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Wynne

Wynne Walker's Note Pad

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The supplies were running out, there was no way I could stay hunkered in that basement any longer. I grabbed the hand radio I had found, a flare, and the little food I had left...and the clothes on my back, clothes left behind in the dressers upstairs. I had no idea where exactly I was, but I was able to find a road map at an old gas station. I wish I could read Cyrillic. 

Headed south, toward the sun, and found a city on the coast. Shots rang through the air as I approached. I thought about investigating, living people...it would be good to make contact. It's been...I don't know how long it's been. Since the beginning. I'd give anything to see a person who's flesh isn't actively falling off of their face. 

As I got closer, more shots, so many rounds I lost count. It was coming from the taller buildings, looks like old apartments. It sounded like combat, not just people clearing out those things, no. It was frantic and there was return fire. I decided it would be best to stay out of it. 

According to the road map, Khelm is northeast. Pretty damn far too. That's where dad lived, at least if my information was correct. I wonder if it's even possible that he's still there. Maybe I could find his house. How would I even know? It's been nearly 20 years. Maybe he'll have photos. Maybe he left a note there for someone saying where he went. Maybe he's still there, and maybe he's dead. Only one way to find out. Heading Northeast.

.

Came upon another town...I can't pronounce these words. Big place, sort of like the one to the West. I was going house to house looking for supplies, when I came across a barn. All the doors were already swung open, and I saw fresh tracks outside. Someone had been there recently. I called out but got no answer. After a few moments of looking around, I heard a shot, nearby. It made me jump out of my skin. But this time, I heard no return fire. I heard several shots, but they were spaced apart, calculated. Someone was either clearing infected, or, perhaps they were trying to signal another person in the area? Some kind of code or long distance communication?
I snuck down the hill, under the cover of some trees, and my eyes followed the infected, swarming a school. That must be where the shots came from. More shots. I saw a man running across the roof of the school building. It looked to me like he was clearing the dead first, but once they were gone, he calmly returned to the north side of the roof, pointed his rifle, and shot. I looked in the direction he was pointing and saw nothing. He shot again, and again, at nothing. Definitely some kind of signal, or target practice, perhaps. I decided to try to get his attention. There, up on that hill near the barn, I jumped and waved my arms, hoping he'd aim his scope in my direction and see me. And hopefully not kill me. I guess it was a risk I was willing to take, just to finally have a chance to see a real human again. 

He didn't notice for several minutes. Exasperated, I decided to stop waving and flailing and just watch. He retreated down a ladder on the roof, and I could hear hammering. It seemed he was fortifying a camp site he had made within the old school building. Smart spot he picked! 
I approached cautiously from the outside, hands up and empty, and called out while circling the building. Eventually, he answered, he seemed a little surprised at first, but not hostile, to my relief. He called himself Jim Flemming. He was quite friendly, in fact, offering me gear and supplies. But what I needed was information. He was able to give me some insight about some other people in the area. Apparently, since the outbreak, without any rescue or sign of official governing presence, the region, and possibly even more than that, has fallen to the infected. Survivors have been forming groups and clans. From Jim's descriptions, some sound like they're trying their best to hold things together, but some sound like warlords. I was told to avoid a couple of areas. I gave him some gear that I didn't think I would need, in return for his hospitality. He gave me a canteen full of clean water, and a belt to keep it on. And then we parted ways, I left him to his well-fortified camp, and I headed northeast. 
So, that's it. My first encounter with a living person since this all began.


Stay safe, Jim. Maybe we'll see each other again some time. 

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I hunkered down when the snow fell. Had myself a sweet spot and a little greenhouse to grow crops in. But this winter came in hard and heavy. My greenhouse was destroyed by the first storm. All my crops were lost.
I still had some ammo leftover from my scavenging over the fall, it was time to put it to use. I traveled for days, weeks, through the blizzards, the howling winds, hunting deer and cattle. I stopped in a few places I had made contact with other survivors in the fall, there was nothing left of any of them...Maybe some broken down walls and fences. I hope my friends are well. 

The road was mostly silence. But sometimes I would hear shots in the distance. In my desperation to see another living soul, I would be drawn toward the shots instead of away, and I would find no one. I began wondering if it was just my imagination. Maybe no one is left. 
There are even less of the rotters, so many bodies frozen in the snow. But the rotters that are still walking have become hungrier, they're harder to sneak past now. The frost on their faces makes them harder to fight hand to hand. My brass knuckles are beginning to wear down. Will be time to find another weapon soon. 

Green Mountain has been completely cleared out. Went by twice on my trip west, both times, no one there but the dead. Shots all around the area, but no people. The radio was silent. I couldn't get through to anyone. 

I was freezing my ass off in Stary, and night had fallen. Holed up in a house, talking to myself because, god dammit, I'm tired of the silence....when i saw a flash in the distance. A light. Moving. A flashlight!
I circled the town and pinpointed the origin at the well. Someone had started a fire. I was freezing, so it couldn't have been better timing. 
His name was Berry, and, wouldn't you know it, he's from Canada too. Came through after the end, when his transport got caught in a storm. He's only been here since the fall. Military background, combat medic. I'm surprised no one out here has recruited him to their factions. He was a cheerful fellow, reminded me of what it was like to be joking around with friends. Neither of us had any particular place to be, no companions, and no one place where we hung our hats. But I told him I was headed back to Khelm. I wanted to go through the old Hunter Camp again, looking for dad, looking for supplies. 

We got separated in Gorka. Both of us pinned down, on opposite ends of town, by the zeds. I was sure I wouldn't find him, that he died, or that he'd decided to go on without me. But we kept firing shots, signaling to each other, trying to triangulate each other's whereabouts, and just when I thought it was time to move on, perhaps try to meet him in Berezino, he emerged! 
We made our way all the way to the East, stopped at a few towns to loot the hospitals, the police stations. Both of us came away with some pretty good gear. Supplies. We shared a beer in the lumbermill district. It's been so long since I've genuinely laughed and cheered. 
After we made a clean sweep of Hunter Camp and Khelm, I showed him my squat spot in the area. This is where I plan on waiting out some more of this cold weather. Berry had to move on, but, perhaps we'll cross paths again. I hope so. 

I'm going to rest here a while, plan out my next hunting route. I doubt I will be able to grow anything in this weather, and without a greenhouse, so I'll surely be back on the road soon. 

Thanks for the memories, friend. I'll keep an extra beer handy for when we meet up again.

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Edited by Wynne

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