by T. W. Brown
Wednesday, August 14th
Mama Lindsay and Phaedra sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Yep, my mom has a girlfriend. Phaedra moved her stuff in yesterday. And the two of them are smiling like idiots.
Corridor 26 is facing its largest crisis and those two are a pair of love-struck dumb-bunnies. It was cute for about ten seconds. I finally told them I was going to the EEF depot to fill out my registration card and that I would not be back for at least two hours.
Now, I am sitting up on this wall of concrete-filled cars that has meant safety all my life. This is where I came the day before I began my EEF training. Only, this time, I am alone. I have my crossbow, but no zombies have made an appearance yet. Most of the walkers have been concentrated near the North Gate. I have seen a few in the distance, but nothing I could shoot.
Why now?
That is the question that hammers away at my insides. If Mama Janie had lived, would we still live in Warehouse City where I was born? If so, would I have joined the EEF? So many questions that I can’t answer.
And what about Warehouse City? We haven’t heard anything from there to suggest one way or the other how the NAA has fared. Is it possible that they have been able to withstand the attack? Perhaps the NAA was beaten and now help is on the way here.
I do know that any time I have asked Mama Lindsay about that place the past couple of days, she has just shaken her head and said that the NAA might find them a tougher nut to crack. I keep thinking about sneaking out for myself and travelling down the Corridor to see what I can, but I don’t want to worry anybody. Still, I can’t help but wonder…and this is a recurring thought that is starting to bother me…
“What would Meredith do?”
Thursday, August 15th
It is late and I am tired. The NAA kept us all on the top deck of the Sunset Fortress. The sun beat down on us and the concrete just seemed to make it even hotter. We were given water twice.
I don’t think things went well at Warehouse City. The train returned early this morning. It was missing a car and the whole thing looked like it had been dipped in tar and lit on fire. Black globs of the stuff are hanging in thick patches. Also, I didn’t get a good look, but apparently, a bunch of the soldiers were off-loaded and carried into one of the buildings that many of the residents of this area called home.
Meanwhile, several soldiers went around and asked everybody their name, age, and occupation. I don’t know why, but when they asked me, I said farmer. I guess I was just afraid to say that I am in the EEF. I don’t want to be bumped to the head of the selection pool.
However, the biggest concern I had today is about Jenifer. She was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t the only person to notice. Some folks asked about her and basically got told to mind their own business.
That didn’t sit well with anybody. A few people started getting loud, but the soldiers moved in with these cattle prod looking weapons. Only, they didn’t use them on the folks getting unruly…they brought up a few of the children from where they were being held. There wasn’t even a warning, they just showed up and zapped this little girl no older than six.
Then a big fight broke out, only, it was us fighting amongst ourselves. People were yelling and carrying on. Things are falling apart here. In no time, nobody was talking about how well it appeared Warehouse City did against the NAA. All the talk about hope and making our own stand…about the possibility that we might see some help from down the Corridor was gone. Instead…we were fighting each other and casting blame. By the time it was over, people were even blaming all of this on Jenifer.
I can’t believe how fast we are coming unraveled. It is like everything done here the past twenty years has been thrown out the window.
Saturday, August 17th
As I sit here in this partially burned down apartment complex, I wonder if I will ever see my home in Corridor 26 again. I wonder if I am doing the right thing. I wonder if I will be able to live with the choices I am making…and the ones made for me.
Friday, agents of the NAA started rounding up all citizens that fell in the sixteen to thirty age range. I guess they decided to expand their acceptable parameters. It started early in the morning about an hour or so before sunrise. The only reason I knew ahead of time was because Phaedra and Mama Lindsay were in the front of the house having some sort of secret resistance meeting. (I will get to that later.) They heard a commotion outside and watched as a neighbor of ours was dragged out to the street and added to a group already shackled together.
Phaedra went outside to ask what was going on, and it turned ugly in a hurry. One of the soldiers hit her in the side of the head with a club or something. That caused everybody who had been at this little revolution planning event being held in our living room to get angry. Before Mama Lindsay could say or do anything, folks were rushing out of our house and attacking the soldiers.
At some point, Mama Lindsay had dragged Phaedra in the house. She was telling me to grab our bug-out bags as she went back outside to try and get things under control. I had everything by the door and even managed to clean and bandage Phaedra’s head. I guess I was so absorbed in that task that I just didn’t realize how bad thing got outside.
Then I heard the scream.
I ran to the door and saw a woman crawling across our little yard, the handle of a very big knife jutting up from her back People were coming from all directions now. Soldiers and citizens.
The battle got hot and the soldiers were losing. They were simply too outnumbered. I was in the yard searching the crowd for Mama Lindsay when the flare burst over the Sunset Fortress. It froze everybody as the reddish-white glow lit up the area. It took me a moment to realize that it was a tiny body being tossed from the roof.
A voice came across on a megaphone demanding that we cease our “hostile actions” immediately. As an added emphasis, a second tiny body was tossed. This time everybody heard the screams and I swear I heard the impact. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I will go to my death certain of what I heard.
Needless to say, the fighting stopped. Nobody—at least none of the citizens of Corridor 26—wanted to have another child’s death on their conscience.
Mama Lindsay rushed me inside. She helped get Phaedra to her feet and she urged us to the back of the house and out the door. We made it to the wall and it only took a little extra help to get Phaedra over. From there, we wove our way through a well-looted neighborhood. When we came to this apartment complex, Mama Lindsay chose it as our place to hide. I was initially worried that we hadn’t gone far enough, but she insisted that they didn’t have the manpower to spare to go look for three people. Besides, we could have gone in any direction and they have no way of knowing where we ran.
Still, it just does not sit right with me.
Sunday, August 18th
I went out for a while on my own to see if I could find us a way to Warehouse City that wasn’t too deep in the wilderness. It looks like we can travel along the north side of the Corridor. That will keep us away from the railway and provide plenty of wooded cover.
This won’t be like when Sam or Meredith made the trip along this route. Most everything that is useful is gone. We will need to worry about food if it takes longer than four days—the standard load for a bug-out pack—but the plentiful creeks and streams will take care of our water needs.
When I returned, Phaedra was doing better. She still feels a bit woozy and won’t be worth a damn on foot for at least another day, but she should be fine to move out tomorrow. I guess that she and Mama Lindsay thought it was as good of a time as any to let me know they had a plan in place to keep me from being picked in the draft.
It seems that all of the paperwork involving the census was being kept in the president’s office. The reason nobody had seen much of her lately is because she was making it a point to stay close to the files so that she could find my form and dispose of it. The belief was that nobody would ever know the difference. The problem is that now I know about it…an
d I’m absolutely not okay with what they did.
I hope that I don’t come off sounding like a spoiled or ungrateful child, but the fact is my friends and people that I grew up with were all in that lottery. One of the people—and it doesn’t matter who—would be filling a spot that might have been mine. I simply can not be okay with that. I realize that since we’ve run for it, it is all a moot point, but the reality is that they were willing to put somebody else in my place.
I can’t help but wonder what else I have been passed over because of who I know. Heck, did I get accepted into the EEF because of being the daughter of Lindsay Wells? What makes me so special?
Tuesday, August 19th
It may not be the right choice, but I made it on my own.
Yesterday, I went out again by myself. I was just out to fill our water packs. The idea was that we would be heading out that night for Warehouse City. Mama Lindsay seemed to think that, if we made it there, we would be safe. I personally think it is delaying the inevitable. If this new president is so intent on conquering us for whatever reason, then she will simply send a bigger force next time. Warehouse City is only safe for the time being.
Anyways, I was out when I heard another series of explosions. By the time I got back to the apartments, Mama Lindsay and Phaedra agreed that we had to see what was happening. If nothing else, we needed to make a detailed report to the folks at Warehouse City.
We left most of our gear behind and travelled light. We made our way up to a bluff that gave a good view of the area around Sunset Fortress. Or rather…what used to be Sunset Fortress.
For whatever reason, they blew it up. I mean there is nothing left but a big pile of rubble. Also, we saw no sign of movement down there. The trains are gone, North Gate is a gaping hole, and already, zombies were starting to trickle in.
I have no idea if they took all the people they had gathered up and simply killed the rest or what. What I do know is that my home is gone. The last thing that I had in my life that was solid and permanent is gone.
I love my Mama Lindsay with all my heart. I even have a growing affection for Phaedra. I am happy that those two have found each other. I will come back for them. But I have to go find out what happened to my people…my friends.
Early this morning, I set out for Irony, USA. I left a note for Mama Lindsay telling her that I love her and that I will be back. I tried to stress that I am NOT Meredith. I am not leaving to see the world or anything else…I am simply going to find out what happened.
I gave it some serious thought and it took me a while to realize why I have to do this. In some of the talks I’ve had with Phaedra, it has been something that really weighs on her…not knowing about her son. I don’t have any hopes of finding him, but I want to be able to come back home and tell people where their children are and if they are okay.
I know that it looked like Corridor 26 was wiped out. I can admit that it appears very bad. However, if there are even a dozen survivors left alive from what ever the NAA did before taking off, they will return.
So will I. I promise, mom.
Wednesday, August 20th
Got down to that building overlooking the ruins that we stayed in that first night when we were supposed to destroy the bridge. What a joke that was, I look back on it now and it seems so foolish.
Send a group of citizens out to try and scavenge up the means to destroy a railroad crossing. Don’t worry about tools or anything, just make do with what you can find out there. Good luck.
We lost half of our team and the NAA came anyways. The more I sit here and think about it, the angrier I get. Not only that, but I question how the community has survived for twenty years. Maybe signing off with the NAA and this new president are not terrible ideas.
I am sitting here weighing out the pros and cons and it seems to break even. Obviously they have the greater minds. For example, we walk everywhere. There are a few horses, but they are more of a luxury and used to haul wagons. The NAA has freaking trains!
We have been so busy trying to make a peaceful life for ourselves that we are not really prepared for confrontation. Yes, we can deal with unthinking, easy to outmaneuver, walking dead. But we are like some big kid, we go all our lives using our size and relying on that to keep the little kids in line or at bay. The problem is, the first time we get punched in the nose…we don’t have a clue on how to deal with it other than to curl up and cry.
This “new” government does seem to have a few things going for it. They have an organization that were desperately lacking…at least in our neck of the Corridor. I started thinking about some of the stuff I learned in History class and realized we don’t even have a basic system of tax in our society.
People were trying to create some sort of utopian atmosphere. It was all peace and harmony. Only, they have been living a lie. Children were being shipped off to the NAA in exchange for a little help here and there building our own cage. Sure, everybody had to work, and we all shared in the bounty of the crops, the yields of the hunters and fishers.
Only, there was another side of things going on that nobody wanted to acknowledge. We, as the collective, were using some of the younger people as a commodity. So, there was a tax being paid…but only by the unlucky few. The worst part is that, for those who had people in “high” places, they were protected. So it does seem that everything has a price, but only a few have to pay it. In the morning, I doubt I will be able to have another moment’s peace for quite a while. I will be crossing into the wilderness. I know enough from Sam and Meredith’s books that Irony is well east of here.
I’ve met a few Travellers who have braved the Gorge Wilderness. It is a mix of roving band of nomads, singles and groups of some of the more unsavory types who prey on passers-by, and zombies. Rumor has it that some spots are as bad as they were in the beginning when it comes to the undead. Some of the small towns are like snapshots of a “land that time forgot.” Most of the coolest artifacts that Travellers bring in for trade come from stretches of land in places like the Gorge Wilderness.
Thursday, August 21st
Today I made it all the way to that parking garage on the other side of the river. I saw some signs of what must have been a small skirmish between some of the tribes and the NAA. Mostly bodies hacked up or burnt and left in the street.
I made a covered fire and it was actually pretty warm at night. Sleeping alone out here is always an adventure. It is automatic to string a noise-making trip wire, and that is supposed to help make a person feel a little better about being out in the open. I probably woke a dozen times or more to every single new sound. Each time, I was certain it was my wire. It never was, but I actually felt relieved when the sun rose and I could see around me in all directions. I hope I get better at sleeping at night
Saturday, August 23rd
What a difference a few days makes. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I guess the Corridor has really cleared out a majority of the walkers. Travelling the established routes, they are present, but most of the time it is one or two.
To be some place and see them wandering in and out of battered houses that look like it would take nothing more than a good breeze to knock over was an experience. I had to wonder how we could have fallen to such a simple creature. Was it because they were our friends and loved ones? I wonder this because I had no trouble staying out of their line of sight for the most part.
There was one instance where I was moving down a side street and lost sight of the train tracks. When I realized it, I turned in the direction I was pretty sure that I knew them to be and started cutting through a few yards. I reached a fence made of wood that was at least six feet high and built so I couldn’t see the other side. I climbed up and actually had my leg swung over when I realized that the yard on the other side was the residence of a trio of very big dogs.
The thing about zombie dogs is that they aren’t faster, but there is a different “creepy” factor that is hard to explain unless you’ve seen one i
n person. For me…this was the first time. I have nobody to blame but myself for the next few hours after that. I guess I screamed louder than I first thought.
I climbed back down and spun around at the sound of a crybaby coming around the side of the house I’d cut alongside of…and he wasn’t alone. The thing is, I’d just walked down this road and seen almost nothing. Yet, there they were…coming out of every shadow.
I had no choice but to engage the crybaby. One of the things they teach us in EEF training is to only actually fight when it is absolutely necessary. It was absolutely necessary. I had them coming from all directions and made a snap decision to head parallel to where I believed the train tracks to be running.
The next problem that I ran into was that the fact that the road began to curve away. I was getting farther from the river and the train tracks. I was also getting closer to the old highway. I knew well enough from landmarks that I was closing in on what used to be Interstate 84.
That was a road made famous by both Sam and Meredith. It was a long stretch of highway that runs along the Columbia River and cuts through several small towns along the way. It has become famous in my lifetime for being a favorite poaching location for raiders, land pirates, and massive migratory herds of undead. They really seem to favor roads like this. It probably has something to do with how there is really nothing in their way.
A few differences in the highways now versus when Meredith and Sam travelled them: they are scoured pretty clean of abandoned vehicles; they are littered with body parts; one of the dangers is the odd detached head—people have nicknamed them mousetraps. Over the years, vehicles were either scavenged or shoved aside by some of the larger herds. Having so many undead moving as one, there is a lot of jostling. Wear and tear eventually causes parts to slough off. On the rare occasion that a head comes free—usually on the ones that suffered horrendous neck wounds—it still snaps at anything that passes, hence the nickname of mousetrap.