My wife and I and others were being chased by zombies. Fighting them off, we’d taken refuge in a large building. Seemed like some manner of old mansion, maybe. Don’t know.
During the fight, I’d managed to arm myself with two weapons. One was a large but old revolver. Basically, a six-shooter. The other was a modern 9mm handgun, black and cold.
I kept one in each hand as I met the new people, survivors like us. It was chaotic. I was edgy, tense, a little angry. People seemed to be doing stupid things, leaving doors and windows open. I kept going around, closing these things, looking for food, telling others to be careful.
They didn’t seem to be responding well to my comments. They weren’t angry or anything but seemingly oblivious. As I processed that, I concluded that I needed to establish a safe little place for me and my wife in that larger area, and went up some wooden stairs in such of such a place.
I kept my weapons with me. At one point, though, talking with another, I noticed that the revolver had some pink material. Opening the cylinder, I found that each round had the striking end covered in a bright pink wad of cloth, a safety thing I concluded, with some alarm. If I’d tried using that weapon, it probably wouldn’t have fired.
Meanwhile, I wondered, was the 9mm okay, or did it have something like that? But I’d seen the magazine and I thought I’d fired it once without problem, so I thought it was okay.
The dream ended with me trying to remove the pink wadding from the revolving.