Week 2, Day 4 - Mr. Johnson and I Go on a Journey Outside

“No,” I said plainly.

“You don’t have a single football in your storage?” Mr. Johnson asked.

In hindsight, I should have gotten one. Maybe other sports equipment. The only “sports” item in the huge storage hold was a ping pong table, a dart table, and some darts and a pool table. I had mentioned all three to Mr. Johnson as possible avenues of his athletic outlet, but he called all those activities, “gay”.

“My house has plenty of footballs Adam. How about you and I go there and scavenge for some? It’s close. I’m dying here, son. I need to toss the pigskin you know what I’m saying, Adam?” Mr. Johnson looked at me pleadingly like a kid at the store who wants a toy to his mother.

I didn’t, but Mr. Johnson was getting really sick of this place. While I and his family found other ways to have fun, not just sexually, he kept to himself and watched every single football film I had on my media server at least 10 times. The man loved football. You got to admire him for that.

“I think it’s a bad idea. You could get hurt just for a ball, Mr. Johnson.” I tried using the suggestion on him.

I should at this point explain how the serum worked. The serum was only effective a point. I could make suggestions to him and depending on how long he has been in the serum’s influence, the suggestions could be bolder and bolder especially in regards to sex which the serum would cloud and make seem less important than it really is. However, even with the highest dose and a year of the dosage, I could not tell him to go kill himself. I could not tell him to give up his love of Mrs. Johnson. I can get him to ignore me fucking his wife, but he still loved his wife. I could also not tell him to give up his love of football. It was something that was very much a part of his soul and ingrained into him as a human being.

“How about this? I’ll give you a gun and come with you, and you have to promise me you won’t get hurt and come back here right away okay? No wandering around after we get your footballs.” I said.

Though I didn’t like Mr. Johnson, I still didn’t want to see him killed and I think Mrs. Johnson and his family would still miss him. Mr. Johnson nodded eagerly.

“I knew you were a good man, Adam. That’s why I let you date my daughter.”

I sighed. Every inclination in my body told me this was a bad idea. I went to the storage hold and fetch myself a rifle from the weapons locker and a machete and some sound grenades. I got Mr. Johnson’s pistol and handed it to him and handed him a machete as well. We both carried large, empty hiking survival backpacks with us. I brought the backpack and gear out from storage. I went to the control center and monitored the 360 camera of my neighborhood. It was relatively clear, the waves of dead clearing out to find more prey in more dense population. A couple of undead were wandering in a few streets, but nothing like hordes in the down metro areas.

I went to exit bunkers and walked up the stairway to the exit of the shelter. Mr. Johnson waiting for me there. I entered the code, and the biometrics scanned my eyes and my fingerprints and the huge reinforced steel door opened. We walked into the field in my backyard to my main house, the bunker behind us and made our way to Mr. Johnson’s, my neighbor’s house.

We wandered into the backyard. There was a dead body in the grimy pool. I grimaced. The backdoor was open, and Mr. Johnson and I made our way into the house. Most of the house had been looted by others. The pantry was cleared and fridge empty. I checked around for supplies. Nothing much, I put a few cleaning supplies into my bag. Mr. Johnson was clearing the rooms with his gun smartly while I played loot craft. Mr. Johnson made his way to the attic, and there was a stash of balls.

“Just grab this one?” I said.

“This one? No way, it’s a game ball from a Rose Bowl a while back.”

I rolled my eyes. Mr. Johnson grabbed a few other random footballs and also some football film studies DVD. The man loved football. We made our way to the living room where Mr. Johnson searched through his DVDs for more football stuff while I checked around for more supplies. Mr. Johnson and I then noticed a piece of paper on the coffee table.

Mr. Johnson and I both read it.

“Todd,

it’s Jimmy. If you read this head to Saint Paul’s Cathedral on Saint Street. Me, Grace and Maria found safe shelter there.

Love ya buddy and hope you and the family is doing well. :)”

Mr. Johnson smiled from ear to ear.

“Son of a bitch made it.” He said.

I had a deep gut feeling this isn’t going to be good.