First of all 4-wheeling is a shit-ton of fun.  I had never had the pleasure prior to this, but after about 2 minutes I suddenly understood what all those good-old-boys loved about it.  And I was sure that combined with hunting, it was even better.  I was in no position to be hunting at that point though, as I only had a paintball gun and a baseball bat.  Guns!  I needed guns!  But where?  Everyone who owned one would no doubt be using them, and all those that weren’t spoken for, soon would be.  Sure there was a gun shop in town, but come on – everybody and their mothers (quite literally) would be after them.

That’s the thing about Zombiegeddon.  Sure there is ample opportunity for looting and all manner of procuring stuff without paying for it, but everyone else wants shit too, and they want it badly.  Think black friday sales, but magnified by – zombies.  Going to a store was akin to suicide – at least until things died down.  No, if I wanted shit I would have to be more creative than that, and more ruthless than I was immediately comfortable being.  Basically I would have to take them from someone, either by force or by wile, and live with the reality of leaving someone defenseless in order to ensure my survival.  This is some heavy shit people, and even the fun of 4-wheeling couldn’t subvert the existential funk that I soon fell into.

I had though about this in my years of Zombiegeddon fantasy, but that is all theory, and in my opinion no amount of research and studying can prepare you for doing something in real life.  We all have images of ourselves, things we think about ourselves.  I guess that I had never seen myself as the kind of person who steals, or places herself above everything else.  But that is bullshit, and it probably always was.  Zombies are the kind of thing that pull down the false images we hold to reveal what remains.  What’s left when the shit hits the fan, that is who we are. 

During the Zombie Armageddon there are survivors and there are zombies.  If you want to be a survivor, you have to accept that.  I  had always fancied myself a survivor.  And now it was time to see just what exactly I was capable of.

I figured that people with barns were likely to also have guns.  And so I drove, with a heavy heart, until I saw a barn (actually there were two barns on the property), and then I stopped.  I left the ATV about half a mile away, and walked though a field approaching the farmhouse.  I tried to formulate a plan as I walked, but my brain was flooded with pre-guilt, and my blood-pressure was up so that I could hear it pumping furiously in my ears.  I also felt slightly nauseated. 

When I reached the house I crouched for a moment under one of the windows at the back and tried to steady my breathing.  I was shaking and I hoped to god that I could pull this off.