Zomblog 04: Snoe

by T. W. Brown

  The rest of the day, Bob sort of vanished. Kenny said he was always close, but I never saw or heard him until we got ready to make camp. I talked a bit with Felicia through the day. I guess she was fifteen when it all happened. She said that her daddy was a fireman and just never came home from work one night. Her mom took her to a shelter at a local high school, but things went bad there in a hurry. A group of soldiers that were at the shelter helped everybody escape when people in the shelter started turning. That was when she lost her mom. She said that one minute they were running across this swampy field, and then her mom fell. A passing soldier scooped her up and kept running, refusing to let her go or see what was happening. She heard a scream that she was pretty sure was her mom.

  Of course, all of that eventually brought up questions about me. I just said I never knew my real mom. I was raised by a community of people. I explained that I set just out after my eighteenth birthday in search of some missing friends. I felt bad. Especially after all she shared with me about her mom and dad. I just didn’t want the fuss I was certain would be made if they knew exactly who I was. I really wish that they didn’t have those damn books.

  Tuesday, September 23rd

  Today I walked mostly with Kenny. Felicia stayed in the woods and was just as silent as Bob had been yesterday.

  Kenny wasn’t as talkative. I did learn that he was in what he called a “youth detention center” when it all happened. It took me a while to realize that he meant jail for kids. It wasn’t that I don’t know what jail is…we have two jails in Corridor 26. It’s just that we don’t make a special one for kids or women. Jail is jail.

  Anyways, I guess he and two other boys figured out what was going on and decided that they would rather get in trouble for escaping if things ever returned to normal instead of staying in a place that locked you in a tiny room at night. He made his way home to discover Bob was gone. They wouldn’t find each other for almost a month. When they did, it was because Bob had hung a bunch of spray painted signs all over their neighborhood saying: “Ken, meet me at Gran’s house.”

  Their mom had never returned from her shift at the paper mill the first night. Bob had managed to get to their grandmother’s house, but she was already dead and turned when he arrived. Unable to kill her, Bob had lured her into the basement. Since their grandmother’s house was out in the sticks, Bob had decided to try and stay there in hopes that his wayward brother would find him.

  Kenny saw the signs a few days after escaping and sought his brother. He said he went back to the youth facility two years later because he just had to see for himself. I guess a bunch of kids died of starvation locked in their cells when nobody came to let them out one morning. He stopped a bunch of times while he was telling me things and I could tell he was seeing it in his mind as he told me.

  If I felt bad about not telling Felicia the truth...I felt even worse after Kenny told me his story. Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t think it has anything to do with trust, or lack of it. I simply don’t want to tell them and have them think I might be anything like Meredith…or Sam.

  Wednesday, September 24th

  Today we discovered some of the first heartbreaking damage from the dam. We passed that giant rock that looks like a man’s privates and the highway is covered in silt and debris. However, there were also the bloated corpses of at least forty people amidst all the muck.

  That was when I realized something about the zombies I’d encountered a few days back that looked familiar. I’d seen them when I was with Natalie and her parents. The reason they were only a little bit recognizable was because they were so water logged. That made me wonder and worry about Natalie and her family. When I’d left them, they were still in the vicinity of the dam. If the rest of it had given way while they were in the location I’d left them…

  Other than that, I spent the rest of the day with Bob. I have a strange feeling that they are trying to feel me out. I’ve been left mostly alone with a different one of them each day. Each time, the topic has found its way to their story about their life in the Old World.

  Bob’s was actually the most interesting. He was home watching the news of what was happening when his and Kenny’s mom called. She said that she was in an office where she was working as a janitor and that the building was overrun by zombies. (Of course she’d called them “those crazy people” because they hadn’t started calling them zombies just yet.)

  It just so happened that Bob’s mom was cleaning the office of a biologist who had traveled to New Guinea. She said that two of the biologist’s co-workers had showed up before the building was surrounded by the zombies. They had barely escaped the local hospital where their co-worker had been flown to by a bunch of government types.

  He went on about these other scientists claiming that the bite from some giant rat discovered by their friend was the cause of it all and that several members of the research team had become ill. They were supposedly flown to separate hospitals around the country and put in quarantine. Even more interesting, there had been several samples of these rats brought home. Only, not all the samples arrived at their destination.

  I stopped listening when he started talking about secret government agents sending out contaminated samples to random addresses around the world. It just seems a little far-fetched. What government would willingly and knowingly send out something that could wipe out an entire population if they knew how dangerous it might be?

  I considered slipping away this evening. I like these folks well enough, but they do seem a bit strange. Tonight during dinner, all the conversation was about how things were in the Old World. A lot of what they were saying just sounds too crazy. Still, they are headed the same way, and it is nice having people to talk with, even if they are a bit loony in the head.

  Thursday, September 25th

  Today was another heartbreaker. That really nice group of people from that church group that settled that small island are gone. I would guess that almost two-thirds of that island is now underwater. From where we are on the hill, it is clear that everything they built has been washed away.

  I told the three Travellers that I wanted to go over and check things out. They didn’t seem to mind, but they weren’t interested in coming over with me. I found a boat and they helped me turn it over and push it into the water. From there, I rowed across.

  When I reached the island, I could already smell the reek of dead bodies. I also found a pair of them who were immune but infected. One of them was a little boy who was buried up to his waist in the soupy mud. I remember his face. I can see him sitting on the lap of a woman with long braids. He was a maggot-white corpse with pruned skin that just clawed at the air and hissed at me until I drove my knife through its head.

  The other was a woman in her fifties. She was bent over backwards which indicated to me how violent the waters must’ve hit. Of course, the fact that the entire village is totally gone without a trace gives a pretty good sign.

  I didn’t stay long. There really wasn’t much more to see. It just seems so unfair. These people have survived this long after all they went through, and now they are gone, wiped out as if they never existed.

  It made me wonder…did they see the waters coming? I know enough about the Bible to know the story of The Flood. Did they see something divine in that wall of water as it approached and signaled their doom? Or…did they simply surrender to their fate and wonder why they’d fought so hard to survive?

  As I get closer to home…or what might be left of it, I wonder how many times the people who settled the Corridor reached moments where they wanted to simply give up. I also wonder how they managed to create such a large stretch of land that is free of the undead. I guess I never gave thought to what, why, or how when it came to Corridor 26. It has simply always been there. I don’t even really remember living in Warehouse City.

  I remember people, but not places or how they came to be. If nothing else, this little trip has given me a new appreci
ation for a lot of things. I think I have a few tasks ahead of me when I return to whatever is left of my home.

  I want to talk to Mama Lindsay first, but I intend on restoring my mother’s name. She is used as a cautionary tale, and even a bit of an insult. Travellers have been branded as selfish, but I think we have it wrong. They are a supply line and a source of information. They brave the unknown and bring back news we would otherwise be ignorant of were it not for them. And we need to understand that isolating ourselves behind walls may not be the best choice. Perhaps Meredith had one thing right when she said she felt like she was in a prison or a cage.

  Even the EEF do not really travel outside of our established boundaries. We know what is relatively safe, and that is where we stay. Would those people on that island have stayed there if they new how close they were to other societies that would accept them and their beliefs while still offering them a safe place to live.

  Instead of creating several small communities, we need to focus ourselves on one large one. Otherwise, the NAA, the New American President or any other larger group can move in. The years have pushed the undead out of the top threat window and once more, as it seems to have been throughout history, it is mankind that now seeks domination and control. The strong will enslave the weak. However, just as a bundle of sticks is much more difficult to break than just a single…so it is with people.

  I can’t help but feel that our entire civilization is at a crux that will either make us or break us for good. The hardest part will be getting everybody to realize that we will have to put an end to the NAA and stop trying to re-create the United States of America. We can start over with the greatest aspects of ourselves, but we will need to end, once and for all, those who seek to prey on the weak. We can not sit behind our walls and allow Dominique or those wild raiders to continue. Both are wrong and ignoring their presence or believing that it is “not our problem” has not worked.

  Friday, September 26th

  Something or someone is following us.

  Sunday, September 28th

  The belief is that they were raiders. Perhaps their tribe—or whatever they call themselves as a unit—suffered catastrophic loss when the wall of water came through and wiped out everything in its path. From the way things look along the river, so many of the building were just barely standing after twenty years of neglect, they didn’t stand a chance against the power of not only the water, but all the debris being swept up and carried along.

  We actually moved further inland because we started encountering so many partially buried zombies. It became too hazardous. Kenny called it a “zombie minefield” but then had to explain it to me.

  These three people have so much general knowledge from the Old World. They are, at times, amazed that I am so well educated, yet seem to be missing such huge chunks of what they deem “common knowledge.” The thing is, I guess the folks who put together the education program on the Corridor decided that there were simply things that didn’t need to be passed on. I have mixed feelings about it. For instance, I was amazed at the concept of minefields until Felicia explained that there were stories of long-forgotten mines blowing up children. I don’t know exactly what I thought when I heard the initial explanation; I guess I just figured that they were all picked up when the war or whatever was over.

  I know there are many times that the three of them talk about stuff and I honestly have no idea what they are carrying on about. There are moments when they laugh…I really feel like I am missing something.

  Anyways…there were five people following us. I don’t think they were following us for any other reason than they didn’t know what else to do. They were almost like animals. The oldest one couldn’t be older than fourteen.

  Still, that didn’t prevent them from coming at us in the night with their clubs and machetes. When the shrill cry split the silence that seems to amplify in its oppression after dark, I was on watch.

  The first shadow that came within the strange almost-dark on the fringe of the minimal light put off by our fire was moving at a sprint. I nearly missed when I swung my long blade. I know I did what I had to do, but I almost wish I would’ve missed. I can still see her face staring up at nothing. The eyes of a person just killed are something I don’t think you can ever really forget.

  When the next one came, I was still trying to recover from the surprise and still acting on instinct. That is the only reason I was able to turn and swing. Thank God that Kenny, Bob, and Felicia were fast reactors. When I hit the second attacker, my blade got stuck. I had caught this boy of maybe twelve square in the neck. I must’ve gotten lodged in the spinal column. When I finally pulled free, the head flipped back in a way that I was ill-equipped to deal with.

  It was Felicia who came to where I was hunched over on my knees throwing up. She rubbed my back and just stayed with me until I was able to get back on my feet. Bob took the next watch, but I could’ve stood his and Kenny’s, because I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. I don’t know that I will tonight. Every single time that I close my eyes, I see those faces. Every time I blink, I get a flash. I can even hear the noise that little boy’s head made when it flipped back. I can feel the tingle in my hands from when my blade dug into the bone. I can smell the blood…and other things that happen when a body dies.

  Meredith mentioned a few times about having to take the life of a living being. She did not seem comfortable with it, even when she did it out of what she perceived to be necessity. Maybe that is where I will begin my repair on her legacy.

  Tomorrow should prove interesting. We head into the outskirts of Old Portland. We will begin to travel through neighborhoods and such as we close in on Corridor 26. We are not taking the same route that I took coming out; I have allowed the Travellers to lead. In fact, I’ve made no suggestions and have not once been in front leading the way.

  Monday, Sepetember 29th

  If I don’t sleep tonight, I could get somebody killed. Of course, with how completely exhausted I am…I don’t see that being a problem.

  The day started early with a small pack of walkers stumbling on our camp just as we were getting things packed up. I was very thankful that I have lived my life in an environment that preached the importance of always having a weapon handy. Of course, not everybody was always so vigilant.

  Once we dealt with the interruption, we headed out. I was actually fascinated as we walked along. Having been in a few neighborhoods in and around the corridor, I was really unprepared for the condition of the houses that I saw today. Also…so many apartments. It is really etched in my mind now just how packed in people were before all this.

  One apartment complex that we passed looked like it could hold every living resident on the Corridor. It had several two-story buildings over a space of land that might contain ten people back home nowadays. To try and imagine all the noise is unfathomable.

  As it was, the Travellers could not resist the urge to poke around. When we walked into the place, I was amazed to discover that there was a square of land in the center of the buildings that was now almost a jungle. In fact, some of the plants had forced their way through cracks or broken windows and were actually growing inside many of the units.

  The first creeper came out on its belly and let loose with a cry. It was answered by several crybabies! I’d never heard so many at once before. I thought one or two was bad, but to have several…it made the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up.

  Once we did away with them, the plan was to go check out some of the upstairs units. Halfway up the first set of stairs, Kenny froze. At first I thought he saw zombies…then the stairs gave way and he disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.

  Bob, Felicia and I ran for him. My fear was that a creeper we might have missed would get to him before we did. I was partially right. One had gotten to him, but it was hung up on some of the two-inch spikes sticking out of his leathers.

  Bob stepped in and didn’t even bother with a weapon; he sla
mmed his forearms down across the back of the thing’s head and hoisted it up off his brother. With the closest thing I’ve seen to anger from any of them, he hurled that pitiful thing at a chunk of broken concrete. The head burst in a spray of black goo.

  Felicia helped Kenny to his feet and checked him for injuries. There is a little concern because he has a nasty cut on his left arm and a lot of scrapes and scratches. His right eye is swollen shut and I am pretty sure that his nose is broken. If any of that creeper’s splatter got in those cuts, he could be infected.

  None of us blame Bob for his actions. It was his brother and he acted out of a protective instinct. I don’t think any of us expected that thing to basically explode on impact. It was like a rotten piece of fruit. That eventually led to the discussion that perhaps that creeper was not as old as we might have guessed.

  One thing about the people who turn…there is a period around the nine months to a year mark where they can sometimes do what has been termed “go sour”…at least that is what we have always called it along the Corridor. It doesn’t even happen to all of them, but there are cases where some of them get these squishy spots. If you stab them or hit them with any real force, they explode in a stinking mess. And it’s not like they completely explode…just the squishy spot. Like a giant boil or zit is the best way I can think to describe them.

  The three of them are sitting around the fire right now talking about whether we move on tomorrow or not. I guess I need to decide if I am willing to wait for them, or if I will press on by myself.

  Tuesday, September 30th

  I will wait. Not because I don’t believe that I can make the rest of the journey alone, but rather, because these people have been nothing but decent to me. It doesn’t look like Kenny is going to be okay. There are tracers in his eyes. We all know what that means.