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and say that shooting like this was a very cathartic event. I’ve been scared and worried I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger when I had to, and being in such a safe place, shooting at such distant targets, with a confident and incredibly skilled buddy right beside me really helped me settle back in. It was like a video game, and with someone else right there, it was awesome support. He’s a funny guy, that Ethan. Originally from Colorado.
    We talked about his family (1 sister, Heather, older), and how he enlisted to get out of the small town he was in. He always wanted to work in or around planes, and when he took his ASVAB and enlisted, the recruiter asked him if he wanted to be a hero instead.
    Well fuck right? What red blooded 18 year old American says no to that? Our culture revolves around hero worship. Basic training completed, he rolled straight into the Pararescue qualification course. He said it was hard, but worth it. He planned on returning to Denver most likely after his next enlistment to work at a hospital. With his medical training (18D, if that means anything to you), he’s basically a fully qualified physician’s assistant, with a huge edge in trauma medicine. The fucking guy has done amputations in the field, as well as tracheotomy's under fire, extreme damage stabilization, and more shit in Latin that I didn't even understand.
    Broken eggs and spilled milk now though. He said at some point he’d like to try and make it back to his hometown eventually to see if his family is still alive, but we both knew that was a bit of a pipe dream. The fuel required for that trip would be epic, and let’s not even go into how dangerous it would be to drive that frigging far. I can’t even imagine trying to navigate the drive from here to say, DC, or Chicago, let alone fucking Denver.
    So he has questions unanswered, as we all do. I hope he and the rest of the guys aren’t tormented by their questions like I am by mine.
    Anyway, sitting up there on the roof and then later the balconies with him was nice. I hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Ethan, and I definitely hadn’t properly thanked the man for helping remove the bullet from my neck. He and Roger did the surgery, and if it weren’t for them, more than likely I’d be dead or at the very least still in a coma.
    Ethan said it was, “No bother brother,” and that I should, “Do what Michelle and Kevin think you’re here for.”
    Yeah, no pressure there. Those two think I’m the savior of the world. I’m barely keeping my own shit in check and I’m supposed to be the guy that fixes the joint to boot? It makes me uncomfortable when people say these things. I don’t even like thinking about it, and when it’s brought to my attention that others know that I’m supposedly this super important person, and that so much rides on me, it puts this giant magnifying glass over my head. I feel super critical about myself already, I don’t need the scrutiny of others too.
    Bitch bitch bitch right?
    I’m just another turd circling the drain, waiting for the cosmic toe to push me down.
    I digress. Our shooting started fairly slow, taking down the small gathering of walkers off in the distance. Within ten minutes of our first shots, more walkers were coming in from all directions, on all surface streets. I’d say we had two or three coming towards us consistently for about four hours before it turned into a trickle. We stayed set up on the south facing of the building for an hour, then switched to the east, and so on until we’d taken out pretty much everything we saw.  
    I’d forgotten what a high caliber round does to the head of a person. Explosive is a good word. There’s just tattered head bits, and pick or grey flesh spatters left when the round impacts. The bodies keep moving forward for a small moment too, like they don’t quite realize their head is gone. Then the body goes down like a sack of bricks, completely dead. It’s horrifying, and