Sept. 21, 2009 - 6:50pm

- Transmission from fargo007

Sept. 3, 2009

Hey Drakin, how you doing up there on the hill? Things are okay down here, and we're still buttoned up pretty good.

The whole family across the street is sick, and they have little kids. Ordinary germ sick that is. These days we have to specify don't we.... I'm a precision rig guy. That's what I do best, but there couldn't be a poorer choice for a fast haul for 1.5 miles with only defensive engagements in mind.

Glad I decided to buy a suppressor for the 5.56. I'll explain.....

With the 308 it doesn't matter because you're firing one shot, and usually driving them shitwise instantly. If they manage to scream and howl, others begin to arrive shortly.

The CVS is about 1.5 miles away as the crow flies. I'm on my way at 5am this morning, thinking that the cold of night has slowed them down some. It has. If they are not directly in my path, I evade them by hopping yard fences, dodging in and out of trees, you know. Once they lose sight of you and you get a quarter mile away or more, they can't follow anymore, or seem to lose interest.

Shit - I used to run that 1.5 in 9:37. My 41 year old attitude writes checks these days that my 41 year old knees cant cash. I had three at the traffic light by W. Trenton Rd. that weren't moving. I stayed in the trees and crept up on them about 200Y away. I did a 360 scan, went prone, and got my breathing under control. Feeling the trigger, I let the 200 stadia line in the ACOG come to rest gently on the top of the nose of the only one facing in my direction. The others wouldn't see the shot this way. I was slung up tight, and the crosshairs moved only vertically as I breathed.

The trigger broke. Red spray, and it's head snapped back violently, the tendons in the spine elastically propelling the head forward again as it lost voluntary control and collapsed almost straight down, like a sack of rotten chicken shit.

My left leg slid down about an inch, and my NPOA came to rest on number two. He still hadn't turned his head, but he'd never get the chance. He lurched forward and hit the ground face first and motionless.

The third one was turning the wrong way to try and find some context clues. I took advantage of the broadside head shot, and found his right ear with my 200Y stadia line. The 75 grain bullet really knocked the corn out of his shit. His skull flung sideways and came crashing down on his left shoulder, tearing muscle and tendon visibly on his right side before he toppled and lay motionless against the curb.

As I'm laying there breathing again.... playing it back. What, three seconds? Nah.. 2.5....

WHO THE HELL CARES???

I heard shuffling on the pavement to my right, and I turned ever so slightly to see what it was. An older man who had turned quite a while ago was headed toward the intersection. They had made some kind of sound and drawn him or something.

He was focused on them, and didn't even see me. I lay motionless as he went by. Perhaps 15 yards away from me. He was going so slow I didn't waste rounds. I went through some backyards to get ahead of him and arrived in the CVS parking lot. I wondered how many more in the area would have been alerted if I wasn't suppressed....

The doors were smashed open. I cleared it, noting that batteries, camera film, and all the food was gone. Expected. I quietly made my way to the pharmacy area. Tweaks and junkies had been there, and succeeded in beating the lock off the controlled substances locker. They left all the antibiotics there. Dumbasses are already dead I bet.

Amoxycillin, Zithromax, levaquin, all the good stuff. I put all I could in the ruck. Rubbing alcohol, bandages, everything I could grab. I went to open the storage room door, and a right hand lunged out and tried to grab me. I still had the rifle slung across me, but the ruck was behind me now. About 35 years old, dark hair that looked almost green and matted down, average build. Skin was gray, and his eyes were lifeless and void. Did I know him from this store? It charged forward fast, trying to bite me. My heel caught the ruck, and I felt myself going down backwards. I got my left hand under its right elbow as I fell, and took it with me, moving its head away from mine, and by fortunate coincidence driving its right eye socket into a sharp corner of the step stool that was there.

I got up, and turned around ready. I realized I was much more coordinated than the body of this poor soul. I could have shot it, but for some reason, I didn't. I knew my training was a weakness now because I instinctively waited for a deadly force cue rather than taking the initiative. It lunged again with a right hand for my throat.

I seized its right hand against my chest with my own right hand, flipped the wrist over, using my chest as the foundation for the lock, grabbed its elbow with my left hand and cranked HARD. I could feel the tendons in the wrist giving way and the bones grinding unnaturally together with a sickening and grotesque sound. I knew its wrist was broken, but it didn't seem to care. It actually leaned further INTO the wrist lock to try and bite me. This caused its forearm bones to separate and twist against eachother.

Realizing teeth were about 9 inches from my face, and that pain wasn't on this thing's radar, I had to bargain that leverage was. I had dealt with people high on PCP before, and I knew what worked and what didn't. I stepped back fast, tugging the wrist out, and straightening the elbow. I retained control of the wrist, as my left hand slammed on the elbow joint. I spun back and right, and drove its head once again downward into the same damn footstool. I stepped on the shoulder, rested the suppressor on the back of its head, flicked off the safety, and jerked the trigger.

It hadn't scratched or bit me, but I realized that there are different rules with these things.

The trip back was much harder thanks to all the effort I expended. I took one out about a half mile out of the CVS. It came out of a church and ran right towards me. A Woman. When it was about 75 yards away I put one in its hips, causing the pelvis to split, and its legs buckled. It was immobilized, and I figured if it howled, it was far enough away that It would draw them away from my street. I took to jumping fences again.

Now the best part of the story. I hear a dog barking. I head that way and see a german shepherd type dog circling two Z's and trying to get a piece of their ass without getting too close. It looks like a police dog or something. A couple rounds later the problem is solved and he starts running along side me! Like the fucker's known me for years.

Renee drops the ladder at the house as I arrive, and I climb up and toss the ruck and the rifle in to her.

The kids are there looking and watching the dog. A hopeful expression on their faces as I climb back down.

They were overjoyed as I came up that ladder, with the dog nervously perched on my shoulders in a fireman's carry.

Since he was busy getting his 'Zombie on' when I found him, the kids want to call him "Zoon."

Fine with me. He's a belgian Malinois. I hope he's a good guard dog, because those things are just too damn tough to eat.

--Fargo007

- End of transmission