Dream Journal: 5/8/18 "Escape from the White Nationalist Meth Zombies"

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I was living in a small city built on the slope of a hill. It was essentially Morehead Kentucky, were I used to live. The city was under occupation by an invading army. The army was comprised of Americans, but it wasn't a civil war. This group had taken over much of the Eastern U.S. in a large, coordinated coup, and was in the in the processes of depopulating the area. The soldiers wore black tactical gear and keep their faces covered. I was with a friend I have known for more than 20 years, and so far had avoided the soldiers. We were hiding in a very old tobacco barn that had been used as a ware house at some point, and abandoned decades before. The wood of the old barn had aged to the familiar grey that characterizes the barns of this region. In my dream, I had incredible dexterity and strength, and was able to climb, jump, and execute complicated gymnast-like maneuvers with ease. We were hiding in the loft of the barn, when a group of four or five soldiers stormed the barn to flush us out. I was watching them enter the barn through slats in a wall. The back right corner had been loosely walled in, while the rest of the barn was open, and empty. The soldiers sprayed the barn with bullets, but we manged to avoid them by swinging from a rafter and launching ourselves through the wall.

Once outside, I lost sight of my friend. The view of my surroundings zoomed across the city and adjacent valley to a flat hill that sat slightly south west of were I was. I could see banks of large rocket launchers. Each had at least two dozen small rockets. I realized there was going to be a large attack, and within seconds it began. From the hill, small rockets started firing toward the town. They fell all around me, but they didn't explode. They were filled with a brown-colored poison gas. I ran to avoid the gas, but everywhere I turned more bombs would fall. In my mind, I could see the rockets launching, and leaving a white trail behind them. The town was soaked in brown gas, and just as I was sure my fate was sealed, I noticed an opening. I ran out of the fog and found my friend.

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Suddenly we were miles away in the hills above the city. We were standing on a small shelf mine looking down through young tulip poplar. We could see a two story house built on a valleyfill. It was winter, but the air was warm, and through the bare trees I could see the town four or five miles away. We were being chased by three meth addicts. The army had introduced an re-engineered form of the drug prior to the invasion, and used the addiction to force people to work for them. The three men were barely more than zombies, and their face and arms were pocked with open wounds. They chased us down to the house, where I was surprised to find my step mother, and her middle daughter. We are not on good terms. The daughter stared at me with dead black eyes, and reluctantly let us in after I begged and pleaded. We manged to get the door closed as the men came onto the porch. They cursed and clawed at the door, busting out the glass with their fists.
I decided to end it now, and found myself holding a stainless steel rod about two feet long, and the thickness of a roll of quarters. My friend had one too, and we beat the three men to death, jamming the rods into their eyes, and throats.

At this point, my stepmother came out and told us they had been hiding there a while and that there was a man living upstairs who owned the house. She took me into the next room were I saw my son in a crib. I thought he had been killed, and had no idea how he ended up here. It wasn't either of my actual sons. This little boy looked like them, but had black curly hair like a lamb. I asked how she was able to convince the man to let her stay, an she showed me a butter bowl filled with what looked like kitchen scraps topped with wet baking soda. It was the drug. Many people had become addicted, but were hiding. Against blackness, I saw an image of the man's face. It was grotesque, almost rotted. He was covered in open sores, and his skin was a whitish grey that looked like the blood had drained from body. It seemed to drip off his face, and his lips curled up over rotted teeth. His hair lay down in thin oily strings.

I picked my son up, pushed my stepmother aside, and ran from the house. The man was coming down the stairs at this point, and the three of them chased us from the house. They wanted to trade the child to the army for more drugs. They didn't follow us far, we ran into the hills with my son looking for shelter. The dream ended.