Went to bed early, as I said in my last post. Woke up about a half hour ago because of sirens in the neighborhood and a helicopter flying fairly low over the subdivision with a damned spotlight brighter than the sun. Feh. Woke my housemate, too. We went out on the front lawn to see what we could find out, but it’s all down the street, and I’m barefoot and in pajamas. Some of the neighbors tried to walk deeper into the subdivision, but cops yelled at them to go back inside.

While I was out there, I thought I heard a gunshot, but . . . it’s hard to tell, really. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard one close up except for one I fired myself, and that was quite noisy. And forty years ago.

I decided I do not need to be wherever there are (potential) gunshots. Cowardly? Incurious? Maybe. But alive and not underfoot, impeding whatever investigation might be going on.

Of course, the neighbors picked the one night I’d like to get a full night’s sleep to decide to go from quiet and unbothersome to . . . whatever this turns out to be. I hope I don’t see it on one of my mother’s favorite “Killers Among Us” type shows on ID. Maybe I could be that guy who always says, “They seemed so nice. Always quiet. Helped me unload a new fridge from my pickup that one time. I never would have dreamed he had buried bodies in his basement.”

Yeah. Or not.

As I was typing this, things seem to have died down a bit, although there seems to be a lot more people milling about than one would expect from a simple murder. Assuming it was simple. And a murder. And how many helicopters does one crime scene need, anyway? There are at least two, possibly more.

Another weird thing: One of the vehicles that drove by looked armored. I wonder what that’s about? I’d go check, but . . . I have more important things to concern myself with. I’m sure someone in the neighborhood will explain it once I’m back from Viable Paradise. Maybe they’ll put it in the neighborhood newsletter.

Dammit. Might as well stay up, now, even though I’ll be a zombie all day with only five and a half hours of sleep. I’m yawning so hard it feels like I’m going to inhale my monitor. Feh. I was going to get up at 5:30. I’ll probably not post again until I’m at the hotel up in Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe I can sleep on the plane, assuming I don’t sit next to a Chatty Kathy or within two rows of a kid.

The shower calls. And apparently breakfast, if the smell of biscuits means anything.

Later.

This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. (The previous post was part of the preamble). Stay tuned for more posts!

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