The Diary of Jill Woodbine: A Novel of Love, Lies, and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jay Smith

  I was not frightened. I could see a current of electricity running through the body, sparks behind my open eyes and just under the pale skin that suggested the process taking place. Shortly after, my body sat up on the table and looked straight at me. And smiled.

  I followed myself walking from the table, slowly and somewhat uneasily, through the door into darkness. A flood of light put us in the center of a herd. The image was pulled from my memory of being on the bus. We were no longer inside the lab or even inside HG World. My surrogate stood atop the bus that stalled on the road to HG World, the bus that had been swarmed and overrun. Around us were hundreds, perhaps thousands of eaters. They did not notice my surrogate standing on the roof. The sparkles of light that I witnessed coursing through my corpse returned. This time, they burst from her skin like hundreds of lightning bugs taking flight, spinning and tumbling with the currents, each landing on an eater, vanishing into its dead flesh. With each contact, an eater collapsed to the ground. From each dying eater burst another swarm of firelight, touching the ranks behind it. A shining ripple of fire reached out from the center, felling the entire herd, neutralizing the mindless hungry monsters until the night was quiet and darkness fell over me completely.

  The darkness possessed a weight and exerted pressure about my entire body. The sensation was slightly claustrophobic, but comforting at the same time, like moving through water, but I could breathe. The noise of the world fell to a low rumble except for distinct voices in words that schooled like fish through the darkness in tongues I could not recognize. Except one. It passed behind me, rising and sinking into the current…

  “Momma's in the kitchen loadin' up the cans of beans,

  “Sissy's in the closets takin' anything that's clean.

  “Daddy's loadin' fuel up from the tank behind the shed.

  “Johnny's on the front porch and he's watchin' for the dead.

  “Momma didn't see the thing beneath the kitchen sink,

  “Sissy found so many there was just no time to think.

  “Daddy's throat got opened up, the wall was sprayed with red,

  “Johnny locked the cellar door, put a bullet in his head.”

  Light-headed again. Need to rest. For the first time, though, I cannot look forward to escaping into my dreams.

  Part 5

  Our oldest memories, painted from traces within each collective. Where we merged within the same bloodstream and shared our unique path through the human system…we combined and grew. Our history is not something we consider in human terms. Places and periods mean very little outside a human context. Humans are linear and emotional; they conclude farcical ideas based on emotion and superstition.

  One might say that we have compromised who we are by adapting to this environment. We suggest this is simply a new state of being. The corpses helmed by our kind that are driven solely for fuel and reproduction are…perhaps in your terms…like looking upon the first humans. Inarticulate, bereft of culture or greater meaning than to satisfy needs for safety, nourishment and propagation of the species – instincts we share at our most basic level. There was a time humans could not be reasoned with. They had to be dealt with like any other natural force. So, too, did we follow our nature. Now, we are greater. Together with our understanding of human thought, its perception of a greater destiny, we can only exceed the limits of both our species.

  The idea of sustaining the identity and history of human life within the collective is something of a mutation. We cannot say when it became important or if it is the result of our growing understanding of the human physical and chemical condition. Perhaps unlocking the psychic connection between all humans has made us sympathetic to the unique human condition. Collecting knowledge is simple. Information can be sorted and logged. Subjective memory, understanding a history from a unique point of view – that is the beginning of a strange and disconcerting adventure our species proved unprepared to take.

  What Jill Woodbine gifts us is the ability to imagine; to connect the dissonance of human thought across so many generations into one clear history. Within us is a disease of willful subjectivity. Many minds are content to confuse what they believe with the truth. The other gift Jill Woodbine brings is her very human struggle to find truth from chaos, to seek alternative views. When confronted with her own illusions, she rejected them despite the comfort they afforded her. Understanding the sharper, primitive emotions of humanity this quality is essential to our ultimate development.

  Dreams are a nightmare house of unreality, images and conjurations that were like fire and storms – massive bouts of destructive chaos that clouded our understanding. We have learned to harness that state of being. Our gift back to Jill Woodbine and to humanity will be the gift of community and that ability to connect to one another through dreams and thoughts. Such a greater race of being will rise from this ability to overcome the language and semantic barriers to understanding. Though this gift we hope to rebuild a better world. Dream sharing, instant transfer of knowledge and experience and a form of immortality – these are part of our reparations.

  Author’s Note: I woke this morning to read these words on my laptop screen. They are not mine. The part of me that is not sleep-deprived is angry as much as freaked out. But I also have to try and understand that brain privacy may not be something sacred to Lucille’s…species (boy I’ve gotta get used to thinking about it that way). Not cool with the Dream Writing. Not good with unauthorized access to my head. I have to figure out how to put up those firewalls. After coffee. Maybe it will help Molly’s head, too, after she kicked most of the wine and a most of a fifth of whiskey. Gah.

  Part 6

  Author’s Note 2: While it’s a nifty trick to get someone to type in their dead sleep, I think it might be useful. Lucille apologized and seemed genuinely horrified with herself…themselves when the human element clicked and she realized what kind of violation her act had been. Maybe it’s her openness to share motives and feelings, but her sincerity has helped me get over my initial shock and outrage.

  Lucille is showing me more of her history. I’ve agreed to take a test, to see if I can write my own words while living out a…a “live feed” I guess…from memory. The following excerpt is a transcription of what I can only describe as a very intense daydream.

  What I see is an interpretation, an assembly of images and sensations translated into a human context. I don’t know how much different the reality would be, but perhaps this is the only way we can understand it – in four dimensions and familiar constructs. My initial insertion into their world was jarring and a little overwhelming. I think I’m handling it far better than I think I should be, if that makes sense. Maybe I’ve reached my maximum freak-out for the month. Here goes…

  Such wonders. And so much pain. Across the stars, into the wretched Hyades, upon an airless rock circling a dying sun we existed within a lake of liquid life, the last living matter on an ancient system. A lake of life, called Hali surviving beneath and around a ruined city – monument to a forgotten past. This city held no meaning to Hali except as an emotional memory, a leftover of their development over eons. Among the natural constructs of their world, only this city - built by generations of hands long dust and called Carcosa – had special significance to Hali. It was their last home and a place of reverence and amnesic nostalgia.

  The passage of light, ribbon of energy – fire of anger from their dying stars brighter brother – struck the Hali, shattered dread Carcosa and cast them into a void.

  For eons they dreamed. Frozen within stone. Hurtling through darkness.

  All a fantastic dream, explaining the unknowable in ways the human mind can understand. What lives beyond the veil must be simplified and accepted by the human intellect. Otherwise the truth would not just drive us mad, but cause us to stop living.

  What marvels we could be, each of us our own solar home to a civilization. Each of us able to relate intimately and completely – survivors strong in our understanding of the f
uture. The world could be ours again. No. Not just the world, but the stars would be ours to take…if only we understood the power of this collective.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX - THE BRAVERY OF SELF-DECEPTION

  The Runaways played from a CD boom box next to Molly’s bed. I had a glass of wine in me and she’d just emptied her third. After complaining about not being allowed to smoke, she fell back onto her pillow. She just wanted to enjoy her buzz. I understood. But my questions wouldn’t wait.

  I sat up on one elbow and asked, “What if you could stop all this, Molly? Just by walking into a room and saying ‘yes!’?”

  She chuckled and sat back on the bed. “Oh sweetheart. If only it were that simple.”

  “But what if it were? Would you open that door? Walk through and leave everything behind?”

  She played along as if it were idle conversation. “If I were ever that powerful…wow. Why do you ask?”

  I lost my nerve and settled back down beside her. “To be honest…I’m not even sure why I’m asking.”

  Molly turned toward me, gently pinched my chin between too fingers and turned my head into a soft kiss. She kissed the lobe of my ear and, when I didn’t respond as she expected, stopped to consider my question again. Her left eyebrow drifted up into her forehead and her expression asked the question “Are you fucking with me, kid?” After a moment, she sighed, settled in closer to me, nuzzling my neck. She whispered: “You’re serious. You can’t really talk about it, can you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you protecting me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. If you say ‘yes’ does it mean I’d be one of those things you leave behind?

  “Yes.”

  “Jill? Are you planning to kill yourself?”

  “I – no…I…” I didn’t expect that question. “No. I just won’t see any of this again.”

  “And that makes WHAT all go away, exactly?”

  “I can’t say exactly. Let me rephrase the question. If you were asked to be part of a team that helped fix this whole mess and at the very least – would help a lot of people live through this, would you do it?”

  “Like leave HG World and the Down Under? People have done that before. They drove out of here in the middle of the night, took sick patients to the United Nations or whatever…out near I-80. They never came back. Things didn’t really get better.”

  “What if it’s different. And you were SURE it would help?”

  She considered the question a moment and then sat up in bed. She put her hand on my knee and stroked my leg gently. “You want my permission to leave. You don’t need it.” She smiled warmly. “I have fun with you, Jill. You’re funny as hell, hot as hell, but I think you want something of me you know I’m not ready to part with. I told you my story. I hoped you took the message to heart.”

  “Assume I didn’t. What was that message?”

  “Trust no one but yourself. Don’t trust that anyone’s gonna be there tomorrow because we both know that’s not true. Don’t tie your future to something someone else wants. You gotta do what’s best for you. If you believe you can be of use out there, be of use out there.”

  “Is that what you’d do in my place, Molly?”

  “Shit, yeah. If Paul came to me with an assignment like that and I was sure he wasn’t full of shit…yeah, I’d give you the greatest night of your life…and kiss you goodbye on my way out.”

  I let that hang in the air for a moment. Molly was sincere and didn’t betray an unkind sentiment. She was being honest. I think she expected me to react negatively to it and when I didn’t, added: “You wanted to find me. Maybe we connected on a level I didn’t anticipate. But you came here and you found me. I found my Bible, you found me…we both paid a price for our little journey.”

  “I see.” I made other sounds, too, but none of them held traction long enough to make words. Molly had the kindest eyes in that moment. She squeezed my thigh and smiled, hoping to keep things – well, ME - from getting too emotional.

  “Jill, it was sweet. I never had someone speak up for me before. You said to Hank everything I wanted to say but couldn’t because I was on a mission.”

  “To get your Bible.”

  “Yes, but to keep tabs on Jack and the managers as well. We don’t like it when they get all secretive and think they can try to really control things up top. It worked out that Paul needed some intel on Jack because we’re not sure Jack is holding up too well. After the whole thing with the ice skates…I understand why. The entire time I was dealing with him, I put myself in that place I go to shut it out…shut out everything. I kept thinking about you and that kiss. I thought about how you stood up to Hank, how brave you are and I just got overwhelmed. I didn’t think you’d be…well, so receptive. To be honest, I liked it, too. A lot. I could continue liking that sort of feeling for a very long time.”

  I suddenly felt myself back in the basement with Kenny Kartheiser. This time I was Kenny. I waited for that dreaded conjunction…

  “But… if you’re thinking of stepping away from a responsibility that might help as many people as you say because you are thinking the coolness between us is more important, I need need you to understand very clearly that I’m not in a place where I can invest what you want from me. That might happen someday. It might not. Once you get over the infatuation that brought you after me against all common sense, you may regret giving up your life up there.”

  “I don’t have one anyway. Paul said that Jack and Jeb were planning a quick exit for me.”

  “Look, Jill, I don’t know what Paul has in mind for you. A big part of me doesn’t want to know. You just have to decide what’s best for you because I have to decide what’s best for me. If that takes me away from you, well… so be it. Just watch your ass, okay? And if you plan to leave tomorrow…let’s make tonight something good…something memorable, okay?”

  The truth is refreshing. Sure, it’s sad. It hurts when you have to put away the fiction and look at the world the way it really is. I realized that, like everyone else I complained about living a lie – Molly was my blissful lie. Pretty, exotic and in danger, I quickly chose to be her white knight and rescue her. She was never in any real danger, never in need of rescuing. It was a bit of role-play that I carried on for weeks. She said we both paid a price for our quests. Molly surrendered another part of herself for her Bible. I gave up what little society I had left for a woman who could walk away from me at any moment and never look back. I thought I had it all under control until she took my hand. I was shaking.

  She held my trembling left hand to her lips and kissed my knuckle, closing her eyes as she did so as if in prayer. Every thought I had which lead to me wanting to say , “BUT, what about that time when…” I had to admit, it was a projection of my fantasies, assumption of motives or a deeper connection than really existed.

  The silence between us lasted a while.

  I wish I could say I handled it outwardly as well as I’m writing it here. I wish I could say I didn’t well up a bit or consider throwing a few hurtful words at Molly over it, but…in the end, she was honest. Just as Paul was honest about his plans for me if I decided not to participate in their little science experiment. Where I once had hope and something uniquely mine to sustain that hope, I now had a gaping, bloodless wound. Molly was emotionally off-line to me. Her touch and proximity told me that I was welcome in her arms and in her bed, but not in her heart.

  It was not the frame of mind to make a decision. At the time, however, it felt like there was no decision to make.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - NUNTA MORTULUI

  Part 1

  One of Paul's minions just dropped off a room service cart topped with plated pasta and meatballs, garlic bread and two bottles of red wine. It is rare that anyone in this place has any sort of seasoned food. Molly shared a card from Paul that read "No reason we can't be civilized." Molly explained that he probably made this meal himself. Too bad he couldn't bring himself to deliver it in
person.

  Maybe this is my last entry. Molly has agreed to hang onto the electronic version for me and stash it somewhere that maybe one day aliens or archeologists can find it. It'll be a backup copy in case my contact on the outside doesn't make it...or was inside this warehouse the whole time. I can't be bothered with that any more.

  Maybe tonight is for living. Maybe tonight Red Molly and I can just be people one last time for the fun of it. Tomorrow we'll decide what we want to become.

  Part 2

  “Molly?”

  “Yes, sweety?”

  “I need you to do something very important for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tomorrow, I need you to work with Dr. Yukov. I need you to help me record something, something very important and incredible.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You won’t until you’re doing it. Would you do it for me if you knew it was the most important thing in the world to me?”

  “Record what?”

  “I can’t tell you that just yet. I can tell you it may be very painful. But I need you to trust me that it will be worth it to see it through.”

  “You are not making sense. Is this Paul’s plan?”

  “No. It’s mine.”

  “How do I do it?”

  “You’re already doing it. You’re typing into my laptop. You’re hearing my voice and typing our words.”

  “I can’t type.”