tear up. A referral.
"They didn't tell you?" This, she asked with just as glib a voice as the one she used to announce to me that I had been "referred."
"No ma'am, they didn't."
"We got the results from your MRI and you have a bulging disc."
Now I ask you, who, in their right mind, calls an almost middle-aged man who has been suffering with extreme lower back pain for months (at this point) and tells him, over the phone no less, "Oh by the way, you're on the path to life-long pain, discomfort, eternal physical therapy and we might be able to throw in repeated surgeries, too! YAY!"
I could almost visualize Miss Super Happy jumping up and down and clapping as she dropped what, to me, felt like a virtual death sentence in my lap. I swear I heard her office-mates blowing on those obnoxious party whistles and the rustle of confetti in the background as she dumped an uncertain but constantly painful future square in my lap.
I realize a bulging disc isn't the end of the world, but you have to realize, I have always been the guy who, when no one else in the shop could pick it up, would simply walk over, lift the offending item and nonchalantly ask, "Where do you want it?"
Now I'm the guy who limps and hunches over a little because his back can't stand to stand straight and take long steps. I can't sit in one position for too long, I can't stand for too long - heck, I have to take a painkiller and a muscle relaxer just to be able to sleep fitfully and wake up miserable.
Always been strong as a horse - always. And now this. Is this the punishment I deserve for growing one more year older? Is this the curse I deserve for wanting to be that strong, virile man for ever and ever?
Well, damn it, I am NOT going to take this lying down. No. I am going to fight. I am going to win, too. It is MY body, damn it, and I refuse to let it tell me how to survive. I am going to find a way to fix this doggone disc, even if it means a rusty X-acto and a mallet! I refuse to let this break me!
Now, where's that box that needs to be put up on that shelf. I'll ...
go lie down and rest and then supervise my son as he puts it where it belongs.
Damn.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Swine flu?
I don't think so - I believe its actually the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse!
I am putting together my Zombie survival kit now!!!
I am putting together my Zombie survival kit now!!!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
My summer goal
http://www.fotp.com/ringthepeak/index.html
I am going to hike the Ring the Peak trail system counter-clockwise in a single trip. I will backpack it, to be precise, and, as it's 63 miles, my goal will be to do so in approximately a week, camping at the end of each day.
So now my thinking is on the logistics involved, namely, packing enough nutrition to finish the week strong, whether or not to try and bring my son, even whether or not I could manage to haul enough weight to bring the dogs.
Looking at the trail maps (linked above), there are several spots where I could simply cache additional supplies, however, I think the greater challenge (and more appreciable one) would be to carry everything that I need with me.
Then there's the one section of non-existent trail from Gillett to Forest Service Road 376. DO I make like the pioneers and simply hoof it, making sure I'm on the right side of the Forest Service road before I decide to camp? Or do I simply forgo that section of trail, arrange to be picked up and ferried to the next finished segment? My gut says hoof it - make the walk - it is Public Land, just no right of way agreement with the city of Colorado Springs, and be sure I camp back on Forest Service land.
Other logistical questions are easier to answer - Brita makes an outstanding backpacker's water filter, and I own a super lightweight backpacker's stove should it come down to boiling my drinking water. A pack, clothing, tent and sleeping bag are all simple, too. Should I bring the boy, a second pack so that he could carry his share would certainly not be a problem, either. Convincing him that he's capable of 10 or so miles per day is another matter - but we'd be averaging 2.5-3 miles per hour, barring stops for photos and the like, so I doubt it would be too big an issue for him.
Thinking about it, I doubt I would bring the dogs. Too much trouble for a first time trek like this - it would be best to know the trail and the capabilities of both me and the boy before I made the hike.
Hmm ... I like the idea of making this trip ...
I am going to hike the Ring the Peak trail system counter-clockwise in a single trip. I will backpack it, to be precise, and, as it's 63 miles, my goal will be to do so in approximately a week, camping at the end of each day.
So now my thinking is on the logistics involved, namely, packing enough nutrition to finish the week strong, whether or not to try and bring my son, even whether or not I could manage to haul enough weight to bring the dogs.
Looking at the trail maps (linked above), there are several spots where I could simply cache additional supplies, however, I think the greater challenge (and more appreciable one) would be to carry everything that I need with me.
Then there's the one section of non-existent trail from Gillett to Forest Service Road 376. DO I make like the pioneers and simply hoof it, making sure I'm on the right side of the Forest Service road before I decide to camp? Or do I simply forgo that section of trail, arrange to be picked up and ferried to the next finished segment? My gut says hoof it - make the walk - it is Public Land, just no right of way agreement with the city of Colorado Springs, and be sure I camp back on Forest Service land.
Other logistical questions are easier to answer - Brita makes an outstanding backpacker's water filter, and I own a super lightweight backpacker's stove should it come down to boiling my drinking water. A pack, clothing, tent and sleeping bag are all simple, too. Should I bring the boy, a second pack so that he could carry his share would certainly not be a problem, either. Convincing him that he's capable of 10 or so miles per day is another matter - but we'd be averaging 2.5-3 miles per hour, barring stops for photos and the like, so I doubt it would be too big an issue for him.
Thinking about it, I doubt I would bring the dogs. Too much trouble for a first time trek like this - it would be best to know the trail and the capabilities of both me and the boy before I made the hike.
Hmm ... I like the idea of making this trip ...
Thursday, April 02, 2009
The story of the volcano and how Raven grieved for his old friend
In the woods of the great Northwest lived a man and a teacher. His many years imparted wisdom to him and he, in turn, shared this wisdom with his children and the children of his children.
This teaching man liked to teach his grandchildren best of all. He taught them how to speak, how to write, how to listen and how to hear. He taught them how to fish, because fishing is the way of the people of the woods of the great Northwest.
This teaching man taught Raven's people as well. He made a way for them to have magical boxes which connected them to all of the world even when they lived so far North that in the summer the sun never set and in the winter the sun never rose. The teaching man sent his daughter to deliver the boxes. With these boxes the world of the people of Raven grew smaller, and their reach across that world grew larger.
Raven often visited the teaching man, sitting high in a tree by his house, croaking and cackling as he watched over this friend who helped make the world smaller. Raven wondered at the man's patience and caring. Raven admired his dedication to his children and his children's children and in time, even their children.
One day, the teaching man began to feel the weight of his wise years. Raven noticed that the man walked less and had to sit more, yet still the man cared and taught and he would even take sweats in a tee-pee next to his house, to talk to Raven and the other spirits. Raven smiled, knowing that the man was a wonderful man, but a man nonetheless, and that his time grew short on the earth.
Raven decided, as this man's time on earth waned, that he would wake the volcano to commemorate the greatness of the teaching man. Flapping his mighty wings, Raven flew down to the volcano and spoke to it of the great love which the teaching man shared with his family. The volcano awoke and began to shudder with tears, for the words of Raven about the teaching man touched his heart. As Raven left, the volcano promised that it would commemorate the teaching man appropriately, and the ash from his tears as they roiled inside the mountain began to kiss the sky of the world of men in commemoration of the waning of the teaching man.
This is why, whenever a great friend of Raven begins to pass, the volcano awakes and begins to mourn, and even the snow which falls from the sky carries a gray pallor. Because Raven gave the gift of his memory of the teaching man, Raymond, to his friend the volcano as Raymond's life began to slip away from his body. This is why Mt. Redoubt is erupting and showering the people with ashes. Soon, Raymond's ashes will join those of the volcano and the Raven will enjoy his friend's company forever.
Grandfather, I love you and I thank you for the years of wisdom you shared with me. I pray that I can touch as many lives during my life as you have during yours.
Joaquin
This teaching man liked to teach his grandchildren best of all. He taught them how to speak, how to write, how to listen and how to hear. He taught them how to fish, because fishing is the way of the people of the woods of the great Northwest.
This teaching man taught Raven's people as well. He made a way for them to have magical boxes which connected them to all of the world even when they lived so far North that in the summer the sun never set and in the winter the sun never rose. The teaching man sent his daughter to deliver the boxes. With these boxes the world of the people of Raven grew smaller, and their reach across that world grew larger.
Raven often visited the teaching man, sitting high in a tree by his house, croaking and cackling as he watched over this friend who helped make the world smaller. Raven wondered at the man's patience and caring. Raven admired his dedication to his children and his children's children and in time, even their children.
One day, the teaching man began to feel the weight of his wise years. Raven noticed that the man walked less and had to sit more, yet still the man cared and taught and he would even take sweats in a tee-pee next to his house, to talk to Raven and the other spirits. Raven smiled, knowing that the man was a wonderful man, but a man nonetheless, and that his time grew short on the earth.
Raven decided, as this man's time on earth waned, that he would wake the volcano to commemorate the greatness of the teaching man. Flapping his mighty wings, Raven flew down to the volcano and spoke to it of the great love which the teaching man shared with his family. The volcano awoke and began to shudder with tears, for the words of Raven about the teaching man touched his heart. As Raven left, the volcano promised that it would commemorate the teaching man appropriately, and the ash from his tears as they roiled inside the mountain began to kiss the sky of the world of men in commemoration of the waning of the teaching man.
This is why, whenever a great friend of Raven begins to pass, the volcano awakes and begins to mourn, and even the snow which falls from the sky carries a gray pallor. Because Raven gave the gift of his memory of the teaching man, Raymond, to his friend the volcano as Raymond's life began to slip away from his body. This is why Mt. Redoubt is erupting and showering the people with ashes. Soon, Raymond's ashes will join those of the volcano and the Raven will enjoy his friend's company forever.
Grandfather, I love you and I thank you for the years of wisdom you shared with me. I pray that I can touch as many lives during my life as you have during yours.
Joaquin
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Digital Natives
This is what my children are - digital natives. Think about it - my generation, "Generation X" - we're the first settlers in the newly discovered digital world. We grew up with satellite TV, satellite communications, the very beginnings of the Internet, and pretty much every home eventually had a computer in it - our first was an Epson that had a tiny 4-inch green screen and folded up into a suitcase.
My parents were missionaries in the digital environment. My mother worked for a while as a computer networking technician for Alaska Pacific University. She set up computers in villages the Alaska bush, which were networked to the University in Anchorage via satellite, and then to the central hub for the company which was running the program, Control Data. These are the very basic underpinnings of the tool we know and share on a daily basis, the Internet.
Mom's parents, my Grandparents, were the discoverers of this amazing new digital world. Grandpa ran the program at APU (nepotism, I know). People of his generation built the first actual computers - from ENIAC to the invention of the microchip. These were the Columbus's of their time - those who dared posit that the world was not flat at all ...
Which makes me and my generation the proud parents of the first generation born fully immersed in the ever-changing world of digital technology.
Think about this: since my daughter was born in 1991, cell phones have shrunk from the size of a walkie-talkie almost down to the size of a credit card. The computer has shrunk from a box the size of a suitcase and a monitor the size of a house to a thin notebook which you can fit in an envelope or a hand-held device 1,000 - times more powerful than that first Apple IIe I was so very proud of in the 7th grade. For her, technology ebbs and flows like the tide does for us, and she's used to instant information, instant entertainment and instant gratification. Why not? All she has to do is Google it if she wants to find something out.
The problem with this - and I see it as a generational problem from which even my generation suffers to a degree - is that in learning that she can find it now, she has failed to learn the PROCESS. She doesn't understand, and we're, as a generation, as two or even THREE generations, failing to teach, to train her generation in how the PROCESS is as important as the RESULTS.
Why learn to exercise when you can get liposuction or lap-band surgery? Who cares about learning to take care of ones self when all one has to do is get a pill to fix it?
Why learn how to perform long division when you can just pull up your calculator on your laptop?
Why balance your checkbook? Why even HAVE a checkbook? Just log on to the bank and look at your account balance!
But when they don't understand the need for Process, the need for learning the steps, they don't truly learn the hows and whys as to the way the world (OUR FAULT, not THEIRS), they feel entitled to the benefits of that process even though they didn't go through it.
And now the government is following through and entitling their entitlement. Let's bail out the economy! Let's socialize medicine! Let's tax the rich and give to the poor not because they deserve it, but because we CAN.
We no longer have to work to earn our living - we can be guaranteed housing, medical care, food - why bother working? We are ENTITLED to these things, according to the president. We needn't EARN them!
I, for one, am going to teach my children how to EARN what they need, and how to protect what they EARN. It's the only way we, as a society, are going to survive - the way our forefathers built this nation, and something we need to return to.
My parents were missionaries in the digital environment. My mother worked for a while as a computer networking technician for Alaska Pacific University. She set up computers in villages the Alaska bush, which were networked to the University in Anchorage via satellite, and then to the central hub for the company which was running the program, Control Data. These are the very basic underpinnings of the tool we know and share on a daily basis, the Internet.
Mom's parents, my Grandparents, were the discoverers of this amazing new digital world. Grandpa ran the program at APU (nepotism, I know). People of his generation built the first actual computers - from ENIAC to the invention of the microchip. These were the Columbus's of their time - those who dared posit that the world was not flat at all ...
Which makes me and my generation the proud parents of the first generation born fully immersed in the ever-changing world of digital technology.
Think about this: since my daughter was born in 1991, cell phones have shrunk from the size of a walkie-talkie almost down to the size of a credit card. The computer has shrunk from a box the size of a suitcase and a monitor the size of a house to a thin notebook which you can fit in an envelope or a hand-held device 1,000 - times more powerful than that first Apple IIe I was so very proud of in the 7th grade. For her, technology ebbs and flows like the tide does for us, and she's used to instant information, instant entertainment and instant gratification. Why not? All she has to do is Google it if she wants to find something out.
The problem with this - and I see it as a generational problem from which even my generation suffers to a degree - is that in learning that she can find it now, she has failed to learn the PROCESS. She doesn't understand, and we're, as a generation, as two or even THREE generations, failing to teach, to train her generation in how the PROCESS is as important as the RESULTS.
Why learn to exercise when you can get liposuction or lap-band surgery? Who cares about learning to take care of ones self when all one has to do is get a pill to fix it?
Why learn how to perform long division when you can just pull up your calculator on your laptop?
Why balance your checkbook? Why even HAVE a checkbook? Just log on to the bank and look at your account balance!
But when they don't understand the need for Process, the need for learning the steps, they don't truly learn the hows and whys as to the way the world (OUR FAULT, not THEIRS), they feel entitled to the benefits of that process even though they didn't go through it.
And now the government is following through and entitling their entitlement. Let's bail out the economy! Let's socialize medicine! Let's tax the rich and give to the poor not because they deserve it, but because we CAN.
We no longer have to work to earn our living - we can be guaranteed housing, medical care, food - why bother working? We are ENTITLED to these things, according to the president. We needn't EARN them!
I, for one, am going to teach my children how to EARN what they need, and how to protect what they EARN. It's the only way we, as a society, are going to survive - the way our forefathers built this nation, and something we need to return to.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Robots of war
.Military’s killer robots must learn warrior code
Creating devices to do our dirty work for us, in my opinion, would create a particular heartlessness that I believe would actually INCREASE our proclivity for violence. If all I suffer is a robot destroyed while you lose villages and people, what difference is that to me? My people didn't die, my land was not over-run ... It seems a dark road to travel down.
As it is, human suffering, ours and theirs, gives us, the U.S. reason to think twice before sending in the troops - at least, I hope it does. In my mind, if a situation could be avoided by diplomacy then it is worth far more to pursue that avenue than to send in the military. That being said, there are certainly good reasons to send in the military - with the understanding that it will cost us, most likely as dearly as it will cost "them".
But if we were to send in machinery to do the dirty work, where is the cost? Money for more machines. Where is the human suffering? Not in MY hometown ... Who would benefit? The contractors who build the robots and their employees - hell, it would be a boon to the economy. But what would stop us or any other nation from pursuing war as a solution when we don't stand to lose much at all? And what IF those machines develop "minds of their own"?
General Douglas MacArthur said, "I know war as few other men now living know it, and nothing to me is more revolting. I have long advocated its complete abolition, as its very destructiveness on both friend and foe has rendered it useless as a method of settling international disputes."
How true is this? I think of what the ramifications would have been had we sent robots into Iraq - machines have no conscience, no compassion, simply a mission. If robots overthrew Saddam, drove out insurgencies and dismantled the Iraqi military, who would help rebuild the country? I think it would be naive in the extreme to say, "We would."
No, we wouldn't. We already spent x-numbers of billions of dollars sending our robot army over to do our will. Mission accomplished, regime overthrown, now what? We ship the robots home. We vote not to extend our time "over there" or keep wasting our tax dollars "over there". We withdraw from our neighbors and into ourselves and any time someone pisses us off, we simply launch our robots.
And let me ask this: if "THEY" have robots, too, and the robots fight the robots - WHO WINS????? What would be the point in the first place? We'd fall back on the diplomatic routes and eventually end up sending humans, or worse, using bigger weapons (nukes), because, "Hey, 'Kreblakistan', we don't like you, so we're sending our robots to beat up your robots" just doesn't make any sense! The whole point of war, or a fistfight, for that matter, is, "I don't agree with you, so I'm going to beat you until you submit or until you beat ME and I HAVE to put up with your point of view."
I am all for defending those who are suffering and standing for freedom and democracy. I feel that the current war(s) are and were justified and that we will have, ultimately, done some good in this world. But if we start doing that "good" via remote control, we lose yet another piece of our humanity, and if, as the linked article mentions, those robots develop a "mind of their own" and decide to turn their programming and abilities back on their creators, we've done nothing but develop yet another form of human suffering and warfare.
Let's use robots to disarm roadside bombs, fly reconnaisance missions and conduct deep strike missions. But when it comes to feet on the ground warfare, we need to remember that it's the humanity of the mission that keeps us from escalating and ultimately destroying ourselves.
Creating devices to do our dirty work for us, in my opinion, would create a particular heartlessness that I believe would actually INCREASE our proclivity for violence. If all I suffer is a robot destroyed while you lose villages and people, what difference is that to me? My people didn't die, my land was not over-run ... It seems a dark road to travel down.
As it is, human suffering, ours and theirs, gives us, the U.S. reason to think twice before sending in the troops - at least, I hope it does. In my mind, if a situation could be avoided by diplomacy then it is worth far more to pursue that avenue than to send in the military. That being said, there are certainly good reasons to send in the military - with the understanding that it will cost us, most likely as dearly as it will cost "them".
But if we were to send in machinery to do the dirty work, where is the cost? Money for more machines. Where is the human suffering? Not in MY hometown ... Who would benefit? The contractors who build the robots and their employees - hell, it would be a boon to the economy. But what would stop us or any other nation from pursuing war as a solution when we don't stand to lose much at all? And what IF those machines develop "minds of their own"?
General Douglas MacArthur said, "I know war as few other men now living know it, and nothing to me is more revolting. I have long advocated its complete abolition, as its very destructiveness on both friend and foe has rendered it useless as a method of settling international disputes."
How true is this? I think of what the ramifications would have been had we sent robots into Iraq - machines have no conscience, no compassion, simply a mission. If robots overthrew Saddam, drove out insurgencies and dismantled the Iraqi military, who would help rebuild the country? I think it would be naive in the extreme to say, "We would."
No, we wouldn't. We already spent x-numbers of billions of dollars sending our robot army over to do our will. Mission accomplished, regime overthrown, now what? We ship the robots home. We vote not to extend our time "over there" or keep wasting our tax dollars "over there". We withdraw from our neighbors and into ourselves and any time someone pisses us off, we simply launch our robots.
And let me ask this: if "THEY" have robots, too, and the robots fight the robots - WHO WINS????? What would be the point in the first place? We'd fall back on the diplomatic routes and eventually end up sending humans, or worse, using bigger weapons (nukes), because, "Hey, 'Kreblakistan', we don't like you, so we're sending our robots to beat up your robots" just doesn't make any sense! The whole point of war, or a fistfight, for that matter, is, "I don't agree with you, so I'm going to beat you until you submit or until you beat ME and I HAVE to put up with your point of view."
I am all for defending those who are suffering and standing for freedom and democracy. I feel that the current war(s) are and were justified and that we will have, ultimately, done some good in this world. But if we start doing that "good" via remote control, we lose yet another piece of our humanity, and if, as the linked article mentions, those robots develop a "mind of their own" and decide to turn their programming and abilities back on their creators, we've done nothing but develop yet another form of human suffering and warfare.
Let's use robots to disarm roadside bombs, fly reconnaisance missions and conduct deep strike missions. But when it comes to feet on the ground warfare, we need to remember that it's the humanity of the mission that keeps us from escalating and ultimately destroying ourselves.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Interesting thought:
Times have not become more violent. They have just become more televised.
- Marilyn Manson
- Marilyn Manson
Monday, February 02, 2009
Since when?
http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=D963IPR81&show_article=1
Since when did we start expecting our elite athletes to be elite humans? It doesn't work that way -- we're all just human and we all make mistakes. Whether it's Michael Phelps loading up a bong or a Catholic Bishop caught having an affair (or worse), people whom society tends to place a higher set of characteristic and behavioral expectations on almost never fail to let us down.
I am certain that part of the issue is the fact that media is now instantly accessable - we can see the exploits of our "heroes" almost as it happens - people are posting photos and video to the Web from their phones in near-real-time, giving a judgemental media ability to instantly condemn or praise their actions and send the word out world-wide. The pressure that this creates on public figures has got to be overwhelming, and the expectations of a public whom understands only what the media shows them of a person - who only gets a two-dimensional view - well, one can only assume that that creates a crushing weight.
So what do we do as responsible citizens? Point and cluck our tongues, wagging our heads knowingly? Disassociate ourselves from any fan-dom or reverence of said transgressors? Shove it in the backs of our minds and try to ignore it? What do we do when one of our children comes up and asks us why their hero decided to smoke pot?
I don't really have an answer except to explain that Mr. Phelps made a poor decision and let's learn from his mistake and not do it ourselves. But it certainly does raise a few questions.
Since when did we start expecting our elite athletes to be elite humans? It doesn't work that way -- we're all just human and we all make mistakes. Whether it's Michael Phelps loading up a bong or a Catholic Bishop caught having an affair (or worse), people whom society tends to place a higher set of characteristic and behavioral expectations on almost never fail to let us down.
I am certain that part of the issue is the fact that media is now instantly accessable - we can see the exploits of our "heroes" almost as it happens - people are posting photos and video to the Web from their phones in near-real-time, giving a judgemental media ability to instantly condemn or praise their actions and send the word out world-wide. The pressure that this creates on public figures has got to be overwhelming, and the expectations of a public whom understands only what the media shows them of a person - who only gets a two-dimensional view - well, one can only assume that that creates a crushing weight.
So what do we do as responsible citizens? Point and cluck our tongues, wagging our heads knowingly? Disassociate ourselves from any fan-dom or reverence of said transgressors? Shove it in the backs of our minds and try to ignore it? What do we do when one of our children comes up and asks us why their hero decided to smoke pot?
I don't really have an answer except to explain that Mr. Phelps made a poor decision and let's learn from his mistake and not do it ourselves. But it certainly does raise a few questions.
Friday, January 30, 2009
You have GOT to be fucking KIDDING!!!
http://www.peta.org/sea_kittens/
Our friends at PETA have begun a new campaign - to rename fish "sea kittens" because, "nobody would hurt a a sea kitten!"
Seriously ... sea kittens?
Heh ...
I kill "sea kittens" for sport - although I guess you'd really have to call them "River kittens" or "Creek kittens" or sometimes "Pond kittens." Trouble is, when you throw an actual kitten into one of these bodies of water, people frown on you and try to attack you!
I think PETA's stupidity could breed additional stupidity as people will be so confused over which kitten is which that they'll try to throw all of 'em into the water, causing the Great Kitten Civil War and destroying the nation in a paroxism of kitten-defending/dunking gunplay.
Nope, PETA's true goal here is clear: to undermine the government by confusing stupid people, thus causing the war. I say we tie PETA in plastic bags and throw them over bridges - that way they can go play with their "Sea kittens."
Our friends at PETA have begun a new campaign - to rename fish "sea kittens" because, "nobody would hurt a a sea kitten!"
Seriously ... sea kittens?
Heh ...
I kill "sea kittens" for sport - although I guess you'd really have to call them "River kittens" or "Creek kittens" or sometimes "Pond kittens." Trouble is, when you throw an actual kitten into one of these bodies of water, people frown on you and try to attack you!
I think PETA's stupidity could breed additional stupidity as people will be so confused over which kitten is which that they'll try to throw all of 'em into the water, causing the Great Kitten Civil War and destroying the nation in a paroxism of kitten-defending/dunking gunplay.
Nope, PETA's true goal here is clear: to undermine the government by confusing stupid people, thus causing the war. I say we tie PETA in plastic bags and throw them over bridges - that way they can go play with their "Sea kittens."
Thursday, January 29, 2009
New career for C-4!
If you haven't seen "Livin' the Low Life" on Speed, you're missing out on a treat - sawheeeeeet! low riders, some great videography and the hotness that is Vida Guerra, although I think C-4 could probably do a better job - bikinis and guns!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Um ... Yer kidding, right?
FLOTUS duds get backlash
Alright ... this is ridiculous. The first lady didn't wear clothing by a black designer so she's "snubbed the African American community?"
Give me a freakin' break! She wore clothing by non-caucasian designers - pointedly so - and SHE is black! OK? You're missing the freaking point here! It doesn't matter what the fuck she wore! SHE IS BLACK!!!
Someone shoot these morons, please?!!?!?!
Alright ... this is ridiculous. The first lady didn't wear clothing by a black designer so she's "snubbed the African American community?"
Give me a freakin' break! She wore clothing by non-caucasian designers - pointedly so - and SHE is black! OK? You're missing the freaking point here! It doesn't matter what the fuck she wore! SHE IS BLACK!!!
Someone shoot these morons, please?!!?!?!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration Day
Well, I predeicted here that there would either be an assassination attempt or terrorist attack by now. I am glad neither has occurred.
I am curious to see how the next six months pans out, though. I fear one ot both of my predictions may still fulfill themselves ...
If not, GREAT! Let's see if our new president can actually change the system!
I am curious to see how the next six months pans out, though. I fear one ot both of my predictions may still fulfill themselves ...
If not, GREAT! Let's see if our new president can actually change the system!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
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