Flirting With Death: Surviving The Infected by Boyd Craven III

Author:Boyd Craven III [Craven III, Boyd]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2014-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

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November 13th, 2015

The next few weeks were spent in a feverish pace. It ended up being a warmer than usual November, and the snow had stayed away. I split and carried wood until my back wouldn't take any more. I'd wade into the lake, letting the cold water loosen my muscles until the shivers overtook me, and then I’d start all over again. Claire was able to kill a deer and two turkeys and Justin caught a ton of fish. The solar dehydrator was used almost nonstop and, using one of Frank's books, we made a poor man's smoker.

What we did was basically make a tepee frame over a small fire pit, with small sticks woven in and out almost every three to four inches to make a shelf within the tepee. Then we wrapped the outer surfaces with a tarp. A fire of hickory was made, put out, and added underneath the tepee, loaded with fish and meat sliced thin. Everything had been soaked in Claire's brine solution and, even raw, it smelled wonderful. She made good use of the supplies I had bought and, after a few attempts, we made some fish jerky and venison jerky. But we also wasted a lot of food learning...

“If I had my smoker from the garage...”

“Would it make things easier?” I asked her.

“We wouldn't have lost almost twenty pounds of food, and firewood.”

I winced; I felt every pound of firewood in my muscles. I had thought I was in shape before, but even in my pained state, I was in 100% better shape than I was before Janie died. It had only been a few short weeks and I could still picture her perfectly, and I wondered what our child would have looked like. It hurt, a lot, but I kept my distance from everyone as much as I could when the day was done. My soul was still raw, and watching Claire and Justin, I was jealous. I wanted that sort of connection someday, and I avoided questioning Claire or Justin about his father.

To say I was worried about the Andersen's would have been an understatement. I had gotten no messages, no voice mails and no updates. I also hadn't been back towards town in a week, so it was also possible that my phone would blow up if I did, if the cell towers were still working. That weighed heavily on my mind as I walked up the porch, the way a zig/zag pathway of firewood leading to the doorway.

Claire and I had thought that stacking the firewood by the front would do a couple of things. We stacked it in a way to slow any zombies from a clear and direct path to the door; oftentimes the stacks were almost six feet tall and eight feet deep. They would have to climb over it, or run a gauntlet that we had devised using the visibility of the front facing windows for shooting paths. Anything that tried to approach us while we were diligent would be cut down or slowed enough that we could get away.

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