Tip for the day: No loose clothing, no long hair. Let me tell you about a story of what happened with a guy I was traveling with as we were headed out of Maine. He was a rocker, one of those headbanger types that grew hair past his shoulder blades. Clyde. Real cool guy to talk, but never really thought things through.
It was shortly after people began to realize the zombie outbreak was real. People hit the interstate, I-95, to head southwest out of Maine. Of course when you have the entire state's population trying to exit at once, you're going to get such congested traffic, you'll need a fleet of trucks shipping Mucinex to get it to move again. I was smart, though, and anticipated it, so I took county roads and headed strictly west. I took a gamble, however, and got on Highway 2, and fortunately, it was deserted. Everyone really did try to get out via I-95. As I was heading to Farmington, that's when I saw Clyde. He was hitchhiking on the side of the road, and I passed him at first. I drove about a quarter of a mile when I decided to brake and turn around. I got to thinking, "Wouldn't I want to someone to stop and pick me up if the situation was reversed?" Of course, I could have been a psychopathic killer, and was hoping for fresh meat.
As I was driving back to the hitcher, I removed my pocket knight and unfolded the main blade and wedged it between my seat belt latch and the console, out of sight but readily available in case he tried anything. I passed him by a few feet so I could turn around and pull up next to him and hit the passenger side window down button. I asked if he needed a lift, and he said he'd absolutely love one, so I flicked the door unlock switch and he got in. I asked him where he was going, and he said Utah, and I said perfect because I'm headed to California and Utah's right on the way.
Anyway, we kept heading down Highway 2 until we skirted the northern part of White Mountain National Forest. To our dismay, the road was closed off due to a fallen tree. I pulled out a map from the glove department to plan a detour when there was a giant thud on my hood. We jumped in shock as we stared right at a zombie pounding dents into my car. He saw us through the windshield and attacked it, hitting it with its fleshy paws, window developing spider-web cracks but held fast and didn't break. I turned the ignition and switched into reverse flooring it, but I panicked, lost control of the car, and backed it into a ditch where we flipped over shattering the side windows. I turned to look at Clyde who was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, but otherwise alright, and tried to help him undo his seat belt when our undead attacker returned. He reached for me and tried to grab me but I leaned as far into the car as I could, batting away his arm, and I remembered the pocket knife still stuck next to the console. I pulled it out and jammed it into his eye and then butted it with the palm of my hand until it went all the way in. The creature fell, half in the car, half out. While I was struggling, Clyde manage to undo himself and crawl out. He ran on the other side of the car, and pulled the zombie out. He opened the door, crouched down, helped me with my own belt and got me out.
We grabbed our bags and did the only thing we could. We walked. We came to the fallen tree, and Clyde said he noticed it looked sawed, as if someone intended to block this road off. Either someone wanted to keep people out of Maine, or keep them in. Night was falling, and we hurried our pace, trying to find some place to camp. Clearly, we didn't want to rest in the woods, as that was just suicide, so we decided to head up north to where the river was when we came across a railroad track that had a few boxcars. For whatever reason, there were no ladders leading to the roof, so we tried to open the doors of one, then another, and finally the third was unlocked. We hopped inside and made what little beds we could with our blankets and went to sleep.
After being asleep for a couple of hours, I heard the door slide open. Clyde turned to me and said he was just going to take a leak, and I proceeded to go back to sleep when I was immediately woken by a scream. I got up and looked out to the door and saw Clyde running back as fast as he could with a zombie hot on his heels. I yelled at Clyde and held an arm out to help him in, and as he grabbed my arm, the zombie grabbed his long hair, and with unexpected strength, yanked him out of my grasp. I was horrified, watching this thing, this sickly creature eat Clyde with a ravenous appetite that rivaled a pack of lions after a fresh kill. When I finally snapped to, I slammed the doors shut, latching it from the inside.
I didn't even know Clyde for more than a couple of hours, but I was already mortified. I was already sadden, sickened to my stomach, watching someone not only die, but being eaten. All because of his hair!
By the way, I'm sure you figured this out by now, but not every zombie is a shuffling feet dragger. If the host body was healthy and athletic before the turn, then it will be stronger and faster than you. The one thing the virus does to help it catch its prey is cause the body to release an unimpeded flow of adrenaline to the muscles. Even after the zombie catches is prey and starts eating, the adrenaline doesn't stop. With increased strength, it rips into flesh and tears apart the insides so it can devour as quick as possible to replenish itself for the next chase. Because of this increased metabolism, this is why you see zombies decay. The host body's cells expend so much energy so quickly, they can't repair themselves most of the time.
The zombie that slammed into my car I would have to say was no more than a couple of days old to have that kind of strength to leave dents. The one who caught Clyde was probably not even a day old yet to be able to chase him down. Clyde said he ran track in high school. He was fast. I've been caught by zombies myself, but I always manage to get free. I've always kept my hair short, but now I keep it shaved. I don't wear baggy jeans and I don't wear shirts with sleeves. No chains hanging from my waist, and nothing from my neck. The only way a zombie's going to grab me is by digging his rotting claws into me. And even then, all he's going to get is a chunk of my skin as I tear myself away.
Until tomorrow, if there is a tomorrow.
So far so good. I've only read through this entry so far so the advice might be irrelevant, but I'm going to tell you anyway: I have no idea who your main character is. Who is Martin Fowler? What was he like before the apocalypse? Did a specific event make him want to write this journal? How has he changed since the apocalypse? I highly doubt he was a high class BAMF in the beginning of the Apocalypse, so maybe try to explain his development into what he is now. Fowler’s the narrator of this story so try playing around with the way he talks. Does he repeat a word or phrase? Does he avoid certain words? Does he cuss a lot? All these could hint to who he is personally. You can also use inner thoughts to explain him. Why does he think like a survivor from the start? Was he a zombie fan in his pre-apocalyptic life? In this case a life philosophy would really come in handy in reflecting who Fowler is. I’ll leave you with a quote I frequently refer to when writing or planning out characters: “A character is what he does, yes – but even more, a character is what he means to do.” – Olson Scott Card, Characters and Viewpoint
ReplyDeleteThese past couple of entries have been giving a lot of back-story and that's great, so try to give small details of Fowler's old life throughout future chapters. And if he doesn't want to talk about who he is or what he was before the apocalypse then be sure to let the reader know by either telling them straight or hinting that he doesn't want to talk about it. Try to be scarce with the details too. Too much back-story all at once can bore your readers.
Either than that, you're a good writer. Is this your first time writing? If it is, you're already better than me when I first started.
Thanks for the constructive criticism. I'm glad you're enjoying it. You'll definitely learn more the more entries you read.
ReplyDeleteAlso to note, this is purely rough draft. I write on a whim every night, and what I put down is only what I have time for on that day. And no, this isn't my first time writing. It's my first time writing in a very long time. ;)