by Kuhn, Steve
*If this new kid says, “Know what I’m sayin’?” one more fuckin’ time… I’m seriously gonna kick him straight in the nuts with no warning, Chuck Norris-style.
Look, maybe I’m sleepy. Maybe I’m grouchy. Maybe I’m hungry. Maybe I’m horny—Nope, not horny… We talked about that.
I’m just being a bitch right now.
Ignore me.
Entry 75
So, I slept through it. I can’t believe it, but the one time we make some solid progress, I was asleep. I guess, I should thank everyone for not bothering me, particularly JC, who kept watch on the jeep while the others scavenged the wreckage of the convoy more closely this time around. Kylee said that he didn’t move from his post, even when he heard the excitement of the others.
Fool found a radio on one of the bodies. Well, it wasn’t really a body anymore, but more like a pile of bloodied bones and maggot-ridden meat. Regardless, he was able to make some contact with actual living people in the military. In fact, they’re not even in bad shape. What remained of Kilo has moved further west and regrouped with reinforcements from Lima Company. Fool was able to get a grunt in Lima Company, who is evacuating cities to our north, on the horn and he explained the situation.
Lima told us to stay our course and shoot west as fast as we can go. He also warned us that the major cities are almost all overrun.
Really? No shit! That was my first thought, but that information wasn’t as useless as one might think. The cities being overrun came with one other very important warning: It’s not the dead in the cities that we should fear if we happen to venture inside their limits.
The air force is sweeping behind the marines on the ground and leveling the evacuated areas. We’re talkin’ hardcore shit here.
Not nukes, though. Nukes tend to fuck shit up for years after they drop, what with the radiation and all that crap. Nope, they’re using thermobaric weapons on major structures and variants of fire-based weaponry in the streets.
Thermobaric shits are no joke. Imagine all the air around you just instantly igniting to flame. Yeah, it’s a motherfucker, the idea being that any dumbshits gathered indoors will burn up instantly, as will any trace of whatever is causing this mess.
The other stuff they’re dropping in the streets is designed to spread far and burn for a long time. It’s expected that once the major areas are complete, sweep teams of thousands of soldiers and vehicles will reenter the cities and finish the cleanup.
It’s likely to take years, but if the spread can be stopped, it’s really just a matter of coping with the damage already done. I call bullshit, though. As long as there are living people, there is a food source for them… and there is a means to reproduce.
But we’ll see.
Fart’s acting weird, too, by the way. She’s being really skittish for some reason. I’ve never seen her act that way before unless someone was in trouble or like when JC was starting shit with Murphy. Murphy doesn’t seem bothered by it, but he did say he thought it was odd.
Entry 76
Another eight days on the road has beaten us up pretty badly. We’ve managed to keep from getting bitten or overwhelmed, but the ammo supply has taken a huge hit. The food that JC and Fool managed to yank from the cross-huggers is gone, as is our fuel. Shit’s gettin’ pretty deep. The biggest kick in the balls, though, is that the radio battery finally died.
This is one of those moments where a montage would really make things easier—ya know, like some crappy ’80s song playing in the background as we tear through encounter after encounter, slaying this geek here and shooting this deadhead there. Then at the end we’d all stand together, all badass and out of breath, lookin’ tough with our skills improved to these ridiculous levels. Haha! Truth is, it’s nothing like that at all.
In fact, it’s the opposite. We’re not leveled up or getting stronger. We’re hungry, and we all feel like shit. It’s affecting how we operate, too. Things are getting desperate, and someone is going to make a mistake.
Even the fuckin’ dog is hatin’ life right now. All she does is growl and grumble. Cutty went to check on Kylee after she fell and hurt her ankle the other day, and Fart snapped at him. There are very few times where I’ve ever seen Cutty get spooked or jump from being startled, but he backed off, quick as hell. He was like, “Shit, Murph! Yo’ crazy-ass dog jus’ tryda eat ma muhfuckin’ handpiece!”
I guess the positive in all this is that Fool is a beast. This kid is absolutely fearless and will run headfirst into anything and walk back out. Just the other day, Cutty was up against six or seven geeks, and he was doin’ work. At one point, he clapped his blades together into one of their heads, and both of them got stuck in its skull.
It was gross as hell, but he ended up letting the deadhead drop to the ground and starting stomping it, hoping that he could crush the skull into small enough bits that he’d be able to get them free, but he was running out of time. Fool waltzed up with only his sidearm and finished off four out of five for him. It was cool to see Cutty nod his approval. Fool told him, “Now ya only owe me one, know what I’m sayin’?”
I didn’t kick him in the nuts for that one because I felt like he earned a pass, heh.
I suppose we’re somewhere inside Indiana or Illinois by now, but I don’t have the map anymore. I gave it to whoever drove the jeep last night. I’ve been riding with Murphy for the last day or two, but we stopped this evening to reassess the situation. Found a nice little gas station and set up camp on the roof. I don’t know why I insisted we use the roof. Old habits, I guess. What if the gas station was to get raided or something? I’d hate to be trapped down there, inside the building. At least we can see anything coming if we’re up here.
The rooftop is good enough, though. It’s flat and mostly empty, only sporting a few air conditioning units and some vent pipe. The gravel spread all around is nicely rounded, instead of jagged and sharp, so it almost feels pillowy under our feet. No gas, though, dammit. We’ll have to figure something out in the morning.
I had a talk with Cutty tonight. He’s in a rough spot right now. He told me, “I miss Wyatt bad, man. He ain’t have ta die dat day, ya know? I told dat boy he wasn’t ’posed to have one of dem bombs, and den I turn around and hand him the one that got him killed, Dext.”
I thumbed back through and found that day at Entry 63. I showed Cutty what I wrote. Cutty told Wyatt that it was about, “When to use it,” and I think Wyatt knew exactly what he was doing. I told Cutty this, and he said, “I know he was tryna do us all right, man. An’ I know he was a hero to us all, but what I cain’t seem ta figure out is why I didn’t do it maself—why I didn’t think of doin’ dat same thing and let dat boy see anotha day.”
He looked down at his machetes at his hips and shook his head. “I need ta learn how ta shoot, Dext. If we had anotha gun dat day, we might coulda covered ’em betta.”
I never really know what the right thing is to say. This is more Murphy’s territory… this wise-old-owl-type shit, but I did know that Cutty shouldn’t be beating himself up over it. We all make bad decisions, and we all carry our guilt about the others.
Shit, Alex for Christ’s sake. I still have nightmares about the second his hand slipped from mine.
One time, Gary met me in my sleep with his neck still torn open and oozing that foul, black blood. He looked me in the eye and said, “Why didn’t you watch my back, Dext? I just had to pee.”
And I still can’t even talk about how Junior haunts me… Bizzy, choking on her own blood while her own father eats her insides… That shit will drive you insane if you let it.
I told Cutty that he just had to trust his faith. I told him about how much I envied him for his faith sometimes. You people already know that about me, but he didn’t. I reached into my pack and pulled out this little Bible that I grabbed the same day I picked up this very journal in the bookshop. I had hoped that one day I would pick it up and start reading it, that maybe I would be inspired or maybe I would gain some insig
ht into what was going on around me and how to cope with it—maybe I would find God… I dunno.
I never got around to reading it.
I passed it to Cutty and told him that he knew what he needed to do. He thanked me and patted my back before he wandered back over to the group to open it up and start reading. I tried my best to hide the fact that he’d hit me so hard, I tasted my own lung.
I wanted to get something to eat before I slept, but Rebecca told me we were out of everything, even the beans. Hopefully Murphy can have some luck hunting tomorrow.
Entry 77
We watched from the rooftop this morning as a group of cars and trucks rolled by. They were clearly civilian, all four of them. There was a short discussion about whether or not we should flag them down or not, but we’d pretty much had it with other groups. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had food, though, as they cruised past us, completely unaware of our presence above.
The morning held a scary conversation headed by Murphy but not before some quick planning. He opted to stick around this area because of the surrounding woods for a few hours and try to catch some food for us. Trouble is, even if he does end up killing something we can eat, we’ll have to finish it all fairly quickly and then do it all over again tomorrow. I miss refrigeration. Oh man, how good would it be to have some ice right now?
He better get it done relatively quickly, too. We’re sitting here on this roof, and I can clearly see rain coming in. It’s going to be one helluva storm.
Kylee started complaining in the darkness this morning that she wasn’t feeling all that well. Of course, everyone’s flags went up instantly. Even before Murphy went out with Fart, the dog was just standing over Kylee as she lay on her bedroll, sleeping uncomfortably. Fart just held her head low and sniffed derisively at anyone who happened to pass by them too closely, taking a moment here and there to nuzzle and lick her. We moved to the opposite of the gas station’s roof, well out of earshot.
Murphy told me and Cutty quietly, “Needa keep a close eye on her, fellas. Now, I know y’all are close, but this might be the one. Forgive me for sayin’ so, but we gotta stay realistic.”
Cutty tucked the little Bible I gave him in his pocket and was about to say something, but was interrupted by an approaching Rebecca, who whispered harshly, “It’s happening, isn’t it? She’s gonna turn. So, what are you all going to do about it? I’ll do it myself if I have to!”
I’ve had about enough of Rebecca. We made some bad choices, sure. We could have done a lot of things differently, sure. But this Negative Nancy shit is wearing thin. I tend to get shitty when I’m hungry, and my patience is short. I snapped at her, “You’re not gonna do a fuckin’ thing except take your ass over there and sit down. We got this.”
She copped an attitude and stomped away with a huff. Fuck her, man. I’m over it.
Cutty was like, “Damn, Dext. Chill, homie,” but I don’t wanna fucking ‘chill.’ I’m pissed off, and I’m scared for Kylee.
It could be a cold or some shit, but we made that mistake with Tom. And let’s not front here. Fart is clearly onto something with Kylee, and everyone can tell. Even JC told me the other day that he was worried the dog could smell or sense something was off in the group.
JC joined our little convo, leaving Fool on the opposite side of the roof, idly tossing bits of gravel to the ground below. He asked us, “What’s the problem?”
Cutty answered him, saying, “Dext told her to go sit down. We was talkin’ ’bout Kylee.”
JC corrected him, saying, “Kylee is who I meant. Rebecca always has an attitude, so that’s nothing new. What’s up with Kylee?”
We filled him in about Fart acting weird around her and how Kylee was feeling ill. JC went pale and spat on the gravel of the roof, saying to himself, “Shit…” He rubbed his face and looked to the sky in thought with a sigh.
It was lame. No one wanted to make a call. No one wanted to make a decision about the next play, because no one wanted to shoulder the blame if the outcome was shitty. Isn’t that sad? We’re all too pussy to do anything because it might go bad. Someone had to say something.
Ultimately it was Murphy who said, “Let’s just do this then. I’ll go work on the food situation.”
He turned his attention to JC and said, “You take the kid and do what you do best. Scout out that other group that passed by, and see what you can come up with. If you can’t find ’em, see about the next town or whatever. We’re gonna need gas at the very least. Some cough syrup would be a wet dream in case Kylee is just catchin’ a cold and not… well… you know.”
Finally, he looked at me and Cutty and said, “You two take care of our girls. We’ll meet back here around noon. Surely JC and the kid can read the sun.”
We all nodded our agreement, and that was that. Not bad, Murph, especially since his plan included me not putting my ass on the line. I made myself a little bedding setup next to Kylee on the rooftop, and I’ve been keeping an eye on her as I write.
The final detail to be worked out was what would happen if—
Oh shit… Kylee’s throwing up all over the place.
Entry 78
The day pressed on and just got shittier. The thunder became louder as the storm rolled in, and at the first sign of lightning, Cutty threw Kylee over his shoulder and worked his way down the service ladder behind me and Rebecca. We had opted to go inside the gas station and hold out there until the others got back.
Cutty shoved everything off the counter with his massive paw, and we laid a barely conscious Kylee out on it. She was pale, and beads of sweat were all over her forehead and face. Her hair was soaking wet with it, and she was burning up. Christ, she has to be at about 103 degrees. Cutty said to me, “Go get all our stuff offa da roof, and I’ll stay wit’ her. Don’t be fuckin’ ’round neitha’. Run. Ya heard?”
Me? Run? Sheeeeeit… It’s what I do! I had it covered—for about ten seconds anyway.
I dashed out of the station and into the now pouring rain. It was coming down in buckets, and all of our stuff was getting soaked up above, no doubt. As I turned the corner of the building, I slammed right into the chest of a lone geek and fell to the muddy ground.
I didn’t even really know what had happened right away because my mind was in four different places at once, but as soon as I looked up and saw that nasty motherfucker, I went into ‘save your own ass’ mode.
It staggered towards me, arms outstretched, clumsily grabbing at my feet as I scooted in a backwards crabwalk, trying to put distance between me and it. The face was gray and full of holes from the maggots that had been eating away at its flesh, and it was gurgling and gagging like they all do. The rain gave the oozing blood a thinner and more orange look as it streamed down its neck and into what was left of tattered clothes. I was kicking at its hands as I moved to regain my feet and noticed that it had no fingernails left, probably from scratching tirelessly at some door after a helpless human meal.
You never get used to that kind of panic. The adrenalin rush is so strong that you can’t help but just get tunnel vision and forget everything that’s going on around you. I always feel like I should be thinking about loved ones or having some fresh-ass last thought, but it doesn’t work like that. All you can focus on is not fucking dying. Everything else disappears.
I slipped in the mud as I panicked, flailing around, trying to fight my gun out of my waistband, and by the time I had it sorted out, funkynuts was right over me. I fired wildly. It was a shitty attempt. The bullet tore through its shoulder and ricocheted off the brick wall behind it, sending blackish spray and red dust into the rain.
Thankfully, before I could get off another shot, the front end of an arrow emerged with a quickness through the front of its forehead, and it fell with a solid thunk beside me. It was a damn close call because that fuckin’ arrowhead almost got me in the leg when funkynuts dropped.
Murphy approached from behind, lowering his bow, and snapped, “Git up, Sally, and don’t fo
rget your gun. Next time shoot the dumbshit in the head. You ain’t good enough to be tryin’ bank shots off the wall.” He chuckled at me as he offered a hand to help me up.
I took it and got to my feet as Fart was impatiently urging us to move back inside with Kylee and the others. I quickly told Murphy that I was gonna go gather up the shit on the roof and meet them inside.
He nodded his approval and held out his arms to illustrate that he had no luck with the hunting. He said to me, “Rained out before I got anything goin’. How’s Kylee? Are the others back yet?”
I had barely gotten the words “not good” out of my mouth when Cutty emerged from around the corner, machetes drawn. He said, “Heard da shot. E’erybody okay?”
We nodded, and he went back inside, but not before he told us, “Hurry yo’ ass up, nigga. You may have drawn us a crowd wit’ that shootin’.”
Fuck! I hadn’t even thought about that.
Anyway, we got sorted out, but now I’m fucking muddy as hell and soaked through to my dirty-ass drawers, which are uncomfortable and itchy and cold.
Kylee woke up for a few minutes and tried to talk to me. All she managed to say was that her guts felt like they were in knots and that she felt cold. That was weird to me considering her fever was silly high. I asked her if there was anything I could do, but she shook her head. She just whispered, “Please wait until I turn. Don’t do it before I turn. I’m going to try not to… but… I want you to…”
That was pretty much all she could say before she fell out again. I was holding her clammy hands, but it wasn’t long until Fart came over and shoved her nose and face between us. She butted her way in and grunted at me to fuck off. I did what she wanted me to do. Fuckin’ with Fart is kinda like fuckin’ with Cutty. You just don’t do it.
It’s been about an hour or so since noon, and still no JC and Fool yet. Hopefully they didn’t run into any serious problems, but we can’t help but be worried. On the bright side, we only spotted two or three more dumbshits since the shooting, and they wandered right past.