Letters to Sweet - June 7

June 7

Dear Sweet,

I finally have a moment to write to you, hope you are doing well. Sally and I barely made it out of Bayside with our brains. Be thankful you are safe in prison, Sweet. The horror of Bayside is not something I ever wish to repeat.

The rocket launcher took care of the Zombies at the marina, but they swarmed the streets of the village with their blood thirsty eyes. Sally and I dashed down a side street looking desperately for a car in which to steal, but could find none. “We have to get out of here,” Sally said with urgency. But we had no idea where to run, or which way to go. Zombies were everywhere, thick as the mist that wrapped it’s icy hands around any shred of hope. And then, I saw it.

It was a beacon of light, a ray of hope, a means of escape. Sitting on a heli-pad was our salvation - a helicopter! Sally and I made a beeline towards the whirlybird, blasting Zombies out of our way. We got in quickly, hotwired the thing, and soared off into the night, robbing the crazed beasts of their evening meal of brains. Tragically, we landed right next to the Bayside lighthouse and more Zombies. So we stole a handy motorcycle and sped away. We ended up in Las Barrancas. I was starving, but the only place to eat at was a Cluckin’ Bell. Sweet, I would cut my own leg off and eat it before I’d ever set foot in a Cluckin’ Bell. They look like they use the gristle and beaks of the chicken. And I’m like, “ew”.

Forging on, we found a chili-dog stand in Fort Carson. If you’ve never been to Fort Carson, don’t bother. It’s not even quaint. If there was a dump of human civilization, Fort Carson would be it. I thought the Hood was bad, but I was wrong. Horribly wrong. I’m pretty sure that there is a total of five brain cells for all the inhabitants of Fort Carson. It seemed the perfect place to start over. You know I’ve always wanted to put my criminal past behind me when it is convenient for me.

In the end, four hours later, I just couldn’t stand the place. It smelled like feet. Well, “feet” is not really the best word. I guess the best way to describe it is that it smelled like the business end of a goat. Which smells nothing like feet, I should know.

Sally and I left Fort Carson and headed to Greenglass College. The campus was nothing to write home about, so we ran over a few co-eds and headed towards Las Venturas and the casinos. I was hoping to find more than one casino I could gambol in. After having fun riding my motorcycle up and down a pyramid, I saw that I was able to go into Caligula’s Palace.

Sweet, it was a high class place. They hide the slot machines away from the entrance so one does not feel as if one has a gamboling problem. Such a thing actually allows one to lie to themselves and say, “hey, I’m only here for the floor show” or similar. I, however, have a slight gamboling problem and wandered around to find the penny slots. What I did find was an unlocked door marked “authorized personnel only”

Sweet, you know I’ve never bowed to authority. And that sign was not my mother. Our mother, if you recall, is dead, and one day I shall find the dirty scum that killed her and he shall pay. I think it’s Tenpenny. But I won’t say too much, as I know they screen your letters.

As Sally and I explored the bowels of the casino, we found the security room, the electrical room, and a wooden door I was unable to open. I tried a Molotov cocktail, the rocket launcher, and a bomb, but nothing would budge it. So Sally and I went back the way we came. But we got a tad lost and found another room.

It was a huge room, like a warehouse, and from floor to ceiling were square metal boxes - like drawers in a morgue. Now why, I asked myself, would a casino need a morgue? And then, I knew. It was not a morgue, Sweet. Can you guess what it was?

It was where the Zombies lie in hiatus, waiting to be released by whomever was creating them. Sally and I left quietly. We plan on returning to our house in the Hood and grab our camera and come back to Caligula’s Palace Casino and take pictures for proof. I shall send them in my next letter.

Wish me luck, Sweet. I shall write more when I have time.

Your loving brother,