August Rembrandt PoeBring him to the fort, make him work, place him behind a barricade and give him an assault rifle.
What did I do for a living? Ha. you might call me a 'travel agent'. I made it my business to help folks get to the place they wanted to be. For a small fee, of course. Mostly used to run illegal workers into the country-it wasn't the best paying work, but it was the safest and the cleanest. And if you think that farmers were the only ones to hire illegal immigrants, think again. Hotels, factories, mines, hospitals-there was a whole lot of places that liked to hire a body that couldn't talk back, claim any benefits, or unionize.
Sure, it was a little risky. You could do hard time if the feds caught you along the way. And sometimes you could get a bad egg in the bunch, some tough hombre who thougt he'd just relieve you of your profits or get fresh with one of the female passengers. That's why I always kept a sap and a gun in the front seat, and left the grill open to the back of the truck-so I'd hear if anyone made a ruckus.
Anyway, all those government checkpoints and quarantine zones were great for business. Hell, I didn't have to run illegals across the border-I could run locals from state to state. People were desperate to get through the barricades and the red tape; I could charge 'em whatever I pleased. And if some of 'em looked a little peaked getting into the truck, well-that was no business of mine.
I was carrying a load from Newport down when I heard the screaming. Pulled over as soon as I could. Soon as I opened the back doors, the people just poured our at me and went straight over the top of me-they were running like animals, complete panic.
There he was in the back, holding part of the woman he'd just killed and looking like Devil's own kin. He came straight at me. I musta blasted a dozen holes in that son-of-a-bitch, but he kept coming. He backed me all the way to the cab of my truck before I grabbed the 12-gauge and blew out his chest.
You really got to do a lot of killing to put down a zombie, son!
|August Rembrandt Poe|
|Previous Occupation||Labour Importer|
|Clubs||21||Hand to Hand||21|