Friday, June 13, 2008

BLITEOTW - Cat Scratch Fever, Part 2

Hell. I'm writing this from the top of the bus, watching my house burn. Yes, the full length school bus in my front yard. I'm a wreck, and this day is nuts. From what I've seen online Spokane, Denver, Seattle, and Brooklyn have been affected by this rise of the undead. I don't even have a cricket bat.

To pick up where I left off... Disturbed beyond all sensible thought by the death of my spouse, I finally went to the living room to see about cleaning up whatever the kitties had killed. Soon I would be saying whatever else the kitties had killed.

The stench was foul and hung in the air. Both cats were crouched over a marmot, ripping and tearing. The russet and gold fur was matted with blood, and most of the head was gone.

I scolded the cats with a "Hey, guys, take that outside,” and went to pick up the corpse by its tail, so I could toss it out on to the porch. And the cats hissed at me. I even got a growl out of the orange one as I moved toward carnage. What the fuck? I'd had these two for 14+ years, and I'd never had this happen. That's when I noticed - both cats look rather beat up, and that nasty smell, it's not coming from the marmot, it's the cats. This just isn't making sense. It's like something out of one of those cheezy movies Cindy always makes me watch. Cheezy movies that may have saved my life.

As I start into a feline directed diatribe, I hear a noise from behind me. Turning around, I see John leaning against the bedroom door. John. John who is dead. JohnWhoIsDeadIsLEANINGAGAINSTHEBEDROOMDOORWHATTHEFUCKAMIHAVINGANIGHTMAREPLEASEWAKEUPI'MREADYTOWETTHEBEDIFTHATWILLMAKEITSTOP!!!

With the clarity of thought that comes when adrenaline floods your system, I realized that however improbable, I had zombies in my house. Zombie John and Zombie Cats. And I didn't want to join them.

The good thing about living in a small house is that things are close. Like the front door. I ran to the front door and went into the entryway. I started shoving and piling things against the door and putting stuff in place to block the cat door. I grabbed my weed burner (the redneck's flamethrower) and the bladed weed-whacker. They were the only things that I had on hand (in the entryway) that might work as weapons.

Moving out the actual front door, I took my chest freezer that's on the porch, and shoved it against the doorframe. It won't keep the door from opening, but it should slow things down.

I could hear noises from inside the house, and part of me hoped that John was eating the brains of the cats, getting the little bastards back for turning him, and keeping him distracted while I figured out what the hell I was going to do.

Hell. John's bigger, stronger, and faster than me. Letting him get close is not a good idea, I'll lose in a physical contest, even if it's handicapped by the fact that he's undead and I have weapons. This means I need to be sneaky. Fire always seems to be a popular way to deal with zombies, though I've always been bothered at the prospect of flaming undead hordes shambling along. Damn. I've joked for years that living in a cabin means you're really living in a pile of firewood, I guess we're about to see if it's true.

The good thing about living on a redneck compound is that I have plenty of petroleum distillates to use as accelerant. I walked around the house with a five gallon jug of two-stroke mix, soaking the bottom log layer and the top of the skirting. I then soaked the skirting with giesel (gas & diesel blended). Trying to be prepared, I took the weed-whacker and the 2.5 gallon jug of two-stroke to the platform on top of the bus. Then, I hooked up my propane bottle from the camping gear inside the bus, lit off my weed burner, and set the house on fire.

3 hours later it's still smoldering. All my ID, keys, and such were inside the house. It's a good thing the spare laptop was left in my car overnight. Unlocked for once. I'm scared to go to the neighbors, and I'm still not sure how this was spread, though I'm blaming the cats. This has to be widespread, as no one has driven by the house all day, and we had no response the fire.

I'm more scared and alone than I have ever been before. I couldn't have been the only local to survive. If anyone reads this, please, let me know you're out there. Please.

3 comments:

Michelle K said...

I told you you'd need a flamethrower! I warned you I did!

Jeri said...

Redneck households rule. :)

thingumyandbob said...

Guess I won't be sleeping on your couch any time soon, huh? Now that it's UP IN SMOKE. When in doubt, it's always best to blame the kitties. You're rarely wrong.