Trevor Camp: Z Log 4/13

It's interesting being out away from Cape for a while. Driving through this desolate wasteland makes me miss the meek existence we carved out in Cape. It's not much but it's home.

Home.
It's odd to hear myself say it but it's true. It's my home. In the midst of this all out war raging around me it's the only thing keeping me going.

I was up north today checking on some leads when I rolled into a gas station outside of Bloomsdale to fill up the car and I heard gunshots. This was a double edged sword. On one hand it meant a survivor, and on the other the potential for the survivor to be hostile and try and rob me of my supplies.
I killed the engine and equipped my pistols as I exited the car. The shots continued, then silence. No sound of clips dropping to the floor, no screams of agony, no ominous zombie moan. Just silence. I slowly eased open the door with my pistols raised and walked in.
It was a massacre. Thirty or more zombies lay strewn about and crumpled on the floor. Blood and brain matter painted the walls...

It was beautiful.
A true work of art worthy of Pollock himself. A Masterpiece.

I heard rummaging behind the counter so I aimed my pistols and prepared for anything, but nothing could prepare me for what was behind that counter.
I man in black petticoat, two pistols strapped to his waist, a carton of cigarettes in his left hand, and a familiar grin arouse from behind the lottery tickets.
It was John.
John Haas, my lost friend assumed to be dead (most like anyone gone unseen for more than a day). John had gone to Rolla to spend the break with his family.
We hopped in my car and he explained his current situation to me. They had taken his family, his town, his best friend, and his home, something that resonated in me all too well. He said he was on his way to Cape when his car died a few miles up the road so he had walked to the gas station and was ambushed. He went on to explain that he giong to make his new home in Cape, one of the last safe places around here.

He hated the zombies, he was good at killing them, and he had a grudge.

He was perfect.
I had found my first team member.

We drove back to Cape. My home. Our home. The only thing we had left.

It was ours and it was worth defending.


Gotta go, Chris just sent me a text.

They're coming from the south.



:END LOG