by T. W. Brown
I’ve seen a few walkers down along the Interstate, but for the past few hours, it has been so silent and still. I can’t just leave. This is where I told Felicia that I would be waiting. I owe it to her…and Bob for that matter. I can wait a couple more days before I finish the journey. I am just a handful of hours away if I don’t get hung up on the last leg.
Friday, October 10th
Still nothing. Well…except for the freezing rain. The road is a sheet of ice. My tarp keeps drooping from the weight and I have to knock all the stuff off of it.
Sunday, October 12th
Today is the last day that I will wait. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay here much longer. I’ve been hearing this horn that keeps blasting. I finally broke down and counted between blasts. Right around six hundred, it would shatter the silence.
I have noticed an increase in walker activity down on Interstate 5. A mile or so south of my position, I keep seeing them crossing. They are being drawn by the sound. I don’t think that is just another one of Bob’s diversionary tactics. My gut is telling me that this is the NAA.
I know that Felicia and Bob can make it to Corridor 26 without me if it comes to it. Also, I really don’t even know what I am going to find when I get there. If the place is empty…then I guess at least I can hide out for a while and wait in familiar surroundings. If home is like Willamette Refuge, I will have to head for Warehouse City and see if Mama Lindsay and Phaedra made it there.
Monday, October 13th
Bob and Felicia are fine.
That is about the only good news that I have right now. I guess a lot has happened since I took off. For starters, a huge section of the retainer wall is torn down and the dead wander the area freely. Sunset Fortress is a blackened rock decorated in unrecognizable bodies that have been strung from the ledges.
This can not simply be about my birth mother. Despite whatever orders were given by this self-proclaimed president, it took willing participants to carry out the orders. These weren’t soldiers or zombies…just people. People that I grew up with.
It just makes no sense. Why would anybody do this? What would drive somebody to this point? I’ve read Meredith’s journal a hundred times. And while I understand now more than ever that a journal can only hold so much…and that when all you hear is one side of a story, you only get half of the picture, I still can see nothing that would merit the sort of hatred that would drive somebody to act out in this way.
I have searched my home and found no signs that Mama Lindsay ever came back to it. It looks the same as I remember it. That is the other part that makes no sense…nothing is taken of any major consequence. While I’m sure that some stuff has probably been scooped up…the area around the Sunset Fortress is not what I would call looted. And the majority of the damage and activity involves the actual building known as the Sunset Fortress. The surrounding “neighborhood” is suffering from nothing more than an infestation of walkers.
One thing that broke my heart was seeing the staggering, lurching shadows as you face west and look down the Corridor. I think of all the hard work and lost lives that made this place what it was, and it just makes me want to cry. However…I will not give anybody that satisfaction. Also, I believe that the day will come when we restore these walls and return to our way of life. The damage is great, but not beyond repair.
Judging by what I see, this has been the situation for quite a few days. My guess is that the people at Warehouse City know by now about the breach. I have no other choice but to head to Warehouse City. If I know Mama Lindsay at all, that will be where she went…where she will be waiting and hoping that I will come back some day. She would not travel, because she knows that it would be too unlikely that our paths ever cross.
I have no choice but to set out in the morning. I spoke with Bob and Felicia about my decision. They said that they really like me, but they have spent too many years struggling to stay alive. They both think that I am on a path destined for death. They said that maybe I have more of Meredith in me than I am willing to admit.
I thanked them both for all that they have done. I said that I understood. Part of me does, but another part of me screams that this is the problem. If we do not come together as one, then we will eventually fall…alone.
I know now what I have gained from this journey: purpose. I don’t know how, but I will bring Corridor 26 back. Stronger. And with an even greater sense of community.
Tuesday, October 14th
I said farewell to Bob and Felicia this morning. They are actually staying in my house. They promised not to pick through things. I think they actually felt like Travellers for the first time since we met. They kept saying over and over how they would never pick through my things or the houses around Sunset Fortress. Bob kept insisting that as bad as the damage looked to the fortress, that the damage was mostly cosmetic.
Felicia looked like she was almost ready to cry when I hugged her before setting out. She pressed her mouth to my ear and whispered “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure they were both in agreement not to come with me to Warehouse City.
I’ve had to stick to the center of the highway as I head west. The funny thing is, it never dawned on me until today that this is the same stretch of road that my birth father took when he escaped his home after having to put down his ex-wife and my (half) sister (I guess that would be how closely related she and I would be) before setting out and eventually finding the warehouse complex that would give birth to Warehouse City.
The best thing about the Corridor is that it still has the safety structures all down its length. As they created the huge barricade walls down either side, they made these towers. The beauty is that each is accessed through a manhole cover about three hundreds yards away. The thought behind the “secret” access point is that it minimizes the chance that walkers will surround your tower should the need arise to utilize it.
Each of the towers are about forty feet tall. The top floor is a giant platform with angled walls so that it minimizes the chance of being seen. They all have a toilet facility and each is stocked with enough food and water to last a week. There is actually a crew responsible for keeping each one of these clean and freshly supplied. Of course all the food is dried, but it sure beats starving.
One of the many advantages of these towers is the ability to see further up the Corridor. Also, there is a reflector light; it used to be the way information was passed in a relative hurry when the place was being settled. For some reason, it was eventually decided that no outside band of raiders would be a big enough threat to require that the towers remain manned. I wonder if folks still feel that way.
Wednesday, October 15th
It sure takes a lot longer to go from one place to another when you have to deal with walkers. I really took for granted what it was like to travel the Corridor without zombies getting in the way. Maybe it is just the fact that this is a walled in and relatively narrow stretch, but it seemed that I was either dodging, hiding from, or killing zombies every time I turned around. The only good thing was that at least ninety percent of the trouble was in front of me.
I did notice a very upsetting trend as my day dragged on. Several of the walkers…are people that I knew. Today, I put down my EEF instructor and the kid from the Revelationists that joined. I got a much better understanding about how this plague— or what ever started things—managed to wipe out the population so quickly. It is one thing to put down scores of undead, it is quite another to start seeing the faces of friends and loved ones coming for you with no recognition…just the desire to feed.
I imagine that I have at least three more days travel at this rate. I am going to have to use even more caution in the morning when I leave this tower. I have noticed about a dozen walkers that seem to be just hanging around in the area. These also looked fresh, but not anybody that I recognized. Also, even though it was getting dark, a couple looked like they were wearing uniforms. Maybe the NAA suffered some losses here. No matter…one zombie i
s pretty much like the next.
I have stopped early today because that blaring horn started again, the same one that I was hearing back at the Interstate 5/Highway 217 Corridor junction. The timing is the same as far as how spaced apart the blasts are, and there was a period of time where it went silent. When it restarted, it was closer and to the south of my location. I don’t know what it is…but it is making me jumpy.
Thursday, October 16th
The NAA is definitely still active in the Corridor. I reached another section that had the wall torn down. A piece of the puzzle might have fallen into place. The section torn down reveals a rather wide road. Since no signs are in place, I have no idea what road that could be, but it is very large and shows sign of some sort of recent use. There are wide track marks and an obvious trail cut through the debris and overgrown vegetation.
Also, there looks to have been some sort of large encampment just down at the bottom of the hill here. There are still a few tents in place. I didn’t see any activity, but that does not mean there are not people. I have managed to stay low and am very conscious about using as much cover as possible when I move.
This section of Corridor 26 is where a lot of the farms are located. I have passed several of the fields, but nobody is working them. That does not bode well. If the winter crops are left untended, it could mean rough times even if we did manage to repel the NAA.
One of the other terrible things is that our horses are gone. There are a handful of stables along the route and they are all empty. Most of the buildings themselves are burned down. I just wish I understood why all of this is happening.
I have come to the conclusion that the initial train that arrived and attacked Corridor 26 that first night was nothing more than a leading edge of an attack. It is sort of like when a herd arrives; there are always a bunch of walkers that, for whatever reason, seem to be just a bit faster than the main body. I am now convinced that we have suffered from a major attack that was vastly more far-reaching than just the hit on our little area around the Sunset Fortress.
The only reason for this is malice. It just can’t be anything else. I only pray that when I reach Warehouse City, that they have been able to withstand whatever attacks have been thrown at them.
Friday, October 17th
I am still hiding out in the same tower. I now fear that there might not be anything but death and destruction at the end of this journey. However, I must see Warehouse City for myself.
My day started with sounds that took me a while to identify. Once I did, I had to force myself to take a peek. I heard shouts and cries and all sorts of commotion. I also heard horses!
What I saw has me doubting that I will find anything good at the end of this journey. There was a long line of people shackled together. They were all in leg chains besides having their hands manacled. The entire line was connected one to the other by a heavy looking chain that was connected to each person’s waist.
If I would have thought to count, I imagine that I would have eventually stopped. Yes, the line was that long. Uniformed men—presumably the NAA—were acting as escorts. They were not shy about hitting people with clubs or lashing them with whips.
One scene in particular will never be erased from my memory. One of the soldiers on horseback climbed down when a person fell and could not get up. He unlocked the waist chain and pulled the young girl from the group. I could hear people begging and pleading. I couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like somebody was even offering to carry the girl. None of that mattered. He blew a whistle and a cage on wheels was brought forward. I really hadn’t paid them any attention because there were a few of those types of carts all covered with tarps being pulled along by draft horses.
The girl was hoisted up and the tarp removed. Inside were several zombies. I could tell, even from here, that many were fresh. A long pole was used to lift the trap door on top. The girl was tossed in! At first there was nothing…then I heard a cry…then…the scream. Because of the cramped confines of the cage, only a couple looked to have been able to fall on the girl. I swear that I saw a small form rise to its unsteady feet just before they put the tarp back over the wagon. It was a while before the sobs and cries faded from where I could hear them.
From the tower, I had a clear enough view to see that they exited the Corridor at that open gap I spied earlier where the camp, or remnants of a camp, is sitting. I can not imagine why they would take people like this. I know I’ve said it before, but none of this makes any sense to me.
All day, I stayed put. For one, the caravan of prisoners—or whatever they are—took a long time to pass. By the time they did, it was getting dark. The weather has been miserable all day with dark clouds and lots of rain. That brought nightfall on even earlier than normal.
Just before the shadows all merged and darkness fell, I saw the first snowflake fall. It was big and heavy. It more plummeted than drifted to the ground. That poses a new problem. If it snows tonight in any amount, I will be easy to find. There will be no hiding. Therefore…if I leave the tower…I can not stop until I reach Warehouse City.
Sunday, October 19th
I have found a place in the woods well north of Warehouse City. It is an abandoned farm house set back in some trees. The years have been kind to this place. Other than mold and rot, the place is in good shape.
It was obviously cleaned out years ago. There is nothing inside this place but garbage and broken bits of furniture. I have to take some time and decide what to do.
Obviously the idea of any sort of attack is ridiculous. Seriously…how did people watch movies like that where one person (usually that big guy with the weird accent) would storm someplace all by himself and kill hundreds with a machinegun that he never needed to reload?
From what I saw, Warehouse City put up a heck of a fight…but they fell to the NAA. There is a large flag hanging from a pole in the center of town, and I will get back to that in a moment.
Many of the structures look to have suffered from horrific fires. It looks like this place fell a while ago. There is already a considerable amount of repair going on. It would appear that the NAA is not planning on leaving any time soon.
The famous wall of trailers that Sam wrote about remains intact. That area inside the giant square is Warehouse City’s nerve center. It is where the government meets; it is where other community’s leaders are brought when trading agreements are signed. It is also where the hospital and the schools are located. It remains intact, but considering the fact that I see a few dozen soldiers walking atop the reinforced structure, it is safe to assume that it is now where the NAA have taken up residence.
Of course then there are the things that I saw that told me the situation is not going well down there at all. First, there are three gallows in the park that was once the giant parking lot of the original warehouse complex that gave birth to this little city. There are several bodies still hanging from the nooses. Also, there is an open pen with several hunched over and heavily bundled figures that are clustered together (obviously trying their best to stay warm). I saw a few people taken from—as well as a few shoved in—that pen.
There are other things that bear noting. Besides the rail where a train now sits on the edge of the small city, there are several armored vehicles. I have no idea how they operate, but I saw one roll in just as I had dug in to some thick brush to set up my initial observation of the place. It actually moved slower than a good horse-drawn wagon, and it was strange sounding the way it chugged and sputtered in a rhythmic growl.
There is a giant nozzle mounted on top. I have no way to be sure, but I would be willing to bet that it is some sort of flame-throwing device. I have seen four similar vehicles parked around Warehouse City. I am reminded of an anthill when I look down there. Only, it has been invaded by an army of hostile ants that, instead of killing all of the inhabitants, have decided to put them to work.
From my observation point, I have noticed activity non-stop. The repairs and rebu
ilding of things damaged in what must’ve been a tremendous invasion are being done by the citizens who called Warehouse City their home. When they drop, they are dragged to one side and left to lay there. Some eventually get up and disappear. I imagine they return sooner or later…assumably by force. Some do not get up and the landscape is decorated with lumps in the snow. Nobody is being allowed to collect the bodies.
As for the flag…that is where I have been forced to consider what I must do. The flag is the symbol. It is the symbol agreed upon by Jenifer, Meredith…and Dominique that day in the theater. It now is painted in black on a white sheet and fluttering on the flag pole in the center of the town.
I must now consider whether they are still seeking Meredith…or if they are possibly aware of my existence. In any case, I must now decide whether or not to go down there.
Monday, October 20th
I think I saw Mama Lindsay today. If my eyes were not playing tricks, I saw her and Jenifer being led from a building near the center of town up and into the actual center complex. The only reason I even noticed is because the only people to come and go through the gate at any time were the ones wearing the uniforms of the NAA.
I spent the rest of the day afraid to move or take my eyes off of the area. For a while, I fixated on the door they disappeared into, but then I realized that they wouldn’t necessarily need to come in and out of the same door. So, I kept scanning all day.
I did witness another one of those flamethrower nozzle vehicles roll in. Also, just before dark, a line of shackled prisoners were brought into the area. They didn’t bother taking them anywhere special; they simply shoved them all in that holding pen.