very thick and rolled into the Bay past the Golden Gate to ultimately blanket a good portion of the City. This fog brought along with it a heavy mist, almost like a light rain drizzle, sometimes covering everything like dew. "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,'' was a saying that had become a San Francisco cliché. Although this was supposed to have been something Mark Twain had said, it had turned out to be an invention of unknown origin. But never truer words were spoken. This time of year San Francisco was the foggiest .
Going back onto the roof , Harry spent a couple days, just to be certain, never leaving and only dozing for an hour or two at a time, observing the zombies and their behavior. Unfortunately he was forced to witness things he would have rather not: survivors apparently trying to make a break for safety, wherever they had thought that might be, either on foot or in vehicles. The ones on foot were usually brought down almost immediately, being set upon and consumed. Harry had been an avid NatGeo fan. Now he had center seat to an all-new series for them. The feeding habits of the anything-BUT-elusive Super Rabies Infected Zombie . “See mutilation and death in 3D, high definition,” he’d said to himself sarcastically. “Thank God we don’t have smell-a-vision.”
The survivors in cars, vans, or trucks fared only slightly better, which meant they just lived a little longer than those who tried running on foot. The sheer number of Zs that would surround a vehicle would bog it down to a complete halt. The vehicle took out portions of the horde, smashing them into bloody masses of flesh and bone, but never enough to really do much good.
The infected would quickly surround vehicles, bringing them to a halt as their tires could simply find no traction on the inches-thick gore that covered the street. Once the vehicles were stopped, the zombies made short work of breaking the windows and dragging the survivors out, kicking and screaming, to be lost in the middle of yet another feeding frenzy. There was never much left of the bodies when the zombies were finished with them other than scattered bloody bones and pieces of shredded clothing.
But Harry was able to confirm that the zombies did, in fact, move away from the fog. Harry spent those two days on the roof watching the thick grayish fog slowly roll in like a specter arriving to consume all in its path. It was fascinating to see the zombies’ reaction to the fog. Once the moisture touched them, they became as frenzied in their need to move away from it as during their wholesale slaughter of survivors. Whether these things felt fear was unknown, but they definitely had issues with what Mother Nature brought to their doorstep each evening. Harry was now ready to put his plan in action.
With one final glance, Harry left his apartment, feeling the need to lock the door to what would surely become nothing more than a dusty time capsule. Or more likely it would be completely consumed by fire. He then made his way down the main hallway to the building’s front entrance and approached one of the side windows next to the door.
Carefully looking through the small window, he was satisfied that at least for the moment the immediate area in front of the building was clear enough for him to slip out. The Zs appeared to still be distracted by whatever they had found in the building across the street, or whatever zombies did in their spare time, and it was time to move. Glancing out one last time to make certain the coast was still clear, Harry quickly exited the building and made his way down the street, using the many stalled vehicles for cover as much as possible.
Harry’s first destination was the closest police station to the Bay, which was Central Station located on Vallejo Street. He knew that he needed to reach the Bay, the marina specifically, to work his plan, but along the way he wanted to follow Commodore Allen’s suggestion
Going back onto the roof , Harry spent a couple days, just to be certain, never leaving and only dozing for an hour or two at a time, observing the zombies and their behavior. Unfortunately he was forced to witness things he would have rather not: survivors apparently trying to make a break for safety, wherever they had thought that might be, either on foot or in vehicles. The ones on foot were usually brought down almost immediately, being set upon and consumed. Harry had been an avid NatGeo fan. Now he had center seat to an all-new series for them. The feeding habits of the anything-BUT-elusive Super Rabies Infected Zombie . “See mutilation and death in 3D, high definition,” he’d said to himself sarcastically. “Thank God we don’t have smell-a-vision.”
The survivors in cars, vans, or trucks fared only slightly better, which meant they just lived a little longer than those who tried running on foot. The sheer number of Zs that would surround a vehicle would bog it down to a complete halt. The vehicle took out portions of the horde, smashing them into bloody masses of flesh and bone, but never enough to really do much good.
The infected would quickly surround vehicles, bringing them to a halt as their tires could simply find no traction on the inches-thick gore that covered the street. Once the vehicles were stopped, the zombies made short work of breaking the windows and dragging the survivors out, kicking and screaming, to be lost in the middle of yet another feeding frenzy. There was never much left of the bodies when the zombies were finished with them other than scattered bloody bones and pieces of shredded clothing.
But Harry was able to confirm that the zombies did, in fact, move away from the fog. Harry spent those two days on the roof watching the thick grayish fog slowly roll in like a specter arriving to consume all in its path. It was fascinating to see the zombies’ reaction to the fog. Once the moisture touched them, they became as frenzied in their need to move away from it as during their wholesale slaughter of survivors. Whether these things felt fear was unknown, but they definitely had issues with what Mother Nature brought to their doorstep each evening. Harry was now ready to put his plan in action.
With one final glance, Harry left his apartment, feeling the need to lock the door to what would surely become nothing more than a dusty time capsule. Or more likely it would be completely consumed by fire. He then made his way down the main hallway to the building’s front entrance and approached one of the side windows next to the door.
Carefully looking through the small window, he was satisfied that at least for the moment the immediate area in front of the building was clear enough for him to slip out. The Zs appeared to still be distracted by whatever they had found in the building across the street, or whatever zombies did in their spare time, and it was time to move. Glancing out one last time to make certain the coast was still clear, Harry quickly exited the building and made his way down the street, using the many stalled vehicles for cover as much as possible.
Harry’s first destination was the closest police station to the Bay, which was Central Station located on Vallejo Street. He knew that he needed to reach the Bay, the marina specifically, to work his plan, but along the way he wanted to follow Commodore Allen’s suggestion
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