Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (24 page)

There are a bunch of 4x4’s here. Roy can probably get one started even if damn near everything is likely dead as the folks in this town from sitting so long. Otherwise, well it’s a long walk to Irony.

Roy and I will slip out tonight just around the time it is dark. I’m leaving the place unlocked. Zombies aren’t much on opening doors unless they hang out for a long time. It’s like some memory flash comes and reminds the hand how a door works. It’s just not a thing that they remember or can recall at will. This place should be fine overnight.

Sunday, June 22

I guess everybody thinks I’m some sort of heartless bitch now. Apparently I should be in mourning. This just really pisses me off, because all that tells me is that, this whole time, these people haven’t seen me. They’ve seen an extension of Sam.

When Roy and I returned last night, I handed out food to everybody, sat down, popped open a room temperature bottle of beer and just tried to relax. Kyle came over and sat down next to me. I could tell right away that something was on his mind.

“What?” I turned and finally asked after about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“You should go ahead and cry.” He stared back with this look that I imagine he used as his “our thoughts and prayers are with—insert figure here—” face that he looked into the camera with when he was a news anchorman. After I just glared back at him with no reply, he went on, “It’s okay, we miss Sam also.”

“Look,” I decided to clue these folks in to who Meredith Gainey is, “I liked Sam. I’ll miss him. But people die a lot more frequently these days than they used to. We had a thing and it was nice. Only, if you want the truth, he wasn’t exactly my type. For one, he was a bit too gentle and I like to know my lover is there. Know what I mean?”

That shut everybody up. Hey, I’m not saying I enjoyed being raped. People tend to get rough confused with pain. You more gentle folks might turn away for this next line…making love is fine, but sometimes, a gal just wants to be fucked.

That was a problem in our old society. It was fine for guys to talk about “slappin’ that ass” and such. But, if the girl dares to exhibit anything beyond puritanical sexuality…well…”Hello whore!”

There were actually those in that gang of perverts who thought I would enjoy being a sex slave for a bunch of horny guys…

Well, now I’ve gone and gotten myself all angry. Kyle must sense it because he hasn’t come within twenty feet of me since our “talk.” Oh, and I guess they took Sam’s body down to the house’s basement while I was gone.

I’m hoisting what seems to be my seventh bottle of room temperature Samuel Adams Dark Lager and saluting the recently deceased. They’ll bury him tomorrow after we get back from town. These people are big on planning. I don’t know if they’ve kept track, but our plans usually end up getting scrapped five minutes in.

I mean really, ten of us left Irony for some compound on the Idaho/Montana border. Now there are five of us. We had a pair of deuce-and-a-half military trucks, a Hummer, and a bunch of supplies. Now we are eating dehydrated survival rations and hoping we don’t have to walk back to Irony.

Go figure.

Monday, June 23

Finally! A chance to move. We all made it down to BEN’S and are in various states of recovery on individual cots here in the basement. I have my own private arsenal laid out b
efore me and I think my new favorite is the M-TECH crossbow with a red dot sight. I’ve got a couple hundred sixteen-inch bolts for it and yes, I did try it out.

Slipping back into town was simple. Those walking rot-bags aren’t posting sentries or anything. They just wander ai
mlessly until something catches their attention. I’ve noticed that they are taking to clawing at the ground or trees. Looks like they’re eating bugs. I’ve not seen many dogs or cats in quite a while. 
I do remember seeing a big collie with her guts—I’m just guessing on gender here—dragging on the ground. But I’ve never seen a cat-zombie.

Weird. Cat-Zombie. Huh.

Anyways…I’ve also passed lots of dead farm-type animals: cows, horses, pigs, chickens. None of them ever got back up. And from what I’ve seen, most dogs got entirely eaten.  Not enough left to come back really…so that’s the story there.

Back to what we did this morning. I ushered everybody in and it was like the kids in
Willie Wonka
entering that big candied landscape complete with chocolate river. Only, it was guns, knives, bows and arrows instead of candy.

Everybody gorged themselves on guns and a big box that held cases of recently expired power bars. They were stale—the power bars not the guns—but still pretty tasty. We also splurged and downed a bunch of water from these generic one-gallon jugs of “MIN-R-L WATR.” Great label.

Once everybody drifted off to sleep with full bellies, I snuck out with my M-TECH. I crept down 3rd Avenue until I reached this open park. A lone zombie in mechanic’s coveralls was all tangled in the chains of a three-swing swing set. Other than the ‘twang’ of the tension cords, and the ‘hiss’ of the bolt, my newest toy barely makes a sound. And, it kills from distance. I will need to be mindful of my shots though. That bolt went through Mechanic’s head and still had enough zip to stick in a tree several feet away. I took a look…nice clean hole.

I slipped back in to BEN’S and went down to the bas
ement.  I’m pretty sure Caren is only pretending to be asleep. I like her; she could be my older sister. We have lots of similarities.  She’s just a bit more rounded than I am. She looks like she’s been managing a pizza joint, but I bet with things being like they are now, she’ll trim down nicely. She’s already lost at least fifteen pounds since I’ve known her. A little top heavy, but I may just be a bit envious since I was the last girl in my school to buy a bra. But the biggest thing about Caren that really makes me like her is that the other day when I got so pissed…I saw her simply smile and nod.

Wednesday, June 25

The votes are in and nobody is in a big hurry to leave. This basement is cool. There is food and water. The men’s and women’s bathrooms have at least one more day before using them is just too nasty. It’s only a bit gross now.

The folks back at Irony didn’t set some sort of time table. Tonight Roy and Jimmy are going to try and find a truck and get it running. We found a nice gas-powered generator and when we get outta here we’ll be able to charge up these 22-channel Cobra two-way radios with headsets. They boast a ten-mile range which will come in handy once we get moving again.

Friday, June 27

Yuck! Well, we HAD to finally leave our little oasis. Roy got this big, black, growling 4X4 pick-up going. It took some effort, but we managed to load a bunch of supplies in the back before we had to take off. Jimmy and Caren acted as decoys which helped, but that truck was like a huge neon ‘EAT HERE’ sign for those zombies.

We followed some sketchy gravel road that went in a mostly southern direction until we were way out in the woods. Of course after that zombie conga-line we witnessed, we’re of the mind that no place is truly safe. Still, we are deep in the Heart of Nowhere.

Camp is set up. The generator is running. We dug a deep trench to try and minimize sound. Even covered it with branc
hes. Still seems loud. But, we are eating canned ravioli, drinking red wine from a box and each has his or her own radio. Kyle lost the drawing of straws and has to stay sober.

Too bad.

A summer thunderstorm is moving in. Thunder and lightning never scared me. Not even as a child. I think I’ll eschew sleeping in the tent and sleep in the cab of the truck so I can enjoy Mother Nature’s light show.

Saturday, June 28

Still raining. We are atop a ridge that looks down on what had to be I-90. Still too far to be certain. The undead are everywhere down there. The interstate is packed like it would be in a traffic jam. Only…it’s zombies. Going both directions. Bumping and jostling one another.

I watched this really fat guy-zombie in one of those ga
wdawful Hawaiian shirts through a set of high-power binoculars. He must’ve changed direction ten times in thirty minutes. I’d always heard phrases like “lumbering along” and never quite knew just what that meant. Now I do. This guy, Hawaiian Shirt- Zombie would drag one huge leg, lift it just ever so slightly, then slap it down on the ground, then, he’d do the same thing with the other.

The problem we face is that I-90 is thick with those things as far as we can see in either direction. Roy says we need to follow this interstate west. That is fine, only we can’t get too close. Otherwise we’ll have thousands…hundreds of thousands of them on our trail. The rest of the problem is that there doesn’t seem to be a road that we can use. We have to back track and hope we missed one.

This is some crazy weather we’re having. With all this warm-water rain, the mountains are dumping so much water from snowmelt in these rivers and streams. And with no Department of Transportation, roads and bridges are just getting swept away.

Caren and I were talking this morning, and she says that Irony may be in trouble. When I asked why, she went on about how that make-shift garden wasn’t very high above the water. She said that if that river flows over its banks, it wouldn’t take much more for it to reach the garden and wash everything away. Turns out Caren grew up in some town called Sherwood near Portland, Oregon on a big farm.

I asked her why she didn’t step in and supervise or at least advise Grace’s son Derrick. She said she tried, but he was dis-missive and said that his location was safest for the community. I guess we’ll see when we get back.

Sunday, June 29

Gads! You can smell those things from way up here. We backtracked and found a road that is little more than a trail. We were able to follow it most of the day. We stopped to make camp and Jimmy came with me to climb this ridge and take a look.

We made it just as the sun was setting. We kept in co
ntact with the others on the radio so nobody would worry. It is a big mess down below. There are even packs that just seem to be standing still. Like they have just decided to stop moving.

There are a handful of small towns that we can make out. The strange thing is that they’ve been dead so long, no pun i
ntended, that the landscape is starting to absorb them. An old geology professor of mine in college used to say, “Mother Nature hates heights.” He explained how wind and erosion break down hills and flattens the ground. Well it looks as if that holds true for signs and such.

I have driven this stretch and can recall tall signs on poles advertising such oases like Denny’s, Burger King, BP, 76, and all manner of similar things. It seems that without maintenance and upkeep, they’ve all been knocked or blown away. The buil
dings are dingy, and without electric light, hard to make out in the shadows of the mountains.

The night is warm and clear. I can see a million stars peeking from the sky. With the exception of the smell from thousands of rotting corpses that spent the day drying in the sun, it is almost perfect.

* * * * *

Tuesday, July 1

The last twenty-four hours have been a nightmare. Our quiet, peaceful camp fell into the hands of another roving band of maniacs. Everybody scattered…but they got Kyle.

We’re hunkered down. Hiding like those meerkats from
Meerkat Manor
whenever they spotted a predator. I’m trying not to shake, but damn I’m scared.

We
heard
what they did to Kyle. They made sure to press the send button on his two-way while they killed him just in case he was too far away and we might miss his screams. His begging. His death. And finally, his moans as he joined the ranks of the walking dead.

I’m certain I didn’t recognize any of the voices, so it wasn’t the gang we’ve already dealt with. These are a new batch of bad people and they know we are close. I don’t blame Kyle for telling them we were near. It sounded so horrible…what they were doing to him. At one point, his scream was so shrill you couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Then, I’m certain I heard a voice say something like, “They sure (sounded like shore) don’t suck dick very well. Too much teeth.” And then roars of laughter. There are a lot of them. That I am sure of.

I never wished for death for somebody I knew or had any relationship with. After an hour, I was praying for Kyle to die. At one point I found myself saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over. I don’t completely know why. Maybe because we wouldn’t come out like they beckoned. Maybe because he and I had words when he was just trying to be human. All I know is I can still barely see through the tears and he is out there.  Kyle is out there.

A zombie.

For that Kyle, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.

Wednesday, July 2

For some stupid reason, all of us have moved enough individually that I’ve no clue where anybody else is. I turned my radio off a long time ago to prevent those bastards from finding me because my radio spat out static just as one of them passed by. I’ve watched enough movies and stuff on television to know that is exactly how it works. I’m pretty sure Caren is to my left somewhere and Jimmy is behind me. I’ve no clue where Roy is. He was beside me for most of the night, but when he heard the truck being looted, he crept away. I have no idea what he hoped to accomplish.

Late this afternoon I found this nasty blackberry patch. I got cut up pretty decent, but I am thicker in this thorny den than B’rer Rabbit. I’ve been able to snack on berries.  Also, it is cool which is a plus because, as bad as the weather was a couple of days ago, the sun is really making up for lost time.

I’ll say this about whoever is out there…they are very tenacious.

Thursday, July 3

One person’s fortune is another’s dilemma. It seems that our seekers have given up on us for more readily available game. I was not in position to really see, I thought it sounded like some sort of big rig, like an 18-wheeler.

When those lunatics heard it they were off like crazed hounds on a hunt. And yes…I do know what I’m talking about. My daddy raised hunting dogs. When I was little he used to take me hunting with him. Then, in my early teens I reached that stage where I wanted to be accepted by boys, and truthfully, (even though we never had much in common) the girls, too, so I quit going. I realize now that even though he never said a word, my dad was heartbroken.

Anyways…I stayed in my briar patch until I eventually heard Jimmy whispering our names. We finally all re-grouped. Me, Jimmy, Roy, and Caren. That is all that remains of our hearty band. I wonder…would it have turned out different with more of us on the team? Probably just more folks dead.

So, we set out for Irony again. After, that is, we dealt with Kyle. Those folks must be awfully proud of their hand
iwork. They left the armless, legless, torso of our friend hanging from a tree by a noose. His dead, black-veined eyes followed us as we approached. Of course he was completely naked, and we confirmed that some of his screams had come from having his genitals eaten. Jimmy took care of it by jamming an eight-inch blade in the left temple. We cut him down and then realized there wasn’t much else we could do. Caren said a prayer, then we left. Even if we’d had the tools to bury him, we knew it was best to get moving. I’m glad we at least cut him down.

If we don’t encounter too many more problems, we could reach Irony in two days. At least that is what Roy says.

Sunday, July 6

Reached Irony early this evening. It seems our happy li
ttle community has had problems and tragedies of its own. While we were gone, a bit of a power struggle took place between Grace and the resident hard-ass, Larry Bonn.  And a child drowned in the river.

There have been a slew of folks just living off the sweat of the few who work. Larry raised the issue at one of the mee
tings of the community and from what I’ve been told, Snoe, having just returned from her latest trip out into the wild on a foraging mission, took Larry’s side. Eventually it was decided that we needed to let the community decide who would be calling the shots.

It seems Irony will be having its first election.

Personally, I don’t care. I just want a shower and my bed. It does seem odd that I will sleep in this bed that I shared with Sam—even though it was brief—alone.

The worst part about being back was having to tell Joey what happened. Of course I sanitized it.  But that didn’t make it any easier. I asked him if he still wanted to stay with me. He said no. It seems that all the children will be getting matched up with couples. He said he’d rather be in a “regular” family.

Good luck, kiddo.

Monday, July 7

Met with Grace to debrief on our adventure. Somebody musta warned her about assuming how to react with me on the loss of Sam. I bet it was Roy.

Anyways, he never came up. But, already a second team is being assembled to make a try for Noxon. We had a pretty heated discussion, but eventually I won.

I will lead the expedition.

Tuesday, July 8

Life seems kinda boring here. Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie. Who knows, but I think I prefer being out there. If this were the pioneer days, I’d be the one leading caravans of settlers out west, then going back for more.

It’s not that I don’t love my bed. It sure isn’t the desire for fewer showers and exposure to zombies and lunatics. I think I just thrive on having a purpose. That was another area Sam and I disagreed on deep down. I’m sorta glad Joey decided to find a family. Responsibility and I don’t see eye-to-eye.

Sure, the dream of normality with a family sounds great. But in the couple of days I’ve been back, I am restless and find myself envious of the folks radioing in that they are coming back with supplies.

They are out there in the world. Sure it is a dangerous, scary, dead place. Yet, somehow, it is more alive than this place. I can go to the garden. Or, down to the river to swim and watch the kids—a new mandatory rule now—who still seem to be able and act like all is right in the world.

I’ve considered just taking off. There is a great big world out there that I’ve never seen. The only city I’ve been to of note is Seattle. My family always went to every Husky and Cougar football match-up. That meant a trip to Seattle every other year. Other than that, I’ve been no place.

We’ll see. It is worth considering. After reading all of Sam’s journal, I am curious about whether the compound he was at is still okay.

Wednesday, July 9

Well, Joey has a family now. That nice Air Force girl, Colleen has hooked up with Tim Delegan. Who am I to say an
ything about a nineteen-year-old girl and a fifty-two-year-old man getting together? I’ve noticed a couple of match-ups like that going both directions. The boy I saw with Julia doesn’t look a day over fifteen. And Snoe is always with that boy Randy that got Steve killed. Seems this hot weather has all the folks worked up. It may have something to do with everybody walking around half-naked all the time. Or…maybe folks are starting to get over the trauma of what has happened to our world.

Hell, Roy showed up last night with a bottle of rum, and after half a bottle, I was ready to go. He was gone when I woke up. That was a relief. I like Roy, he’s sensible and, at fifty-nine, I doubt he’ll make any overtures for my attention.

I have noticed that some of our younger community members are getting a bit frisky. I wonder if anybody is thinking about the consequences if several women and/or girls turn up pregnant. That cuts down on mobility, and this is not an ideal world—not that the old one was—to bring a child into.

I say all of this because I don’t have to worry about ge
tting pregnant. I already am.

Thursday, July 10

After meeting with Grace and Larry—both are now “involved” in sending out teams as the election looms—it is decided that my team leaves in one week. I am supposed to pick my group.  First, they’d like us to try for Coeur d’Alene and scout for supplies.

Initially I argued against a city that size. We have to risk our asses twice for folks who barely acknowledged that we lost over half of our team last time. That was when Larry chimed in with, “It’s all part of the new world order.” I invited Larry to go “Fuck himself”.

After a lot of very similar words, I agreed to go only if Grace’s son Derrick and Larry’s seeming conspirator-in-arms, Snoe, are part of my team. I made it clear that the old ways of the supposed people in power keeping their families out of harm’s way are as dead as the majority of the global population. And, while Snoe is no kin to Larry, they are very close. Like drinking buddies.

They agreed, which means I now have two of the twenty folks that will make this next run at Noxon. One other point I need to make.  That other team that left back when Sam and I made our ill-fated Noxon trip has never returned. While there is still hope being held out that word will return of their success…I highly doubt it.

Friday, July 11

Picked my whole team: Snoe Banks and Derrick Arndt of course. Roy, Caren, and Jimmy…can’t break up the old team. Troy Marsh, a middle-aged guy who used to be a janitor. Ella Reecie, a housewife who walked in on her eight-year-old son eating her husband. Jacob Porter, a youth minister. Doug Keller, a
self-professed forty-nine-year-old burn-out who is relishing his new, albeit forced, sobriety. Five refugees from that Spokane air base: Gus Miller, Delmar Jones, Brad Johnson, Cory Simpson, and Gene Tasker. These guys are all twenty-somethings like most of my friends and co-workers from before…only with great work ethics. Cera Lee, her name is pronounced like the former baked goods name, only she looks like a geisha. She has no Asian accent at all, but tells the best jokes. Her funniest stories all revolve around her former job in a Chinese restaurant where she was always pissing off management with her politically incorrect impersonations of their accents. Tracy Russell, at six-foot-six, she’s the tallest in our group, beating Delmar by about two inches. She’s that coffee-with-crème color, and pretty enough to make me wish I was a lesbian. Ringo, he’s a biker, and that is pretty much all anybody knows. Sugar, Ringo’s girlfriend who is bigger and meaner than Ringo. Last is Gary “Turk” Morris. He played pro-football for Seattle on the offensive line for two years until he blew his shoulder. Soft spoken, but very much a no-nonsense guy.

Saturday, July 12

Took a pair of deuce-and-a-half trucks and rolled out early this morning. It was a bit of déjà vu. I hope this run is not as ill-fated as the Noxon run. Supply runs are actually sorta fun. It is like shopping with an unlimited credit card and somebody else pays the bill. Now before you start stereotyping me as just-another-girl-who-likes-to-shop, I will say in my defense that I only did it back in the pre-zombie days when my best friend Corinne Flotsky wanted me to go. And whether you’re a guy who went to
Home Depot
or a gal that had to get her
Macy’s
fix …shopping is shopping.

So there.

Snoe led us to a relatively deserted road called East French Gulch Road where we were able to drive into this walled- in private golf course. She said this was the best staging point. From here we can cross under I-90 and sneak into Coeur D’Alene then, in teams of four, all equipped with two-way radios, we can fan out in search of supplies.

I teamed with Derrick Arndt, Gene Tasker, and Cera Lee. We hit a hardware store for tools and such, then a sporting goods place which turned out to be a total bust. Looters—as well as zombies—have taken or ruined so much. Our luck was better in private residences. We found plenty of abandoned weapons, o
ften with ammo supplies in reach. Lots of shotguns and hunting rifles as well as handguns. Strangely, clubs, bats and that sort of thing are not as common. Maybe people started to catch on that shooting should really be a last resort unless you’re in a position where drawing a bunch of attention isn’t going to greatly increase the chance you will be bitten. Basically anyplace high up or without windows.