by TW Brown
I used my time up here to scout the surroundings. I could see a fair distance considering that it was still dark. The moon was reflecting off the snow and, judging by the sky, it was gonna be a clear day when the sun came up. The good news was that there was very little zombie activity on the interstate. I imagine that—except for the ones trapped in their cars—most of the fiends of the undead variety prefer the residential areas or anyplace living folk might congregate. The bad news was that I couldn’t really see inside the camp. I was barely able to discern the switchback, maze-like trail through the coils of razor wire.
I managed to acquire a two-way radio. It seems that the dumbass who had been on watch had chose to leave it behind. I plugged in the earpiece and was relieved that I heard no chatter. I wasn’t sure if these creeps had a scheduled check-in, but since things were about to get nasty, I didn’t really care. There was also a half-empty canteen of something resembling coffee and a crate of bolts for the crossbow. The sweetest find was a .357 magnum and a box of hollow-point bullets. A quick check of the cylinder revealed it was fully loaded with six rounds. I did a count of what I had in the box and was delighted to discover I had forty-three rounds.
I shoved the huge handgun in my jacket pocket, then fired off a few shots with the crossbow to get used to the feel and aim. I was pleased. Still nothing in my ear on the radio, and I figured to have no more than an hour before the sun would start to lighten the eastern sky.
I climbed down and made my way through the razor wire and into the trees. Not having any idea what sort of traps they might have here, I used my spear to prod the ground ahead of me. After what seemed an eternity, I reached the edge of the small wooded area and discovered a clearing.
These folks were small-time. I would discover later on that they hadn’t laid the wire or set up the scaffold watch tower. There were five tents. In front of each tent was a small fire pit. Only three had embers still glowing.
I decided to check the tents with the cold pits in front first. One just happened to be the closest and was empty inasmuch that there were no people, living or dead, inside. I did take note that there were two sleeping bags rolled out. I crept to the other and discovered mostly the same thing, empty, but only one rolled out sleeping bag.
Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for what I had to do next. I had a flash for just a moment where I wondered if I could kill defenseless, sleeping, live humans. (Notice how I didn’t say innocent, I need not have worried.)
I peeked into the closest tent with a fire dying in front. The first thing I noticed was Jenifer. She was bound and gagged with a couple of ratty blankets thrown over her. I had enough light to see she was shivering. There were two mangy-looking males (I won’t dignify them by calling them men) in sleeping bags. One was snoring, lying flat on his back. I fired the crossbow standing right above the non-snoring one. The bolt went through the temple and pinned him to the ground by the head. He never made a peep. I used my spear and drove it in at an angle into the wide-open mouth on Mister Snorey. The tip came out the crown of his head.
Jenifer woke with a start, eyes wide with fear that could be seen even in the shadows. I knelt in front of her and touched my finger to my lips. It took her a few seconds to realize it was me. I cut her loose and ungagged her once she settled down. She gave some rather frightful looks at the two corpses, then, flipped Mister Snorey over and felt around under his sleeping bag. She came up with a sword that reminded me a lot of something from Arabian Nights. It was curved at the end and appeared very sharp.
I whispered an inquiry as to where we might find Dominique. She led me to a tent, pointed and held up one finger. That shouldn’t be too tough, I thought. Peeking in, I realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Dom was snuggled up under the arm of her…captor? He wasn’t a boy, but I couldn’t classify him as a man. I put him at no younger than sixteen, but no older than twenty. I had to walk in and get close enough to put the crossbow bolt in the center of his head. He jerked, which woke Dominique. Jenifer and I had to hold her down and cover her mouth. She actually bit me. God help me, but I wanted to put a bolt in her head, too. Had I been reloaded…well…it’s all speculation.
Still, I knew we had one more tent, and according to Jen-ifer, two more men out on watch. I had to act fast. Not being able to trust Dominique at that moment, I tied her up and gagged her.
There were two more that Jenifer and I dealt with quickly and quietly. Then I got one of the fires going. I stoked up the one in front of the tent I’d found Jenifer in, then moved to one of the empty tents so I could wait and ambush whoever came through that flap. I told Jenifer to sit with Dominique, but not to untie her under any circumstances.
It was almost too easy. The occupants of this tent came in together and, since I didn’t care about being silent anymore, I had the shotgun waiting. I didn’t give a damn about taking prisoners or any of that crap. I pulled the trigger and blasted the first guy through. The buckshot made a mess of the entire middle of his body and knocked him back a step. It also dinged up the arm of the second guy.
I sprung to my feet and dashed out into the open air. The one I’d hit good was staring up at the sky making fish-like movements with his mouth as blood bubbled and frothed from it. The other was a kid, no more than fifteen. He was holding a fairly ruined elbow, and carrying on like a big baby.
After taking his gun—a .22 caliber, six-shot revolver—the buck-knife on his belt, and what looked like a Roman Centurion’s sword that was strapped to his side in a homemade sheath, I decided to ask a few questions. At first, he just kept hollering and calling me “bitch” and “whore” which I was able to ignore. When he called me a “stupid cunt” I’d had enough of being nice. I stood up, stepped on his bad arm and shot him in the hand—effectively pinning it to the ground—with my crossbow. Then I did the same with the left. He put up quite a struggle, but, being just a scrawny kid with what I could call a very low tolerance for pain, I managed.
The name calling stopped and eventually, as the sun began to brighten the sky, he settled down to quiet sobbing. I discovered that my lone survivor’s name was Robby Mitchell. He is fourteen. His older brother, the one with the shotgun blast pattern in his chest, is Brett Mitchell and he was twenty. The other names and ages weren’t worth remembering, but ranged from sixteen (the one sleeping with Dominique) to twenty-eight. They found this camp five weeks ago and had decided to call it home. Robby claims there were no living survivors here when they found it.
I considered letting him go. His chances of survival would be minimal. But…there’s always that chance. And of course he begged to be set free…promised not to ever bother us again. It was all the other guys’ fault. Blah, blah, blah. I put a bolt in his chest after I stuffed a wad of his brother’s shirt in his mouth. Hey…he refused the blindfold.
I did a tour of the perimeter. Whoever set up this camp did an okay job. There isn’t much to see. This place is heavily wooded, and the razor wire does a good job of snagging the zombies. If a herd ever came, all bets would be off. But the dozen or so stragglers are a minimal threat. Jenifer and I will take watch shifts the next day or so and decide our next move. I don’t know what to do about Dominique, and I lack the energy and patience to talk to a twelve-year-old sporting an attitude.
Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday, November 27
I wonder if I was such an absolute bitch when I was twelve. According to Dominique, I am a filthy, murdering bitch who is no better than the zombies we are trying to avoid becoming one of. No matter what those bastards did to Sean—who Dominique had a crush on just about a week ago—apparently he “deserved what he got since his ways were against God, and it is those ways that got the world in trouble.” Yeah…that’s the direct quote.
I reminded her that Jenifer was found tied up and gagged. It seems that Jenifer refused to accept the message of “The Genesis Brotherhood” and was being “chastened” for her sins of denial.
It seems that during the in
terrogation, Robby failed to mention that he and his “brothers” were out on a foraging mission. They were “foraging” for women to bring back to their main encampment where it is our “duty” as women to offer our bodies as vessels to revive mankind.
Dominique now sees herself as one of their vessels. If I can’t talk sense into her…I may be forced to do the unthank-able…leave her behind.
Sunday, November 30
Late last night Jenifer and I left a bundle of the supplies that we’d scavenged from the site, along with some of the stuff from the house we’d looted, for Dominique. We had no choice but to leave her. Every time we tried taking off the gag she would start screaming.
Before we slipped out, I cut her bonds enough so she could eventually free herself. Perhaps the decision to leave her was wrong. Cruel? I just don’t know anymore. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve really doubted my actions.
Tonight, Jenifer and I are camped in an office complex, on the eighth floor. We are huddled together for warmth. That, and Jenifer doesn’t want to be alone. I can only imagine what she’s been through since she won’t tell me. I do know that she is aware of the ordeals that I faced, so perhaps she’ll talk. Eventually. I know that keeping it bottled up inside is a bad thing.
Rain is starting to fall. That is actually a blessing. It will wash away the snow and make it more difficult to track us. I’ve no doubt that, if she knows where it is, Dominique will try to make for the encampment of The Genesis Brotherhood.
Monday, December 1
My back is killing me. I feel like I spent a day at my uncle’s place splitting firewood. Jenifer and I woke up to the sound of dozens of the undead. Their moans drifted on the morning air along with the occasional baby-cry that, for some reason, tugged at something deep inside me. Stupid pregnancy!
I got to the door when I saw the first of them. A child…figures. He could’ve been Dennis the Menace…well, if he were rendered during the Picasso Blue Period. His mouth opened and a low raspy sound ended the spell. Jenifer had the shotgun, but I got a good look at the surroundings and knew we could hold our position with handheld weapons.
Using a small-scale version of how we’d cleared that compound in the Trout Creek-Noxon area, I stepped into the hallway with the Centurion Sword and told Jenifer to take shots with the crossbow. Priority would be given to the ones coming through the wide open door that led to the stairwell. (I coulda sworn Jenifer shut it when we got here last night.) That would bottleneck them and keep the flow to a trickle. We would trade off when there was a big enough break in the action. At first, it wasn’t too bad. Twenty minutes in, I got worried. I had Jenifer run to a few windows. My fear was that the building was surrounded by a herd and that we were screwed.
Fortunately, and I only use that word in a relative sense, there was nothing but a few stragglers outside. I briefly considered making a run for it, but I didn’t want to leave the fifty or so bolts we’d fired from the crossbow unless absolutely necessary. Still, I did have Jenifer check the other stairwell. She came back with an “all clear”…just in case.
Eventually the trickle stopped. We very carefully retrieved our bolts. By careful I mean I drove the spear into each one’s head before retrieving our ammo. Once we’d rounded everything up and repacked our gear, we slipped out the other stairwell.
I was in the lead as we reached the bottom. I pushed the bar, opening the door. Just as I did, this huge woman burst through the door that would’ve led inside to the first floor lobby. She could’ve really hurt Jenifer if not for the backpack. Still, the two went to the floor and Jenifer’s head clipped the bottom stair. She’d turned on instinct and managed to twist sideways when the huge woman slammed into her.
At first, I was just as stunned by the sudden attack. Then, like an idiot, I yelled for Jenifer to get the thing’s head up. Only…well…she was on the edge of consciousness and completely helpless. Just as that beast was about to sink its teeth into Jenifer’s face, I grabbed a handful of its greasy, disgusting hair and yanked its head up. The thing growled and instantly forgot how close it was to one meal to focus on a new possibility. I jammed my knife into its one remaining good eye. Vile fluid burst forth, and the stench hit me as hard as any fist. I staggered back…right into another one of those bastards that had walked up the long ramp that led from a parking lot that was starting to get a little too busy. And now that we’d drawn attention to ourselves, we had no choice, we had to run.
I pushed the scrawny old lady-zombie back and unslung my spear. She’d been wearing a nylon, purple sweatsuit. Still had wrist-weights strapped on. I could see blood all down her front, and dried on her hands and mouth, but no sign of an injury. I jabbed Super-granny in the face, feeling that initial resistance, then the surge as the heavy, sharpened spike pierced through facial bones and plunged into soft brain. I only briefly saw the exposed flesh of her hamstring on the back of the left leg. She’d been blindsided. Poor old lady.
I shoved the huge meat-sack off of Jenifer. She was bleeding from a nasty gash on her forehead. I pulled her up and slung her arm over my shoulder and urged her to try and run. As we reached the parking lot, the once spread out stragglers were now clusters. We were slow, but able to pick our path. I had to dump Jenifer over a waist-high fence that bordered the huge back lot of a nursery. Using all the neatly stacked rows of peat, sawdust, and fertilizer for cover, we eluded the mob and made it to a small one bedroom house.
I could tell that Jenifer really needed to find a spot to rest, so I ducked into a side yard of the first house we came to and, after slipping through a couple of overgrown backyards, found a house without all the windows busted out. We caught a break because, not only did I find an unlocked door, but the place was empty. We’ll stay away from any windows and camp here…at least for the rest of today and overnight. I remember hearing something about having to keep people with head injuries from sleeping too much, so, for the rest of today and tonight I’ll stay awake…keep watch, and wake Jenifer up every so often.
Tuesday, December 2
Jenifer is gonna have a nasty scar. I took some duct tape that I found in a drawer in the kitchen and used that to hold the wound shut. She seems a bit warm and got sick a couple of times. I’m worried about her.
Thursday, December 4
Jenifer seems to be feeling better. This house has been a bit of a blessing, and a lesson. We are grossly under-equipped. If we’d been stuck anyplace else…it is possible that Jenifer would be dead by now.
I was able to find some Tylenol, anti-bacterial ointment, and Isopropyl alcohol. That is the only thing that probably kept the wound from becoming infected. Had that happened…
I’ve been hearing gunfire off and on at all times of the day and night since we set up camp in this little one-bedroom house. This morning I even had a bit of a scare. A herd came through. It was only a small one—two or three thousand—but they left a trail of ruin in their wake. They plowed through anything in their path. All the yards as far as I can see in both directions are stomped flat. There are parts and pieces littering the place.
We stayed in the bathroom, huddled in the tub until I didn’t hear any bouncing or smacking against the walls. I heard a few windows break. Thankfully, none here. Tomorrow we move out.
Friday, December 5
Picked up two new members of our group. Well…sorta. Jonathan Scott…he is about six feet tall, and about two hundred and eighty pounds. He is twenty and an Oregon native. He keeps his head shaved save for a Mohawk stripe down the middle, and has fierce brown eyes. His skin is so black it almost looks purple, and even his fingers seem to have muscles. Then, there is Jonathan’s companion; Coach. Coach is a dopey Golden Retriever.
Jonathan used to be a student at the University of Oregon majoring in journalism and playing football. He made his way to the Portland Metro area in search of his family. He found them. Then he buried them. That is just about all he’ll say about that.
Coach was the neighbor’s dog. H
e said that after he dealt with his family, he heard a ruckus coming from the house next door. Figuring that those folks had suffered the same fate as his family, he went over to put them to rest. He was surprised to find the place empty of undead. Even more surprising was that Coach was inside. Alive and well. Although the house was an absolute mess. The funniest part to Jonathan was that Coach had done some rather interesting things to stay alive, including the use of the neighbor’s koi pond as one source of water. Being well house-trained, the clever dog took full advantage of the large, fenced-in backyard. There were a few bones in back…eww. Apparently, Coach is either immune, or eating a zombie doesn’t turn dogs.
By the way…dogs really hate zombies. That is how we met in a way. Jenifer and I were up on top of the house, scouting for any signs of movement, when we heard a sound that took us a minute to identify; a dog’s bark. Up until then, we’d been sure that the streets were clear. It was quiet and nothing was moving. The barking got closer, and then we saw something that was quite disturbing. From under a pair of cars, two sets of dead hands came out, clutching at the air. Those hands were attached to a pair of hideous zombies. Both were legless, one was actually missing everything from just below the ribcage. It was as if they were lying in wait like a pair of trapdoor spiders. My guess is that they’d been hidden for a while. Both were filthy beyond the normal nastiness.