A Day at Terry Fox Elementary – Page 157 (Morning)

Posted: May 15, 2012 in History, Journal Page, Safe House Lore
Tags: , , , , , , ,

— Excerpt from Malkoris’ Journal

Have you ever woken up to the sound of screaming?

In this changed world, this apocalyptic wasteland of walking corpses and lost civilization, screaming is oddly bereft. The walking dead don’t scream. When they make any vocal sound at all, it’s a mixture of air slowly escaping the body or a hideous moan or unsettling gasp. Screaming erupts when someone’s suffering from true terror.

I’ve woken up to the sound of screaming. I did this morning. In my mind’s eye, had you asked me how I would have reacted, I would’ve told you, “quickly, immediately, without hesitation.” I would’ve meant it, too. That’s how I react when I hear people screaming. Sometimes, it’s a matter of quickly bringing up a firearm and lending assistance. Sometimes, it’s a matter of grabbing the screamer and running with him or her. Sometimes, it’s a matter of ending the suffering; one quick shot and the screaming stops. Quickly. Immediately. Without hesitation.

Bullshit! It was like waking up to an alarm clock. I came up and out of slumber slowly, sluggishly, as if a quick smack would shut the sound off. By the time I was fully awake and able to think, the screaming should’ve stopped. It didn’t. I grabbed my gun, the wide-muzzled bastard that I keep near the pallet where I sleep, and barreled out and down the hallway.

I’m normally careful when I go running down a hallway. It’s not like zombies are normally all that stealthy, so you don’t have to worry about them hearing you coming, but it’s not just zombies in the world. It might be easier if it were.

I ran through the old gym, the floor tacky, the air reeking with that unpleasant scent of long-dead lacquer and rotting bleachers, and through one of the rear doors, hanging at a split angle on broken hinges. Had I been more awake, I would’ve known better. Had I been paying closer attention, I would’ve stopped.

The shampoo bottle that Searlait threw at me left a bruise that stung for days. If the little wench didn’t want her hair washed, she should’ve avoided Beebles better. I’m a guy in a compound with three women. I’m a guy in a compound with three women, and the worst they have to worry about is me rushing to help them when they’re screaming, even if it’s just because they’re having a forced hair styling.

What a great way to start the day.

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Comments
  1. JarradT says:

    Haha that’s great Chyram! Keep em coming!

    • chyrampsc says:

      Glad you enjoyed! The credit for this goes to Malkoris whose short story written to me has been broken into 3 pieces to be shared with you guys. 😀 I think he did a great job here! (Even though he won’t let me advertise it all over the place like other pieces.)

  2. […] Previous Journal Page “Trust me, it’s fresh,” he said. Why wouldn’t I trust him? No doubt the scar below his eye was from a zombie attack, not an infuriated trading partner who’d learned that his produce was drek. […]

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