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From Inside the Flap
At the current temperature of seventy degrees, I figure my shelf-life is about half a day. According to what's left of the Internet, an erratic, unreliable skeleton of its former self-pun intended-the spoiling temperature of meat is forty degrees. I found the info on website, but it crashed before I could read the rest of it. No one's got time to read a post anymore, few people even have access to a working computer, or the power to run it, but I'll try to post whatever I find out. Who knows, it may save someone else. I imagine there's quite a few people like me trying to stave off the infection and hold out for a cure. Good luck to you all. You're going to need it.
Having only a few hours of, um, freshness leaves me with few options. Somehow, I need to get myself into a refrigerator, a thing nearly as rare as an Internet connection these days. If not my condition will become obvious in a matter of hours. The penalty for that-well, let's just say I won't be worrying about my options anymore. I just won't be anymore.
Finding an abandoned refrigeration unit shouldn't be a problem. There's one full of rotting food in every abandoned house on the block. Sometimes they tried the same thing as me. I guess it worked until the power went out. The hard part is locating a power source and then keeping it quiet while it runs.
Since I have a generator in my trunk and a campsite set up in the woods, all I need is the refrigerator. And possibly a shotgun. Not that I know how to use one or anything. I'm sure I can figure it out, though. And I'll post what I can.
Blood Moon Publishing is an imprint of Double Dragon Publishing