These people kill me.

   So, I haven't written in a while. Sorry about that, I have been working almost non-stop. It is hard to be motivated to do anything other than just veg out on my one day off. I end up laying on the couch for a while and drinking some coffee, then, go surf a bit, and come back and veg out again on the couch!
   I can't believe the people around here. I won't even elaborate on it, I know that does you readers know good, but I'll just say that I am sick of the idiocracy.<<new hybrid word of mine. I'm totally over it, I feel like a porn slut taking it from all sides.

Quick up-date:
   You might remember the story about my friend getting stabbed in the neck. Well, they cought the guy. But what? you might ask..  Costa Rica's finest lost the fucking report, and had to let him go.(good job dip shits!) Later on, they find the files and go looking for him again,but, low and behold...he is no where to be found. perfect time to use my new word...IDIOCRACY!

   A good friend of mine down here found some contact information for me regarding my book! I am super excited about that. Thanks Mike! Also, I wrote a couple thousand more words to my book. I have been kind of slacking lately, just been too worn out from work, coupled with a fucked up sleeping schedule. But, I'll throw in a random un-edited piece of a chapter below.

   I flick a switch with my thumb, changing my firing rate to bursts of three. I squeeze the trigger twice in succession and two fall temporally dead. A third stumbles, and is slowed by a leg shot. Kale has switched over to Hell Fire as well. Following two quick series of chink, chink, chink, two more fall to the pavement. They seem to wizen up and spread out in all directions, even zigging and zagging in an occasional evasive maneuver. “Fuck!” I yell. “Baily, get back behind us and flick the safety off on that pea shooter of yours incase anything comes at our backs. This is going to get messy.” I yell to Baily.

   I see Baily switch her .22 caliber assault rifle to hot as she runs back behind us. Her pretty face is set stern; she looks calm and collected. I was worried that she might wither under pressure and be a liability due to her timid demeanor. I pull up even with Kale. “This—is—not—good.” He says in an elongated staccato between bursts. Neither of us has ever been in a shooting situation like this before. An open field of fire with multiple fast moving targets is extremely confusing. The brain and instincts start to work against each-other, arguing over which are the most valuable targets within your field of vision.

   We side step over the curb to put the nearest building’s wall against our right side. Kale against the wall, and me, a few feet out into the sidewalk to have a firing angle around Kale. I finally hit a target, cutting her legs out from under her as she tries to arc the width of the street to flank us. Kale drops one that coms at us directly along the wall. We had each fired three or four volleys, and hit nothing but air in the initial confusion of all of our targets scattering, and now we’re in trouble, they’re too far spread out. I focus on our sides, trying to keep them from getting past our latitude in the street. I hit one in the neck and see two coming at different angles for kale. He runs a full burst up the body of the one that is closest to the wall, but the other slips past to his left, and is on me before I can wheel my rifle around. I drop the assault rifle to let it hang on its sling, and swim my right arm and head underneath a claw handed punch from the charging dark man in farmer’s clothes. With my forearm pressed into his back, and the majority of my weight and balance behind him as well, I pivot my hips and thrust him front first into the wall. I kick out high and hard, planting my foot in the center of his back, leaving it there, and lean in with my weight, pinning the thrashing demon against the concrete. Before I know it, one of my nine millimeters is out of its thigh holster and in a two a solid two handed grip. I keep him pressed against the wall with my one of my brand new boots pushed into the center of his upper back, and fire two shots over the top of my foot into the back of his head.  

   His whole face splatters across the wall. And something rebounds off to land by my now replanted right foot. It’s the majority of his nose. There is no point of going back to my rifle. We are now in close quarters battle. Kale hammers a tall and long limbed, would be beautiful girl in the face with the butt of his Mini-14. As she is knocked backwards, he drops his rifle and draws the Glock of his hip. A quick double tap leaves her falling backwards lifeless in a Jesus Christ pose, and misting Kale’s face with blood.

   The second that I turn from the wall to reface the battle at my back, I wade forwards firing well placed single shots at the closest targets to me with my gun pulled in defensively tight to my right shoulder and chin. Two come at me at once. The one on my right takes a bullet between the eyes, and then I drop low, shoulder checking a sprinting teenaged eater. He flips over my back and collides with my teammate. They go to the ground with the boy landing on top of Kale. I lash hand down towards the two man heap and snatch the kid by the hair, peeling his head backwards away from Kale and slam the muzzle of my hand gun into the back of his head at the same time that I pull the trigger.




Don'f forget to check out www.facebook.com/blindmanblue for other great zombie stories and excerpts from my zombie book, (zombie novel).  An excellent community of people who enjoy zombies and like genres.