Dead Woman's Journal

by Ann Christy

  What I do know is that another monster peeked out of the woods further down and made a beeline for it. This one didn’t look as dry as the other, but they’re in different stages along the same spectrum, and this second one is missing a hand. Both are naked and the bright blue, plastic bands are still around their wrists. Well, it’s around the wrist that still has a hand anyway. I know those bands. They identify FiRFs in hospitals. These two must be original Awakened. I wonder if something happened at the care home on the highway that caused it to disgorge more erstwhile patients into our woods.

  The new monster made its way to the other, then it tried to grab the chain and walk away. All that did was jostle the dry monster. It lurched to its feet and a sort of lunatic tug of war began between them. I pinched myself because it couldn’t possibly be happening. It was almost like slow motion. Their movements were halting, not at all like most of the monsters. It was almost like someone had hit slow motion on a surreal film I happened across while browsing the apocalypse channel.

  Rather than win or lose, they both seemed to lose interest. They sank to the ground and gnawed on their respective lengths of chain, completely ignoring each other.

  What is that about? What does that mean? And why do they want to eat the chain?

  Day 35 - Afternoon

  It started raining in earnest around late morning, so I went and did what Martin told me to do. He told me that he’d spread flammable materials all over their lower floor before he died. I made the Molotov cocktails just as he told me to. I tossed stones through the windows to break the glass and followed immediately with the flaming bottles.

  Their house went up with a whoosh after a halting start that made me worry I hadn’t tossed well. I don’t know what he spread all over, but when the popping explosions began inside, I backed well away. This is a huge risk, but we can’t leave a plague house standing either. He told me that the only true cure for plague was fire.

  For a few breathless minutes, I thought the house next door to them might catch, but the rain has soaked everything and it’s still pouring down in buckets. Heavy summer rain. It’s dependable around here and today, it’s helping me more than usual.

  It will help to wash the field too.

  Right now, I’m sitting on Fred and Linda’s porch and watching the fire. It’s burning well inside, but the wet roof and pouring rain are keeping it in check to some extent. I guess we’ll see if the whole neighborhood burns down. I suppose I should be happy at how wide the lots are on this side of the neighborhood. If this were a regular subdivision, then the fires would have spread already.

  Day 35 - Night

  Gerald and Susan came out as far as the corner to peek at the progress of the fire. When I tried to walk over to them, they both held up their hands and told me to stay away. I understand, but it still hurt. I did warn them of what I was doing, and surprisingly, they didn’t have a problem with it. Perhaps the distance between their house and the other was great enough that they felt they were safe. Or maybe it was only that plague is more frightening than fire.

  When they came out, the rain was still pelting down in sheets. Our gutters were flooding, which isn’t that uncommon given our low elevation and the rivers nearby. It ran over their rain boots like a tiny white-water stream. I almost wanted to step down from the sidewalk and create my own little bit of white-water. I didn’t though. I didn’t want to scare them by coming even one step closer.

  The fire seemed to have already done its worst by that point. Part of the porch collapsed, which was very loud, but once the windows cracked and broke upstairs, the rain seemed to keep it in check. I heard cracking and creaking that I thought might be the roof. All of us stiffened, waiting for the house to collapse, but it didn’t. It still seems largely intact, a few dark holes in the roof visible from the ground.

  Their solar panels are even in place, though fire licked around the edges and their glass appears dull and blackened to me. Sooty is how I’d describe it, though I’m sure it’s far more serious than mere soot. I’m sure I heard cracking there too, so I’m counting those a total loss. Well, with the wiring in the attic, it would have been a loss anyway.

  Gerald and Susan watched for a while longer, the hoods of their slickers pulled up and shadowing their faces. I stood across the street and watched with them. For some reason, I couldn’t go inside and leave them out there. After a time, I felt their eyes on me. When I looked over, they told me they were leaving. I guess I sort of expected that and nodded, asking where they would go.

  They told me they were heading for the ocean or the bay. They would look for a larger boat and ride this out on the water.

  Again, I nodded, because we’d discussed that as a group a few times over the last weeks. It seems like an attractive option, except that it’s simply another place with another whole set of challenges. Depending on where they decide to look, they’ve got between ten and thirty miles to go before they hit harbors leading to the outer bay or ocean.

  The surrounding cities are covered in harbors and slips for rent. There are hundreds of boats all tied up and waiting for their owners to take them out for a week or two each summer. Even so, once this nightmare began, a lot of people probably thought about the water and those waiting boats. I’d be willing to bet most of those once crowded facilities are bare, the slips empty.

  I had arguments ready, but they surprised me by saying they were taking the kayaks. They told me so I wouldn’t need to worry about the barrier being moved. After an awkward moment, they asked if I wanted to join them. I’m not sure if they wanted me to say no and asked only out of politeness or if they just knew I would say no. They didn’t seem surprised when I declined. After all, they’ll only talk to me from across the street, so how could I join them in their journey? I wished them good luck and that was that.

  They’re still here, so maybe they’ll change their minds, but I don’t think so. We started with so many people, yet in a short span of days, we’ve lost almost everyone. I think they know they can’t survive here. We seemed so well set up, so perfectly placed, but the truth is that no one is well set up for this. No one is safe.

  Perhaps it’s true that the only safety is to be found on water. I don’t know, but I understand their need to try. Here it’s begun to feel as if we’re being hunted by something much better at hunting than we are at avoiding being caught.

  I’m still sitting here with the pen and the journal, but I haven’t written in a few minutes. I’ve been thinking, and I think I’ve only just now realized that I’m going to be truly, absolutely, alone. And given the situation, I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

  Doesn’t that suck? I say yes, it does.

  Day 36 - Morning

  I wish I could hug them goodbye. I didn’t realize the last time I would ever be touched by another human was when Fred hugged me. Now, he’s dead. So quickly, so completely, everything has changed. There didn’t seem to be any point of keeping a watch last night. I have to sleep sometime, so I did.

  I left the window open a little, so I could hear better, but closed it again when the air conditioning kept kicking on. It’s amazing how much cool air can be lost through a little opening like that.

  So, when I woke up this morning, I had no clue what might be waiting for me. It’s rather hair-raising once the fog of sleep fades. After one wonderful moment of pleasure at waking normally, the realization that absolutely anything could be outside hit me like a smack in the face. I peered out all the windows as thoroughly as I could, but with all the houses and hedges and cars, who can really know if the neighborhood is clear?

  In the field, the two with the chain were visible only by the curves of their bodies and the gap in the tall grasses where they’ve flattened it. Both of them were still there, but lying down. When I opened the window, held my breath, and listened hard, I heard the tink of their chain moving. For whatever reason, they seem content with it.

  My thoughts turned to Gerald and Susan immediately, of course.
Did they change their minds? Will they change their minds? Are they gone? Are they still here?

  While we’re technically on the river and not the bay, it’s all one body of water when you get right down to it. On the western end of our subdivision are the long lots I mentioned before, the ones that front the river heavy with marshes and mud. Part of the reason the owners can’t mess around with land by the river is governmental regulations, but part of it is sheer common sense.

  The tide rises and falls twice a day, and even here, miles away from the outer bay, it shows. When there are storms, the water can even grow a bit brackish, though it’s nothing that will kill a lawn. Fish spawn where the two rivers meet to the south of us, creating a sort of miniature bay. Eagles hunt that water from their perches in our trees.

  Like I said, for certain kinds of people, this place was ideal. It’s got some of the old wild nature left in it. Not much, but it’s there if you watch patiently.

  Everyone here knows the tidal cycles in a general sense, even me. It’s important to know and you’ve only got to ride out a single storm before the tides become a part of the background information that rides around in our heads. When we have storms with winds blowing off the water, the tides will pile up, unable to fully ebb.

  During those times, we have flooding in the street and it’s a general pain in the butt. It’s not bad, because all the houses here are built on tall crawl spaces, but it’s a pain nonetheless. We might have to move cars to higher ground where we have our barrier now or something of the sort. It’s all very wet and annoying, but there were also kayak races down the flooded streets, which was always fun.

  What does all this have to do with the price of tea? Well, it’s good information for you, I suppose. It can’t hurt to know what the place you’re in experiences during various weather conditions. Specifically, though, I’m thinking of Gerald and Susan…and when they might leave.

  They’ll have to leave at high tide if they want to do it smoothly and are taking kayaks. There’s one, very long pier that reaches the water on the west side of the subdivision. It belongs to one house—they got their permit before the rules changed—but most people here use it. We were lucky the owners were nice about the whole thing. For a long time, people would go to the old cargo loading station down the service road, but that’s dangerous. It’s old and creaky and will, at some point, fall into the river. I think that’s what spurred the city to fence it in the first place.

  Anyway, the neighborhood pier is rather low and pokey, but it will reach the shallow water, except it’s too shallow and the mud is very deep. Only at high tide can something like a loaded kayak be lowered in and not drag. And there’s no way to get through that mud. Not really. Not unless there’s been a long dry spell between the lunar tidal cycles. Children hop from clump to clump of marsh grass, but adults never make it without sinking into mud and risk losing their shoes.

  So, they need to leave at high tide, preferably when it’s about to shift to an ebb so that the current will aid them in their trip to the bay. That’s coming in a couple of hours at most. They’ll have another shot later, of course, but it will be devastatingly hot then. And that’s not to mention that they probably want as much daylight as possible. They’ll want to secure either a boat or a safe place to ride out the night while they search further.

  I’m guessing at all this, but it’s what I would do.

  Also, I’d bet they’re going to take the kayaks belonging to the Wilsons. They’re not even really kayaks, but rather some super-fancy version that makes everyone do a double-take when they pass on the river. They have sails that can be raised and lowered, fin-like things that can be pedaled instead of paddling, and outriggers with stretchy material they called trampolines. As I said, very fancy.

  They have three of them. Two with one seat, and one with two seats. The Wilson have even gone camping on them, with a quasi-tent that opens onto one of the trampolines just big enough for a person to tuck into and keep away from the mosquitos. The Wilsons were one of the many families that didn’t make it back that first day.

  If I were Gerald and Susan, I’d take one of those over a simple kayak any day.

  As I’ve been sitting here and writing, I’ve also kept my eye on the street side of the road. Sitting in my office, I have a good view of the outlet to Gerald and Susan’s street, though nothing more than a hint of their roof is visible through the trees behind Doris’s house. So far, nothing.

  It’s light out now, about six in the morning. They have roughly two hours to take advantage of the tides. They won’t want the slack tide, but they’ll want the water as deep as it can get, so they’ll need to time this right. I’m waiting.

  Oh, there’s Gerald now.

  Day 36 - Afternoon

  They’re gone, their two dogs happily loping along with them. Once they were gone, I think I fell into a sort of funk. Maybe it’s depression. I don’t know exactly, but as soon as they started into the current of the ebbing tide, it felt like the neighborhood had grown more silent than ever. It’s silly, because it’s no different than before, but it feels that way.

  This place feels like a long-deserted ghost town, some relic of the past not yet turned into a tourist attraction for future generations.

  And, it appears I am the last ghost.

  With nothing left to do and no one to be responsible for, I stood looking at the cooling shell of Paul and Martin’s house. It looks worse now that the fire is gone, blackened near every opening. The light spills through it strangely, like a place that should be avoided because something bad will come out of the shadows. Of course, that’s pretty much all places now, isn’t it?

  I’m not sure what impulse made me do it, but I stepped inside. The floor creaked alarmingly, and I was afraid I might go right through it, but it held. Feeling that safer was better than sorry, I kept my steps close to the beams beneath the floor. With the holes, it was easy to find them.

  I had this idea in my head that the living things would have been burned away, but they weren’t. Not even the little dog was completely gone. For a few minutes, I was indecisive, but in the end, there’s no way I could leave them there. It wouldn’t be right.

  Before touching anything, I got one of those crinkly white disposable suits from Fred’s stash of supplies. It was huge on me, but I felt safer wearing it, especially with a disposable mask and a pair of goggles on my face.

  It didn’t cut down on the smell though.

  It took a long time to get them wrapped in sheets from Fred’s house. Using the wheelbarrow, I brought them to our makeshift graveyard. I was surprised to see the hole in the ground and for a moment, I thought someone had dug up Fred and Linda. It wasn’t that. It was only that we hadn’t filled in the grave entirely. It had been too hot. I hadn’t realized we never came back to finish the job. How odd.

  Rather than fill that and then dig another big hole, I simply got to work widening the hole already there. It was hard and messy, and I confess that I felt very weird about standing on other bodies even though they were covered by two feet of dirt. It seemed right to have them all together, a little company in the afterlife.

  It was dark by the time I got done. I was covered in dirt and smelled terrible. It’s so dangerous to make noise outside, but I washed right out on my deck, in full view of the field beyond. The dry monster and its slightly less dry companion never made so much as a move to look. I suppose that’s one small mercy I get for being the last one standing. The neighborhood is too silent to attract attention anymore.

  Day 37 - Afternoon

  I’ve been watching the field. The two chain-eaters fascinate me for some reason. Maybe they’re company now that the people are gone. No more have come out of the woods, and that’s a new development too. Is it because the care home on the highway is finally empty? Is it because there’s nothing left in the woods near the highway to lure passing monsters inside? Is it because there’s no activity here in the neighborhood to entice them out of the woods?<
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  It could be any of those things, or a combination of those things. Maybe that’s the real key to surviving now; being alone. If so, I find that incredibly sad.

  I’m curious about what’s going on beyond this tiny neighborhood, beyond our woods. That’s also new. The last thing I wanted to know when all this started was how bad it was for everyone else. Now, I’m itching to know what remains of our old world. Are there loads of people doing fine and eating croissants with their mochas each morning? Or is the world empty of anything save monsters?

  I’d like to know. And now, I have no reason not to go and find out. There are no others that I need to work to keep safe, no others to which I owe a duty, no company here to entice me to stay. If I die out there somewhere, who will know or even notice? Well, I suppose I have a duty to you who find this house—these houses.

  Before I go, I’ll be sure to make everything as ready as I can. And I’ll write down what I’ve done for you that will help you make this your home. Maybe you’ll be the only ones who wonder what happened to me, where I went, what I found. Or maybe you’ll remember some monster in the woods with artificial legs and realize that was me. Who knows?

  Only you do.

  Day 38 - Evening

  I’ve done as much as I can. Of course, there’s always something more to do if one looks hard enough, but that would be picking at details. I’ve set up the solar in the remaining houses so that the load is conserved as much as possible. I’ve moved the food so that all the eggs aren’t in one basket, so to speak, dividing the remaining frozen food between the houses with solar as evenly as can be done.

  So, be sure to check the freezers.

  I’m going to move the barricade, and since I don’t know if I might not be in a hurry on my way back, I’m going to leave it gapped enough for me to get my car back. I’ve checked to be sure our corpse piles are still merrily stinking, so they’ll continue to deter newcomers. And I’m going to take my car.