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Post by Tyson "TJ" Knight on Oct 22, 2017 23:10:37 GMT -5
3 miles east of Badwater Basin, Death Valley National Park
The heat was oppressive and the terrain unforgiving, but TJ pressed on westward. Maybe it was the delirium of heat exhaustion and dehydration, but it was the only point on the map with "water" in its name. Bad water, piss water, dirty whore douche water, TJ didn't care. The walk through the deserts from Las Vegas had tested him, as many hundreds of miles of walking, climbing, fighting, and surviving as he made his way across the United States had tested him. Whatever "badwater" entailed, it couldn't be worse than his own urine, which was becoming the dominant flavor as he kept his canteen topped off. Surviving was not for the squeamish.
Travelling over the rough mountainous terrain was torturous, but it was the preferable alternative to the roads choked with the tireless infected below, who mostly lacked the agility to clamor up the hills to get to TJ. He could fight his way through a crowd of them but after contending with twenty or thirty of the fragile monsters he would be spent, and no closer to his goal of reaching the West Coast as more of the dead descended on his collapsed body.
Defeat was calling to him. TJ began to hallucinate. The dead were calling to him. Join us. You'll never be tired. You'll never be thirsty. You'll never be hungry...
"Bullshit!" TJ exclaimed, the first time he had heard his own voice in a good six months, having never had anyone to talk to in a while. The spirit of defeat angered him, pissed him off. The anger motivated him. Drove him. He had come so far. He will find water, he will press onward, he will survive.
"DEATH VALLEY WAS NAMED BY PUSSIES!" TJ roared, his voice echoing though the rocks.
Post by Tyson "TJ" Knight on Oct 23, 2017 8:44:25 GMT -5
Badwater wasn't water at all.
The spirit of defeat taunted him with the images of his fallen comrades as TJ stared over the looming salt flats. Nothing to drink at all. Nothing but salt and abandoned cars and the dead.
And the twisted hallucinations of those that died back in Tennessee. DeMunn. Rooker. Gilliard. Morrisey. Bernthal. Calles. Wilson. Kinney. All good Marines, all now long dead, names etched on a fading memorial inside TJ's skull. Of all those that died over the last four years of hell, the Marines that went with him to Tennessee still haunted him. They were sent to fight and die in Kentucky, but they fled. They cheated death, for a little while. But only for a little while. One by one, day by day, month by month, death stalked and picked off each one.
And now stood TJ, overwhelmed by thirst, overlooking a dry bed of desert salt.
The cars. Maybe there was something to drink in the cars. Washer fluid, antifreeze. Some different kind of poison, as long as it was wet.
Death and defeat taunted him. You have a gun. You have a knife. Use them. End this pain. Join us.
Somehow TJ found himself near the cars, though through his pounding dehydration headache he couldn't remember running down the hill to them. He found an RV, Running water! The RV had a sink, a toilet, even a shower.
The water ran pink down the drain as TJ sloshed and slurped it from his cupped hands, fresh blood rinsing from his fingers. Did he hallucinate stabbing the camper and taking his RV? Madness and delirium overtook him.
Post by Tyson "TJ" Knight on Oct 24, 2017 10:59:31 GMT -5
The RV reeked of sweat and the air inside was choked with the punishing desert heat beating down upon it. Like an oven. The man lay in the floor of the RV bleeding from a gaping stab wound in his chest.
TJ finished cleaning up in the sink and rinsing and refilling his canteen. Looking around the RV he found more bottled water and some dry bags of beans and rice, which he added to his backpack. His delerium was clearing, and the blood soaked bayonet on his rifle made it clear to him that he had charged and killed the man on the floor in his desperation for water. When I black out I kill people TJ allowed himself to think. He couldn't remember even making it down to the RV, much less attacking anyone. That didn't assuage his guilt as much as the long quaffs of refreshing water did.
The man on the floor sat up, his eyes greyed over with a milky glaze. A gurgling hiss emitted from the corpse as it pulled itself upright and groped for TJ.
"Always wake up hungry," TJ muttered as he drew his Ka-Bar and drove the blade through its eyesocket, which crumpled the monster in a deflated heap.
TJ found the coolest shaded spot he could in the RV, and curled up for a nap. He figured travelling at night would be less dehydrating than marching through the sun, and planned to move out at sundown.
Shauna Kelly: That helped, thank you
Oct 4, 2021 14:40:44 GMT -5
Ayita Hunt: dang, January was my last post.. Jeez it's been a hot minute. o7 guys, sorry for the complete disappearance, life got.. a little interesting this year.
Oct 18, 2021 22:34:19 GMT -5