Indiana Farmer

Jun 16 (entry continued)

People say that everything happens for a reason. I played with this thought in my head, tempting it, teasing it. No matter how much I begged myself to come up with a reason for all this, I just couldn't. I have always said bad this happen because of sin in this world. I began to ask God "What sin of mine could have been worth this?". Well I suppose I am still alive.

After the incident with Sasha, we decided to enter the farm house. It was a normal old farm house, well, no zombies in it anyways. We sat around talking about the things that had happened and the things that were to come, I slid to the floor and watched as they talked. I noticed a change in our group mood. Usually mildly happy, now a bit morbid. We discussed the topic of the "crazies". I unloaded my gun and played with the bullets in my hand, we couldn't even come upon a census as to why anyone would turn into a homicidal freak! I began to tune out, rolling the golden stubs across the floor. I often played with things in my fingers when I was stressed. Marbles, dice, a pencil, really anything small. I loaded the emptied clip in to my gun and threw myself on to my back, starring upward. Just thinking..

None of us could sleep a wink, though we tried. To waste some time I read over my journal. I realized how I started to write like it were a story at some point. Like I were planning on getting it published. I suppose it would make a good book. I wondered how many other people were writing journals about this "apocalypse". It really didn't really make a difference to me whether or not it got published in the end. I really just enjoyed writing. However, I did feel that one of these Journals-of-the-Apocalypse should be published. I know that people in the future, if there ever was going to be a future, would know about this little breakout. I still thought they should have a first hand experience of it though. I am definitely no writer at all. I was always terrible in spelling and grammar, but I enjoyed writing. I suppose it is a bit of an escape for me.

"Stormy!" a loud whisper sprang.

The hurried whisper startled me, jerking me from my concentration. I looked up at the source.

"I can't sleep a wink man." expressed Weaver.

"Me neither.." I replied.

"I saw a barn when we broke through the corn field, let's go check it out!"

A bit hesitant to comply "Sure."

He grabbed his bat and I grabbed my gun... back in a bit.

Jun 17 3:33am

We had went downstairs and out the back door to go see what the barn had to offer. We walked across the back yard, cutting through the darkness. The darkness that filled the empty space around me was surprisingly comforting. I actually felt safer, unable to be seen by those things.

We pulled open the large barn door, though we gave it a fair amount of strength it still moved slowly. Every inch sang a high pitched creek. We entered...

The barn was gigantic. Much bigger than it let on from the outside. Immediately my eyes struck gold! A tarp in the shape of a vehicle! Weaver and I ran to the beautiful sight.. We pulled the tarp off and discovered... that it wasn't as gold as we hoped. However, it should prove useful.

Our eyes inspected the Rambler, from the 50's I'd assume. It was ugly, but it was in great condition and was pretty big on the inside.

A few words critiquing the relic had passed between Weave and I.

"What do you think you are doing with my baby?!" snapped a voice from behind us.

We turned around only to find something we wished we hadn't. An older, scroungy looking farmer. He was roughly six feet flat and wore jean overalls stained a bit in blood. With him was a yellow chainsaw.

"Nothing, just passing through and saw your gorgeous ride!" I answered thinking quickly.

"Y'all were plannin' on stealin' it! Weren't cha?!" a nervous but angry reply.

I looked to left at Weaver, who was about fifteen feet away, hoping he would have the answer. Finding that he had no clue what to say either, I turned back to our new friend and lifted my gun, aiming at his head....... *CLICK*..... *CLICK* *CLICK*... The farmer smiled at his new found advantage, tugging on the cord that started the engine to my new-found worst nightmare. He began running towards me, a crazed laughter spewing from his mouth. Now sprinting straight towards me, I stood in shock. How could I have forgotten I emptied my gun! I closed my eyes, waiting... I heard a loud crack, like someone had snapped a large stick. I slowly opened one eye only to see Weaver standing over yet another body. Apparently the crazy forgot about my friend in his anger at my unkind gesture. Weaver, standing over his new cracked trophy...

"I am kinda tired now Ray." he said with a spot of laughter.

Completely shocked, I had no words but a surprised thanks...

We left that barn with a new car, and Weaver's two new toys.. a sheath with a strap for a machete (which he uses for his bat instead) and a roaring chainsaw.. what a brute.