Fiction.

About that brains thing? Also, to everyone who said I shouldn’t have bought a wooden bat for protection in the city: you were wrong. But that’s getting ahead of things.

After spending some more time on the roof yesterday we decided that if we were going to relocate we needed to do so fast and away from the gruesome garden party taking place on Cary St. We also decided, well mostly I decided, to “let the dogs out.” RVAkid was right: the dogs would have only slowed us down. Luckily these things don’t seem to have any qualms with dogs (I haven’t seen any cats recently though …). We lowered the dogs off the porch roof using some extra sheets and both ran off to join the growing pack of local dogs prowling our street. Zapp was last seen looking stupid and Shooter was making sure no one was having any fun. They looked happy, I’m sure they will be fine.

In some good news, we saw the woman who “plays” guitar in front of the Byrd walking down Grayland with no arms! Huzzah!

We headed South to the River, to pick up the train tracks, and head as far West as possible — and hopefully pick up Justin on the way. Luckily both of us have bicycles. We packed two bags with some essentials (Louisville Slugger included), waited until our street was clear, and headed off. These things seem silent but deadly, but traveling by bicycle is great: you have maneuverability, stealth, and speed. Three things they don’t have.

We got to Pump House Park with no problems. The park has easy access to both the river and the rail road tracks and is nestled behind the dense residential neighborhoods. Standing in the middle of the bridge that crosses the canal was, what used to be, a (pantless) man. Well really a (pantless) man and the (pantless) lower half of another man. It seems the top half of the second man was misplaced during some sort of wilderness love affair but the business ends where still connected. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

They don’t call it Pump House park for nothing! Hey oh!

FYI: This is where the baseball bat comes in. Mr. NoPants was just standing in the middle of the bridge not making any movements towards us — other than some vague pelvic thrustings.

IBH, I’m not Cpt. Picard. I’m not going to use diplomacy when encountering a new life form that is missing a torso, and I certainly wasn’t going to let it whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I unleashed my bat and “swung away,” as it were; the wooden baseball bat was definitely the right choice. Moldy brains and skull bits exploded onto the railings. Mr. NoPants gave one more thrust, for olde tymes sake, flipped over the railing, and disappeared into the canal.

Valerie promptly threw up.

And that was that. We made it to the train tracks without further incident and decided to spend the night underneath the nearby train bridge. This morning we woke up and began to head West. I found a found wireless “hot spot” at a house on the river next to the Hueguenot Bridge and decided to post this.

We are heading up the tracks and will be crossing Parham and 288. Justin, if you can, try to meet us at one of these spots.

Also, we’ve left City proper and have yet to see any sort of military or civic authority. We have no idea what is going on. If you can, if anyone else is still alive, make your way to 288 near the river. We have a better chance of surviving together.