It was the zombie apocalypse again. Human survivors were scattered around. It wasn’t so sparse as in many zombie apocalypse stories, but the zombies still had the upper hand and survivors lived in fear.
I and some others lived in the top floor office of a massive warehouse/factory type complex. It was handy because we could monitor the floor below from the office window. Zombies would get in and wander their way near us. They could be taken out without alerting zombies outside, because it was indoors, but there was enough clearance room to have ample warning and reduce risk. It was a pretty good situation.
Except of course I was terribly inept at killing them. Hitting them with baseball bats was tough. I had difficulty aiming the thing at their heads, and it could take several swings before I would connect successfully. Should it be hard to hit something so large and slow moving when it’s meant to hit something much smaller and faster? I suppose a baseball does tend to move more predictably. And isn’t trying to eat you. I wondered if I would truly be this inept IRL, I felt as if the dream was depriving me of control of my movement.
But of course eventually we seemed to attract more zombie attention. Fortunately a big truck/van arrived. It was from a larger community and offered to take us in. One member for some reason chose to stay behind, go off on his own and see if he could make it. I don’t understand that decision, but perhaps the life of an apocalypse survivor was utopian to some – ultimate freedom from law or governments. The rest of us went.
In my dreams, I am sometimes a horrible person: At one point, I approached a woman working at a restaurant that I thought was attractive. I told her I worked for a modelling agency. I told her this because I wanted to have sex with her and somehow tricking her in this manner would do the trick. She was wise, and said that she’d need to see a business card and call the number there to see if it was real. I had one, so maybe I did work for a modelling agency.