Zomblog: The Final Entry

by TW Brown

  My walking stick was actually leaning by the doorway out on the porch. I grabbed it and jabbed it through the freakishly tall female zombie’s chin and up into her head where it burst out through the top of the skull. I let the body fall off the porch and free up my walking stick.

  I grabbed the canteens and the backpack from just inside the door. I knew that there was no time to pack anything. Going inside would likely seal my fate. I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t run. So, that’s what I did. I ran. Just like Rose and the Doctor…Sam and I ran.

  We made our way back to the wide swathe where Highway 78 used to be—it is so washed out through here that it really looks like nothing more than a very wide trail. All that day I kept up a fast walk or slow jog. Sam trotted alongside me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like everything was just fine and dandy.

  We passed cars and trucks. Some empty. Some not. But we never stopped. Every time I looked over my shoulder, I saw them. At some point, I actually stopped looking. But as the shadows of the early evening began to grow long, and a chilly breeze began drying the sweat that still clung to my body, I looked to find…nothing. It was as if it had all been an illusion.

  That was when I realized that the area around me was changing. The trees were gone. Just before it got dark, I passed a sign that said something about lava fields.

  We actually backtracked and found a place to camp for the night where we still had trees to hide amongst. Sometime in the middle of the night, that herd must’ve stumbled upon the camp or base of the guys that we had it out with the other day. The sounds of distant gunfire and those awful screams came. It sorta reminded me of microwave popcorn. It started slow, and then there was a flurry, then a few aftershocks of noise…then silence.

  My desire to continue on was hampered by the fact that I was exhausted. I didn’t feel I would be able to push through a day under the sun if I didn’t get some rest. Also, Sam didn’t look like he could go on much more. His head had drooped at some point and he was barely getting his feet off the ground by the time that we stopped. The last factor was that we would be out of water soon. I didn’t want to miss even the tiniest creek.

  The rest of the night, I slipped in and out of sleep. I woke to a pale sky without even the slightest wisp of a cloud. There wouldn’t be any relief from the sun. And it was already showing signs of getting warm. The only good news that day was the lack of any signs or sounds of zombies…or survivors from that camp or compound that got overrun.

  Thursday, June 10

  Being completely on my own seems weird. I can’t actually remember being alone like this since this whole thing started. Sure, there have been moments; periods of time when I was all by myself. But right now, for the first time, I am totally alone.

  I woke this morning and crawled out of the bushes that I’d chosen to hide in while I slept…and discovered that Sam is gone. I’ve called him. I’ve looked around.

  Nothing.

  I am in the middle of nowhere.

  Alone.

  I haven’t moved from this spot in the hopes that my stupid dog will come back. I can’t stay for long because I have less than a quarter of a canteen left as of right now and haven’t found any water. I won’t die of thirst. I can backtrack if need be in order to refill at one of those mountain streams.

  Tomorrow, I will press on and give myself a full day to find more water. But today…today…I’m just gonna sit here.

  And cry.

  Saturday, June 12

  No dog. No zombies. Nothing. Although I am nestled in on this rock that has a clump of scrubby looking bushes sticking out from the—wall? No, that isn’t right, but it will have to do. I am above a creek that is tiny enough to step over. Oh yeah, and I’m roasting a pair of rabbits that I nailed with my crossbow.

  I got all my tears out yesterday. I don’t think that all of them were for my dog. Even as quiet as he was, I miss having Eric around. He was something special.

  Sunday, June 13

  Reached a three-way intersection this morning. The military will never make sense to me. They had a large presence here. There is a giant, fenced perimeter with about a hundred zombies milling behind the ten foot high barricade. All of them are wearing the remnants of their uniforms.

  I saw a few things in there that looked very tempting. But there is no realistic way that I could’ve gone in and made it out alive. If I were the heroine in an action film—I’m looking at you Mila Jojovich—I’d have gotten in with no problems.

  Anyways, south of that junction I came across an old graveyard. The stone wall around it was still intact, so that is where I am camped for the night. Of all things, there is a burned out restaurant in front.

  Sometimes you stumble upon something that makes you scratch your head. “Hey, waitress, could we get a window seat? We are here to visit grandma’s grave and might as well do that over the meatloaf special.”

  South. My trail leads me directly south. I know that if I keep heading that way, eventually I will reach Vegas. The only thing that sucks—besides the million other normal things associated with everyday life—is that when I grabbed my backpack and ran, I lost that nifty radio. Also, the gas station maps with our route highlighted were in Eric’s bag. My one consolation is that both Sam’s journal and mine were in my pack. I believe I would’ve risked going back if I’d left them behind. I just wish I’d had a little food and that radio in my pack.

  Thinking back, I realize just how sloppy I have gotten. I’d been relying on Eric. I won’t make that mistake again. Always be ready to run. That is Rule Number One when you are out in the wilderness. My backpack should always be stocked so that if I have to grab it and run, I’ll have all I need for a few days at least.

  Monday, June 14

  My only happiness in a while came today. I was actually kicking this rock and not doing anything more than convincing myself to keep putting one foot in front of another. Then my rock went under this RV. It wasn’t anything fancy. In fact, it looked far worse than could be accounted for with simple neglect, age, and weathering. This vehicle looked bad.

  There were brown stains all over the side door—old blood obviously. A body that had dried out to almost nothing but the skeleton was still in the driver’s seat. A wash of icky stuff was spayed all over the inside of the window from where the guy had eaten a bullet.

  I had to go in and take a look just in case there was something in there worth taking. Mostly I was hoping for food. I set down my pack and decided that my long knife would be my best weapon in such close quarters. I’d climbed up on the front bumper for a look inside, but just because I didn’t see anything didn’t mean it was safe.

  I pulled open the side door and was greeted by an old death smell. Not the nasty rot or zombie funk, just the bitter stench of old death. Nothing tumbled out or anything, so I went inside.

  This RV used to belong to a group of guys about my age—mid-twenties. They were a band. A folded up banner revealed a wordy if not intriguing name: James Dean Kindle and the Eastern Oregon Playboys. Guitar cases, keyboards, drums, and a variety of instruments that I could not identify were strewn about. The photos that I found in a scrapbook show the four of them performing. I only found two bodies. One of them was locked in the bathroom with an empty bottle of booze and a bunch of pill containers. That couldn’t have been pleasant.

  There is a lot of blood, long since dried and turned into a series of dark stains. Also, I found a hand with a bite out of it that had been chopped off and thrown in the sink. Poor bastard.

  As for food, I found a jar of rancid peanut butter, a lump of moldy cheese—at least I think it was cheese—and two tins of smoked sardines. I ate the fish and drank lukewarm water from my canteen while I enjoyed my real find: an iPod. It has all kinds of artists that I have never heard of before.

  Alexa Wiley…Laura Gibson…and of course JDK and the Eastern Oregon Playboys.

  The battery only lasted a little over an hour. Surprisingly, there was enough juice in th
e auxiliary battery of the RV for a full recharge. But it was neat listening to music. I probably would have never heard any of these people in the Old World. And the sad part is just how good they are. It almost seems like a crime that talentless, over-processed hacks like Britney and that Simpson girl got airplay while folks like this languished in anonymity.

  Then there were the pictures. You could tell that these boys had fun performing and playing music. And you could’ve walked right past them in the grocery store and not known how talented they were.

  I’m keeping the iPod in hopes of finding more opportunities to charge it. It would be nice to listen to them again. I didn’t travel far today. But it’s not like I have a schedule to keep.

  Tuesday, June 15

  I woke up this morning to a loner pawing at the side of the RV. Imagine my surprise when I threw open the side door—after taking a look out of all the windows to ensure it was just the one—and came face-to-face with the owner of the hand I’d found in the sink.

  As hard as it is to believe, one of the Playboys…or maybe JDK, hell, I don’t know…was standing there. He was barely recognizable from the pictures I’d seen yesterday. Funny thing is, I didn’t recognize his face so much as the remnants of the tattered shirt he was wearing. It was the same one I’d seen on the tall, skinny guitar player in several of the photos. I almost felt…something. Maybe like I was doing this thing a favor by ending its miserable undead existence when I stuck the knife in its temple. It was my way of saying, “Thanks for the music.”

  Then I did something very much not like me. As I sit beside this stream and watch the sun set, I still don’t know why. I dragged the body inside the RV with the other two and torched the thing. I punctured the gas tank and used a flare from the emergency roadside kit I found under the passenger’s seat.

  I can still see the dark smudge in the sky.

  Thursday, June 17

  People.

  I’ve come across a tent city built along what I assume was once an airstrip. There is literally nothing remarkable about this place. No fences, no barricades, nothing.

  The people here are friendly enough. I had a fantastic meal of rabbit stew and flat bread. They have gardens scattered about with a variety of things growing. They even have homemade soap! This nice lady gave me some—and encouraged me to “enjoy” it right away. I had a bath down at the stream that runs through just south of camp.

  They are a very religious group. But not religious in the crazy Genesis Brotherhood way…or any of the other wacky fringe types. These folks are actually very nice. They even invited me to church and didn’t flip out when I paused long enough for them to see that I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect.

  I can hear them over in the tent right now. They’re singing and sound legitimately happy. I catch snatches of the preacher’s sermon. He isn’t yelling or telling everybody how much they need to change. Actually, it sounds like he is just reading the bible.

  There is a little girl here. I’ve seen her two or three times. Just glimpses really. She is immune. One of her arms is scar tissue from elbow to wrist. She has a long, blonde braid and sparkly eyes. Each time that I see her, she is laughing.

  These people are frighteningly normal.

  Saturday, June 19

  Back on the road. Don’t get me wrong, the people were great, and it was nice to have conversations with somebody other than myself for a change. Not to mention the luxury of not having to worry about food, or becoming food if you nap too soundly. It just felt…crowded.

  Crazy. Right? Here I am, trying to reach a city like Las Vegas that might be secure enough to have electrical power, and I’m all buggy about a few dozen people living in a tent city.

  Honestly, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing anymore. Even worse, those folks told me that I am two or three days from the border town of McDermitt. It is thick with zombies, but reportedly has a good amount of scavengeable goods. Whole stores are intact. Imagine…aisles of canned goods…hygiene products. (That is good, because I’m due for a visit from Aunt Irma any day now, and what little I had in feminine products were left behind at the forestry center where Eric died.) There might even be some firepower to be had.

  I asked why it is that nobody has made a run on the place if it is so well stocked. It seems that the good people of Mc-Dermitt did the same thing as the folks at Burns. Only, the infection was already inside the walls. People have tried, but it never ends well. I guess you know where I am headed.

  Tuesday, June 22

  It has been a long, boring climb into these mountains. The good news is how cool it has been temperature-wise. I’ve been lucky. The bad part has been how cold the nights are. I had to sleep out in the open last night because I couldn’t find a vehicle or shack of any sort.

  Tonight, I am safe and sound in a firewatcher’s tower. It doesn’t have any windows, but it is off of the ground. There are telltale signs that other survivors have stayed here. The ground is littered with empty cans with labels faded into unreadability. Also, there is an arm. Well…that’s not entirely accurate. There are the skeletal remains of an arm; complete with missing pinky which was obviously bitten off.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single thing to drink. I had to bring my water from about two miles away. It wasn’t terrible, but it is inconvenient. I imagine that is why nobody stayed here permanently.

  The best find—besides this sturdy, secure tower—is all the blackberries. I used an empty plastic jug that I found and washed it out to gather a bunch. I easily ate more than I picked, which is why it took so long to eventually come up with a full jug to snack on when I start hiking again.

  There is a lot of wildlife in the area. Just sitting here snacking on blackberries, I’ve seen a pair of wolves, a deer, an elk (at least I think it was an elk), and a REALLY big bird that I think was an eagle. Oh…and bugs. Lots and lots of bugs.

  Tonight, I shall dine like a queen. The deer I mentioned? Yeah…it is dressed and a haunch is currently roasting over my fire. I dragged all the icky stuff down by the stream I mentioned that is a couple miles away in hopes that it will keep any wandering beasties far from my camp.

  Wednesday, June 23

  Wow! Last night, from up in the tower, I spotted over a dozen other fires scattered throughout these hills. A few were in clusters. This is perhaps the largest signs of life I have encountered since being in Portland. Of course, in Portland, you heard more than saw other people.

  I guess it makes sense. The zombie presence is minimal if not non-existent. There is an obvious abundance of wild game and fuel in the form of the wood. I imagine that farming is possible. Plus, there are lots of edible plants if you know what to look for (like Eric did). I wish I’d paid better attention when he came to me with all those leaves and roots.

  I’ll move on tomorrow.

  Thursday, June 24

  I am camped out in a completely looted, vile-smelling farmhouse. I had to backtrack here to camp for the night and get some good sleep. The walled town is only a few miles down the road. I want to get there just before sunrise to ensure the most time possible for exploring.

  I’ll get as much rest tonight as possible, but I have seen a few roaming stragglers. Just on my return trip to this place I had to put down a pair of zombies. They were holding hands! That’s the first time that I’ve seen something like that. My original thought as I was approaching was that perhaps they were stuck that way. I checked…the fingers were actually laced.

  Weird.

  Saturday, June 26

  Zombies are only a part of the problem. I’m in the high school locker room catching my breath from yesterday. And it wasn’t a zombie that almost did me in. Somebody has managed to exist here amidst at least a few hundred of the undead. What’s worse, they’ve set up booby-traps using the zombies! Or at least parts of them.

  I found the first such trap right after scaling the northern wall. I was near a building that I was fairly certain used to be a bank. All the windows were p
ainted black, but the doors were gone. I peeked in and a pair of dead hands snagged me by my hair. A creeper was suspended upside-down just above the main doorway. When I stepped inside, I triggered a release mechanism that dropped the thing right on top of me.

  To make things more entertaining in this little slice of Hell, I think at least half the zombies are wearing helmets. Somebody has way too much time on their hands.

  Since then, I’ve walked around blind corners to find a dozen still-animated heads suspended from wires, more creepers—many obviously made that way intentionally—than I have ever seen before in one place at one time. There are also regular traps designed to maim or kill. Even the rooftops have been rigged in places.

  My shoulders are sore from all the killing I did today. And while I haven’t seen this mystery person, I know that he or she is out there somewhere…watching me. Two of the traps that I triggered intentionally have been reset.

  Okay, I get it. This is “your” turf. But aren’t you being just a bit greedy? There is enough here for several people to live off of for another year or so easily. Using that time, gardens could be planted; the hills are teeming with animals that would keep an abundance of meat on the table.

  Oh well, this isn’t my problem. I just want to load up with enough essentials to last a while and be on my way. I’ll try to do this without going heads-up with the resident of this dead town. I’ve gathered a few things; womanly things, a sleeping bag, a stone and steel for blade sharpening,