My brother gave me back some handguns today. Stacy, who was the toughest
one of the girls here & was helping my brother get supplies, was bitten
bad enough yesterday that my brother shot her in the head. She was
already dead when he got to her, but he shot her before she came back.
So I’m really the only other person here that can function outside of the
motel. The three women who are at the motel are still in mixtures
of shock & denial & the four kids are all under ten, two of them
were Stacy’s. So we need to find out if I can fire a gun & keep
my balance with my crutches. My brother’s saying, “You’ll just have
to use 22’s mainly I guess, the kick might be small enough. &
I got you this.” He’s handing me a small submachine gun. “It’s
more to push them back a little & call for help than anything else,
it kicks too much for headshots anyway. Just be careful about using
it.” The reason he’s telling me to be careful is we’ve reached the
point where bullets are definitely in limited quantity & we need to
try to use them sparingly. Actually it’s getting harder to find food
too. Stacy died when they were looking for food in an apartment building.
We go outside & I fire a gun & I don’t fall down & I feel a
little better about myself than I have lately. I don’t know how much
longer we’ll be able to live off the remnants of this city. We need
to move to a farm or some place in a less populated part of the country
where there might be enough bullets left to handle the number of dead left.
Assuming there are places like that.
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