Current Mood:  tired
Current Music: Johnny Cash - Don't Take Your Guns To Town (Squid's Redoubt)
Well, if that wasn't a day. If you've been following on Twitter, you know how much fun today was. He says with ironic, cynical detachment. It probably should have been enough of a head's-up when we got down to the SJ opening in the four vehicles we'd dragged along and found a big jack-knifed rig blocking most of it. Apparently, the poor bastard had been barelling up 85 and didn't see or know about the three zoms that were clinging to the semi-trailer. The rest is kind of inevitable; they clawed their way along the side and top of the truck, got on the cab, and he plowed into an overpass support as it spun. Instant barricade and a little extra fire. With a little patience and some injudicious ramming from a guy in a Hummer, we managed to clear stuff enough to go around the end. Slow going, and the dead cars along the way north and south never helped, but it only held us up a bit. By the time we got to Project, I was starting to get a little nervous, if only because seeing zoms clinging to the side of skyscrapers, the underside of overpasses, and the like is disconcerting. You don't typically think of zombies being a 3d threat, but the current crop seem to enjoy digging into almost anything with their claws. This was something that'd come back to haunt me. Duh. So, yes, Project. The zoms were pretty quiescent by the time we made it downtown, and busting through a few security doors we didn't have keycards for wasn't that big a deal. Power's still in to Atlanta for the next bit, I'd imagine; the power-stations are largely self-regulating, anyway. Then there was the issue of dragging the crap out of the facility without destroying it irreparably. That was where the hard part was, and it was hot, sweaty work even for me, who didn't carry more than a few cables and some manuals. Oh, yeah, and went crawling under a raised floor in the IT space, looking for a connection. Sometimes it sucks being a little guy. By 5p or so, the zoms were starting to get squirmy again and they'd apparently figured out there were a few tasty morsels moving around on West Peachtree. I swear, they have some kind of mystic hive-mind thing going on, because we could literally see the wave of awareness spreading down the blocks, about walking-pace. If it's a network, it's a slow bloody thing. Anyway, were were pretty much done and just securing things. That is, of course, when the fuckers decided to jump out of the manhole. In retrospect, I suppose I should have expected that, but three of the zoms dragged down two of the guys I was out with in seconds next to the lead truck, and then things got complicated. You don't need a play-by-play and I'm not even sure I could give you one, but insert a lot of running around and sweating and slashing zombies with whatever weapons we had on hand and you get the idea. When the trucks (the three left, anyway) rolled out, there were uglies hanging on the sides of all of them, and some very unhappy guys getting left behind. What can I say? I hate bite-transmitted infection. Blam blam, slashy-slashy, the one thing that's true about all zoms is their utter predictability. Keep your head on straight and you can just wait for the buggers to clamber to the cab looking for tasty, then blow their heads off or decapitate them as necessary. That does take some time, though, so by the time we were sure the trucks were clear of hitchers, it was later than I would have liked. No brainer after that. Cart the crap back out, tip hats to the guys on the Perimeter, and home sweet home. | 
nervous
amused![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
mischievous
Assuming that I could hack my way through the ravening undead with such a paltry assortment of toys, there are projectile weapons stored safely in the upstairs bedroom closet, both handgun and long rifle, as well as a sweet double-barreled shotgun, along with ammo for all of the aforementioned wonders of modern technology.