The planks on the porch squeak every time they shift their weight. Combined with the constant moans it’s enough to drive a man insane. In addition, the stink, the stink is horrible. Anyone still alive who ever took the time to wonder how bad two-week-old corpses stink definitely needs to come down here and smell the yard. There’s about ten of those things sitting outside waiting for something to eat to come walking out of this place. Unfortunately for them that’s just not going to happen. There is roughly a two-month’ supply of food for one person here along with enough water for three months. Realistically there is no reason to leave. Let them all rot while waiting for something that’s never coming. It’s a shame that the family couldn’t come, but with them all being gobbled up it’s understandable.
Time appears to move slower when by yourself. It moves so slowly in fact that it becomes almost tangible. That’s the cruel reality of time, when you need more it just whips right by you but when you have an overabundance of it well it just stops for a moment and laughs at you. The creaks from the porch are becoming less frequent. They have gone from twenty a second to roughly ten. The moaning hasn’t disappeared. If there was a gun handy, that could be taken care of. The noise would probably call more of them though. There was an emergency broadcast on the short wave radio last night. The military has been decimated by the infected, just as local police were two and a half weeks ago. Welcome to the end of the world.
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