Zomblog

by T. W. Brown

  Wednesday, August 20

  The roads are an absolute mess. We cut through and into Idaho via someplace called Thompson Pass. Due to not wanting to attract attention, we will do our best to parallel I-90. But, we must minimize our use of the main interstate. We have more than the obvious reasons to stay out of sight. According to Snoe, Grace has the folks at Irony keeping an eye out. She intercepted some radio traffic and it seems that Irony was attacked by a roving band. Some of the invaders got away. Grace probably wouldn’t be thrilled to discover that we’ve taken off. Sure, we weren’t prisoners or anything. However, one can never really tell how folks will react these days.

  We will have to remind ourselves that the walking dead are only part of the worry while we are on the road. Not to be sexist…but this is especially true for an all-woman band of travelers.

  Thursday, August 21

  One of the disadvantages (and there are many) of driving large vehicles is that they don’t maneuver very well. Staying off the main road only makes this more pro-nounced. Travelling half the night on a winding road, only to discover that it fades into what can, at best, be described as a two-rutted dirt trail was very frustrating.

  It took us the rest of the night to back up until we finally found a spot we could turn around in. All of us were uptight enough to chew nails and spit out thumb tacks by the time we stopped for the day. It’s not like we have a schedule or need to be at a certain point by a specific date or time. It was simply frustrating.

  Friday, August 22

  We stayed put today. Late yesterday afternoon we picked up a radio signal. It was a woman’s voice and she claims to be alone. That was our first clue. Whoever this is, it can only be a trap.

  While we are fairly certain it is a woman, we all agree she is not likely alone. She says she is in a small town, Pinehurst Idaho, and that she is running low on food and ammo and is in “desperate need of help.”

  Not that a woman couldn’t survive alone. Only, if she’s lasted this long, it is by wits and intelligence. The last thing she would do is advertise that SHE is ALONE. That’s asking for a fate worse than death (or undeath for that matter).

  Pinehurst is close. Tomorrow, if the message is still being broadcast, we’ll decide whether to go in with guns blazing or take a wide arcing route. I vote guns. After all…this is supposed to be an adventure.

  Saturday, August 23

  We were right. Pinehurst was a trap. Snoe and I stayed in the woods, but moved in close enough to scout out the small town. Amazing what you can see with night-vision goggles. Spread out on about a dozen roofs were no less than twenty people.

  About fifty to seventy-five zombies wandered about. It was Snoe that noticed they were all chained by the ankles, or in some cases, around the waist. Each one had twenty to thirty feet of chain to move about with. I had no idea what their scheme was, but we were not interested in finding out.

  This has been a rough night for me in particular. About an hour after we got on the road, I began to feel nauseous. Morning sickness. Just great. I didn’t hurl, but all night I felt absolutely skanky.

  We should creep into Washington tomorrow or the next day. I’m glad we did this. Even as lousy as I feel, this is a good thing. Being on the road, while certainly risky, offers much more possibility. Instead of living in fear or worse, barely existing, this is a proactive, take-charge-of-your-own-destiny endeavor.

  Sunday, August 24

  Feeling a lot better. Hell, if that little spell is all I have to deal with, I’m gonna consider it a blessing. Also, today was one of those days where things just seemed to go our way.

  We made good time on the road. Saw very few of the pesky zombies, not only while we drove, but also when we camped for the night. The night was cool, and a gentle breeze even brought a bit of rain to clean the air. We all took a dip in a nearby creek and washed up. I do not look forward to the day when we have used the last of the toothpaste.

  So, just after lunch, I heard what I was certain was a child’s laugh. Fearing that the undead had adapted a new trick similar to the baby-cry sound, we grabbed hand-to-hand weapons and went to investigate. That is how we met Dominique DuBois.

  Dominique is a very eloquent twelve-year-old girl. Her straight black hair frames a doll’s oval face and accents her dazzling gray eyes. It seems that she is the last survivor of a group of grade school children that escaped from a large wreck near Pullman, WA. The children had been smart enough or scared enough to run for the hills. Her story is a bit jumbled in places and has no steady timeline. Yet there is no disputing that she was alive and well in her little camp at the base of a waterfall. She was actually splashing around in a bubble bath being churned to an amazing froth in the pool that the four or five-foot fall tumbles into. We never saw the fishing line attached to the empty cans that warned her of our approach. She was waiting for us without a weapon, showing no fear at all. When we asked her about it, she very matter-of-factly stated that “those stinky zombies are slower than slugs” and since she could “outrun everybody in Mrs. Bose’s fifth grade class, including the boys!” she would just outrun them, lead them from her camp, circle around, pack up, and move.

  We actually had to convince her to come with us!

  Tuesday, August 26

  I think I know just how exasperated I made my parents as a young girl who was an extreme tom-boy with a know-it-all complex. Dominique is a bit of a handful. Cera even suggested sneaking her to Irony. Besides the unrealistic aspect of that plan, there is a strange bond forming between her and I.

  Last night I rode in the forward .50 cal turret. Dominique (I call her Dom and she hates it so much you can see her visibly wince…which is why I call her Dom to her face) rode with me. I taught her about the weapon. How to clear it. Fire it. Load it. She is an amazingly fast learner.

  However, it is no surprise that she is carrying some heavy emotional baggage. When she sleeps, she finds a spot to basically vanish into. She didn’t use any of the beds. She whimpered and, on occasions, she cried out. More than a few times, she would shout a name…Toby.

  I didn’t grill her with questions. I figure when she is ready…if she is ready…she’ll talk. I still cannot believe that this willow-thin little girl has survived for any length of time, possibly months, on her own in this terrible, upside-down, dead world.

  Thursday, August 28

  Riding parallel to I-90, we actually made decent progress. Today we are in some trees and overgrown brush inside the relative safety of the Ritzville Golf Course. Lots of damage done to the town. In fact, most of what passed for the downtown area is burned down. Bodies decay in the open streets and for a while, I remembered Sam. Funny, I can’t recall what he looks like. I mean I’d recognize him if we met (and he were still alive). It’s just that I simply cannot picture his face.

  Snoe and Caren went into town, what’s left, to see if there is anything missed worth taking with us. Also, Snoe is going to see how possible, if at all, it will be to top off with some diesel. Small towns like this are the best and easiest targets.

  Dominique and I teamed with Cera and did a search and recon run down South Division Street, hooked over to East Wellsandt. It was the first chance I’ve had to see how Dominique deals with the undead.

  She taunts them!

  We encountered a handful near the burned down remains of a feed store. One of them was obscenely obese. His beer keg gut was laced with black veins that I first mistook for a really bad spider web tattoo. It stumbled out from blackened timbers that crunched like thin pond ice under his plodding, shuffling steps.

  Of course Cera and I already had our sturdy machetes drawn, but before we could wade in and simply put him down, Dominique shot past. I thought she would charge into the beast and was about to scream her name when she suddenly darted to the left. The big thing did its best to turn with her, but was neither fast, nor coordinated enough. She skidded to a stop and spun on a heel, again changing direction. A few such moves and her strategy paid off. It
stumbled, falling face down.

  I think what disturbed both me and Cera was how savage she came in and bludgeoned the thing on the back of its skull. In moments we had eliminated the threat, but I cannot get over the look in Dominique’s eyes while she took out the big fat zombie and another that reminded me visually of Danny Glover.

  A nasty thunderstorm rolled in about an hour ago. The big droplets of rain sound like dozens of tiny hands pounding on the roof of the RV.

  Evening

  Thunder and lightning storms are fairly common out here this time of year. This one is particularly fierce. Penelope insists she saw a funnel-shaped cloud just to the north and west of us. She’s been sitting up front watching for Snoe and Caren. They still haven’t returned.

  Saturday, August 30

  We are really getting lucky. It actually scares me because of the way things seem to average out. Snoe and Caren found what has to be the supreme motherlode. A military supply train. Yes! A literal train! How something like this went unnoticed for so long, and so close to a town that has been the scene of serious looting completely stuns me.

  It was clear that this train hadn’t been touched. Snoe says she and Caren had to dispatch over a hundred zombies that were trapped inside. After a proper scolding by all of us for them not using their heads when clearing the cars, and without bothering to radio us for back up (she says that it just got too busy too fast for them to be able to do anything…none of us were pacified by that excuse) we all went to look.

  We now have cases of grenades stacked in the RV bathroom. Snoe is busy reinforcing a military Hum-Vee and an honest-to-goodness Bradley APC.

  So, when we roll out of here, Dominique and I will be in the RV. Tara will drive the Hummer, Snoe the Bradley and Caren the eighteen-wheeled diesel fueling station.

  Did I mention we have more guns and ammo than we’ll likely ever be able to use? Not to mention all the stuff we’ll leave behind. I wanted an RPG, but Snoe said they’d be only minimally helpful against zombies and we have plenty of firepower to deal with those potential living threats. Still, it woulda been cool.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 9

  Monday, September 1

  Put Ritzville behind us today. For now we are using SR261, and will try to stay close to the main highway as we head for the Oregon/Washington border.

  We should be able to cross over in the next day or two. All we’ve seen are stragglers. It could mean that the undead are packing into the cities. Or, they could be scattered to the Four Winds. I’m thinking it is a combination of the two.

  The closer we get to the larger cities, the more I imagine we will have to fight off the hordes. But for now, it is actually sorta peaceful. Other than all the weaponry being handed about, you’d think it was just a bunch of girls out for an end of summer joy ride.

  Tuesday, September 2

  Actually moving at a good rate. Travelling on US 395 South, we are only having problems with the RV and the fuel truck in spots where the desert is reclaiming the roads.

  We did come across what had to have been a particularly nasty fire-fight between two very large motorcycle gangs. We didn’t bother to stop and see what affiliations were emblazoned on the jackets, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that these gangs easily numbered over a hundred apiece…and that is just in the dead bodies scattered all over the site.

  Of course there was nothing left behind of value. Some of those left behind had obviously not been totally dead when the two sides went their separate ways because a few of them were up and about. Snoe took a little too much pleasure in running them down in the Bradley. Sometimes I think she could just as easily be like some of those ruthless killers that we’ve run across. Then, later, I see her showing Dominique cooking tips all laughs and smiles.

  Wednesday, September 3

  Last night we encountered one of the factions that did battle on the road miles back. I have no idea how those idiots survived as long as they have. With our night-vision equipment, we saw them a good twenty minutes before they knew we were there. As we closed the distance on their open camp that they had pitched all along a flat stretch of sand and brush covered road, we locked, loaded, and each of the turrets was given a case of grenades.

  They never stood a chance. Hell, they didn’t even have guns! Plenty of chains, bats, and swords. I never considered that being out and about would force you to use up your weapon supplies so quickly, but that is the only explanation I can fathom that would account for the poor showing that this gang was able to give. We demolished them in seconds, not minutes. Not once did we even need to slow down. There were survivors; they all ran off in various directions, silhouetted by the flames left in our wake.

  Thursday, September 4

  Today, I can smell the Columbia River. I look to tomorrow with excitement and just a bit of fear. We have to move through the outer edges of Pasco. We will get a real field test of our capabilities because, let’s face it, Pasco is no Portland. If we bog down in this place, we’ve no business trying for a big city.

  Most of today we cleaned the weapons and made sure every spare magazine was loaded. Everybody has plenty of firepower. Also, I’ve rigged this Velcro strip in the machinegun turret I’ll be riding in (the forward post on the RV) so that I can attach a series of Glocks and reloads all around me if the big gun gets hot or jams.

  Dominique shows no sign of fear or concern. This actually worries me. I’m sure a shrink would have something to say about this. Penelope says it may be a very powerful defense mechanism. Apparently she saw what she calls “extreme bravado” during her time as an army-medic in the Gulf War. Men simply lost the ability to be afraid. Usually…it ended poorly.

  I’ve made it clear that I don’t want Dominique anywhere but by my side or in the RV once we roll out tonight.

  Friday, September 5

  I barely recognized a town that I’ve basically grown up in and around. There is so much that can’t be put into words. The fires certainly did a lot of damage. But to see the entire city as dead as those abominations that walk, drag, and stumble down the streets is just heartbreaking.

  Pasco is not a small town. I mean it’s no metropolis, but there were a lot of people in that place. And while some have wandered away…many remain. Thousands.

  We had two choices. We could follow 395 along the Columbia River, or shoot the gap and drive through Pasco and Kennewick. After a vote, we decide to take the more direct route, taking I-82 all the way into Oregon and eventually shifting over to I-84 West.

  Staying on the main route had advantages as well as drawbacks. So far I-82 is in good shape except for all the debris. However, those zombies converged on the sound of our engines. We drew them like bees to honey. The bottom few feet of all our vehicles are smeared in filth from the shattered, broken, exploded corpses we plowed through.

  The plow blade really got put to use today as we drove through a surging tide of death. The grenades were useful only inasmuch as it would blow a gap in the surge.

  Overpasses were the worst. We had to go under several. We eventually worked out a system. I would open up with the .50 cal, and then, before we drove under, everybody would duck inside. It was just too risky to have a body, animated or not, fall on you. Taking risks is one thing, being careless and stupid is totally different.

  Once we popped out the other side, Tara and I would go up and clear the roof of the RV. Then, if needed, pop anything clinging to the Bradley, the Hummer, or the fuel rig. The good thing is that there were no surprises. I mean you could hear the bodies land on the roof if it happened.

  I tried to convince Snoe that we should see about supplies, but she felt it was a needless risk since we aren’t lacking anything.

  “One test at a time, Meredith,” was her only reply.

  I guess she had a point. Besides, we don’t have a lot of spare room after what we hauled off that train.

  One strange thing of note. While we were followed by literally hundreds of those zombies, they
sorta trailed off once we got outside of town. Perhaps the dead have staked their claim. After all, they are the majority now. We are the parasite and they are now the organism.

  Saturday, September 6

  Thank goodness we cover up our location and seek hiding spots when we stop for the day. A flight of fighter jets screamed overhead today. Not just once, but a handful of times! We counted seven planes. Snoe says they were all F-18s. I wonder just where they came from, and what sort of people have control of them.

  Strange, until we actually saw the jets, we had no idea what the noise was. We had forgotten! We’ve been so busy running from everything that we forgot, or more accurately, never considered that any sort of organized resistance to the zombie infestation may even exist. After all, our only real exposure to military has been those wackos doing experiments and the power struggle in Spokane.

  Really, none of us have any ideas as to what those jets mean, but they criss-crossed the area a few times and never attacked anything. To me at least, that would offer the possibility that they are perhaps scouring the area for possible survivors. I know that’s a big leap, but where we were hiding under a rocky, scrub—and tree—covered outcrop, we could see them clearly come in low over Pasco and Kennewick.

  Well, we’ve no interest in being “saved”. As soon as it is dark, we’ll continue our journey. I just wish I knew why we were so intent on this. I won’t go so far as to say it is some sort of supernatural compulsion, but we are determined to make this journey.