This journal was brought to me by Earl
Thompson while they were headed West. This was the first word we'd
gotten on any battles that had happened, even if it wasn't good news
from the Battle of Boston.
June 1, 2017
I used to live in Boston. I loved that
city, all the history, all the architecture. I loved seeing the
houses that had seen so much history. I used to frequent the oldest
pub in the city, the Green Dragon Tavern, established in 1714. The
Boston Party was planned there.
Then the dead rose and the police and
military fought them, and lost. The Battle of Boston was more of a
skirmish than an actual battle. There were only about 5,000 on the
side of the living, police, National Guard, Army Reserve, a small
group of regular Army. But there had to be at least 250,000 zombies.
I watched from a hill, not far away, with my binoculars. I watched as
those brave men and women held their line, even though they knew
there was no way they could win. They gave everyone trying to get out
of Boston those few hours. They saved thousands that day.
I watched until the end. I knew I was
still too close, but if they could sacrifice themselves, I could
watch their sacrifice. I saw them start to run out of ammo, one by
one. Each one took out a knife and formed up behind the ones that
still had a few shots left. Once the last bullet was fired, they took
out as many undead as they could with their knives, but it was only a
couple of minutes before they were overwhelmed and disappeared under
the sheer numbers of zombies.
I put my head down for a moment of
silence for their bravery, then jumped into my four wheel drive truck
and headed away from my city. It's a shame, what was once a living,
breathing city, full of history, is now a city of the dead. Maybe,
some day we'll take it back. If we do, and I'm still alive, I'll be
there.
I realized really quickly that I
needed to get off the interstate and highways. I took one of the
first exits, once the city was gone, and then found an abandoned gas
station to find a map. I planned out my route on the back roads and
headed West. I went around all the major cities I came across, stayed
away from other survivors and didn't stop for any hitchhikers I
passed. That first day, made it 40 miles from Boston and had to
sleep in my cab, hidden behind an old building, so covered in vines,
I couldn't tell what it had been.
The next morning, I ate a granola bar
and headed West, staying off the main highways and interstates. By
mid morning, I was making good time and had just decided to pull over
for an early lunch when I saw the cars ahead, three of them, blocking
the road. The one in the middle, a small foreign deal, was smoking
and there were people on their knees with people behind them with
guns to their heads. I made a snap decision. I was going to save the
people on their knees. I slid my truck to a stop, already aiming and
shooting before they knew what was happening. The five men with the
guns were dead and on the ground before the truck was completely
stopped. The three on their knees just stayed where they were,
obviously in shock.
I yelled out my window for them to
tell me if there were more of the bad guys, one of the woman, a red
head, started pushing her friends to their feet and yelled back that
they didn't know. I motioned them to the truck, keeping a sharp eye
out for any movement on the sides of the road. The three of them ran
to the car, grabbed their bags and ran to my truck, throwing their
stuff in the bed and getting in the cab. I got us around the jam of
cars and out of the area as fast and safely as I could.
Then, I started asking questions. I
learned that the three of them, Annie, Lisa and Phil, were driving
along when the two cars of thugs came out from behind a barn about a
mile back and started tailing them. They tried to get away, but their
little car had no chance to out run the thugs car. They were over
taken where I found them and had just been pulled out of their car
and thrown to their knees when everyone noticed my truck barreling up
to them.
I told them about the Battle of Boston
and about everything I had seen. We drove for hours and finally found
a farm that was obviously deserted, at least, by the living.
We cleared the barn yard and barn
first, hid the truck in the barn, then headed for the house. We
didn't find any undead we went into the basement. The farmer had
shot his wife and two children, but he'd been bit before and had
turned instead of shooting himself. He'd eaten part of all his family
members and was still undead when we got there. I took him out and we
left him in the basement and closed the door.
We stayed in the living room that
night, all together. We've been together ever since. We travel as far
each day as we can, find a good place to hide at night, and keep
going together. Maybe we'll get lucky and find some people to join up
with.
As a writer and artist, I appreciate
any readers and their comments. Thank you for taking the time to read
this blog. Please, come read the other blog I write for our artisan
collective, Raven's Castle Creations, on our website at
www.ravencastlecreations.com. It includes posts on art, the mythology
of symbols we use in our art, history and more! Also, come see the
art we produce in our Etsy store at
etsy.com/shop/RavenCastleCreations. Follow us on Twitter at
@ravencastleart and on Facebook at @ravencastlecreations.
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