The Zom Diary

by Eddie Austin

  Chapter 35

  I hear a strange moaning and realize that it is coming from my own throat. A strangled moan. Fingers close on my windpipe, and a rush of adrenaline surges through me. Wide awake now I gaze about me with fog-tinted eyes as my moan becomes a stifled scream.

  I try to calm myself, to think rationally, but panic is King. Red flashes before my eyes. My assailant is nowhere in sight, but I can feel the fingers on my throat. I reach up to push aside the malevolent arms and mine pass through air. A strange calm settles on me as I realize that I am about to die.

  My vision has gone from ruby firecracker visions to a strange stop-motion black and white. Pulsing lights slow to match the beat of my heart. I force myself to focus on one last act. I ignore the moans of the others, close my ears now and open my mind.

  There is something there. It feels similar to the sending of the day before. I don’t have much time. I stoke my rage. This awful shithead, hungry for my life. I hate him. I channel my rage at the source, straining so hard that I feel like my eyes must be filling with blood, it’s like prying open a spiky nut with bare fingers, this lump in my mind. I can taste blood now. Something pops, I gasp for breath.

  Beside me, I can hear Molly coughing and I can see her face turning from purple to red. Her breath is ragged, eyes leaking tears. Bryce is still.

  I crawl over weakly and lean over his face. I don’t see any movement in his chest. I tilt his head back, raising his chin, preparing to try CPR, even though it’s been over a decade since my last training. I’ll still try. I lean in and give one breath, then another. His chest rises and falls. Nothing. I kneel next to him and start pumping at his breast bone with my hands crossed one on top of the other. Molly is watching me, still stunned and unable to move. It feels like hours when Bryce draws a long and ragged breath, rib cage shuddering, interrupting my efforts. His eyes flutter, and I can see that his left eye has a huge blood spot on the white from a broken vessel, but he’s breathing. Molly flops next to me pushing me aside and cradles his head. I sit back on my heels and sigh. A thought occurs to me, and I want the prophet to know it.

  I send the thought, “You are so fucked now.”

  Stepping around the pair, I stagger to the pool and sink back to my knees, splashing the water over my head and face. I hear movement behind me and feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Thank you, Kyle,” Bryce croaks.

  “Let’s go kill that fucker,” chimes Molly’s weak voice.

  I agree. We all lay stunned where we are for about five minutes before rising in unison, actions needing no words. Recovered some, I gather my things and step to the edge, waiting for the others to ready themselves. Far below, in the pan, tiny scarecrow forms, pale, twisted, and waiting. Bryce joins me.

  “This is going to be rough.”

  I nod. “Maybe I can push some of them like I did on the road, if we get swarmed.”

  “That would be useful if you can manage, it’ll be tooth and nail when the ammo runs out.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  I am the first to climb down. Bryce drops the tanks to my outstretched hands, and I set them down gently. Then come the rifle and AK, passed down to ease their descent. I watch them climb down and we gather our loads, weaving down hidden paths to the desert below. The tanks are cumbersome, and I wonder what we will do with them when the zombies close on us.

  Bryce calls to me, “Hey, hang on!” I stop, realizing how far ahead I am and turn.

  Molly is a few paces behind Bryce and I wait as they both catch up. Bryce offers me some water and talks while I drink.

  “Do you have a plan for when we get down there?”

  I had been considering the problem more intently as we descended. I pass the bottle back. “Yes.” I set the tank down and sit on a small boulder. “We should stick as close to one another as possible. While we’re up here, we should use the rifle to pick as many off as we can. Same deal on the pan. One person snipe the further out zoms, we’ll deal on the close ones with the AK and my sidearm. Stay out of the arroyo, don’t get swarmed. Am I leaving anything out?”

  “What about the tanks?”

  “Right, I’ve been thinking about that. We’ll set them down when we have to. If we lose one, or all of them, I still have the C-4 in my pack.”

  “I’ve got the sniper rifle and I’m the best shot with it.” Molly sounds even more somber than yesterday. What’s bugging her? “When will I get a good vantage on them?”

  “Soon,” I mutter. “There is a pretty good ledge after the next switchback. We can set up there for a while and have you clear a path, then we need to press on. I don’t want to be out there in the dark.”

  The ledge is really just a large flat boulder, jutting from the steepness of the hill. From it there is a fifty foot drop to the bottom of the channel below, then maybe five hundred more feet strait out to the desert floor. It’s got one hell of a good view of the start of our path. Molly lays her jacket on the rock and sets herself on it before pulling the rifle alongside her and propping it up with her pack. She removes the covers from the scope and pulls a blue bandana from her pocket. Once she is settled, she pulls the bandana over the end of the scope to shade her face. Bryce and I both stand a few feet back, shading our eyes and looking at the figures on the pan.

  The rifle goes off, kicking back into Molly’s shoulder. In the distance, I can see a puff of mist around one of the things’ head as it falls.

  “Hit!” calls Bryce. “Are you moving left or right to the next target?”

  “Right.”

  Molly adjusts and fires again, with the same result. Bryce looks impressed. We both look right to the next target. The rifle goes off. This time, the form staggers and falls, but gets back up. Molly seats another round and fires again.

  “Hit!”

  Brass tinkles and rolls from the surface of the rock. A dozen shells, falling and resting beside her. They count for seven more zombies. Molly pulls away from the scope and sets the rifle down with the chamber open to let the barrel cool.

  “How much time left?” She asks.

  “Half an hour?” I guess.

  She chuckles, “I’ll get ten more.”

  She does. We pick ourselves up, somewhat more confident, with a clear stretch before us. We make for it, sensing that the zoms will fill the gap soon. I am the first to set my boots on the pan, setting salty-grey dust puffs up into the air. I can feel the zoms closing in. We walk hurriedly, silently carrying the tanks along and watching for the first close range encounter with the enemy.

  They come. Like feral dogs sensing a meal, some more steadily than others. The pan is so flat, we can see them all coming. I swallow my terror down, as I’ve done so many times before. Just remember to breathe. They’re coming. We’re ready for them. Molly’s rifle sings, keeping them at some distance, but the further we push, legs churning up dust, the thicker they come. I draw my pistol and look to Bryce. He nods.

  The first one to close on us is a terror. Nude, he stands perhaps six feet tall, but stooping forward. Skin white and devoid of hair, his face is a Nosferatu caricature, long nose and brilliant globe head glistening in the noon sun. As he nears us, his speed increases to a fast walk, dust puffing behind him, arms raised. I call it. Bryce lowers his rifle, and I raise the Glock, squeezing the trigger at ten feet. Its head explodes, black gore spraying behind it, running down its chest as it sinks to its knees and falls forward.

  “Nice,” says Molly.

  “Don’t stop for me!” I reply.

  We follow the edge of the arroyo, close enough to peer in, but far enough from it to avoid being forced in by mobbing zoms. It’s our landmark on the featureless plain, but I hate to think about falling in before a tide of dead bodies, hemmed in. The sides are steep here, close to the hills. Molly takes point, and when she pauses to sight in on one of the zoms, we stop behind her. Bryce taps off a round behind me, making me jump and I hear a body fall to the ground. The pan is littered with the broken forms of the dead
, prostrate before us. But still it’s clear there are more of them than the bullets we have left.

  Bryce looks around nervously, his head on a swivel. It occurs to me that the great number of them must have a dampening effect on his ability. For my part, I can still feel them, but perceiving individual contacts is near impossible--only the growing pressure forcing me to shake my head occasionally. I wonder how effective I’ll be when I’m down in the tunnel. So far I haven’t tried to turn any of the things away. Maybe it is time.

  “Bryce, cover me,” I shout, knowing that his ears must ring like mine, “I’m going to let one get close so that I can try forcing it away, but if I can’t I want you to have my back. Let’s say that if it gets within arms reach of me… OK?”

  “Gotcha.”

  I focus on one of the closer forms, a slow moving hulk. His upper body is impressively muscled, heavy shoulders corded with hard rotting flesh, all straining to supporting an enormous belly, stretched to bursting. He stomps forward heavily and raises his arms, face pained--mouth agape. I close my eyes and concentrate on his presence, pressing foremost on my mind. At some distance (hard to know with my eyes shut), I feel the magnets, pulling toward each other, and I flip mine like before, pushing out at him. Bryce calls out, worried inflection in his voice.

  I reply hurriedly, “Wait!” I feel the pressure build and build and then it recedes.

  I open my eyes and I’m staring at the zom’s back, so close that it may have brushed me with it hoary finger tips as it turned to go. Bryce has his AK up, pointed at an empty space alarmingly close to my head. He looks shocked.

  “It worked,” he mutters.

  “I told you!” I exclaim as a grin creases my cheek. “Were you able to feel how I did it?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but I’m all messed up inside. Too damn many of them to make sense of anything.” He frowns. Molly’s rifle goes off and the head of the retreating zombie explodes, a bowl of rotting fruit salad tossed to the wind. I turn to her and she shrugs.

  “No sense letting it live to bite someone else.”

  “Save your ammo,” says Bryce.

  She picks up her tank, and we press on, pausing every fifty yards or so to clear the way. In my mind, I begin to form a plan. When I feel the pressure of the place settle over me, I stop and face the others.

  “We’re close now, less than half a mile.” Bryce nods, and I continue. “I’ve been thinking, I can push them around in close quarters, but neither of you can. I’ll take the tanks in, set them up and meet you back at camp. Just get me in, and then make a break for it. You two can make it back before dark.”

  “Hold on!” Bryce cuts in. “You can push around a single zom, but what about that thing we saw last time? You don’t know if you can turn it away. Let me come with you. Molly can head back and wait for us.”

  “No. I can’t let you come with me. That town needs you. Molly needs you. I’ll find a way. Take out as many as you can on the way out, it’ll make it easier for me when I head back.” I pause for a moment, reaching for the right words, but not sure of what they mean. “If I don’t make it, it’s been nice knowing you. Keep an eye on my orchard… and if you can, come back and finish the job. I don’t like the idea of having my consciousness trapped in that pool.”

  He nods, and I see Molly looking at me in an appreciative way, like she’s never seen me before. It’s all starting to feel like some bad movie. Fuck, I don’t want to be a dead hero. I force my mind to the calculating place that’s kept me alive this whole time and start ticking off survival info. I still have 28 rounds of ammo for the .45, that and my own powerful hands. It might be enough.

  Another few hundred yards, and Molly shoulders the rifle. “I’m out.”

  I kneel and open my pack. “Cover me,” I say, passing my Glock to Molly and pulling the nearest tank close. There is no way I can handle all three of them together, so I decide to make three bombs and set them at intervals in the tunnel. I take the C-4 brick and the duck tape. I tape the brick to the side of the first tank, about half way up. I use my knife to poke a hole in the paper on the top of the brick and then measure out two feet of the blue hobby wick. I push this into the top of the brick and then tape the wick to the tank. I figure it will take about sixty seconds for the wick to burn.

  Tank number two. I take one of the TNT sticks and tape it to the side and measure one foot of wick for the fuse. Ditto for tank three. “There.” I look up as a brass shell bounces off of my head. Molly has dropped another zom, this one conjures up visions of Auschwitz. I continue to work. I take the white sheet from my pack and lay it out flat. I dump the contents of my pack onto it and tie up the corners. I place the first tank in my pack, wick coming out of the top and put it on. I stand and grab the other two tanks, one in each hand. “Let’s go,” I mutter, feeling adrenaline starting to rise. I’m really doing this. My steps quicken. I glance back at the parcel, noting its location just in case.

  Bryce and Molly follow behind me, dropping the dead, as we go. We cover the distance much more quickly, now that our shooters are unburdened. We follow the curve of the arroyo, silent except for the sound of the guns. When I spy the boulder, the one we stashed our gear behind last trip, I turn and descend into the channel. I stop at the rock and turn to them.

  “The tunnel opening is right around that bend,” I whisper to no one in particular, it’s as if I’m talking to myself again. “This is it. You guys head back. Make for the ledge camp. If I’m coming I’ll be coming in the next day or so, if not… Keep an ear out for the explosion.”

  Bryce starts to say something, but seems to change his mind. He shakes his head and then shakes my hand before he focuses on the path back, raising his AK. Molly hands me my Glock and says, “It’s out.” I nod, squeeze her shoulder and turn away from them. I exchange the empty clip for my last full one that I had secreted away. Thirteen rounds. I load it, chamber a round, and holster it before picking up my burden.

  I feel them standing there, waiting, and I call out as I walk away, “Get the hell out of here.” I look back, and they are scrambling up the side of the arroyo. Bryce reaches down to help her up and over. Molly waves at me lamely.

  I come upon the tunnel just as a zom is teetering out. He is missing his left foot, stumbling along on a bony stump. I walk toward him and we lock eyes. At arm’s distance, I feel the resistance in my mind and manipulate it. He turns, retreating down the arroyo away from me. So far, so good.

  At the entrance to the tunnel, I stop and reach into my right cargo pocket. My headlamp is there. I put it on and click the button twice to turn on the spotlight function. My lighter is in my right pant pocket. I flick it once to make sure it lights. OK. The road flares, all three, I have jammed into my left pocket. I take a deep breath and head in.

  The shade of the tunnel is welcoming and at odds with the nervousness that I feel. I tell myself to relax. A few paces past the collapsed opening in the ceiling, I set the first tank down figuring it a likely spot for a cave-in. I place it against the wall, long fuse facing towards me. I switch the other free tank to my left hand, leaving my firing hand free. The headlamp gives off good light, but it is weaker than I remember. I pull out the first flare, remove the cap, and strike it against the top. Red light hisses into existence. I hold it before me, careful to keep it away from the blue wicks.

  The pressure from the cavern fills my head with fuzz. I walk on, straight-backed, stiff legged and with a quicker step now that I can see further. Suddenly, shambling forward, nude, long black hair, she reaches out to embrace me, and I turn to her, her fingertips inches from the flare. She spins as I know she will and I follow her stink, deeper into the tunnel.

  I stop at the first cross junction and backtrack about ten feet before I place the other TNT encrusted tank of propane against the wall. I figure that detonating it here will seal off the whole complex even if the tank at the entrance doesn’t go off. That one is the last back-up, this is the second to last… hopefully the C-4 will do
the job and these will just be redundant. Less encumbered, I walk to the four-way stop, pause and drop the half-burned flare. I light flare number two and continue on my way.

  The psychic resistance increases and more zoms come out of the dark to greet me. I turn them with no trouble, feeling encouraged as the act becomes more familiar to me. A small cadre leads me deeper into the tunnel now, an honor guard of sorts. I reach the second cross junction and drop flare two, only a third of it has burned. I light flare three and continue on, the light from the dropped flare fading behind me. The smoke stings my nose, and my eyes water. Deeper now, I notice the incline of the path. I’m getting closer.

  New arrivals wrestle past the ones that I have turned and try for me. I’m trying right back, and soon the ones that oppose me are trampled and turned by the mob that I drive before me. The effect is thrilling, as if I’m riding a great wave. A thought occurs to me as I near the end of the tunnel, perhaps fifty feet to go before things open up and get wet. I take off the pack and check the fuse, raising the assemblage before me and I wait. A lone figure stumbles through the throng, a tall thin man, ruined face, long black beard. I let him come. As he nears me, arms raised, I loop the straps of the pack over his arms and turn him, just as his fingers begin to grip my shoulders. He turns, pack hanging from his chest. I jog beside him and light the fuse before turning and running like hell. I start to count.

  At thirty seconds, I see the first dying flare abandoned at the junction and hop over it. I continue jogging, breathing hard, my lungs burn. Somewhere along the way I get distracted and lose count, but keep running. The explosion finally comes, knocks me flat and I slide face first along the tunnel floor. A panicked thought enters my mind, but I shut it down when I realize that it is not mine. I pull myself up and jog forward weakly, bleeding from somewhere on my head.