Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (62 page)

Needless to say, we ran to find out what the hell was g
oing on. We had to keep Sam back. Eric held him by the scruff of his neck while I moved ahead to check out the situation. You might criticize us for taking too long to respond to an obvious emergency, but rushing blindly into anything these days will just get everybody killed.

I was in no way prepared for what I saw.

Five girls—ages fifteen to (maybe) twenty—were up on an abandoned RV. It was that kind that isn’t much bigger than a pick-up truck. Dangling from the rear was a man. Naked. About a dozen creepers were flailing and squirming, trying their best to get ahold of the man. I could see that one of his arms was dripping blood. It was obvious that he’d been snacked on already.

As for the girls, the taunts and jeers coming from their mouths were…heinous comes to mind. They were actually laughing while they jerked on the ropes that they had tied to each of the man’s ankles. The curious and bizarre thing about the scene was that the girls were each wearing nothing more than their bra and panties.

I slipped back down the hill and relayed things to Eric. He seemed to puzzle over it for a minute, and then said, “Not our problem.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As I argued my point, I heard another scream. This one was much longer and louder than the first. It ended in a sudden and liquid-sounding yelp. Then…there was the distinct cacophony of rabid cheering.

Eric seemed to be much more concerned about leaving. Since I really had no idea what was happening, it was very difficult for me to agree to leave. However, I was still self-conscious about the trouble I’d gotten us into a few days ago by nosing around. Therefore…against my character, I agreed without an argument.

We were almost to the road when we heard a voice. A girl was calling for us to wait up. When I turned around, I was only mil
dly surprised to see a girl in her bra and panties running after us. She looked even more surprised at
me
when I turned to face her. I guess with all the gear on—leathers, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes—I could be mistaken for a guy.

The story—as they told it—is that these girls are escapees from some compound in the area. They’ve been at ‘war’ with the men of this compound for about five weeks. They use one of their own as bait. Apparently the men are stupid enough to keep fal
ling for it. She didn’t even hide her glare at Eric as she talked.

I didn’t feel like spending my day talking to this girl, but I nee
ded to ask: What’s the situation in Burns?  She looked at me like I’d just fallen off the moon.

“Walled up, locked down and they don’t allow in strangers.”

She elaborated by saying that if you weren’t born in, or a resident of, Burns for a year or more
before
the dead started walking, you received the same mercy that they showed the zombies…none. They keep mounted patrols,
most
of which give you a warning that you aren’t welcome before they open fire.

The “wall” that they’ve built encloses about three times the area that was formerly known as Burns, Oregon. They are most pr
otective of the river just south of town, and have towers that allow their watches to see for a few miles in every direction. They mostly worry about zombies and don’t seem to mind folks filling water containers as long as they are downstream.

We’re about two days or so from Burns. There will be a small airfield when we come out of the pass that opens up on the far
mland community surrounding this city-fortress. We are supposed to keep heading south along SR-205…a highway that will take us to a big lake. From there, we can head east again until we hook up with OR-78/Steens Highway. Eventually, that will dump us onto US-95, which will take us to Nevada.

I realize that we had to wait to cross the Mount Hood se
ction of our journey because, as it was, the weather made for a tough trip. I think that crossing Nevada during the summer may actually be worse. Finding a car wouldn’t be tough. Finding one that would work—one that the gasoline hasn’t gone bad—would be practically impossible. What we need are bicycles. Good ones.

Even if we have to push the bikes for parts of the trip when we hit hills, we would move so much quicker when we rode over long stretches of the flat desert terrain ahead. If we don’t find bikes, we may not survive the summer. It’s almost funny; the walking dead are less of a concern than Mother N
ature.

Eric was a good boy and didn’t let it slip as to where we are headed. However, I think that the girl had inkling. After all, she not only told us how to get around Burns, she also told us when and where to get back on the highway headed south to V
egas.

Once our little chat ended, she turned on her heel and stru
tted off. For somebody so young, she was awfully comfortable with her body. At that age, I didn’t let my boyfriend slip his hand under my shirt if the light was on. I guess we are reverting to our more raw natures…the way we were before society had its way with our moral compass.

I think it is different in many ways this time, though. Wo
men who have survived this long are probably a strong bunch. We won’t be second-class citizens this time. And, judging by those girls we left behind today, men had better watch themselves.

It’s definitely a New World Order.

Wednesday, May 12

Rain.

No…wait…scratch that. The skies have opened up in a waterfall-like torrent. There is not one single part of me that is dry. We are sitting in this abandoned car to avoid the worst of it. Well, at least as best we can. I say that because one of the windows on the passenger side of the car is gone and most of the rubber seals on the rest have frozen and melted so many times, to the point that there is no watertight integrity here. Water pours in from every seam, crease, and crack. Still, this is better than being outside.

I’m sitting in the middle of the front seat, Eric is in the back. Sam is curled up beside me. He was shivering in that way do
ggies do when they are cold and wet. I have him wrapped up in one of my sweatshirts. Now he only shivers in little fits every few minutes.

We have all our empty containers outside collecting w
ater. That is one true blessing from all this. I’ve watched three lone shamblers and one mini-herd of twenty or so go past. I got a little worried about the herd, but they were in the other lane and never even made a move our direction. All of them were headed
away
from Burns.

During the brief conversation I managed to coax from Eric t
oday, I laid out my plan for a bicycle. He nodded and asked me why I waited so long to make that call. I gave it some thought…then told him to shut up.

Okay, Meredith…why
did
you wait so long?

Thursday, May 13

The road is probably not going to be here much longer. We’ve passed entire sections that are buried or washed away. It keeps getting worse.

We came out into this large opening, a valley that cuts b
etween the hills on either side of the highway. The remnants of large, circular farm plots can still be seen.

Then there is this charred husk of a fighter jet that is ju
tting from deep in the fields on the south. I wanted to go check it out, but once again Eric was against it. Sam sorta backed Eric in a way. He kept sniffing towards the chest-high growth that has laid claim to the area and growling with real purpose. It could’ve been the wind…or not…but there was a lot of rustling in the grass or whatever it is that makes up that mini-jungle along the southern border of the highway.

Tonight we are camped on a rocky outcropping that looks down into the valley. As the sun sets, the bowl fills with shadows which quickly become an inky blackness. Sure enough, every once in a while Sam’s ears will perk up. Sometimes, I think I can hear them, too. Just as the citizens of Burns have staked their claim, so too have the undead…in this valley.

Friday, May 14

The sounds of distant gunfire woke us today. Not from the va
lley below…or Burns to the east. This came from the hills above us. Eric told me to stay put. When I woke, he was already awake and strapping on his gear.

I tried to protest, but he told me that I needed to listen to him “just this once.”  He said that Sam and I should find a spot on the next ridge where we could keep a good eye on the hig
hway in both directions. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions. Then, just like that, he was gone into the darkness. I don’t know if it is a Native American thing or what, but he vanished from sight before he even hit the shadows.

Since he’s been gone, I’ve moved like he asked. I can’t rea
lly see into the valley/jungle below, but I don’t think that Eric was all that concerned about zombies. I am keeping my eyes on the highway like Eric said…and I haven’t seen a thing.

Something feels very wrong. I don’t know exactly what, but there is a definite
wrongness
. Sam feels it, too. But it isn’t from the road below. There is something in the hills. I may not trust
myself
sometimes, but my dog?

Saturday, May 15

Screams.

Lots and lots of screams.

It is impossible to tell if it is male or female. It has been going on all day long. I hate it. Oh, and Sam doesn’t like it either. He’s actually been hiding between my legs most of the day. And when I stand up, he presses against me.

Funny thing about however many zombies are in that little va
lley below. They don’t seem inclined to roam. They don’t venture out of the tall grass. I see a lot of movement, but I’ve seen very few actual zombies wandering these parts.

Monday, May 17

I’m in a mostly burned out motel near what can only have been an airfield. I can see the town of Burns, or, more aptly put, I can see the wall. It is a mix of cars, trucks, concrete, and razor wire.

Leave it to rural America, but this town has their shit t
ogether. There is no place to approach without crossing a few hundred yards of open, scorched ground. I can see a huge trench that I can only assume circles the entire town. There are towers every quarter mile or so. They’re only ten feet high—the barricade is maybe five—and each is manned. It all makes sense, I guess. Zombies aren’t known to be climbers. Also, there are bridge-like catwalks that span the trench. It is genius. They control where the zombies cross. Then they use hand-held weapons to dispose with the ones that reach the barricade. All of this is speculation, but it makes perfect sense if you actually see their setup.

I’ve seen horse patrols come and go. One even rode out this way. They came close enough so that I could see them clea
rly as they waved. They know I’m here, and made it a point to let me know that they know. Whoever they were, they pointed to town, and then looked back at the window I was peeking from while trying
not
to expose myself. They made a big production out of shaking their heads “no.”  The message is clear: I am not welcome here.

As for Eric, he is sleeping in a nest of our gear on a filthy bed that you don’t need to shine a black light on in order to see just how vile it is. He came back late Sunday night. He was co
vered in blood; none of it was his. He refused to talk about whatever was going on in the hills. It begs the question: With all we’ve seen these past couple of years, what could be so bad that he won’t even talk about it?

When he got back, he simply told me to grab our gear. We star
ted walking in the dark; something that we never do. Eric says it is foolish to take such a risk like traveling in the dark. That holds true even on a clear night with a bright moon. Funny how things change.

I’ve traveled with people who prefer night and those who prefer day. It is all pretty much the same to me. However, I did come close to breaking my ankles when we moved down out of the hills. Also, the ruined roads are no treat either.

When we spotted the airfield and this place beside it, we found one of the few rooms with intact windows and a door. Eric didn’t even bother to clean up. He curled up into a ball and crashed.

Sam won’t go near him. I couldn’t help myself; I checked his body very thoroughly for bites or scratches. He
looked
clean, although it was hard to be certain with all that blood. As you might have guessed, I won’t be sleeping. I will be watching Eric. Every hour or so, I peel his eyelids up and look for black tracers.

So far, so good.

Tuesday, May 18

Eric is awake. He still won’t talk about what went on up in those hills, but at least he went outside and cleaned up. We were blessed with rain again today. Nothing like the other day; just a nice steady downpour for a while. When it blew over ea
rly this afternoon, there was a beautiful rainbow that was brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. It made me understand where that old “pot of gold” myth started. We could see where the rainbow ended in the fields south of us. The ground looked like it was glowing.