Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (52 page)
Once everything was ready, Rodney had us all move up the steep hill, but well to the left. We knew that we’d have very little time after the blast to handle our business. The rule was to shoot anything that moved. One of the charges was actually placed by Rodney at the base of the brick wall on the right side of the property. He said there were only a dozen or so zombies stumbling around, but removing the fence would further reduce any chance a survivor might make it out alive.
The explosion was epic. Any thoughts we had of needing to “deal with potential survivors” was pointless. Not to mention we couldn’t get close enough because of the flames. Afterwards, when I asked Rodney what the hell, he admitted the funniest thing in the world. He and Jeff were in fact attached to the Army Rangers…as supply clerks! He had no idea how much explosives to use.
In a horror movie, there is always that ridiculous double-ending. No matter what is done to the particular
beastie
, it always lunges at the hero or heroine one more time. The bad guy never quite dies that first time. I have no worries of such nonsense. The sliver of wall that didn’t crash down the hill in a ball of flame collapsed shortly after the big explosion. The dust was still
rising
from the collapse.
We only hung around for a few minutes. Long enough to
know
that nothing would be walking away from that blast. Dominique and The Genesis Brother-hood are gone. For good. We moved away and had to fight out of a couple of very minor jams. The zombies were coming like a bunch of farmhands to a dinner-bell. We stayed low and moved as fast as we could.
Eventually we found—of all things—a tree house. Not some slapped together sheets of plywood. This was obviously for some rich children whose parents had too much money to waste. This tree house was bigger than my first apartment, or at least seemed that way. We hid out and stayed an extra day for my sake. After the adrenaline subsided I was feeling quite a lot of pain. During my nap, Rodney was an absolute angel. He came up with a bottle of oxycodone. No self-respecting rich person would be without a mini-pharmacy in their bathroom. He didn’t have to look any further than the house next to this one before he found this little vial of heaven. Meredith likey!
Also, in between naps, Eric sat beside me. He told me he was glad I wasn’t
The Bringer of Death
. My look must’ve said everything because he quickly explained. It seems he’d come to believe that I had some sort of curse hanging over me. I’m not up on all the Native American spirituality, but he was convinced that being near me was a ticket to
The Great Spirit
. That is utterly ridiculous.
I guess I’m now considered okay. Like I care. Well... maybe I do...a little.
This morning, we returned to the Mitchell place. Doctor Gene gave me a royal chewing out. Then, Paula got her pound of flesh. They were so busy bitching me out that it was Jeff who told me that Jenifer seems to be stabilizing. Whatever problem she was having, she seems to have overpowered.
I went in to see her, ignoring Doctor Gene and Paul-the- Physical-Terrorist still standing there with mouths open and st
upid expressions on their faces. She still looks horrible. But not
as
horrible. Paula came in a little while later and told me I’d be expected back in therapy tomorrow.
Whatever.
Wednesday, July 1
I’ve been released from Paula’s clutches. She wasn’t so
rry to see me graduate her little boot camp. Jeff and Scott are progressing, but both will be seeing a lot more of her before being bestowed her seal of approval. Two days ago, Jenifer moved her arm. Everything is leveling out.
A group from Sunset arrived today, they had a couple of gifts: puppies. One for me and one for Jenifer. Seems Coach has been a busy boy with Cheyenne. They wanted to talk to me about working with a team to clear the section of Highway 26 from Sunset out to The Complex. The opinion is that if the highway can be cleared, and a series of outposts created, then the corridor would be a start towards reclaiming the land.
Personally, I think they’re crazy. Moving a bunch of cars out of the way isn’t gonna make the world a safe and better place. Still, I can’t go to Vegas yet, Jeff’s not ready. We’ll be moving next spring. We talk about it almost every day, so I guess I can do this until then. Besides, Sam can’t possibly travel yet. That’s what I named my puppy, Sam. He’s a tiny savage and I love him.
So, next week, Rodney, Eric, and I will be heading out with Shandra. We’re going to find one or two of those king-sized dump-trucks and turn it into a war machine. Shandra knows where a quarry is about ten miles from here. She says there should be no problem finding what we want.
Antoine has promised to keep tabs on the Las Vegas radio signal. There hasn’t been any noise from there in over three weeks. Who knows, maybe they got wiped out. Maybe I’ll go down there and it won’t be any different than here. At least I’ll know I tried to find something. Plus, I’ve never seen Vegas. Rodney asked what I’ll do if we get there and find nothing. I told him I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone National Park.
I’m thinking of putting the pen and paper away. What am I keeping track of all this for? Who knows. Sometimes I think I keep track of what’s happening out of habit. I guess I’ll see when we start clearing that twenty-seven mile stretch of highway in a few days. But for now, I’ve got a puppy tugging on my sock.
a preview of Zomblog
III
coming August 2011
Friday, January 1
Happy New Year.
Two years ago, Samuel Todd started a blog. He had no idea the world was about to die. Within a month, the dead were walking the earth. Seven months later, he was dead and I was pregnant.
In the past two years, the world has changed dramatically. Humanity holds out…mostly in small pockets of survivors who cling to each other in desperation and try valiantly to create something resembling something we all knew. Others have taken advantage of the lack of authority figures. Wreaking death and chaos wherever they go. These people prey on those deemed weaker. In many cases, that means women and children.
Make no mistake, nobody is innocent anymore. In this world, you kill to survive and you do it without hesitation…or you die. A few months into this whole drama, somebody told me that the estimated ratio between the living and the living dead had exceeded 13000:1. I’m sure that number is much bi
gger now.
The walking dead show no sign of just falling down. There was hope that, when food became scarce, they would just wither away. They haven’t. What has gone away is almost any source of fuel, transportation, power—electric, battery or othe
rwise—and ammunition. Like the Romans, Vikings, and Knights of the Round Table, we battle hand to hand. In that sense, we have devolved.
The walking dead travel in singles and small groups, but they’ve also coagulated into larger groups that sometimes nu
mber in the thousands called herds or mobs. If they get on the trail of something (usually one of us) they pursue with a mindless determination. That is a blessing and a curse. You can ditch them if you’re clever, but if they trap you somewhere…suicide is the quickest and easiest way out. They don’t tend to leave once they have you trapped. Zombies do not feel frustration.
A few more things about the undead. They must suffer massive brain trauma to be put down. Their bite is the normal way for them to pass on the infection. Although, like any other blood-borne illness, open wounds and contaminated blood are a bad deal. The good news is that this contamination is not one hu
ndred percent. There have been cases where individuals have survived an attack and have not turned. Nobody knows how or why, and medical science has gone the way of central air-conditioning. Even after all this time, their stench gives them away. They’re slower moving than the rising tide, and have been known to make an unsettling sound that is likened to a baby cry. They don’t freeze or become immobile in the winter, at least not in any of the winters I’ve experienced. I couldn’t tell you about places like Alaska or Siberian.
A few months ago I set down my journal. The journal I took over when Sam died. Honestly, I didn’t expect to pick it back up. However, I’ve found a ther
apeutic outlet in my life to be blatantly missing once I stopped writing. I’ve found I needed the catharsis of putting pen to paper.
I will not bore you with the mundane events of the past months. Actually, I’ve spent most of it recovering from a wic
ked ass-kicking after going heads-up with a cult of lunatics that happened to include a young girl who, at one time, traveled with me. I’ve been living in a mansion-turned-fortress for the past few months. Had I been writing in my journal it would have read mostly something like this: Woke up, stupid dog peed on the floor again, watched a group leave on a supply run again, couldn’t help…again.
Get the picture?
However, I’ve been getting better. I’ve rehabbed until I’m as close to a hundred percent as I can be. As I’ve gotten healthier, my desire to get out in the mix again has grown. I don’t do well being confined. It’s one of those things you never learn about yourself until an extreme event occurs. Like, would you return the bag of money that fell out of an armored truck? Would you rush into that burning building to save a helpless stranger? Or could you stay monogamous and happily married?
I’ve decided to strike out for Las Vegas as soon as I feel the weather will allow me. Until it was deemed a waste, and the radio here was shut off—when wind and solar become your only source of power, you are forced to prioritize—we used to pick up an occasional message from somebody who claimed to be in Las Vegas. What’s more, they claim to have electric power. I need to see for myself.
I’m not sure if I’ll travel alone or not. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone in a while. Maybe they think I’ve learned my lesson. Maybe they think I will learn to be happy with this new life. I think I understand how Lewis and Clark, Christopher Columbus and Neil Armstrong felt. Sitting here…not knowing isn’t an option.
My name is Meredith Gainey, and my New Year’s res
olution is to see Las Vegas for myself.
Dedication
To all my friends who have never stopped believing in me and supporting me…even when I didn’t really deserve it.
Introduction by Lisa Conger
In books sometimes there is a character that just jumps out at you and grabs your attention. For Zomblog that character is Meredith Gainey with her very white skin and fine red hair. Meredith had a good life before the dead started to rise.
She owned her own fitness studio and was an athletic looking girl. She had a boyfriend who was an EMT and knew how to treat her right. She even had a sister, brother, mom and dad. She was happy and content with her life until that all ended one day.
She awoke to a world where the dead walk and men took what they wanted when they wanted it. What the Sheriff wanted was her; he raped and tortured her like she was his property. However, being the strong minded person she is, she would not let that last forever. She was able to escape by slitting a man’s throat while he raped her.
This lead to the cold and calculated way she had decided to live her life from then on. She realized that in life you can only rely on yourself because if you rely on someone else they could get you killed. This is why it did not affect her to put a bullet into her lover Sam’s head when he joined the ranks of the undead. This is also why it was so easy for her to decide to give up her baby, Snoe.
Meredith is a complex person who knows what she wants, and that is to kill the zombie menace and to rid the earth of sick people like the Sheriff, who was sworn into office sa
ying he would protect people…but when the world went to hell, decided to use women as his own personal plaything.
Now begins another chapter in Meredith’s story, enjoy!
Lisa Conger