I snapped a few pictures at the store the other day, before I bought a bunch of these. It just struck me so hard while I was standing there that it would be a long time before I saw anything so normal again. If ever.
I couldn't help but think, as I saw this wall in front of me, that in such a short time, my perceptions had shifted so much. I didn't see a wall with hammers, and hatchets, and nail pullers, crowbars, mallets and steel wedges. I wanted to see things to make with, to build, but all that came to me was what use it would be as an instrument of violence.
Not just against zombies, either, but how effective against a person trying to hurt my family, come into my home. The thought froze me. All of a sudden the reality of it slammed into me. This is what will happen. Our existence is going to shift into something a lot more basic. We are going to have to do things that will make us sick. Those tools in front of me might be my only option to save my life. Or Patrick, Jess, or my mom.
Maybe the metal plates over the windows will keep people away. Or they might be like a beacon to some desperate person seeking shelter. It's an agonizing dilemma. Beefing up our home makes us safe, but does it make us a target? We live in the back part of our neighborhood, almost at the top of the hill. We are just outside the city limits, but not so far into the county that we are saved by distance. Lexington is getting bad, the outbreak hitting UK like wildfire. My guess is that the first of them will hit Frankfort tonight or early tomorrow. I like to think we are prepared. Physically, we are. We are so stocked with supplies and back-ups that I think we can last for months here without leaving the property. Not that I think it will come to that, since we want to start on our planting and working on the back yard.
We're ready, I guess. Loaded up with so many weapons that we couldn't even carry them all if we had to. What remains to be seen is whether or not we can use them, when the time comes.
Jess is a quiet woman, a gentle soul. She has never been in a fight, never been attacked. I have always avoided conflict when I could, sorted out those who wouldn't let me run. But I have never had to fight with weapons, much less kill a person.
Patrick is older, and more experienced in things like that. If our luck goes south, and I can't do my duty and finish the job, I know he will have my back.
Mom is scared now, and I am pretty sure she will be coming here to stay with us tomorrow. Pat is there now, trying to convince her to come today.
I am on the couch, tying on my laptop. Next to me is an old hatchet, a loaded glock, and my cell phone. Strange how used to it I am already becoming. None of those things seems out of place.
My phone is jangling at me. A text from my friend Joe, just three miles down the road: