The Death Squad 1 — Paul Block

I flexed my hand and looked around the kitchen in the flickering candle light. Writing about it is bringing it all back, like I'm right back there. Lana's rifle and two spare clips lay on the table top now. I haven't needed it yet, but the night is young. Who can tell what it will be like in a few hours from now when the light is entirely gone: When all the dead wake in the old barn across the road. My rifle is also loaded, but I have less ammunition for it and it isn't worth a damn up close. Lana was a lot smarter about weapons than I was... Much smarter.It's so goddamn quiet. I hate that. That quiet. These bastards don't breath, they don't trip and fall, they aren't clumsy... You would never know they are there, never know it at all.  Jesus, I... Never mind. My mind wanders too much. Too goddamned much. I'll be back...I took a walk around. Upstairs I can still see a faint line of sunlight on the far horizon. The yard is dark. I can't hear any more sounds. It's unnerving. The boards are all in place, everything seems secure. I'm back at the table...The cramping is gone from my hand. I guess in the digital age we just don't write much, but when it's all you got, it's all you got. The whiskey is holding out. I'm being careful with it, don't worry, not that it will make a bit of difference...We had passed a sign and entered into Arizona. We made great time on the open road...