Wednesday, October 16, 2013

A Death In The Smoke

I was out in a slow loping jog that carries me along with no worries or thoughts and I was about three miles away from camp doing some surveillance of the houses around our perimeter when I thought I was running into fog but instead the air filled with smoke.  It was fragrant from a hard wood source I could tell, possibly a hold out resident trying to get the chill out of their dwelling.  With heavy air pressure and high humidity the smoke rolled around the ground spreading out slowly like a fog.  It had saturated the area.

I couldn't breathe the damn stuff and my eyes started to water.  Visibility was going down the further I went forward, and it was the right conditions for the Zombies to get more interested in the hunt.  From my flank I heard a familiar gurgle of a zombie and possibly ahead.  It was hard to tell. 

I abruptly stopped, there was a wrecked bicycle and more noises just ahead.  My heart sunk, I picked up the bike and hopped on riding the same direction I had come as quickly as I could.  Whoever had owned the bike must have happened into the same trap and had become entangled with zombs.  It must have been one of our South Jetty Inn residents under General Grant, but which one?

I road the bike back to South Jetty Inn and returned it with as short of an explanation as I could because I'm not good with grief or comforting people.  I loped off at a steady fast jog back toward the Fort with my next mission, informing the Commander of the bicyclers death.  He would know who she was and tonight in the camp there would be a lot of hushed conversations, some tears, some fanatical terror and alcohol consumption.

I would hide in my bunk, play with my pink bouncy ball and curse the stupidity of humanity that had lit that fire.