(no subject)
Sorry it's taken me so long to check in again; it's been a tough trip up here.
We took off from Olaf's house and headed towards Boulder; I'd heard from Ian that he was holding his own in town, but I figured we'd do best in some degree of isolation, but without straying too far from a town. Besides, Eagle's Landing just seems like one the better places to weather... well, much of anything.
What I didn't count on is that there seem to be a lot of folks who didn't realize what it means to be bitten and tried to keep running. The upshot is that the freeways are nearly impassable in places where large accidents have blocked lanes. These spots are slow, nervous going with shufflers about -- we've had to corner-clip a few to get them out of the way. I think I heard somewhere that it's not a good idea to hit 'em head on in these cases, lest you kill the car and be in worse shape than you were. Some of the wrecks give evidence to that too.
So we crawled our way up over the big hill and were about to call ahead to be sure of where we were going... no service, on Olaf's phone or either of ours. Seriously, what the fuck? Either someone's already gnawing on the phone lines, or Boulder doesn't want word getting out. Blind, we forged ahead to Eagle's Landing, more a comical slalom than a desperate flight.
So here we sit, waiting for nightfall. Ian got back home with his shovel, and we all seem to be picking up whatever heavy, blunt (or not-so-blunt) objects we can find. Oddly, the internet still works, even if the phones don't. Guess that lends credence to the zombies-chewing-the-lines theory, or something.
Ah crap, I said the Z word, didn't I?
We took off from Olaf's house and headed towards Boulder; I'd heard from Ian that he was holding his own in town, but I figured we'd do best in some degree of isolation, but without straying too far from a town. Besides, Eagle's Landing just seems like one the better places to weather... well, much of anything.
What I didn't count on is that there seem to be a lot of folks who didn't realize what it means to be bitten and tried to keep running. The upshot is that the freeways are nearly impassable in places where large accidents have blocked lanes. These spots are slow, nervous going with shufflers about -- we've had to corner-clip a few to get them out of the way. I think I heard somewhere that it's not a good idea to hit 'em head on in these cases, lest you kill the car and be in worse shape than you were. Some of the wrecks give evidence to that too.
So we crawled our way up over the big hill and were about to call ahead to be sure of where we were going... no service, on Olaf's phone or either of ours. Seriously, what the fuck? Either someone's already gnawing on the phone lines, or Boulder doesn't want word getting out. Blind, we forged ahead to Eagle's Landing, more a comical slalom than a desperate flight.
So here we sit, waiting for nightfall. Ian got back home with his shovel, and we all seem to be picking up whatever heavy, blunt (or not-so-blunt) objects we can find. Oddly, the internet still works, even if the phones don't. Guess that lends credence to the zombies-chewing-the-lines theory, or something.
Ah crap, I said the Z word, didn't I?