If you are a partier then you know that if you make friends with the guy who owns the house, then you can control just about anything – the music, the drinks, who stays and who goes and, as it turns out, the weapons.   Granted there weren’t many, but I had them all.  I also had the little guy who owned them in the palm of my hand (I guess all those years of partying came in handy after all).  I knew everything of immediate importance about Stan, and I was pretty sure that for a blowjob he’d give me the keys to his four-wheeler out back.  As it turned out, such dramatics weren’t necessary as I just got him to tell me where the keys were and waited until everyone passed out and then took them. 

I suppose I should have felt bad, but I had trouble.  Those kids were – well, I hesitate to say hopeless – but other adjectives fail to come to mind.  I do hope that they made it out ok, but at the same time I shudder to think of any of them out there.  No, I did what I did (which was to take their baseball bat and their paintball gun [and ammo, of course] and get the hell out of dodge) and never really looked back.

Where I was going, was anyone’s guess.  At first I just drove away from town.  But after not too far I got to thinking – “where the hell am I going?”.  I needed better defense and shelter.  And then there was the problem of my Grandmother.  For my own reasons I was prepared to let the rest of my family figure things out for themselves (with all the best hopes for them, it should be noted), but the fate of my Grandma weighed heavily on me.  I had thought, in all my prior years of mental preparation for the zombie invasion, of how best to deal with my Grandma in case of such a scenario, but  had never reached a suitable conclusion.  I mean, how do you even broach the subject of Zombiegeddon with an almost octogenarian?  I had always figured that she would think I was delusional and at the very least deeply disturbed, and so had never done it.  Now the thought of her alone in her house, confused and likely not understanding what was going on around her haunted me. 

Everyone knows that going to save your friends and family is more likely to get you killed than to save any lives.  And unfortunately you are the only thing that you can be focusing on in a situation such as this and fare well.  Still, this is Grandma – chicken soup, fried chicken, comfort and safety – Grandma, that we’re talking about here!  The hardest, most hardcore survivalist of hearts would be hard pressed to withstand such a thing.  As much as I knew I should not (and in fact I feared the worse already) I was quickly turned around and motoring towards Grandma’s house. 

Grandma lived in the center of town, in a house that used to be on the outskirts of town, but that had been swallowed up by the inevitable spread of progress.  But not before I found a proper gun, for the love of god.

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