Zomblog II (4 page)

We reached an intersection, and I could see a lot of movement to our left. Straight ahead there were only a few. To the right, it was a little hairy, but I saw a big house with a large open yard and a sturdy fence. My thinking was that we could cut through, come out the other side, and lose the herd chasing us and growing larger with every passing block.

I took the lead, bashing a couple of those bastards along the way. We reached the fence and discovered that the only gate was locked with a hefty padlock. Not having the time to try and bust it, I told Sean he’d have to climb up on my back and vault over. Dom went first so she could try to help him.

The fence was one of those fancy wrought-iron sorts with pointy tops on each spirally bar. Basically, a row of spears. The horizontal bars were shaped like railroad tracks with the spears running through them. All-in-all, a very sturdy design.

Sean made it over without breaking his neck, which left me and Jenifer…and about fifteen of the walking dead. Jenifer put a foot in my clasped hands and pulled herself up as I heaved. A hand grabbed my shoulder as I stood up, helping to propel

Jenifer, but Dom jabbed the tire iron into the side of the thing’s head. All I saw was a body tumble to the ground beside me.

It had collapsed in a heap, so I actually was able to use the corpse as a step. As I went over, another of those things grabbed my pant leg. Fortunately, all I lost was a bit of pride as my pants ended up halfway to my knees before a fold snagged on one of the fence-top spikes and tore. Thankfully the girls caught me. Sean earned a few points for looking away as I struggled to haul my drawers up.

We cut down the side of the house and into a backyard that resembled a jungle straight out of a
Tarzan
movie. I’m talkin’ huge plants and dangling vines, along with a thick undergrowth of bushes. I could see that there was a tall brick fence, and, noting the lack of
any
zombie presence, decided this was as safe a place as any to catch our breath.

We had to jimmy open the backdoor, and in no time we were inside. The house was mostly empty. By that I mean that, from the looks of things, the wife turned…bit the husband…who shot the wife…then splattered his brains in the upstairs bathroom.

Yay! We found guns! The girls and I were in the act of loading a pair of hunting rifles and a nifty double-barrel shotgun, (the one the husband had swallowed in the tub) and deciding what to do with Sean when the backdoor slammed open. On reflex Dom spun and fired both barrels—her shoulder is a lovely shade of purple now—and Jenifer put a round from the .30-30 in the right eye of the person who foolishly charged in behind his cohort who’d just had the majority of his chest blown out. I don’t know if they were escapees from that armored truck, or two guys who followed us in all the insanity, or what…but they’re dead now. As for me…I need a nap.

Wednesday, November 12

Tomorrow, the four of us are going to make a move. However, this house is actually a bit of a gold mine. The guns were a nice find, but we only found one box of ammo for the shotgun and it wasn’t brand new…only seven shells. For the pair of .30-30s we did a little better. We have twelve rounds each.

Also, we found a few items of the canned food variety, and some really fancy, high-end camping gear. A bunch of
Col-umbia Sportswear
coats and shoes that fit Jenifer and me were in a closet upstairs. We found a couple of super nice sub-zero sleeping bags. Basically, it was like winning an REI shopping spree.

We do have quite a crowd of zombies out front, but out back over the brick fence isn’t too bad. We were gonna leave today, but something Sean said has us waiting for nightfall. Before he was captured, he’d been in the process of gearing up for a trip to Las Vegas.

He’s heard the broadcast twice, but only at night.

Thursday, November 13

It’s not like we have a timetable or a schedule to keep. We spent the night in shifts with a portable boom-box that Sean found in the laundry room. We went through a drawer full of junk and found batteries that worked. (Like I said, this place is a gold mine.)

Not a peep. We’ve decided to hang for a couple. Sean wanted to know why we were so anxious to be out amongst those things. I explained that it wasn’t so much that, as the need to
not
feel caged. He’s only spent a few hours in the back of an armored truck…he’s never been in a cage.

Friday, November 14

Still nothing last night. At least not on the radio. We did hear somebody with a bullhorn or something about an hour before daybreak. After a while, it faded away. None of us could make out what was being said.

Dom and Jenifer aren’t speaking right now. I’m guessing it has to do with Sean. They are in for a huge disappointment.

I pulled him up when I had to physically separate the girls. They both clammed up when I tried to question them, so I did the next best thing. I cornered him in one of the upstairs bedrooms and demanded to know if there was anything taking place between him or either of the girls. Bless his heart…he was mortified. Sean had no idea that the girls were arguing over him, and doesn’t really care beyond the group peace and unity aspect.

Sean is gay.

Sunday, November 16

Still nothing on the radio. We’ve talked it over and have decided that we want to go to the compound.

I am not very popular right now. When I say that ‘we’ decided, I really should admit that
I
decided. I told them that the three of them could go to Las Vegas, Los Angeles, or Hell for all I cared. My mind is made up.
I
am going to the compound that Sam first found shelter when all of this started.

That is where I plan to have this baby. Then—and here is where I made huge friend-points—I plan on leaving it with somebody. Boo! Hiss! I know. I’m a terrible person. Well, I was NEVER one of those girls who dreamed of settling down and starting a family. NOT to say that it couldn’t happen.

How do I explain this in a way that doesn’t make me come off like a complete bitch? The world is a wide open place right now. Sure, the rides aren’t running at Disneyland, but there is a world of things to see. Zombies might be a big danger, but you can certainly outwit the things.

Haven’t you ever been to the Grand Canyon, Mt. Saint Helens, or Yellowstone National Park and taken in the beauty…then wished all the smelly, noisy tourists weren’t there screwing it up? I’ve never been to any of those places. Sure, I’ll have to duck zombies and avoid lunatics, but that is something I can manage. Only, not with a baby under my arm.

Call me selfish, or any of the other names I heard today, but if I leave that baby at the compound, it will have a much greater chance of survival. I know me. I’d get antsy, and before long, I’d be leaving that place. I can’t bring a baby. And I won’t abort it. Period.

Monday, November 17

There wasn’t a lot of food here, but what we lacked in quantity is more than made up for in quality. There was a case of freeze-dried “gourmet” meals. It seems these folks liked the outdoors, but wanted nothing to do with roasting wieners and making s’mores. There was this stack of bottled water. Also, we found a pair of what I can only call
luxury
canteens. They have filtration devices in the top. I guess you submerge them in a stream with a weighted attachment. According to the box, thirty minutes later you have a canteen full of “spring-quality water” that you can drink without worrying about dysentery.

A light snow is falling; we may wait this out a bit longer. Zombies are one thing, but slogging through the snow holds no appeal. We will spend this little break making sure we’ve left nothing useful that we can carry and continue monitoring for any further radio traffic from Las Vegas. By the time we are ready to make that journey…we should be much better armed and equipped. Of course we’ll still need to scavenge, but we will at least have the luxury of not living hand-to-mouth with minimal defensive capabilities.

Wednesday, November 19

I haven’t seen snow like this in ages. And seeing it in such a constant downpour—or whatever you call it—basically it is a blizzard. Only there isn’t much wind. The dead don’t even seem to notice. The ones out front just continue to grip the fence and carry on.

Heard the megaphone again. But still no radio. Maybe whoever it was got overrun. Or, whatever they were using for power conked out.

Evening

Somebody—or bodies—is close. Maybe it’s the megaphone owner. Whatever the case, we are on high alert. The situation between Dom and Jenifer hasn’t thawed much even after Sean and I explained his…preferences. Maybe the girls are a lot like me and need to be on the move. Neither one has ever actually been in a secure, compound-like environment. Being in this McMansion is a bit like a poorly gilded cage. Of course, if I’d been in a place like this a year ago, I’d have thought that I’d died and gone to heaven.

Saturday, November 22

On the run once more! So little time to write, but if we don’t make it…

Sunday, November 23

I am alone…and I’m freezing. Jenifer…if you or Dominique find this and I’m one of those
things
…blow my brains out. And if you see those bastards (I’m sure you’ll remember their faces) kill every last one of them.

Monday, November 24

The baby has certainly been feeding off of my anger and frustration. It’s been treating my insides like the speed bag in
Rocky
. I realized the past few days, while thinking that I may not survive this most recent adventure, that I haven’t written much about my pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to start, but for selfish reasons I need to give a bit of an explanation.

First: anybody who picks this up and considers using this as a text of what worked versus what failed is not going to want to read about my swollen feet, hormonal surges, or peculiar upswing in assorted bodily emissions. As my bladder seems to be shrinking exponentially each day, do I really need to log my frequent need to pee? It’s like going to see a comedian who does nothing but airline food jokes and the differences between men and women in their routine. Bo-ring! Men won’t care, and women will either think “Been there, done that, have the stretch marks!” or, get scared to death. Second: I’m honestly not trying to build a deep bond or whatever with a child I don’t intend to keep and raise. Hate me if you must.

Tuesday, November 25

I am stuck under an overpass! I see part of a sign that says “I-205 South THIS EXIT” and I need to get across that interstate. Tonight, once it gets dark, I’ll move.

I am certain that this group has Jenifer. I am pretty sure they have Dominique. I put my trusty spike-spear through Sean’s head.

I was sneaking along the side of Interstate 84, moving against the grain of the eastbound lanes. There are plenty of trees to use for cover, so the going was actually pretty smooth and easy. A few shamblers were around, nothing I couldn’t avoid. I have the shotgun and box of shells, along with a five-foot splitting-maul handle with the head removed and replaced by an eight-inch long iron spike.

I have been on the trail of these bastards since yesterday evening. The owners and operators of that megaphone …bullhorn…whatever…have had Jenifer calling out for me. It hasn’t been easy listening to her cry, but I knew full well that no good would come from me just surrendering to these animals. I had to listen to a friend die a brutal death over a two-way radio once. When we found him—

Kyle Danson—he’d been turned and was hanging from a tree with his genitals eaten away and his arms and legs cut off. So yeah, I’ve been in situations like this before.

When I “ran across” Sean, it brought back some horrific memories. Whoever these assholes are, they stripped him naked and chained him to the bumper of a car. Apparently that is how they left him…zombie bait. Only, they carved the word ‘FAGGOT’ in his chest before leaving him cold, naked, and defenseless. At least he took a few zombies down with the chain before they got to him.

When I saw him, I initially thought that he was there to bait me into the open. I thought he was still alive. While I was searching the area for any signs of the bad guys, he turned my way. The skin discoloration was difficult to discern in the gloom, plus, he coulda just been cold…hypothermic. Then I saw the front of him. The dried blood where he’d been carved, and the mouth-sized chunks missing from his left thigh and shoulder.

I walked up, on the way I spiked what was likely one of his attackers. A zombie is a mess, but you can still make out “fresher” dried blood stains on some. It was a man who could’ve been anybody’s best friend and beer drinking pal. Probably in his mid-twenties with short, dark hair, long bangs hanging in his eyes—those black-veined horrors—and most of his right side torn away so that you can see ribs and black, rotted organs dangling from grey gristle…like an obscene biology class display.