Zomblog

by T. W. Brown

  Anyways, Creeper-boy sprang from behind this really thick bush. I was bear-walking up this particularly steep section of slope at the time. His hands caught my left arm and we both went tumbling down the hill. The fall wasn’t as bad as hitting the tree trunk at the end.

  Funny, I remember thinking of something my grandpa used to say when I was a kid.

  “It ain’t the fall that hurts, Sam…it’s the sudden stop at the end.”

  All the wind left me in a rush and Creeper-boy is on top of me now, still clutching my left arm. With the air knocked out of me, I was as weak as a kitten.

  So, I could only watch as Creeper-boy pulled my arm to his mouth. I couldn’t even scream when his teeth tore into my flesh, or when his head jerked back and I watched him chew while my blood dribbled down his chin.

  When he took his second bite, I could scream. Instantly I understood the pain in all those screams I’d heard before of those who were being eaten alive.

  Then Roy was there, grabbing Creeper-boy by the shoulders, tossing him to the side and crushing his skull with three swings of an aluminum baseball bat.

  Seconds later, everyone is there, and I look up and see it in their eyes. I’m already dead. Jimmy is wrapping a strip of cloth above the elbow and pulling it tight to stop the bleeding.

  That was when I passed out.

  I woke up in this dark room. Meredith was beside me. I notice she has a .44 magnum sitting in her lap.

  It seems the group decided to return to Thompson Falls. The town sorta runs east-west and I guess we are in some farm house that was just north. It sits on a ridge and looks down on this long open field that slopes gently away to the town proper.

  So, here I lie with a pen and paper in hand. I will continue to document this as long as I can. When I woke, Meredith kissed me on the cheek and left the room after sitting in silence for a bit. Neither of us know what to say. I am a bit surprised they didn’t just put me down when I passed out. It’s not like we all don’t know that eventuality of what will happen. Maybe they are hoping I’m like Kevin Davis and hold some kind of immunity.

  I guess we’ll see.

  Wednesday, June 18

  I feel awful.

  It is like every hangover I’ve ever had, but all at the same time. My arm feels like it has been dipped in napalm. What makes it even worse is that I can smell myself. I’m pretty sure that we can rule out immunity.

  Judging by the looks in everybody’s eyes, I think they know that, too. I heard them arguing quietly and I’m pretty sure they want to just put me down and move on.

  Every time I feel myself doze off, I imagine it to be the last time I will be amongst the living. Yet each time, I awake.

  I should just ask for a gun and be done with this. Only…when you know you are on the last leg—at least for me—you want each minute.

  Meredith sits with me now. We can’t seem to say anything. She knows. I know. That’s really all that there is.

  I don’t want to talk about Joey or any of that stuff because it would only make things worse for the two of us and I’d rather just allow these final days…hours…minutes…seconds…simply to pass.

  Besides, talking hurts.

  Thursday, June 19

  CAN NOT KEEP FOOD DOWN. EYES BURN. HEAD POUNDING.

  THE SMELL…

  Friday, June 20

  Early morning

  I’ve spent the last few days reading Sam’s journal. Some of it I knew…some not.

  Right now he is lying in a corner of the walk-in closet that we’ve kept him in since arriving at this house.

  It is clear that he is in the final stages. In fact, I don’t expect him to see tomorrow. Not that he is seeing anything at this point. He hasn’t opened his eyes since early yesterday.

  Caren is here with me, just in case. I made it clear that I will be the one to put the bullet in his head when he stops breathing. I guess they worry that I may not be able to do it.

  It is funny how people try to impress their own weaknesses on others. Perhaps it helps them cope if they think more people are like them.

  Sure, it’s sad. I loved Sam. At least I loved him as much as you can in such situations. There were great memories and all, but he’s not the kind of guy I would’ve been with before all this shit. Don’t get me wrong, he was okay to look at and smart. But…

  Evening

  Sam is dead.

  He sorta gasped for a few final breaths, then, he stopped. Actually it was Caren who noticed and got my attention. I knelt beside him and held his hand as he sighed out his last breath.

  I put the pillow over his face, pressed my gun to it, and pulled the trigger. Still a bit loud, but it’s been a couple of hours and none of the locals have wandered up to investigate.

  I will miss Sam. I’ve decided that I will keep up his journal. After reading it I have come to the conclusion that this may eventually be the only historical account of what happened to society.

  The group wants to wait another day before trying to leg it back to Irony. Maybe tomorrow we can bury Sam before heading out. Or…perhaps we can torch this house like a funeral pyre and he can be the distraction that aides in our escape.

  I don’t want to sound cold or callous, but the reality is all about survival now. All the old rules from the past are gone. You have to be ready to make hard choices and let nothing go to waste.

  When you think about it…we are pioneers. No, we aren’t discovering anything new. But, we are re-settling civilization. There are no rules, no laws. I’ve experienced it firsthand. Lest you forget…I was held as a commodity. Repeatedly raped by a man who once wore a badge and served as a sheriff…a figure of law.

  That happened because I foolishly believed in the tenets of our now deceased society. I mistakenly believed that the rules still applied. I sought protection and care under the umbrella of somebody besides myself. I still held to that premise that a man could give safety. I relied on another person to care for my well-being.

  That will get a person killed.

  I’m not saying we don’t need one another to survive. I am saying that everything has changed. To have a chance, you need to be capable of caring for yourself first and foremost. In this world, only the strong will survive.

  My name is Meredith Gainey and I am strong.

  Saturday, June 21

  There is no reason to hurry. We slipped into town this morning for some supplies. This place might be an undiscovered gold mine.

  Roy and I decided to sneak out while everybody was asleep. We left a note so nobody would freak. Of course there was the awkward, “Are you okay?” crap. But I stopped, turned him to face me so he could get an honest appraisal and told him, “People die these days. It is sad, but true. I’ll miss him, but, I rest well knowing that he won’t be wandering around like these mobile bags of pus infecting others, and that I didn’t get bitten.”

  Then Roy goes into this whole, “I thought you two were in love and gonna start a family with Joey.” I nod. “Yep. But It didn’t happen that way. And just maybe, if all of this settles down, I will grieve the loss and cry. For now…I quit cryin’ after the hundredth time I was gang raped back in Pasco by the county Sherriff and his crew. That used up all my tears. As for being in love…I was in love with the idea of being in love. Now…I don’t know.”

  Roy didn’t talk anymore after that. We snuck into town, ducking behind cars, peeking around corners. Then I spotted what I came for: BEN’S OUTDOORS AND SPORTSMAN SHOP. None of the windows are broken!

  The plague or whatever this is must’ve come quick and decisive because this place is untouched and it is a gold mine. We had to use the back alley entrance but it was a big metal door just like we had at the 24-Hour Fitness I use to work at. Having left my keys a few times, I am actually somewhat of a professional at jimmying locks.

  Presto! We’re inside with hardly a peep. The air is stale and slightly bitter, but there is no trace of “dead” in the air. Still, better safe than sorry, and I sent Roy
up one aisle as I worked the other. We spent ten minutes confirming what I was already fairly sure of.

  There are bows, arrows, knives, and at least forty shotguns and two dozen rifles of all different calibers. Also, ammo. LOTS! Throw in the camping gear and this is the lottery and a Vegas jackpot wrapped up and waiting under the Christmas tree.

  I grabbed a Tri-Star 12-gauge over/under and a Reming-ton 597 .22. I swapped out the standard scope for a nice laser job that I found in the manager’s office. Once both were loaded, I made sure I had an acceptable amount of spare ammo. Then I began looking for a few blades. It is comforting to be carrying that extra weight again. I’ve felt naked ever since I had to lose everything in the river before I ended up on the bottom. I look forward to going out and fine tuning the sights on my new weapon.

  More good news. Survival rations! Box loads! They taste awful. But for quick, convenient, and at least moderately nutritious food…they will do. That means we’ll need to bring the rest of the gang down to supply up before we jet outta town.

  There are a bunch of 4x4’s here. Roy can probably get one started even if damn near everything is likely dead as the folks in this town from sitting so long. Otherwise, well it’s a long walk to Irony.

  Roy and I will slip out tonight just around the time it is dark. I’m leaving the place unlocked. Zombies aren’t much on opening doors unless they hang out for a long time. It’s like some memory flash comes and reminds the hand how a door works. It’s just not a thing that they remember or can recall at will. This place should be fine overnight.

  Sunday, June 22

  I guess everybody thinks I’m some sort of heartless bitch now. Apparently I should be in mourning. This just really pisses me off, because all that tells me is that, this whole time, these people haven’t seen me. They’ve seen an extension of Sam.

  When Roy and I returned last night, I handed out food to everybody, sat down, popped open a room temperature bottle of beer and just tried to relax. Kyle came over and sat down next to me. I could tell right away that something was on his mind.

  “What?” I turned and finally asked after about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence.

  “You should go ahead and cry.” He stared back with this look that I imagine he used as his “our thoughts and prayers are with—insert figure here—” face that he looked into the camera with when he was a news anchorman. After I just glared back at him with no reply, he went on, “It’s okay, we miss Sam also.”

  “Look,” I decided to clue these folks in to who Meredith Gainey is, “I liked Sam. I’ll miss him. But people die a lot more frequently these days than they used to. We had a thing and it was nice. Only, if you want the truth, he wasn’t exactly my type. For one, he was a bit too gentle and I like to know my lover is there. Know what I mean?”

  That shut everybody up. Hey, I’m not saying I enjoyed being raped. People tend to get rough confused with pain. You more gentle folks might turn away for this next line…making love is fine, but sometimes, a gal just wants to be fucked.

  That was a problem in our old society. It was fine for guys to talk about “slappin’ that ass” and such. But, if the girl dares to exhibit anything beyond puritanical sexuality…well…”Hello whore!”

  There were actually those in that gang of perverts who thought I would enjoy being a sex slave for a bunch of horny guys…

  Well, now I’ve gone and gotten myself all angry. Kyle must sense it because he hasn’t come within twenty feet of me since our “talk.” Oh, and I guess they took Sam’s body down to the house’s basement while I was gone.

  I’m hoisting what seems to be my seventh bottle of room temperature Samuel Adams Dark Lager and saluting the recently deceased. They’ll bury him tomorrow after we get back from town. These people are big on planning. I don’t know if they’ve kept track, but our plans usually end up getting scrapped five minutes in.

  I mean really, ten of us left Irony for some compound on the Idaho/Montana border. Now there are five of us. We had a pair of deuce-and-a-half military trucks, a Hummer, and a bunch of supplies. Now we are eating dehydrated survival rations and hoping we don’t have to walk back to Irony.

  Go figure.

  Monday, June 23

  Finally! A chance to move. We all made it down to BEN’S and are in various states of recovery on individual cots here in the basement. I have my own private arsenal laid out before me and I think my new favorite is the M-TECH crossbow with a red dot sight. I’ve got a couple hundred sixteen-inch bolts for it and yes, I did try it out.

  Slipping back into town was simple. Those walking rot-bags aren’t posting sentries or anything. They just wander aimlessly until something catches their attention. I’ve noticed that they are taking to clawing at the ground or trees. Looks like they’re eating bugs. I’ve not seen many dogs or cats in quite a while. I do remember seeing a big collie with her guts—I’m just guessing on gender here—dragging on the ground. But I’ve never seen a cat-zombie.

  Weird. Cat-Zombie. Huh.

  Anyways…I’ve also passed lots of dead farm-type animals: cows, horses, pigs, chickens. None of them ever got back up. And from what I’ve seen, most dogs got entirely eaten. Not enough left to come back really…so that’s the story there.

  Back to what we did this morning. I ushered everybody in and it was like the kids in Willie Wonka entering that big candied landscape complete with chocolate river. Only, it was guns, knives, bows and arrows instead of candy.

  Everybody gorged themselves on guns and a big box that held cases of recently expired power bars. They were stale—the power bars not the guns—but still pretty tasty. We also splurged and downed a bunch of water from these generic one-gallon jugs of “MIN-R-L WATR.” Great label.

  Once everybody drifted off to sleep with full bellies, I snuck out with my M-TECH. I crept down 3rd Avenue until I reached this open park. A lone zombie in mechanic’s coveralls was all tangled in the chains of a three-swing swing set. Other than the ‘twang’ of the tension cords, and the ‘hiss’ of the bolt, my newest toy barely makes a sound. And, it kills from distance. I will need to be mindful of my shots though. That bolt went through Mechanic’s head and still had enough zip to stick in a tree several feet away. I took a look…nice clean hole.

  I slipped back in to BEN’S and went down to the basement. I’m pretty sure Caren is only pretending to be asleep. I like her; she could be my older sister. We have lots of similarities. She’s just a bit more rounded than I am. She looks like she’s been managing a pizza joint, but I bet with things being like they are now, she’ll trim down nicely. She’s already lost at least fifteen pounds since I’ve known her. A little top heavy, but I may just be a bit envious since I was the last girl in my school to buy a bra. But the biggest thing about Caren that really makes me like her is that the other day when I got so pissed…I saw her simply smile and nod.

  Wednesday, June 25

  The votes are in and nobody is in a big hurry to leave. This basement is cool. There is food and water. The men’s and women’s bathrooms have at least one more day before using them is just too nasty. It’s only a bit gross now.

  The folks back at Irony didn’t set some sort of time table. Tonight Roy and Jimmy are going to try and find a truck and get it running. We found a nice gas-powered generator and when we get outta here we’ll be able to charge up these 22-channel Cobra two-way radios with headsets. They boast a ten-mile range which will come in handy once we get moving again.

  Friday, June 27

  Yuck! Well, we HAD to finally leave our little oasis. Roy got this big, black, growling 4X4 pick-up going. It took some effort, but we managed to load a bunch of supplies in the back before we had to take off. Jimmy and Caren acted as decoys which helped, but that truck was like a huge neon ‘EAT HERE’ sign for those zombies.

  We followed some sketchy gravel road that went in a mostly southern direction until we were way out in the woods. Of course after that zombie conga-line we witnessed, we’re of the mind that
no place is truly safe. Still, we are deep in the Heart of Nowhere.

  Camp is set up. The generator is running. We dug a deep trench to try and minimize sound. Even covered it with branches. Still seems loud. But, we are eating canned ravioli, drinking red wine from a box and each has his or her own radio. Kyle lost the drawing of straws and has to stay sober.

  Too bad.

  A summer thunderstorm is moving in. Thunder and lightning never scared me. Not even as a child. I think I’ll eschew sleeping in the tent and sleep in the cab of the truck so I can enjoy Mother Nature’s light show.

  Saturday, June 28

  Still raining. We are atop a ridge that looks down on what had to be I-90. Still too far to be certain. The undead are everywhere down there. The interstate is packed like it would be in a traffic jam. Only…it’s zombies. Going both directions. Bumping and jostling one another.

  I watched this really fat guy-zombie in one of those gawdawful Hawaiian shirts through a set of high-power binoculars. He must’ve changed direction ten times in thirty minutes. I’d always heard phrases like “lumbering along” and never quite knew just what that meant. Now I do. This guy, Hawaiian Shirt- Zombie would drag one huge leg, lift it just ever so slightly, then slap it down on the ground, then, he’d do the same thing with the other.

  The problem we face is that I-90 is thick with those things as far as we can see in either direction. Roy says we need to follow this interstate west. That is fine, only we can’t get too close. Otherwise we’ll have thousands…hundreds of thousands of them on our trail. The rest of the problem is that there doesn’t seem to be a road that we can use. We have to back track and hope we missed one.