group went up the main road and broke into mom's house.
HUGE mistake. We were all waiting for them, and not only because Little David needed first aid.
We found the first group's car, and we moved it to the main road, and then set if on fire, put the bodies in front of it. We made sure that they knew what house to look for. Pat was at the front door with me, and when they kicked it in, both of us made good use of all the hours on the mat in the dojo. I broke the neck of the first guy through when I dropped him on his head. Pat crushed the throat of the second one, and we muscled the last guy to the floor. He is tied up in my mom's basement right now, until he wakes up. I want to know as much as I can.
Yesterday, I felt bad. Guilty. Today I am angry, just angry, and that focuses me on stopping this threat here and now.
Still no word from Tate and his group.
Posted by Josh Guess at 11:56 AM
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Hard lessons
Today is gonna have to be fast. Patrick spent an hour alone with the looter we caught. I didn't ask him about it, and he didn't volunteer anything. But now we know where the group of them are.
We intend to hit them today. It is clear that they will keep coming after us, and we simply can't let that happen. We have a plan, and a time line, and hopefully the will to do this.
The world is a different place now. If we want to live, the burden of survival isn't on laws or the government. It's on us. And to live, to safeguard the lives of my family and friends, I will go to whatever lengths I have to.
In five hours, we go. Today is a busy day. If I an alive tomorrow, then you will hear from me.
If not, it is my hope that one of the group will carry on. Wish me luck.
Posted by Josh Guess at 9:40 AM
Friday, March 19, 2010
Machinery of night
The title of this post means nothing.
It is simply part of a line of Ginsberg poetry, a line I have always found particularly beautiful. I feel the need for beautiful things at present.
As I sit here and think about it, though, perhaps it does have something to do with what I have to tell you after all. Because as I sit here reading it over and over again, I do not see the letters and words for the wonder they were meant to portray at the vast cosmos around us, but rather a more sinister label for the mechanics of darkness as it spreads across the human soul.
If I sound morose, or bitter, don't fret. It's only that I am.
I don't want to scare off any genuine survivors who wish to join us, but I would be doing you all a huge disservice to lie to you and say that we all talked it out, and everything is fine. The truth, as it often ends up being, is harsh, and painful, and makes me want to scrub my skin raw.
If I could paint you a tale of heroic valor, against odds too great to overcome, I would. But there was no epic duel, no beautifully choreographed swordplay. There was a building, and some men who lived inside it. Now, there are neither.
We watched from far away, too far to be noticed and hidden in any case, as men came and went. Many of them, more than we have in our group. We saw them leave clean and fresh and return spattered with blood. We witnessed a man try to bring in a captive woman, only to see her escape, the tattered remnants of her clothing whipping around her as she ran. If I could have helped her, I would have. But as she ran her captor simply unshouldered his rifle, took lazy aim, and brought her down.
Inside their home, a doctor's office, they finally gathered. As the afternoon sun began its march toward the horizon, they entered en mass and locked the door behind them. I can see why they chose the place: a single door, easy to defend. While it appeared single story from the outside, if you walked up to it, you could see a basement level. You could see it because the ground around it had been cleared to about four feet out, a path of smooth stones surrounding the whole thing. It was a good twelve foot drop. All of
HUGE mistake. We were all waiting for them, and not only because Little David needed first aid.
We found the first group's car, and we moved it to the main road, and then set if on fire, put the bodies in front of it. We made sure that they knew what house to look for. Pat was at the front door with me, and when they kicked it in, both of us made good use of all the hours on the mat in the dojo. I broke the neck of the first guy through when I dropped him on his head. Pat crushed the throat of the second one, and we muscled the last guy to the floor. He is tied up in my mom's basement right now, until he wakes up. I want to know as much as I can.
Yesterday, I felt bad. Guilty. Today I am angry, just angry, and that focuses me on stopping this threat here and now.
Still no word from Tate and his group.
Posted by Josh Guess at 11:56 AM
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Hard lessons
Today is gonna have to be fast. Patrick spent an hour alone with the looter we caught. I didn't ask him about it, and he didn't volunteer anything. But now we know where the group of them are.
We intend to hit them today. It is clear that they will keep coming after us, and we simply can't let that happen. We have a plan, and a time line, and hopefully the will to do this.
The world is a different place now. If we want to live, the burden of survival isn't on laws or the government. It's on us. And to live, to safeguard the lives of my family and friends, I will go to whatever lengths I have to.
In five hours, we go. Today is a busy day. If I an alive tomorrow, then you will hear from me.
If not, it is my hope that one of the group will carry on. Wish me luck.
Posted by Josh Guess at 9:40 AM
Friday, March 19, 2010
Machinery of night
The title of this post means nothing.
It is simply part of a line of Ginsberg poetry, a line I have always found particularly beautiful. I feel the need for beautiful things at present.
As I sit here and think about it, though, perhaps it does have something to do with what I have to tell you after all. Because as I sit here reading it over and over again, I do not see the letters and words for the wonder they were meant to portray at the vast cosmos around us, but rather a more sinister label for the mechanics of darkness as it spreads across the human soul.
If I sound morose, or bitter, don't fret. It's only that I am.
I don't want to scare off any genuine survivors who wish to join us, but I would be doing you all a huge disservice to lie to you and say that we all talked it out, and everything is fine. The truth, as it often ends up being, is harsh, and painful, and makes me want to scrub my skin raw.
If I could paint you a tale of heroic valor, against odds too great to overcome, I would. But there was no epic duel, no beautifully choreographed swordplay. There was a building, and some men who lived inside it. Now, there are neither.
We watched from far away, too far to be noticed and hidden in any case, as men came and went. Many of them, more than we have in our group. We saw them leave clean and fresh and return spattered with blood. We witnessed a man try to bring in a captive woman, only to see her escape, the tattered remnants of her clothing whipping around her as she ran. If I could have helped her, I would have. But as she ran her captor simply unshouldered his rifle, took lazy aim, and brought her down.
Inside their home, a doctor's office, they finally gathered. As the afternoon sun began its march toward the horizon, they entered en mass and locked the door behind them. I can see why they chose the place: a single door, easy to defend. While it appeared single story from the outside, if you walked up to it, you could see a basement level. You could see it because the ground around it had been cleared to about four feet out, a path of smooth stones surrounding the whole thing. It was a good twelve foot drop. All of
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