What happens when a person with some common sense wakes up to a “zombie apocalypse”? Shit gets done, that’s what.
Spoiler: the dog doesn’t die.
Please note: this work of fiction involves a lot of swear words/cussing and adult themes. Kiddos beware.
Dawn. On the boat.
Ready for bed. Not going to sleep in quite as much this time. Nothing exciting happened. Sky is looking grey again. It rained a little bit last night, but I checked online (net is still working, hell yeah!), and the storm is still not expected to hit til tomorrow night. We need to get about hundred miles south though. If we go at top speed, without stopping, Ben said it’ll take damn near 5 hours. That’s not counting any rough water, or stopping for gas.
Which is another thing. We’re going to go for as long as we can in both boats, no stopping. The Tayana only has a 90 gallon tank, Ben’s tank is 125. Once the Tayana runs dry, he’s going to siphon the rest of his gas into our tank and come aboard. We’ll add the 40 gallons we have in the cans, head for the nearest shore, fill the tank, and the cans and keep on trucking sailing. I thought we should take his boat, but he says the Tayana’s engine has been upgraded, and it goes faster. He wants us to get to shore asap.
Time to sleep.
9 something? or 10 something, I dunno. Ben’s not here to tell me this time, sorry folks.
I wouldn’t be awake except that it’s time to fuel up. We made pretty good distance though. I think Ben said we only have about 50 more miles to go. I’ll ask him when he gets back. Maybe. If I remember. Right now, I’m just focusing on keeping my eyes open. He and Dave are doing a gas run again. They’re taking turns with Abby and Scott. I didn’t realize how heavy 5 gallons of gas was until I went to fill the tank. Holy fuck, I don’t know how the guys did it last night. That explains why they were so pissy when they saw the other bikes.
Gas is refilled, we’re moving again. I’m ass tired, but there’s no point trying to sleep. We should reach port in the next couple hours, and we’re already running into rough waters. Chloe and Timmy are curled up with Abby, looking terrified. Jason is trying to put on a brave face, but you can tell it’s getting to him. Ben has taken over the helm (look at me, talking all sailor-y and stuff!), since he has the most experience. He showed me the target he’s hoping for, and it looks good. He’s going for a private dock, rather than setting us down at a beach. He said he’s been there before and knows his way around.
I don’t care, as long as we get to shore and get somewhere inside before the storm hits. And there’s no trolls.
According to the clock on the fancy ass stove.
We arrived at…I don’t know the address, but it’s Delaware. We’re inside, and the storm is outside. And not here. Yet.
House has been thoroughly searched and declared troll-free. I am tired to the point of being silly, and I know it. I don’t care~ I’m happy. We’re out of Jersey, we’re on land, and this place is gorgeous. Seriously. If my parents weren’t waiting for me, I would say ‘screw it’ and just stay here. Fuck the world, the trolls can have it. I’ll stay here on this nice comfy couch or in the bathtub big enough to fucking swim in. And the hot water that NEVER ENDS. We have ALL had a nice hot shower. All eight of us. Okay, the kids didn’t have one as hot as the rest of us, so all five of us, still! I’m in love with a house. And tub. And…just. Yes. ALL THE THINGS.
And oh fuck me sideways, of course something is happening. I’ll finish this later. Need to go see what the ruckus is all about.