As I walked in the abandoned streets, to rest in an abandoned bit of debris for a bit. I ate sparingly, and drank my fill of water; my dogs were pretty much wolfing down the last can of spam as I donned the modified armor once I finished eating. The eight of the thing was, at first, considerable, but I've begun to get used to it, and it proved to be very good for protection. After that, and hearing some noises of machines, I decided to run for it. I had to, to avoid any more fighting. I didn't have much ammo, and little in the way of supplies, so I wanted to avoid combat as much as I could, however, as I got closer and closer into the border, I could see the traces of a firefight that, quite nearly, took several blocks.
There were tanks with both Mexican and American flags crashed here and there, several military vehicles all burnt, stripped from any useful materials and abandoned. Corpses stinking the air, and a smell of rotten meat and gun powder. I wanted to stop and see, but I knew I'd die if I did.
That's when the bullets started to fly past me.
I ran faster, the armor clanking all the way, and my dogs running alongside me. A stray bullet hit the side of my torso, but the thickness of the armor, plus the ceramic plate underneath it gave me only a scare and a loud noise, but I didn't stop running. That's when I heard the engines running, and some guys just howling like animals.
I tripped and fell on my face, and when I looked up, my dogs were gone. A few more gunshots hit me square in the back, and again, the armor took the hit. I rolled to look up and I could see a jeep rushing towards me, filled with raiders with a couple of guns and several spiked baseball bats. I took my Beretta and opened fire on the tires. The tire pretty much blew up and the jeep swivelled, crashing in a nearby lamppost. I got up and ran again.
But I did not see the guy with the baseball bat that hit me square in the jaw. I dropped again, knocked down and with a dull pain. I was hit again, this time on the right knee, and I could hear the bones crack. I screamed, and the guy put his boot on my neck, strangling me. That's when my dogs began to attack him.
Now, the beagle's just a little runt, he doesn't do much, the other dog, however, she's a mix between a beagle and a fox hound, so she's slightly taller, and more aggressive. She was the one that bit the guy in the leg, while the little guy just howled at him. That gave me the time to pick my knife and get him. After a minute or so of fighting, the guy bled to death, and it just hit me that the guys in the jeep had possibly died as well in the crash. Didn't matter at this point, my jaw hurt, especially in a part that I feared was a molar, my right knee was pretty much useless at this rate, and I was, for all intents and purposes, alone.
martes, 11 de enero de 2011
viernes, 19 de noviembre de 2010
Nogales
Before the Fires, I never really liked Nogales. It's not that it wasn't nice (although, in my opinion, most of the most noticeable areas are awful), but it was too clumped together, too much disorder), but nothing would prepare me from how Nogales seemed right now.
The road itself was blocked by piles and piles of scrap and concrete barriers, all covered with rusted, pointed protrusions, large enough to penetrate the engine of a fast-movin car. There were military cars, black from the smoke of previous fires, and all of them devoid of diesel or gas. There were skeletons, some were picked cleanly of their meat, possible by vultures, others showed signs of fire. The silence was thick enough to cut it with a knife, and the landscape looked horribly torn apart.
I was running out of diesel, and I certainly knew that I was gonna be fresh meat from the moment someone saw the jeep. It pained me to do it, but I ditched the jeep with the generator. I removed the radio as best I could. I took some water and rations, as well as my two remaining guns (my beretta and my Xiuhcoatl rifle), I donned the modified armor and started advancing.
My dogs were silent, but they were sniffing around, and listening. I swear the place was as quiet as a tomb, but all of a sudden I could hear a few dozen gunshots being fired not far from where we were. I hid quickly and my dogs followed suit, and we could hear the rumbling of a car and a few people yelling as they shot back at others who were chasing them. I waited for a while and kept on walking...
The road itself was blocked by piles and piles of scrap and concrete barriers, all covered with rusted, pointed protrusions, large enough to penetrate the engine of a fast-movin car. There were military cars, black from the smoke of previous fires, and all of them devoid of diesel or gas. There were skeletons, some were picked cleanly of their meat, possible by vultures, others showed signs of fire. The silence was thick enough to cut it with a knife, and the landscape looked horribly torn apart.
I was running out of diesel, and I certainly knew that I was gonna be fresh meat from the moment someone saw the jeep. It pained me to do it, but I ditched the jeep with the generator. I removed the radio as best I could. I took some water and rations, as well as my two remaining guns (my beretta and my Xiuhcoatl rifle), I donned the modified armor and started advancing.
My dogs were silent, but they were sniffing around, and listening. I swear the place was as quiet as a tomb, but all of a sudden I could hear a few dozen gunshots being fired not far from where we were. I hid quickly and my dogs followed suit, and we could hear the rumbling of a car and a few people yelling as they shot back at others who were chasing them. I waited for a while and kept on walking...
miércoles, 10 de noviembre de 2010
River
"The story of Sonora is as old and as long as the Sonora River".
At least that's how the first few lines of some history books start.
After the last incident, I tried to stand away from the highways. The jeep can take it, I knew that. The state is not exactly flat, but it was pleasant enough to avoid some natural hazards as well. I had to check on the tires at least a few times, though. The past owners were not exactly kind to the car, and the tires showed signs of heavy use.
The dry desert stretched on for hours as I was driving along, and I could a few cars that have been abandoned in the highway. Not as many as in Hermosillo, but there were plenty.
During the travel, I stopped through several of the smaller towns, making quick runs for fuel and food, but I had to leave quickly and going around the cities, instead of rushing through. I wasn't gonna take my chances on finding anyone there.
However, the nearby villages alongside the Sonora River were of great use. These smaller towns, mostly run by farmers and ranchers, were far less dependent on technology, and better prepared to fend for themselves. There was, however, a lot of people in them. Most of them refugees that came from the nearby cities, many of them were young, and did not know how to work the fields or to take care of the cattle. Most of them tried to work a living in whatever they could do: Menial work, some of them were doctors, but even with their knowledge, they had to learn about herbs and actual pharmaceutical work, mixing reactives and so. And then there were the thieves and whores. People with no actual skill, and many of them from formerly wealthy families that thought that, with their names, they might have stuff.
Tough fucking luck. Many of them began to learn that, with isolation, came with its own set of laws and rules. It's not to say that they're savages, but most of the farmers and ranchers were not going to tolerate some snot-nosed kid or wise-ass bastard to be stealing, so the law of the land was the law of the gun or the noose. They learned slowly, but they learned.
I traded some of the stuff I brought with me: The extra guns, a book or two (a couple of novels and a field guide to wilderness survival I just read and remember by heart), some meds they'd need; all for some water, food (I missed red meat quite a lot), and some eggs. The I trated with, and old man named Fabian, told me that some of the towns had been taken over either by the military, or the drug cartels, and that they were having all sorts of skirmishes, and that they survived because of the isolation and the roughness of the terrain (I can't say where this town is, for their safety).
I thanked Fabian, and asked him if he knew anything about Nogales. He told me it was a bad place to go, and that if I was thinking of hoping the border, it was a lost cause.
Maybe it was, but it's better than nothing, I can only try, at this rate
At least that's how the first few lines of some history books start.
After the last incident, I tried to stand away from the highways. The jeep can take it, I knew that. The state is not exactly flat, but it was pleasant enough to avoid some natural hazards as well. I had to check on the tires at least a few times, though. The past owners were not exactly kind to the car, and the tires showed signs of heavy use.
The dry desert stretched on for hours as I was driving along, and I could a few cars that have been abandoned in the highway. Not as many as in Hermosillo, but there were plenty.
During the travel, I stopped through several of the smaller towns, making quick runs for fuel and food, but I had to leave quickly and going around the cities, instead of rushing through. I wasn't gonna take my chances on finding anyone there.
However, the nearby villages alongside the Sonora River were of great use. These smaller towns, mostly run by farmers and ranchers, were far less dependent on technology, and better prepared to fend for themselves. There was, however, a lot of people in them. Most of them refugees that came from the nearby cities, many of them were young, and did not know how to work the fields or to take care of the cattle. Most of them tried to work a living in whatever they could do: Menial work, some of them were doctors, but even with their knowledge, they had to learn about herbs and actual pharmaceutical work, mixing reactives and so. And then there were the thieves and whores. People with no actual skill, and many of them from formerly wealthy families that thought that, with their names, they might have stuff.
Tough fucking luck. Many of them began to learn that, with isolation, came with its own set of laws and rules. It's not to say that they're savages, but most of the farmers and ranchers were not going to tolerate some snot-nosed kid or wise-ass bastard to be stealing, so the law of the land was the law of the gun or the noose. They learned slowly, but they learned.
I traded some of the stuff I brought with me: The extra guns, a book or two (a couple of novels and a field guide to wilderness survival I just read and remember by heart), some meds they'd need; all for some water, food (I missed red meat quite a lot), and some eggs. The I trated with, and old man named Fabian, told me that some of the towns had been taken over either by the military, or the drug cartels, and that they were having all sorts of skirmishes, and that they survived because of the isolation and the roughness of the terrain (I can't say where this town is, for their safety).
I thanked Fabian, and asked him if he knew anything about Nogales. He told me it was a bad place to go, and that if I was thinking of hoping the border, it was a lost cause.
Maybe it was, but it's better than nothing, I can only try, at this rate
miércoles, 3 de noviembre de 2010
Clouds
I never thought that a simple thing as rain would be so liberating.
I stood far from the highway, when I stopped for rest. I did lots of fuel runs to keep the jeep with enough gas to go to Tempe. It was night, but there were no starts, the clouds were covering them.
The jeep had a small cop radio attached to it, so I was able to pick up radio signals if possible, but at the moment it was silent.
My dogs were sleeping together when the rain started to fall. It was strong and full of thunder, it was that calm and cold November rain, the kind that chills your bones the next day. The raindrops fell constantly, but they were small, and the sound put me to sleep.
I dreamed of our time in the museum, of Lisa's cute voice and singing, her love for the animals, and her hope to find a place where we could call home; I dreamed of Karen, her sweet words, her joyous laughter; of us, exploring each other's bodies in the night, her smell, her tears in her eyes when she told me we were going to be parents. I wanted to cry, I really wanted to, but the moment the first sniff was done, the sound of the door opening up woke me Two people in front of me, and maybe a third was in the back. The two people were armed with revolvers. They ordered me out of the car.
I did, and then I whipped out my Beretta and pointed it at one of them in the head, at point blank. The three men ordered me to throw away the gun, while I yelled them to leave me lone, they continued to shot and I responded with the same intensity, buying myself enough time to they wouldn't expect me to shoot both men in the head. The third guy shaked, threw his gun (a hunting rifle), and started running into the night, panicked.
I took the rifle and shot at his direction, hearing a thumping sound in the ground. I walked, and saw him crawling on the ground, begging me to let him live. He wasn't gonna last much in the desert, so I did the sensible thing to do.
I walked towards the jeep, rain still falling. It felt as if all the bad deeds, all the regrets, all the pain, was washed away with the water. I got inside, changed my clothes into some dry ones, and slept again, praying that I would dream of Karen again.
I stood far from the highway, when I stopped for rest. I did lots of fuel runs to keep the jeep with enough gas to go to Tempe. It was night, but there were no starts, the clouds were covering them.
The jeep had a small cop radio attached to it, so I was able to pick up radio signals if possible, but at the moment it was silent.
My dogs were sleeping together when the rain started to fall. It was strong and full of thunder, it was that calm and cold November rain, the kind that chills your bones the next day. The raindrops fell constantly, but they were small, and the sound put me to sleep.
I dreamed of our time in the museum, of Lisa's cute voice and singing, her love for the animals, and her hope to find a place where we could call home; I dreamed of Karen, her sweet words, her joyous laughter; of us, exploring each other's bodies in the night, her smell, her tears in her eyes when she told me we were going to be parents. I wanted to cry, I really wanted to, but the moment the first sniff was done, the sound of the door opening up woke me Two people in front of me, and maybe a third was in the back. The two people were armed with revolvers. They ordered me out of the car.
I did, and then I whipped out my Beretta and pointed it at one of them in the head, at point blank. The three men ordered me to throw away the gun, while I yelled them to leave me lone, they continued to shot and I responded with the same intensity, buying myself enough time to they wouldn't expect me to shoot both men in the head. The third guy shaked, threw his gun (a hunting rifle), and started running into the night, panicked.
I took the rifle and shot at his direction, hearing a thumping sound in the ground. I walked, and saw him crawling on the ground, begging me to let him live. He wasn't gonna last much in the desert, so I did the sensible thing to do.
I walked towards the jeep, rain still falling. It felt as if all the bad deeds, all the regrets, all the pain, was washed away with the water. I got inside, changed my clothes into some dry ones, and slept again, praying that I would dream of Karen again.
jueves, 28 de octubre de 2010
Depression
Me and my dogs stayed in the museum for a little longer. Days. Maybe a couple of weeks, it didn't matter anymore. I was no longer myself. I buried Lisa and Karen, and burned the rest of 'em.
Didn't matter anymore. Still, I wasn't able to kill myself, something in me would not let me. So I instead made a makeshift speakers with some wires, a couple of disposable dishes, and some aluminum foil. I've been listening music from my mp3 player, at least for a few hours. The men brought enough food that me and my dogs never really needed to step outside. I looked on their gear: Weapons, ammo, food, water, medicine, you name it. There was even a few ceramic plates for personal armor. I tried to remove any idle thoughts by placing the plates inside the old Spanish Armor. It was a little rough, but I was able to do it, via trial and error that is.
The music was pretty much a godsend. It helped me not to fall deeper into depression, but the work I was doing also helped me. It took me days, but I was able to learn to use the radio. Most of it was trial and error, but a little of it was thanks to observation, looking at Karen move the radio.
After much silence, I was able to find another person. He called himself Johnson, and said he was from Tempe. I asked him what was going on in the US, and told me of the situation:
It seems America was in mess, just as here. The Federal Government started rationing oil and electricity, and only for keeping the peace. Local governments and militia types started to revolt, and already states like Texas and Florida started to call themselves "independent" from the US. Most other state governments started to do supply raids in neighboring territories, including Mexican cities. It seemed that I met one of these men, as I saw a series of codes right next to me console, written in paper. The writing was not Karen's, or Lisa's. I told him what was going on here, but I didn't go into much detail. I never mentioned the girls.
He told me they needed good people in Tempe, and if I came, I'd be treated nice. Was there a point in going? My roots were growing here. Also, from what Karen and I suspected, is that she was pregnant. I was gonna be a dad.
Whatever life there was here, now it's dead and buried, but not forgotten.
I took what I could carry in one of the vehicles the men had brought: A jeep. this was from the generator, to some food, lots of water, books, ammo, some weapons, and my dogs, obviously.
The jeep rumbled to life when I started it. And I drove in silence, with only my dogs seeing me with an expression that I could only imagine it was worry.
Didn't matter anymore. Still, I wasn't able to kill myself, something in me would not let me. So I instead made a makeshift speakers with some wires, a couple of disposable dishes, and some aluminum foil. I've been listening music from my mp3 player, at least for a few hours. The men brought enough food that me and my dogs never really needed to step outside. I looked on their gear: Weapons, ammo, food, water, medicine, you name it. There was even a few ceramic plates for personal armor. I tried to remove any idle thoughts by placing the plates inside the old Spanish Armor. It was a little rough, but I was able to do it, via trial and error that is.
The music was pretty much a godsend. It helped me not to fall deeper into depression, but the work I was doing also helped me. It took me days, but I was able to learn to use the radio. Most of it was trial and error, but a little of it was thanks to observation, looking at Karen move the radio.
After much silence, I was able to find another person. He called himself Johnson, and said he was from Tempe. I asked him what was going on in the US, and told me of the situation:
It seems America was in mess, just as here. The Federal Government started rationing oil and electricity, and only for keeping the peace. Local governments and militia types started to revolt, and already states like Texas and Florida started to call themselves "independent" from the US. Most other state governments started to do supply raids in neighboring territories, including Mexican cities. It seemed that I met one of these men, as I saw a series of codes right next to me console, written in paper. The writing was not Karen's, or Lisa's. I told him what was going on here, but I didn't go into much detail. I never mentioned the girls.
He told me they needed good people in Tempe, and if I came, I'd be treated nice. Was there a point in going? My roots were growing here. Also, from what Karen and I suspected, is that she was pregnant. I was gonna be a dad.
Whatever life there was here, now it's dead and buried, but not forgotten.
I took what I could carry in one of the vehicles the men had brought: A jeep. this was from the generator, to some food, lots of water, books, ammo, some weapons, and my dogs, obviously.
The jeep rumbled to life when I started it. And I drove in silence, with only my dogs seeing me with an expression that I could only imagine it was worry.
miércoles, 20 de octubre de 2010
Anger
Wounded, angry, and tied up is no way to survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
But that was my situation. It was night, and they held me tight and well watched. Most of my wounds were treated, though. I could only hear the calm burning of wood in a fire, the small talk of some of the men, and crickets. My dogs, my faithful beagles, were locked in a makeshift cage, close to me. They waggled their little tales at the sight of me waking up, but they did mournful whimpers, instead of the joyful pants and dog smiles.
Lisa was dead. And Karen was nowhere to be seen. I feared for the worst.
One of the guys stood in front of me, with a metal coffee mug and what seemed to be military rations. He wolfed it down and took big gulps as he looked at me. I simply stared, why I was testing the ropes, so how well the knots were tied.
He said, in english, that it was "that bitch's fault" of what happened, that they would've only kicked us out of this place. He sat down, and looked at my hands. I kept myself still. He made a quick laughed and assured me that the noose was well made.
Another man came in, and said that it was "his turn". The guy stood up, looked at me and told me that "she's now the official hooker". I waited for all of them to sleep. I finally was able to slip away from the knot, and took a knife that was in the table.
No one survived that night.
I remember little, but I do remember my breathing, the slowly moving towards the men, the sudden gushing sound of the blood pouring out as the knife cleaved in. The sudden muffled screams. The one thing I do remember was Karen, though. She was tied and naked on one of the rooms. She was beaten up, bruises all over her face, her blonde hair all messed up. I was angry, angry at them. At myself.
She cried, and said my name in a whisper. I came with her and hugged her. She hugged me back and cried longer. She dressed, but, about the time we were in the room, gathering stuff, she took a gun, and.
I can't write anymore about this. I just can't. I'm crying as I type this.
God, why? Had I not.
I'll finish later
But that was my situation. It was night, and they held me tight and well watched. Most of my wounds were treated, though. I could only hear the calm burning of wood in a fire, the small talk of some of the men, and crickets. My dogs, my faithful beagles, were locked in a makeshift cage, close to me. They waggled their little tales at the sight of me waking up, but they did mournful whimpers, instead of the joyful pants and dog smiles.
Lisa was dead. And Karen was nowhere to be seen. I feared for the worst.
One of the guys stood in front of me, with a metal coffee mug and what seemed to be military rations. He wolfed it down and took big gulps as he looked at me. I simply stared, why I was testing the ropes, so how well the knots were tied.
He said, in english, that it was "that bitch's fault" of what happened, that they would've only kicked us out of this place. He sat down, and looked at my hands. I kept myself still. He made a quick laughed and assured me that the noose was well made.
Another man came in, and said that it was "his turn". The guy stood up, looked at me and told me that "she's now the official hooker". I waited for all of them to sleep. I finally was able to slip away from the knot, and took a knife that was in the table.
No one survived that night.
I remember little, but I do remember my breathing, the slowly moving towards the men, the sudden gushing sound of the blood pouring out as the knife cleaved in. The sudden muffled screams. The one thing I do remember was Karen, though. She was tied and naked on one of the rooms. She was beaten up, bruises all over her face, her blonde hair all messed up. I was angry, angry at them. At myself.
She cried, and said my name in a whisper. I came with her and hugged her. She hugged me back and cried longer. She dressed, but, about the time we were in the room, gathering stuff, she took a gun, and.
I can't write anymore about this. I just can't. I'm crying as I type this.
God, why? Had I not.
I'll finish later
Ambush
I ran like hell. And for the first time in weeks, I didn't notice the gunfire, nor the running of the car engines. Note to self, always keep a cool head.
I reached the museum quickly and opened the door. I closed it and shut it off with the barricade. Karen and Lisa came darting down the stairs and saw me in the hallway, asking me what was going on. Then the gunfire started.
I'm guessing they thought the door was gonna give in easily with the first ten shots, and then proceeded to stop. I yelled them to run and then a thunderous roar made way to a powerful blast that ripped open the door of the museum. We closed the door that lead to the second floor, and sealed shut the main hallway. We could hear them coming in, and they tried to take some shots at us. They hurt Karen in the shoulder, but me and Lisa managed to stay okay. We ran upstairs, and they kept shooting as from the closed doors. This time they got Lisa in the back. I roared in anger and shot back, emptying the clip at them.
And failed miserably at hitting any of them.
Karen pleaded me to get up therer, I snapped back and complied. We got everything ready: Guns, ammo, explosives, the works. I still think this place is my favorite refuge, but it was compromised. I'll miss having electricity.
The men came, guns blazing. We were overrun, and outgunned. Some of them, looking at Karen, whistled and laughed, making dirty remarks she responded. One of them came and told us to surrender our guns.
Karen shot him in the nuts. And the guys shot back.
I blacked out, and woke up weak, tied, and pissed.
I reached the museum quickly and opened the door. I closed it and shut it off with the barricade. Karen and Lisa came darting down the stairs and saw me in the hallway, asking me what was going on. Then the gunfire started.
I'm guessing they thought the door was gonna give in easily with the first ten shots, and then proceeded to stop. I yelled them to run and then a thunderous roar made way to a powerful blast that ripped open the door of the museum. We closed the door that lead to the second floor, and sealed shut the main hallway. We could hear them coming in, and they tried to take some shots at us. They hurt Karen in the shoulder, but me and Lisa managed to stay okay. We ran upstairs, and they kept shooting as from the closed doors. This time they got Lisa in the back. I roared in anger and shot back, emptying the clip at them.
And failed miserably at hitting any of them.
Karen pleaded me to get up therer, I snapped back and complied. We got everything ready: Guns, ammo, explosives, the works. I still think this place is my favorite refuge, but it was compromised. I'll miss having electricity.
The men came, guns blazing. We were overrun, and outgunned. Some of them, looking at Karen, whistled and laughed, making dirty remarks she responded. One of them came and told us to surrender our guns.
Karen shot him in the nuts. And the guys shot back.
I blacked out, and woke up weak, tied, and pissed.
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