H.R.R. Book 1: The Beginning - Chapter 8a

As we entered my house, I immediately walked upstairs, trailing guts and mush all the way. Joe was rifling through the kitchen for ingredients, as I grabbed the guns and prepared. Before grabbing the guns, I decided to change my outfit first. Seeing as I was wearing really baggy pants, and Converse sneakers, I knew I wasn’t prepared for combat. From my closet I withdrew tighter fitting pants, black cargo jeans to be exact, the goth looking combat boots I picked up for whatever reason hit me at the time (I only had worn them once before that), and my trench coat. I threw on the pants quickly, and laced up the boots. Though only for fashion, they looked actually functional. Clothes that serve both purposes these days…go figure. I threw on the coat, and grabbed a few knives and more novelty looking weapons I had in my room, deciding better to be safe than sorry. Before I left the room, I grabbed a few more things, including keys (for what, I was unsure), my Cross which I threw over my neck, a pair of riot shades (sunglasses), and a rubber band. I tied my dreads back in a pony tail looking thing (oh yes, I have dreads) with the rubber band, which Orlando made me do whenever we had guests, always saying “They look gross, at least keep them out of your face when we have company!” I put on the shades and walked out to his room. In there, I grabbed a small key form his sock drawer, and opened the closet to reveal a gun safe (gun safe? kind of an ironic name). I opened the safe, and found a lot of guns. Thinking about it made me wonder what he did in his spare time. I grabbed them all, without looking into them, grabbed a bunch of ammo, and went downstairs. Before entering the kitchen, I grabbed the first aid kit out of the downstairs bathroom.
“Joe, how’s it going?” I asked.
He giggled a little, and asked “What’s with the get up, Neo?” He was making a Matrix joke, seeing as Neo (the protagonist) dressed in the same sort of attire in the first movie.
“I’m thinking smart,” I answered. “My old clothes weren’t really combat capable.”
“Yeah…oh well, I’m not changing. In fact, why you’re dressing for combat is a mystery, seeing as I thought we were going to try to avoid those things,” he retorted.
“We’re going to run into trouble, Joe, it’s inevitable,” I answered pessimistically.
“I though you were supposed to be Neo?” He joked. I rolled my eyes.
“Anyways,” I began “How’s the search?”
“Actually, it’s going really well. In fact,” he said, pulling out some sort of coke bottle device “I made easy Works Bombs! Check it out! You see, you push down on the cork, which breaks the seal, pushing the foil into the bottle of Works, and then you shake. Much more convenient than the old way,” he said. It was actually an ingenious design. Joe was really proving to be quite intelligent. He had already made a few. I joined him in the middle of the kitchen floor, making Works bombs, napalm out of dish soap and gasoline he found in the back room, and flamethrowers out of med-tape, lighters (Orlando smokes) and hairspray he found in the bathroom. After that, we placed them on the table, along with the guns and knives. I ran upstairs, grabbed a few sports bags, and some components for more makeshift weapons. We then made land mines, and scavenged the house for anything to be used as make-shift armor. After all that, I stared at our little arsenal on the table.