04/08/11 You may want a pretty girl to rev your engine, but for the love of God, never let Vallerie drive your bike...


If I had a nickel for every time I've ended up homeless after burning down my living space, I'd have two nickels. And if you want to make a quick buck, reader, you can bet on it happening again. Shitty as the circumstances of this last great escape were, being on the road's the best therapy there is. It's sleeping in strangers' truck beds, with nobody to answer to other than the wind in my hair-- and the stars, spread above me like the forbidden fruit that tempted Eve. It's wheelieing my bike off a 15-foot ramp to the sound of walker groans and Core gunshots. It's the sick satisfaction I get from thinking that whether or not I see tomorrow, I'll be doing whatever the fuck I want.

I was sure we'd lost those core bastards in the explosion-- half thought I'd singed the hair off the back of my head, too. Seeing as I'm god's least favorite faggot, no such luck: two of their cars caught right up to us. The mountain of moody firefighter driving my bike immediately panicked and took a curve too hard, throwing us both into a ditch. (If I had a nickel for every time Vallerie crashed my Priscilla, I might able to fund a new paint job by 2015.) But aside from a full-body bruise, I was fine enough to take control and get us the hell out of there. With one hand on the handlebars, I gunned down a core agent blocking the street, then turned back to see Doc straddling a car like fucking spiderwoman. Never thought I'd be the one chiding Doctor Marie Shaw about being careful, but there I was-- sprinting back towards her before I'd even registered that we'd stopped, or that Doc's injured driver had veered into a barbecue grill. (Nearly being blasted to kingdom come counter: 2).

If Lucius Delgato's dumb ass thought sending a helicopter would intimidate us into surrender, he had another thing coming. Vallerie, in a well-intentioned fit of shortsightedness, pointed my sniper rifle at the chopper's gas tank. The thing went down-- straight down, onto the M street marauders. (Counter's at 3 now. But at least the explosion was fucking awesome.) Out of left field, a Humvee plowed down the last core agent; turns out that cowboy made it out, too. Everyone retreated to the woods to make camp. Seeing them together, I finally realized that there's chemistry between Zack and Steven. I'd either been too busy or had my head too far up my ass to notice. And that brought me to a truly tragic realization: I haven't gotten laid in over SIX MONTHS. If Salem Smoke having a six-month dry spell isn't evidence enough that the world is ending, I don't know what is.

Since I was less banged up than the others, I took watch that night to check my burns and bruises (and definitely not to do anything else. Get your mind out of the gutter). Vallerie and I went out scouting together the next morning. I've been trying not to think about how she was all over me at Wild Waves, out of respect for her loss-- but goddamn, I'm a pervert. Whatever-- we found a vantage point and Vallerie confirmed that we're in Lakewood, near her old fire station. She's looking for someone, so I guess that's where we're going next.


Everyone always assumes that firemen are my natural enemies: they're not. Seems like a fun job, honestly-- but I'd rather exist as a fuck-you to the law. Hopefully, by next entry I'll have found some... creative uses for the firefighting equipment.
S. Smoke