Zomblog
Author: T.W. Brown
Date: 2010-01-11 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror; Fiction; Apocalyptic; Post Apocalyptic; Science Fiction; Dystopia; Survival; Paranormal
Description: Samuel Todd is a regular guy: ...Failed husband... ...Loving father... ...Dutiful worker... ...Aspiring rockstar. He had no idea if anyone would care, or take the time, to read his daily blog entries about his late night observations. But what started as an open monologue of his day-to-day life became a running journal of the firsthand account detailing the rising of the dead and the downfall and
Publisher: May December Publications LLC

Zomblog Saga

Box Set

The full set including the three Zomblog stories and the three Snoe stories

TW Brown

PUBLISHED BY: May December Publications LLC

©2014 May December Publications LLC

Split-tree logo a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.  Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications LLC.

Six volumes...one price. The entire Zomblog saga by Amazon Top 100 Horror Author, TW Brown is now yours.

A tale that spans twenty years of the zombie apocalypse and takes you not just into the story, but gives it to you through the eyes of the survivors. Set in the Pacific Northwest, this tale give you more than just the undead...you also get slices of the best and worst that humanity has to offer. Just pray this is the closest you will ever get to experiencing the zombie apocalypse. Grab it now and enjoy the entire series for less than the price of a candy bar.

"Mr. Brown really delivers with his Zomblog series. This is hands down the best zombie series I have read (with maybe the exception of DEAD). Readers won't want to put this down. Zomblog takes you on a wild ride from a first person point of view that sucks you into Brown's post apocalyptic world."

"Great series! Surprised myself when I became a fan of this genre, but TW Brown has a way of making you think about humanity. Zombies are great, but it is really about human nature and the struggle to survive."

Many tales have been told about the zombie apocalypse.  Zomblog takes you from the safety of your world and lets you see the world through the eyes of a survivor.

So leave your world behind and dare to enter the world where the walking dead surround you.  However, they may only be part of the problem.

There is no law…no order…

The COMPLETE Zomblog trilogy awaits…

Table of Contents

Zomblog

Zomblog 2

Zomblog The Final Entry

Zomblog

Book 1

For Denise, my wife and my strength

And Ms. Bose, the teacher who said, “Write!”

Author’s Note

Let me introduce myself…

No writer of zombie fiction can pen an acknowledgement of thanks to everybody who helps or gave support without mentioning The Godfather of the American Zombie…George A. Romero.  “All hail the king!”

I’ve always been curious about those seemingly self-serving author’s acknowledgment pages.  Now I understand.  No writer can do this alone, and to not say “Thank you” is kinda rude.  And I already know that I’ll miss somebody, so to you…the person I miss…I thank you first!

Now…I have to thank Michael DeNoma for “one more proof reading”.  Hopefully we caught most of the glitches.  Ian Lohrman, for listening to his deranged “roommate” ramble on endlessly about zombies as well as doing his best to stay awake as I read my drafts out loud.  All my readers and critics at Fanfiction.com and Fictionpress.com who encouraged and supported me and let me know that it was time to get this done.  To “Mindy” and “Piggy” for being excited about this experience.  To my favorite zombie writers who don’t know I exist but inspire me with their stories: Tony Monchinski, David Wellington, Brian Keene, and Kim Paffenroth.

There are two people who really made this happen and deserve special thanks.  The first is my college writing instructor, Ms. Mardel James-Bose.  It was in her creative writing class that she told me to “just go for it and write what you love!” I doubt this is what she had in mind.  The second is my wife, Denise.  I save the best for last.  I will never be able to express adequate thanks for all you do.  Your belief never faltered, even when all I had were doubts.  The editing, finding maps, “mood music” (Goblin and Future Sounds of London) and just listening to my endless yammering.  This book is as much yours as mine.

Now…enough of the real world

“Please to enjoy.”

TW Brown

November 2009

Prologue

Saturday, December 29

Greetings. My name is Samuel Todd. I live in a suburb of a fairly large northwestern city. I am the guy who delivers your papers early in the wee hours of the morning and I gotta say...you see some pretty hairy shit in the middle of the night when all the “normal” folks are in bed.

I’ve been a fan of the internet since Q-Link, that may give away my age but that’s cool. So, I finally decided to start a blog. With some of the stuff I’ve seen, hell...I thought about writing a book, but I don’t have the—

What is it that writers have?

(Besides talent smarty pants)

Determination?

Drive?

Stick-to-it-iveness.

Yep. That’s it.

Instead, I’ve decided to just ramble on and share my odd adventures and observations. A few things about me. I’m single. Well, actually, I’m divorced. Twice. I have a daughter from marriage number two. Elizabeth Marie. She goes by Beth, has since she was seven. She’s an insane fourteen this most recent December 15th. Every year for her birthday, I get the guys in our little band “The Stupid Muses” together. We put the phone on speaker and I sing that KISS song, Beth. It’s cheesy, but I still get away with it due to it being tradition. The first three years I did it in our garage. Mine and Erin’s (Erin is Elizabeth’s mom). My daughter would sit on the washing machine with her little hands clasped under her chin and just beam. Her curly dark brown hair framed her perfectly oval face and those hazel eyes actually sparkled.

I’m drifting off the deep end, aren’t I? Sorry, but when it comes to daddy’s little girl, I get a bit misty.

In a nutshell, that is my life.

Besides delivering the newspaper, I play guitar and sing in a small-time band. Mostly we do parties, reunions and stuff. It doesn’t pay much, but I make enough to get by and still keep up on my child support. Erin never trips if I’m late. She knows I’m good for it. She and I still get along okay. When it comes to Elizabeth, our little Beth, differences are set aside. It’s not our daughter’s fault that her parents couldn’t spend longer than an hour together without verbally shredding each other.

Anyways, it’s getting late so I gotta get to the Center and get my load of papers. I picked today to start this blog because the craziest shit is on New Year’s and full moons. Check with me tomorrow and hopefully I’ll have something juicy..

Tuesday, January 1

Holy crap! What a night I’ve had! This is why I decided to start blogging...

I arrived at just after 2:30 a.m. to pick up the papers for my route. We had two no-shows so Gabriel (this old Mexican who has been delivering papers for like 20 years!) and I split the routes which was kind of a drag. But it happens every year. That is one thing you folks who walk out in your jammies and scoop up your paper each day don’t realize. Even more than the mailman, we HAVE to deliver despite rain, sleet, snow...or drunken no-shows. Some folks say that the internet is killing the daily paper. I think that’s a load of crap. Nothing replaces flippin’ to your favorite section over a steaming cup of coffee. Plus, I love me some Get Fuzzy.

Anyways, I load up and check the extra route list so I can economize my trip as much as possible. The cost of gas is what will kill the morning paper way before the internet does. I roll out and pass the annual DUI parade complete with flashing lights and circus clowns trying in utter futility to pass field sobriety tests. I pull into this apartment complex. Real nice sorta upscale place. I get out to unload about ten papers at the office/rec center and hear this noise coming from one of the covered parking lots. Sure as hell, one of our local television news team has herself bent over the hood of this shiny silver Lexus. I recognize her right away only because it is the station I always watch as I’m eating dinner. Her milky white skin practically glows in the dark! And the words coming out of her mouth are a drunken slur of everything she can’t say in front of the camera at 5 and 6:30 p.m.! I am tuning in tonight for sure with a whole new perspective!

Other than that…saw loads of drunks pissing in dark corners, a good share of teenage kids puking (happy freakin’ New Year!) and one nasty accident that signaled the end of the line for at least one idiot.

So here’s a question—what possesses folks after all the stats, stories and movies-of-the-week to still get behind the wheel of a car and crank it up after getting looped? If drunk drivers were charged with murder, would it deter anybody? People argue that murder has to be done with forethought. Ain’t nobody goes out and ties one on by mistake.

Well, I’ve got a day of Bowl games to watch. My baby-girl, Beth, she’s bringing her new boyfriend over to watch the games with dad. That’s the closest thing to a date she’s gonna get…at least until she turns sixteen. I plan on doing a lot of cheering…and glaring.

Wednesday, January 2

Simple question. What the hell is wrong with kids these days? When I went to a girlfriend’s parents’ house… I was a damned saint. “Yes sir.” “No ma’am.” “Lovely house, Mrs. Casteel.”  “How ‘bout them Blazers?”

This kid was using his tongue like a dipstick in my daughter’s throat. ON! MY! COUCH! I stood there like an idiot for like ten seconds! Now I’m the asshole. Can you believe it? Is our society that far gone? If it is, somebody please hit the RESET button.

Thursday, January 3

I’m gonna have to pick a different channel to watch my evening news. Every time I see that woman...I get all worked up! As for my daughter’s “boyfriend”, I got a call this morning from my ex, she said Beth was totally embarrassed. But the good news is...not by me! Sure, she yelled at me and threw a fit, but it was because she was mortified that her boyfriend did what he did. She said that when I went into the kitchen to grab the snacks, he took that moment to just go for it. Now my daughter wants to come over on the 7th and catch the LSU vs. Ohio St. game with me...alone! Erin and I have raised a good girl even with a buster marriage. I think a lot of folks put blame on divorced parents for much of today’s problem children. I can see where a two-parent household has its advantages.  But marriage does not make good parents.

Our band has a gig tomorrow night at a company holiday party. That will give me enough for my date with my girlfriend-du-jour, Megan. We are going to dinner and a movie. It’s my turn to pick the movie.  I’m set on the new I AM LEGEND flick. I love those end-of-the-world-apocalypse type films. However, that means she picks the restaurant, blech! Another fancy-smancy place with some bite-sized tidbit in the middle of the plate. I’ll have to down a burger before I pick her up. For our next date, I pick the restaurant…and I gotta find a place that loads up on the food without costing a month’s rent. Also, by the next time I get to pick a movie, I’m thinking CLOVERFIELD. Anybody out there got any ideas?

Friday, January 4

Guess I’ll be going to see I AM LEGEND alone. When I went to the gig this evening everything was roses. Did I not mention that it is Megan’s company where she works as an insurance adjuster that my band was booked to play? So we started at five and there was quite a spread at this little soiree. I notice Megan tossing back a few, which is fine. I mean, I don’t drink, but to each his own. During the second break I look for her. Mostly for an ego boost. You know, ask how we sound…she tells me we’re great. But I don’t see her anyplace. Now this office complex is kinda big. Nine-story building, lots of space. I figure if she didn’t want to get caught riding cowgirl-style on some desk-jock, she could of at least gone up a few floors. I had a lot of ways that I could have responded. I like to think I was classy. I waited until she came back into the big banquet room…and then I had the band kick into Roxanne by the Police. There was enough eye contact for her to know the score. I didn’t see her the rest of the night.

I think I’ll go see my old high school buddy tomorrow. Soon as I finish my route tonight I’ll drive out to godforsaken nowhere, (which is where the prison he’s doing time in is located) and say “hi”. Nothing makes your problems seem small like visiting a guy in prison.

Saturday, January 5

I don’t have a lot of time to write this because I need at least a nap before work. I did go see I AM LEGEND. It was okay. Don’t take that as me saying it wasn’t worth seeing. Just had potential to be better. Maybe an actor without such a STAR BILLING would’ve given me more. He was just too…Will Smithy. I saw the movie after I visited my friend. For obvious reasons, I imagine most folks will be turned off by the whole “friend-in-prison” thing. Yeah, well, you guys don’t know Paul.

Paul is a regular guy. He got caught up in a pretty nasty deal. See…Paul is in prison on a sex crime. I bet that perked your ears (or, I guess, eyes). He says he didn’t do it. Him and every other guy in prison, right? I want to believe him. He’s my friend. Has been for years…but a charge like he got always makes you wonder just a bit.

Here’s what I can tell you. He divorced this girl who had three kids from three different fathers. Everybody tried to warn him, but he was trying to be Kaptan Save-a-ho. Anyways, he finally wises up and leaves. Problem is, he had legally adopted all three kids. So, now he’s paying child support (something those kids’ real dads never did).

A few years later he gets re-married. Eventually, they have their own kid. The new wife starts bugging Paul about this child support bill. Paul ain’t seen that ex or those kids in five years by now, and calls to see if she’ll agree to less money. He finds out that two of the kids have gone to live with their REAL dads! What’s more, this broad is on welfare and draining Paul for support with only one kid at her house and a live-in boyfriend that welfare is unaware of. He threatens to turn her in if she doesn’t agree to modify the child support. A month later he is arrested and charged with sexually abusing two of the three kids. His public defender told him to plead down to only two of the ten counts and avoid a trial. When Paul asked why he should do that if he was innocent, the lawyer told him all those kids had to do was point and cry and he would do fifty years on all counts versus only ten years for two!

That’s his story. I believe him because I’ve known him since we were ten. But for the rest of his life…he’s screwed.

We had a good visit. He only has about a year and a half left, so we talked about him staying with me when he first gets out. He said it was a bad idea because I couldn’t have my daughter visit me with him living there. I told him I’d help any way I can. When I left he looked me in the eye, shook my hand, and thanked me for taking the time to come and see him. He said his family totally cut him off so he hadn’t had a visit in about six months (the last time I came out). His wife divorced him and took out a restraining order so he couldn’t call his son. That was almost nine years ago. I called my daughter as soon as I got to my car.

Like I said, if you think you’re having a bad day…visit somebody in prison.

Sunday, January 6

My mind is still sorta flashing back on my visit with Paul. Tomorrow, I’m gonna spend a day watching a Bowl game with my daughter. I wonder what Paul will be doing. We played football together and I know he loves the game. Crazy.

Megan has left about twenty messages on my machine. I really don’t care. I mean, I did. That was until I drove by her place last night after I did my route. She musta forgot that I’m out and about in the middle of the night. That car in her driveway behind her ugly little Prius was parked next to her ugly Prius at work just about five hours later.

No, I wasn’t stalking. Just looking. I barely even slowed down as I drove by. Besides, she’s the one leaving messages on MY answering machine.

Monday, January 7

Last night was one of those nights that you only hear about. It becomes like an Urban Legend. I was almost done with my route and, as I am prone to do, I pulled into a 7-11 for a refill on my coffee. Sitting at the light waiting to turn left and then hook into the store’s parking lot, I can see inside the store very clearly. Two guys with hooded sweatshirts are at the counter…with guns!

I flip my cell open and punch my emergency button. The 9-1-1 operator answers and I give all the information, including the make and model of the car idling in front of the building. I sat there on the line as the two guys run out, jump in their car and peel out in reverse. About the time they almost pull out onto the street, a pair of squad cars squeal in and block the parking lot exit.

I watched the whole arrest. Then I ended up spending half an hour giving a statement. Mr. Singh, the guy who works the counter on the graveyard shift, told me my coffee is free forever! He even gave me this laminated card that I can use in any 7-11 for a free cup!

Tonight, my daughter is coming over for the big game! All in all, I’d say this is a pretty good day. Only five messages from Megan on my machine when I woke up. Maybe she’s getting the hint.

Tuesday, January 8

Crazy world! I got a call from the regional manager for 7-11. They want to give me a reward. The company has some sort of policy. What kind of world is this that there is a ‘Company Policy’ for rewarding “people who assist in the apprehension of the person or persons” who rob their stores?

I had a blast watching the game with Beth. We each started with a stack of quarters and bet on everything from who would convert a 3rd and long situation to who would score last. She’s gonna make some guy a great wife one day.

It’s strange how worked up fathers get over their daughter dating, yet gush over what a great wife or mother they will grow up to be.

Wednesday, January 9

There is a bit of a co-worker type relation with my fellow Muses. To be honest, music might take a lot of work but it ain’t “work”. I love it. I enjoy playing.  Sometimes we get in a groove on a song and will jam for twenty to thirty minutes straight. Music is something you feel.  A job is something you do. I respect all you folks who park yourself in that cubicle and grease the American Wheel. I just choose not to join you in your slow, death-by-boredom lifestyles. Sure, I may not be loaded, but I pay my bills, tend to my support obligations, and that is something a lot of those nine-to-fivers can’t say. I mean I just never got caught up in the “gotta have the newest, biggest, brightest toy” sickness that is so prevalent in our society.

On more entertaining fronts, I’m going to watch my daughter’s basketball game tonight. Erin was sweet enough to warn me that her boyfriend, Brandon, would also be in attendance. I think she’s gonna marry the guy. He seems nice I guess. It is funny to watch him get a little irked when Erin hugs me in her normal greeting. If the guy paid attention, he would notice that Erin hugs everybody “hello” and “goodbye”. I do think that guy makes her happy, and Beth says he is a good listener and helps with homework…all that stuff.

Thursday, January 10

I had to go to this “ceremonial” thing to pick up my reward. They gave me $1000 and a plaque for my wall. A lot of fuss in my opinion. I just called 9-1-1. Well, it was a really nice gesture, and I’m glad they felt that the officers who made the actual arrest deserved wall plaques as well. Plus, to sweeten the deal, Mr. Singh’s manager gave a Free Coffee card to each of them. That was nice.

Beth was mad that I hadn’t told her.  Then, Erin called and chewed me out for pretty much the same thing. Now, they want to take me out to dinner. THAT is why I didn’t say anything. Now I gotta sit through a whole meal with Brandon trying to pretend he’s not totally uncomfortable. That, in turn, makes me uncomfortable.

By the way…my daughter’s team lost. However, Beth scored nine points and had six rebounds. She’s pretty fierce on the court. She must get it from her mom; I was a band geek in high school.

Friday, January 11

Erin called this morning. She wants Beth to stay the weekend. The hospital she works at is getting a planeload of some of those poor Indonesian folks that survived a series of big mud slides a couple of weeks ago. I guess they have to prepare a whole floor for those people. Also, a bunch of the rescuers are getting sick. Erin says that there might be some nasty virus involved. She said that this weekend her entire nurses’ shift was selected to prep the floor, and I guess a couple of the doctors are going to go over some sort of battle plan.

I realize that we are the wealthiest nation and all that. It’s just, we run around and help these poorer countries, and what does it get us? The world hates us. I bet if we cut off all our aid and pulled all our troops and just sealed off the country, then these countries would be at our door begging within a year. Maybe not Iraq or Russia.

Seriously, we have our own disasters to deal with. Starving children for one.  Sure, they can play football in New Orleans again, but what about those poor folks who still don’t have a place to live? How about all those sick first-responders from 9-11? I don’t mean to sound heartless, but until there are no children going hungry in Detroit, gang warfare is ended in South Central LA, and you can actually eat a fish you catch in the Columbia River without sucking in more mercury than you would from a gross of old-fashioned thermometers, we need to focus our attention inwards.

Saturday, January 12

Brandon—Erin’s boyfriend—called…I guess this Indonesia thing is nastier than the papers say. Of course with the NFL playoffs rolling towards the Big Game, the election politics, and the insanity that is the Middle East, nobody is talking about Indonesia. I’ll bet almost nobody heard about the “Lost World” find in a jungle never touched by modern man. Mudslides and volcanic activity are just grinding that place. Hospitals all over Europe and the states are preparing to take in a whole slew of people. The CDC is overseeing the United States’ participation by having representatives at each of the approved wards. I guess there was some attempt at quarantine, but too many relief workers had come and gone. Whatever these people have is already popping up all over the place. They (the CDC) are hoping to gather as many people as they can and try to control the mess. I thought they were bringing in people from Indonesia. Turns out they are scooping up our own people who have been exposed by returning relief workers.

I guess Beth will be staying with me for longer than the weekend. The band has a gig next Friday at some frat party. She wants to come and help with set-up. So, my choice is to leave her home alone for an entire day on the rare opportunity I have to spend a large block of time together, or bring her to a frat party.

Sunday, January 13

Wow! Erin called to talk to Beth. I guess Brandon was flown to some hospital in Virginia. I might have failed to mention that he is a doctor. He’s some biology specialist. Deals with contagious stuff. Mostly he has been dealing with West Nile. A hospital in Virginia has a pair of scientists who were in on that Indonesian find. They discovered some sort of giant rat that is like three times the size of a large city rat. Seems these things weren’t afraid of people at all and just walked around the research team like it was no big deal.

Erin says every single one of those researchers got sick. But not until after they came home. So, nobody is sure if they got sick from the site, or if it was exposure to the relief workers who came home on the same flight.

She did say they were receiving their first patients tomorrow. Beth is worried that her mom (and Brandon) will get sick.

I wasn’t…until now.

Monday, January 14

Nobody gives much thought as to what happens in the world when they’re sleeping. It is almost as if everything is on pause…like a giant version of the children’s game Red Light! Green Light! With our eyes closed, everything stops. We are an egotistical organism.

Things in the night do continue to move, I believe the reason we tend not to think about it is because of fear. Every morning, we wake up one day closer to death. Death cannot be stopped.  Genocide in Africa. Unrest in Pakistan. Nuclear threats in Iran and North Korea. Plagues closing the cities of Bangalore and Mumbai in India. And now Singapore is simply shut down. Nothing is coming in or out.

Today, there was a story on page six that claims some small town in Mississippi called Natchez is going under some sort of quarantine.  I’ve tried to get ahold of Erin to see if any of this is something I should be worried about. I tried to watch television news last night/this morning as I was getting ready to go to work for any information. All I got was the latest on which Hollywood Starlet is driving while drunk, which movie stars just broke up ending a tired use of two individual names as one to describe their entity as a couple. Well, at least they each got their own first names back. (When did that trend start, and could it please go away!)

I am convinced there is no such thing as actual news anymore. Every event needs a catchy title and a graphic. Since when did I need a panel of experts I’ve never heard of to explain an event’s relevance to me.  What it means to the presidential candidates. And, how it may possibly effect global warming? By tomorrow, whatever this sickness is that is causing so much grief will have a market-tested name and a panel of scientists who predicted it.

Tuesday, January 15

Something is definitely not right. Last night, I was doing my route.  Nothing new or strange. I was on this stretch of a long, winding, sorta rolling country road where I have a flock of subscribers with the paper boxes attached to their mailboxes. So I stop and, as I always do, grab a bundle. One of my customers is this sweet little old lady who makes me a snack. I usually stuff everybody’s paper, then walk hers to the door. If the porch light is on, I knock…if not, I place her paper inside her screen door. Tonight, the light was on.

I knocked and nobody answered. I got worried, I mean she’s an old gal and, well, she could have had a heart attack or something. I knocked a few more times and then, to be sure, I walked around the outside. When I got to her back door, it was open. She was lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

I’d like to say I was brave and bold and rushed in to help. Instead…I ran. When I got to my car, I grabbed my phone and called the cops. I had to give statements and all that garbage. One of the cops started to give me the business. Asking me a bunch of crazy questions. That was, until the paramedics came out and word spread that some sort of animal had torn her up. (I don’t want to use her name until I know her family has been told. I never understood why the news withheld that stuff—until now.)

That bulldog of a cop let up on me after he went inside to have his own look. It must’ve been bad, because when he came back, he looked pretty pale. Eventually, I was allowed to get back in my car, finish my job, and go home.

But it is tonight that has made things a bit weird. I woke up to Beth telling me that Erin still hasn’t called. When I called the hospital, I got an “all circuits are busy” recording.  At a hospital? Adding to all the really bad feelings I’m getting, the news had a story about an ambulance that went off the road. I looked in time to see that it was the one from that little old lady’s house. It hadn’t gotten far because I could see a few landmarks I recognized. According to the news, no bodies were found at the scene.

Beth is coming with me to work tonight.

Wednesday, January 16

This ain’t SARS or West Nile, that’s for damn sure. Something really bad is going on. Beth is hysterical. I’m a bit freaked myself. This morning, Beth and I tried to check in on Erin since we haven’t heard from her in a few days which, in case you’re wondering, is totally out of character. Even when Beth only spends the weekend, Erin never fails to call every day. She’s a really good mom.

The hospital is under some sort of quarantine! There is a whole pack of National Guard set up around the place. News crews are being kept outside a two-mile perimeter! Apparently there are situations like this popping up all over. Not just here in the states either!

Whatever this is...it’s global.  Two of the nineteen route drivers did not show up for work last night/this morning. The news on the television and radio are all about guessing...since nobody is really sure what is going on. If things are being kept quiet here in the United States, it is absolutely silent out of Indonesia, Japan, China...it’s like that whole part of the world has gone dark.

Thursday, January 17

That does it! Until I know what the hell is going on, I’m not going back to work. We still haven’t heard from Erin…the news is reporting that everything is shutting down all over the world. I don’t even know if this blog will continue to post. The freakin’ internet is shutting down! Sites like YouTube are just gone. This, on the heels of the rumor that all news is being “monitored” by the government.

It’s like some conspiracy theorist’s nightmare come to life. Nobody knows what is going on.  And if they do, they can’t or won’t say anything. With everything going down, last night there was only seven of us that showed up for work at the paper. Not that it mattered, the issue was so thin (22 pages total) the delivery driver said only a quarter of the trucks loaded out.

Beth and I went to the grocery store. It was practically stripped bare! I talked to Bill, the manager, he said almost none of his deliveries came last night. Still, we grabbed what we could.

When we got home, all the television stations were off... an Emergency Broadcast Alert screen is all we have now. Even on MTV! Something is bad. Very bad.

Late evening

It’s late, but Beth and I are heading over to Erin’s house. She just called and is at home. She asked us to hurry over. Beth is frantic. I think she heard the strain in her mother’s voice, too. She told us not to stop for anybody we might see that looks injured. When I tried to ask questions, she just told me “shut up and trust her”.

Friday, January 18

This has now become a running journal. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep this up, but for any who find this…if nothing else, you can maybe learn from any mistakes I make.

Whatever this sickness is, it has made its way around the world. I imagine Beth and I don’t have long. We arrived to find Erin unconscious at the top of the stairs inside her house.

She looks almost like her skin is made of shiny, gray wax. She is soaked with sweat and panting like a woman in labor. She has a deep gouge in her forearm that looks like something tore at her. It was wrapped in gauze, but had soaked through so bad that we had to cut away the bandages (which smelled rotten, like raw chicken left on the counter for a couple of days). Beth almost puked, but she was a real trooper. We cleaned and re-bandaged the wound.  Erin never woke up. She moaned a lot, and a couple of times her panting would just stop. Then, all of a sudden, she would gasp and start panting again.

The EBS announced that the government has declared that a virus of unknown origin is spreading rapidly and individuals are to remain indoors. The illness is causing ‘violent madness’. Those infected should be restrained, and there are confirmed reports that the sick have savagely attacked their caretakers.

I’ve tried to call a few people I know, but the phones are jammed.  Basically, we’re stuck here and I doubt anybody will come help if I did manage to get through. If you are reading this, we are just outside of Portland, Oregon…due west in a suburb called Aloha. The house is a brown, two-story just behind Cooper Mountain Elementary.

* * * * *

It is just past ten in the morning. I’ve dozed off and on. Erin has shown no change. Beth and I had a little argument about restraining her mom. I guess we’ll leave her for now. If she wakes up and starts acting violently, we’ll do the tying-up thing.

I’m pretty sure I heard screams and gunshots nearby. The phone is still down and I’m not leaving my daughter alone to go look.

Christ! I don’t know what to do! Other than the one EBS announcement, there has been nothing. I keep hearing sirens, but nothing has come close enough that I could try and flag down for help. Erin shows no sign of getting any better…if anything, she’s getting worse. Beth won’t leave her side.

* * * * *

It is dark outside now. Just past nine. For the past hour the EBS has run a loop announcing that martial law has been declared on a national level. Anybody caught outside after sunset will be shot! I didn’t think the government could do something so harsh. I mean, if they said you would be arrested, then sure. But they’re killing people. I know they are because I’ve heard gunfire almost non-stop since that alert began.

Saturday, January 19

Erin’s awake!

Sunday, January 20

There has to be somebody out there that can help me. I don’t know what to do. Nothing is making sense.

The pounding. The relentless, never-ending pounding.

Maybe if I put this down…relate what happened… then, hopefully, I’ll understand. This nightmare will unravel, and the world will make sense.

Okay. So Erin woke up. Beth had screamed and run out into the hall. She kept insisting her mom had died. I was still hugging her when we both heard that thud and the sound of glass breaking. Then this low, sickly moan sorta drifted out of the room, growing louder.

Erin stepped into the doorway and I was so shocked that I just knelt there, staring like an idiot.

Then the smell hit me.

I actually gagged. I covered my mouth as Beth ran to her mom. This is where things just fell apart.

I still see each fraction of a second of what happened with a clarity that makes me shiver. My hands haven’t stopped shaking in the last twenty-four hours. (Of which I’ve slept none of, not even a catnap)

Erin’s face looked blank, like that astronaut that had the lobotomy in Planet of the Apes. She jerked like she’d been shocked. I mean her movements were real herky-jerky like. With absolutely no warning, she bit Beth! Just leaned down and tore part of her ear off! Then, as Beth is screaming, blood pouring down the side of her head, down her neck, Erin just gulps it down. The piece of our daughter’s ear!

By now Beth is trying to get away. Erin has her by the arms with both hands, like claws, digging into my little girl’s flesh. I’m still just kneeling on the floor at the top of the stairs like an idiot. Finally, and this is a blurry part, I jump up, shoving Erin back into her room as I rip Beth free.

I pulled the door shut and spun to where my daughter is curled up on the floor, against a wall. She had her hands pressed to that torn ear, wailing like I’d never heard before. Honestly, that sound is trapped in my head and won’t go away. That scream…

* * * * *

Sorry, I had to stop for a few. God! I wish the pounding would stop!

Anyways, to continue where I left off. Beth is crying. I realize by now that I’m crying. Erin starts moaning louder and pounding on the door. (That was almost a full day ago and it hasn’t let up for one second.)

I grabbed my daughter, carried her downstairs, and took her into the bathroom. The best thing about Erin being a nurse is that her medicine cabinet and first aid kit are a-freakin’-mazing! After the initial clean-up and bandaging, Beth wanted to change clothes. She was so unnerved, she actually begged me to stay. Even with my back turned and eyes closed my little girl has not wanted dad anywhere in the vicinity if she was in any state of undress since about the age of seven.

After all that, I rummaged around and found some Valium. I gave her a half of one. She fell asleep holding my hand. I sat on the floor by the couch all that night and she never once let go.

I sat there. In the dark. I listened to my daughter’s breathing, Erin’s pounding, and the intermittent gunfire, sirens…and screaming.

The screams were the worst. I’ve never heard anything like it. It was like taking the worst pain-scream and the worst fear-scream and combining them. One time, I thought I heard something outside the house. Whatever it was seemed to bounce off the walls a few times, then…nothing.

* * * * *

Some nut-jobs managed to break into one of the local radio stations. We’ve had the television and radio on this whole time in case the EBS had anything helpful. So, whoever these guys are, they start carrying on about ‘walking dead’ and ‘zombies’! They were saying that police, and fire, and military are almost gone because they fell in ‘the first wave’! Well, I was almost hooked until I heard commands of, “This is the United States Army. We are ordering you to cease and desist all activities this moment!” Then…

Silence.

So much for the first wave.

I think writing this helped. I’m gonna take a little nap.

Monday, January 21

Early morning

I may lose my mind entirely. The pounding just keeps going on, and on, and on! People say that after a while you can get used to a sound and your mind will block it out. Like, if you live next to railroad tracks or an airport, in time, you just stop hearing it. Well, that is not the case here.

I’ve decided that I have to do something. If you are reading this and in the area, I’ve hung a blue bed sheet out of a second floor window. Please…help my daughter. If I fail, she’ll be all alone. She is so sick, showing the same problems, or symptoms, or whatever, that Erin had. But I must do something. I’m going to try and tie Erin down so she’ll stop the pounding. God forgive me, but I will try to gag her also.

Evening

It worked! I managed to get Erin tied down. But damn, I strongly suggest you take that EBS recommendation about restraining anybody you know that is possibly infected. Erin was more like an animal than a human being. Oddly, her expression barely changed except when she opened her mouth wide and tried to take a bite out of me. That only came in handy when I had to stuff the hand-towel into her mouth, which, by the way, was not very easy to secure; I managed by using a ripped pillowcase. So, the Erin “problem” is at least under control. For now.

The radio and television have had repeat warnings about Martial Law.  It has now been set for 5 p.m. There have also been recommendations that you not leave your home at all. But if you do, several FEMA crisis centers have been set up. Mostly at high schools. There is no way I’m leaving Erin. Beth is too sick to move right now. And, honestly, I don’t really relish the idea of being jammed into a big open room full of strangers.

Here is something strange. I keep seeing people wandering around. They look like Erin. Sick. Discolored. They are alone mostly. Sometimes a group will pass by. What is most distressing is that some of them look pretty bloodied up.

I’m starting to wonder about those guys who took over that radio station for a brief moment.

But really. Zombies?

Tuesday, January 22

I’ve wrestled with this decision for a day and a half. I have no choice. I carried Beth up to her room and she is now securely tied down in her bed. I hadn’t been upstairs, other than tying down Erin, and this morning I took the time to look around once I had secured my daughter and changed her bandages (that stench is so overpowering).

From the second floor I get a much clearer view of the surrounding neighborhood. It is obvious there have been a few fires. A few blocks over, I can see one house still burning. No sign of any sort of emergency crews. Just how bad is it out there?

The other thing I am seeing is more disturbing. Today I saw something that my mind does not want to accept. It is too preposterous to even consider. Yet…

Okay. Getting a grip.

There was this man. Rather what was left of him. From the waist down he was a mass of torn flesh. His entire lower half was just gone! He was on his stomach…dragging himself down the street by his hands! What had to be the spinal column was twitching back and forth like an alligator’s tail. Strands of who knows what dragged behind. I got a really good look at him. It took over an hour for him to drag himself to the end of the block where he vanished behind a parked car. I watched other people just stumble past as if nothing was wrong! What the hell is going on!?!

Every time I would check, there he would be, just dragging himself along. Those guys on the radio don’t seem so insane now.

Beth is getting sicker. Her wound is smelling worse by the hour. Her skin is taking on that same gray, slick, waxy pallor that her mother’s did.

Somebody is screaming.

* * * * *

Even seeing it firsthand. Even hearing what those guys said on the radio…I still struggle to accept this. If this is real, then that means Erin is a…

So, here is what I saw. That screaming was so close, I had to at least see if there was anything I could do. I had to go in Erin’s room (this time the smell made me vomit) and look out her bedroom window. Her room is in the back of the house and looks out over the backyard.

The backyard is fenced with tall wooden slats about six feet high. But, from the second floor, I could see into the neighboring backyards on all three sides. In the backyard directly behind us was a woman. She looked to be about twentyish. She had tried to climb the fence leading into the yard behind and to the left of ours. Her shirt was snagged and two little boys no older than ten had her by a leg. Each one was trying to bite her! She was so busy kicking and struggling to free herself that she didn’t see this other man…

This is where it gets crazy again.

This man had most of the right side of his face torn off. It made his mouth seem huge. Once I stopped focusing on his terrible injury, I noticed something that was, for me, more terrifying.  His skin. It looked just like Erin’s!  That of course made me glance back at her. She was still straining against her bindings. Straining to get at me. Then I looked into her eyes. They were dull and milky white with a bloodshot look that was especially creepy since, instead of reddish, it was almost black. At first I thought it was a trick of the shadows on her face. Then I leaned closer for a better look with the daylight hitting her directly.

No trick.

I took a look out back again as that lady was grabbed by the man she hadn’t seen coming. I know what you’re thinking. I should’ve helped. Yelled. Something.

Okay. Then what? Really. What in the hell could I do after that? And what if they come after me? My daughter?

Anyway, what I saw next has me believing in the unbelievable. That man grabbed the woman by the head and bit into her at the top of one arm, just below the joint. He tore away a chunk of flesh. And then I heard that terrible scream. Next, one of those boys got through the jeans and took a bite out of her calf. That’s when I stopped watching.

The screams lasted another couple of minutes, but it seemed like forever. That was an hour ago. The man and those two boys are gone.

She’s not.

Still stuck on the fence though.

Only now, she’s missing one arm and part of a leg from about the knee. And she’s moving. Just like Erin was. Like that man and those boys were…slowly, with occasional jerks and fits.

Wednesday, January 23

Early yesterday evening, Beth came to. She can’t remember anything. That may be best. I would hate for her to have the last memories of her mom being so terrible.

When I heard her call me, I can’t tell you how completely surprised I was. I rushed in to find her crying and trying to get free of the restraints I had fashioned. Once I got her untied, I scooped her up and just held her. She was too weak to do anything so I carried her downstairs. (Her room reeks and the smell was upsetting her).

We were just sitting quietly.  Well, I was sitting with her nestled up under my arm when the EBS broke its silence:

“The CDC has issued a statement confirming that the recently deceased are seeming to re-animate. They then become hostile and attack the living. Certain mythologies suggest head trauma may be the only way to deactivate the mobile corpses.”

That loop ran for about two hours before it went silent in mid-sentence. Ten minutes later, the EBS signal on the television went dead. There is nothing but a blank screen. Once, it flickered, and a man sitting behind a desk came on, but it was gone in a blink. Beth didn’t seem to notice any of it.

She has come in and out of consciousness the past several hours. The sun has been up for a while now. The last time I glanced at the clock it was almost 9 a.m. I’m torn between just sitting here, holding my daughter…or tying her back up. I don’t know if she’ll get better or not. If she doesn’t, I don’t want her dying, tied up like an animal. I did manage to get a good look at her eyes when I was carrying her downstairs. They aren’t milky, but the blood vessels are almost black. I must’ve been staring hard because she did ask me what was wrong.

“Nothing,” I lied.

* * * * *

My daughter, Elizabeth Marie Todd, died this evening at 4:19 p.m. I checked for a pulse. Tried CPR. I know what dead is. She was dead.

At 4:23, she sat up.

I led her up the stairs and into her mom’s room. They should at least be together.

Thursday, January 24

There are starting to be more of those things. I didn’t sleep well last night because I kept hearing them stumbling around outside. You would be surprised how much more ambient noise you hear when the world has gone silent.

I’ve shut off all the lights. I honestly don’t know how much longer power will last. It has been sporadic the past several hours. The television never did come back with so much as an EBS screen. I pressed SEEK on my radio and it is just scanning. That means none of the towers are even sending a carrier signal. Every hour I switch between AM and FM.

My cell phone still has bars, but nothing happens when I try to call. I can’t even check my voice mail. I’m pretty sure the world has shut down on a massive level.

I went out to the garage and found a bag with softballs, gloves, cleats…and three aluminum bats. Erin was as freaky about guns as I was, and apparently, so was her boyfriend. Those bats will be my only source of protection now.

I have considered going in and…dispatching… (that’s as clean of a word as I can find) my ex-wife and daughter. I’ve even gone in there a couple of times. They really get agitated when they see me. I tried to convince myself that they were just happy to see me. But that’s a lie.

They want to eat me.

* * * * *

A car sped through our neighborhood just past two in the afternoon! A herd—over a hundred—of those damned things were following in this pack that plowed along leaving a trail of ruin in their wake. Yards, fences, some mailboxes, just plain smashed. They wandered through like they didn’t notice any-thing. The only time they diverted from their course is when they came to a parked car.

Once the main pack passed, I watched as stragglers continued to filter by. I saw a couple stop all of a sudden, and I was terrified that they possessed some sort of sense that told them where I was. Instead, it turned out that a cat caught their eye. They went after it, but it outran the pair in a blur of fur. However, I watched somewhat fascinated as the couple continued on in that direction. Like they were in pursuit and oblivious to the idea that they can’t possibly catch the kitty. Also, some of the other stragglers turned and followed.

My conclusions? They are very single-minded; also, they exhibit pack-type mentality. So if you attract one, expect some friends.

Friday, January 25

The power went out just after sunrise and hasn’t come back. I’ve committed to keeping a journal. Somebody needs to document what I am now convinced is the end of humanity.

To that end, I have managed to stay quiet. It is clear from observation that sound will attract attention just as quick as making yourself visible.

I was upstairs getting a look around to see how bad things are.  That is when I noticed a house surrounded on all sides by bunches of those things. Eventually, the surge of bodies trying to get at whomever or whatever was inside broke through a big front room window.

(The screams proved it to be a whomever.)

I have seen a few actual living people. Some alone. Some not. They raid a house. Sometimes they leave in minutes. Sometimes hours. One block over, out front from our place, I saw what looked like five or six guys disappear into a really nice place. They climbed up onto the second floor balcony that ran the length of the back of the house. (I’m pretty sure that place would have a perfect view of Mt. Hood from that vantage.) They haven’t emerged. That was six or seven hours ago now.

I’ve moved everything upstairs. I don’t want to risk being seen moving around on the first floor. Unless something specific gains their attention, I’ve noticed those things don’t do a lot of looking up. Also, I am trying to figure out a route out of this place once I solve one other problem.

Where the hell will I go?

* * * * *

I was napping when a series of gunshots from nearby woke me up. Apparently that group of guys attracted some unwanted attention. It also seems like they weren’t very smart.

I’ve already made my mind up that if I am ever noticed and those things start moving for the house, I’m running for it. A handful becomes a horde in minutes. Once they get ten or so deep, there is no escape. Those guys decided they didn’t want to leave. I heard gunfire, but for the longest time I couldn’t see much. Just those things gathering in greater and greater numbers.

Finally, one of the guys crawled out onto the balcony. Those things came pouring out of the windows, oblivious to the glass shattering and cutting into their flesh. He did manage to re-load one magazine into the handgun he was using. Then, three of them got to him. I saw them topple into the writhing mass in the backyard reaching up, clawing at air. Then I heard a horrible scream. Then…

Silence.

Sunday, January 27

It’s surprising how many noises you hear when you sit in absolute silence.

Yesterday scared me so bad I’ve been sitting in a corner in the hallway outside of what used to be Erin’s room listening for them outside and hoping to God that they wouldn’t come for me.

I can’t stay much longer.

Somehow, Erin managed to get loose. But what has me freaked is just how quietly she moved up on me. Had I not seen her shadow…or worse…been asleep…?

The only thing I could do is take her down with the bat. I was so scared and surprised.  I hit her enough to probably break all of her ribs. I know I shattered one arm. She never even slowed down trying to get at me.

Let me tell you something about the skull. The front takes a handful of solid shots before it breaks. And that is only after you’ve knocked one down and have a fairly solid surface underneath.

My biggest worry was that I’d made enough noise to attract more of those things out there. Fortunately, I did a quick check out all windows and the area is clear. So far.

Still, I’ve decided that I can’t allow my daughter to exist as one of them. I am going to take care of her right before I leave.

Tomorrow.

Monday, January 28

Painted on a bed sheet and nailed to the roof:

Wednesday, January 30

I never imagined it to be so bad!

I got up just before sunrise. I figured, for some idiotic reason, that if I left early, there would be less problems with those things. I left out one major piece of the equation…they don’t sleep!

In the few minutes it took me to hang my sign, (I had the hammer head wrapped in cloth to dampen the sound, but the world is so quiet it didn’t help much) I already began attracting a crowd. I had to knock a couple of them out of the way as I got to my car. Funny thing is that I had managed to load the car earlier without even seeing one of those things. Once I turned the engine over, it got dicey fast. Those things came out from every direction.

I had already scouted a nice open lot about a block from the grocery store, and decided that was where I would park so as not to lead those…zombies…(there, I said it) to my objective; food and supplies. I even cut the engine so I could coast part way and try to lessen the attention I would draw. I came to a stop with a bunch of those zombies in pursuit. They may be slow, but they never stop.

My daughter had a teddy bear with a wind up music box built in. I tossed it one direction and ran the other. That was diversion attempt number one. It actually drew a small crowd. Unfortunately, by now, I would guess upwards of two hundred of them were coming from every direction.

I made my way to a house that bordered the store. I knew that this was a portion of my plan that could go terribly wrong. I didn’t even slow down as I ran at the front room window. Pulling my coat over my head, I dove through.

Let me explain something here in case you might think I just jeopardized others. The house was new, and for sale. It is part of this new development being built in what had once been a walnut-tree grove back when I was in high school.

So…I dove through. That is not nearly as cool as it looks in the movies. The impact damn near knocked the wind out of me. One piece of glass stuck in the back of my hand almost deep enough to punch through my palm. Between adrenaline and shock, I didn’t notice it until I snuck out back and climbed the fence. I snatched the shard out, tossed it and took a look.  I was by the loading docks. I climbed up onto one of the trucks and scurried across the trailer. From there it was not hard to climb a portion of pipe that led to the roof.

Once on the roof, I was able to check inside the store through one of the multiple skylights. Just as I hoped, the store was totally empty. Unfortunately, the shelves had been almost stripped bare. Still, being alone, there was enough left to make it worth my while.

I set down my backpack and crept to the little two-foot lip that surrounded the roof. I made my way around the entire store in about forty minutes.

Those things are everywhere!

How did this happen?

The good thing was that very few of them were interested in the store. A couple were at the door. I could hear the meaty slapping sounds of their hands on the glass. One was pushing this shopping cart in random directions. Every time he ran into something, or the cart was bumped by another of those things, he just kept going.  It was like a 3-D zombie screen saver.

Anyways, I went to a skylight towards the back of the store. They were some sort of heavy-duty plastic. I took out a screwdriver, pried up the stripping, and popped out the panel. I tied the coil of rope I had found in the garage to a sturdy piece of pipe that stuck up through the roof, and then climbed down to the grocery store floor.

The smell of rot was already getting thick. Not the same as those things…but nasty nonetheless. I stayed low and crept around the aisles. To make things easier if I came back this way, I brought everything that could be useful, but that I didn’t have room for, and stacked it in the rear of the store, not far from where I had climbed down.

I went back in the stock area and found some more stuff. But not much. This store must’ve gotten overrun with folks in a panic when this all kicked off.

I imagine that when the delivery trucks stopped, it only caused more insanity. I must have missed a lot in those couple days at Erin’s house.

Has it really been a week and a half?

I wrote a note and left it secured to the supplies I stacked in the rear of the store. I detailed my plan. I explained that there is a warehouse out in the middle of nothing. It sits on a hill and is surrounded by a huge chain link fence that is topped with razor wire.

I used to have a route in that area. The complex sits on a ridge that only has one entry road. There is a thick area of forest that surrounds the whole thing. Hell, I even remember the big environmentalist rally that tried to prevent the clearing done to the crest of that hill. Initially, the company wanted to clear the entire thing. It was eventually agreed that only the area of the actual complex plus a two-hundred yard perimeter be cleared.

I left directions to the place…then took my newly acquired supplies and retraced my route back to my car and headed out.

What I didn’t count on was how difficult it would be to get there. You can’t drive anyplace without bringing those things out in droves! They clogged the highway so badly that I had to exit…across a damn field!  Having no desire to drive in the dark, I decided to find someplace to hole up till morning.

I put a portable CD boom box on full blast. Once I had a moment that I could stop safely, I set it on the ground, coasted about four more blocks and stopped.

My biggest concern was not being seen, but leaving the car behind.  I tried to park where I would remember.  Then I ran into the fenced backyard of a two-story house on a cul-de-sac that looked empty.

Once I made sure the backyard was clear, I tried the sliding glass door. Locked. I checked each window and finally found one that was not latched.

As soon as I opened it, I knew I would have some dealings with a zombie or two. Luckily the bathroom I climbed in was closed off. Unluckily, something started pawing at the door before I was even all the way in.

I didn’t know how many might be in the house so I wanted to deal with this as quick as possible to minimize the noise being made.

I dropped my pack, grabbed my bat, and opened the door…

That little boy couldn’t have been more than six or seven. I actually considered just restraining him like I had Erin and Beth. Then, what I assumed to be his mom, older brother, and dad came down the hall.

From that point, it was like a switch had simply been flipped off in the part of me that is human. I swung that bat, coming down on that boy’s head. It took two more swings to actually bring him down. The mother was next. It was only after I calmed down, stopped shaking so badly (I don’t think the tremors in my hands will ever stop completely)…that I realized she had pushed the other two, dad and big brother, to get at me.

Could something in whatever keeps those things going cause that sort of reaction?

Once I had put all four down for good, I had time to look around and try to piece things together.

It looks as if it started with Oldest Boy. He has one single bite that I had to look for to find. On his left leg, just above the ankle. I really have no guesses on that. It looks like Youngest Boy was next, and that he did the most identifiable damage to Mom. Many of the bites that did not tear chunks out are small in size.

Poor Dad must’ve come home to all three. Since so much blood is upstairs…there is a big smear of it on the wall from the top of the staircase to the first landing where the stairs make a little “L” turn…I guess they got him up there. Also, most of Dad’s insides are gone. His abdomen is a horrid open hole. Mom and Youngest Boy are torn up pretty good. But nothing like Dad.

There is one other thing.

There was a baby’s room.

It was empty.

They didn’t leave anything behind except the morbid splash of blood on one wall and a tiny section of the carpet.

I’ll resume my journey to the warehouse just before sunrise tomorrow.

My biggest find here besides food and a case of bottled water was one of those pitchers with the built in filter.

I also found a .22 pistol and three boxes of ammo in a box on the top shelf of a linen closet under a bunch of sheets and towels.

* * * * *

Friday, February 1

I made it!

There is a certain feeling from being around others that is gratifying. If you can remember back just a couple of weeks to when before all of this started…one of life’s pleasures was just having some time alone. Peace and quiet. No distractions or demands. For those few precious moments, you could almost block out the ‘real’ world.

Now, things are the exact opposite. But, I should back up a bit. I made it to the warehouse complex. It’s a distribution center for Wal-Mart. There is a lot of stuff here. There are also about seventy or so people!

There seems to be a real mixed bag here, but everybody has one thing in common—at least for now—over-shadowing all our differences. We’ve all lost somebody to something that was totally unthinkable just a couple of weeks ago.

What I have discovered is that it is even worse than I guessed. That is saying a lot considering what I encountered on my way here. Yesterday was a nightmare, I have no idea how I made it through alive…

I gathered my stuff and made sure to load the pistol. I remember looking at my watch and seeing that it was 4:17 a.m. I knew I still had a couple of hours of darkness left. My plan was to use as much cover as possible and sneak back to my car.

Then…there was the explosion. It shook the house, breaking who knows how many windows. It knocked things off shelves, and out front it was suddenly brighter than daylight. I made my way upstairs and took a look.

Two blocks away was a main street of sorts. A gas station was now a raging inferno. I saw some of those things blown out in an obscene depiction of the blast radius. Some of the ones furthest out were getting up! I thought I heard screams above the roar, but if they were real, they didn’t last long enough for me to be certain.

I took a look around the neighborhood. Those things were everywhere! Swarming to every house. I imagine all that breaking glass got their attention. It is like they just converge on the closest sound. I watched a couple fall through the broken remains of the living room window of the house across the street.

Then I heard them.

Downstairs.

Just looking into the yard, I could see ten or twenty coming at this house. By the time I was down the stairs there were three in the living room wandering around. I stepped on something that made a very loud crunch.  All three heads snapped my direction!

Some twisted part of my mind brought an image of those zombies snapping around to the camera in that video, Thriller. The stench, coupled with the various injuries each one had, almost made me puke. That was when I made the first of many mistakes that would almost kill me that day.

I ran for the front door.

Standing right there, I still don’t know how I didn’t hear him pounding on the door (it was smeared with gore from the zombies partially eaten hands).  He was a heavy-set, middle-aged man. I punched him out of frightened reflex. That did absolutely nothing. It grabbed me by one arm and leaned in to bite. I was jerking back as I shoved the pistol in its mouth.

Mistake number two: check the safety.

So I’m jerking away trying to break this thing’s grip as I kept squeezing the trigger with no results. It finally dawned on me to check the safety as a handful of those things are closing the distance across the yard. I know I have at least three at my back, but have no idea how close they are to me. I flipped a switch just above the trigger-guard and squeezed. The ‘pop’ was unimpressive in stature, but it isn’t the size of the bullet.

That thing dropped like a rock…and pulled me with it. I jerked free and rolled away, coming up to my knees. By the glow of the flames, I saw them. I was now the hub of their attention in every direction. They were walking away from whatever had initially drawn them, and were coming for me.

One was closing in, but still almost ten feet away. I brought up the pistol and…

Mistake number three: do not shoot unless absolutely necessary.

Now every head in and on the block turned my way. Also, from further up and down the street, more of them turned and headed my direction.

I began running for my car as fast as I could.

Mistake number four: one of those things stepped out from behind a truck and knocked me on my ass. That was how I lost my pack and all my supplies.

Mistake number five: zip and secure any sort of carry bag you are using to transport supplies in. Stuff spilled everywhere. Then, a couple of those things were on me. Fortunately, they had a handful of backpack. I shrugged out of it and rolled away. Once I made it to my feet, I continued…carefully.

Finally, I reached the car and was on the move. I had to plow, slowly at first, to get through a fairly impressive number of them. I crossed the field and made it back on to the highway. I think that explosion drew a lot of attention because the road seemed much clearer. There were stragglers here and there, but nothing I couldn’t navigate past.

It only took a couple of hours to reach as far as I could on Highway 26. About four miles from Banks was what had been some sort of National Guard roadblock. The woods made it impossible to simply drive around, and the roadblock covered the east and west bound lanes.  I would have to continue on foot.

I had plenty of those things on my trail, coming in a mob down the highway in my wake. Also, there were some coming from in front of me. I took the only route that made sense…I made for the woods.

Typical of this time of year, it was cold and rainy. But I had enough daylight to see by. The woods actually kept me out of the worst of the weather. A few stragglers were in the pines, but I had no trouble keeping out of their sight. Late yesterday afternoon, I reached my destination.

In what was one of my greatest strokes of luck, I reached the edge of the clearing that surrounds the distribution complex as a team of five people came out to dispatch the thirty or so zombies that had begun to congregate at the fence. They were using a combination of axes, picks, and bats, while a couple more stood just inside the fence with rifles as cover.

When I called out, one of them, a huge mountain-man looking sort (later he would introduce himself as Tom Langston), told me to “shut-up and run for the gate!”

One of the riflemen signaled me to come in once I got there. Then they just ignored me until the zombies had been dealt with. The five on that detail came back in and we were hustled to what had been some management-type’s office. Everybody from outside the fence began to strip. I was told that I had to be checked for bites or scratches. Once they saw I was clean (as were the five who had been outside the fence) I was introduced to a bunch of people I don’t yet remember the names of and brought inside one of the large buildings.

As I was introducing myself, I told about Erin and Beth. About what had happened. That was when I broke down. I couldn’t stop crying. Somebody escorted me to this small office and said something about taking my time to “get myself together.” I’ve been in here ever since. Sometimes I just cried. Sometimes I slept.

I don’t much like sleeping.

Too many nightmares.

Anyways, I think I’m better. At least stable enough to go out and meet these people. I think I’ve cried myself out.

Time to go meet my fellow fugitives.

Saturday, February 2

This is quite a community. There are a few folks who have sorta taken charge. It reminds me of Survivor or Big Brother in that there are people who just naturally assume a leadership role. There are others who work hard at keeping the proverbial gears greased. Then, there are those who do nothing.

Tom Langston is one of the leaders here. Of course it is all unofficial and he would be the first to deny it. But, he has a mind for organizing and coming up with ideas that further enhance our safety.

What’s better is that he gets those things put into action ASAP!

He says he was a big horror movie fan. Many of his ideas come with a story about which movie he is borrowing from. Today for instance…

Today we moved every single trailer portion of the shipping truck fleet still in this complex out of the fence. We parked them as close to the outside of the fencing as we could. Meanwhile, five guys drove forklifts with stacks of wooden pallets to jam under the trailer rigs.

Of course the sound carried and some of the zombies in the woods came out. But we had total coverage with a dispatch team. Tom said not to use guns because that sound would carry better than the trucks we used would. I don’t have any idea if that was true, but he was so convincing that nobody argued.

He also had a group paint: “WE ARE ALIVE” on the roofs of all the big, long warehouses. Everybody was so busy that, for just a few hours, we almost forgot.

Just before we put the last rig in place, we drove all the personal cars and trucks to the parking lot out front and parked them in the first row. All the cars have the keys in the ignition and are loaded with a ‘survival kit’ that includes a first aid kit that would’ve made Erin proud, two cases of bottled water, a water pitcher with a filtration system (my idea!), a hefty supply of non-perishable food, flashlights, batteries, CB radio (I didn’t know they still existed), flares, five-gallon gas can (empty) and assorted weapons (bats, axes, machetes).

I “inherited” a car from somebody that used to work here. I guess Tom had every locker opened and gathered all the car keys they found and then matched them to the cars in the lot. The rumor is that Tom worked security here and had to “take care of his co-workers” when this all started.

I guess we all have our own horrible stories.

Sunday, February 3

We might have created a bit of a problem. This morning, sunrise revealed that those things are about four or five deep…all the way around the complex.

During the watch shift last night, I was walking my section of the fence with Scott and Samantha Anderson, nineteen-year-old twin brother and sister who look like models for a Norwegian ski resort brochure. Everybody takes a shift at night except the children (currently defined as fifteen and younger). You work in threes so that you can send a runner for help if need be. All last night we could hear them. The mewling and gurgling sounds they make kept getting louder. We thought it might just be a trick of the wind. Then, when it started to snow, things quieted down a bit. By the time our shift ended, we had a couple of inches of snow and the noise had almost vanished.

I was awakened to the sounds of the complex in a tizzy. Everybody was running to the office building which is the tallest structure in the complex. From the fifth floor (which is the top) you can see all the way down to where the highway passes. But more important, you can see the entire area surrounding the fence. You can’t actually see up against the trailer rigs, but you can see that there was a mob of zombies all the way around us!

At first we thought they might all be frozen. Tom and a couple of others came back and informed us that, while they seemed a bit slower to react, they were still very much active and aware. Also, there are just too many to dispatch.

Our noise yesterday obviously drew them. I told Tom what I noticed about their behavior and how if one (or more) start after something, others follow, whether they know what it is they are chasing or not.

From the vantage point of the fifth floor, we can see singles and packs heading this way from every direction.  Eventually their approach was blocked from sight by the trees. Only time will tell as to how many of those things will fall in line like lemmings. Hopefully they’ll get distracted in the woods.

* * * * *

It is almost sunset. The snow has turned to rain. There are thousands of them now and we can hear the moaning even if you are inside the buildings. That noise can only be drawing more of them.

The good news is that the barricade of trailer rigs is holding just fine. They don’t have much leverage, and are squeezed in tight.  Each one seems to know that a meal is in the vicinity. But, and this is a plus once we talked it over, they are like dogs inasmuch that they push against each other as much if not more than they do against the barricade.

Monday, February 4

The number of zombies seems to have doubled! That, of course, is the bad news. The good news is there doesn’t seem to be any more coming. There are a couple of stragglers on the highway, but from the vantage point we have, it looks as if every one of those things in the vicinity has come and are standing their undead vigil outside our fence.

It has been decided that the office building is where we will all live. Most of us were already there. A handful of people had taken up in some of the warehouses. But everybody sees the logic in living in one central location so that, if something bad happens, we are all together.  Also, this allows us to use only one of the five back-up generators for power

We have not found any fuel surplus. So we only run the generator when absolutely necessary. There had been a plan to make a run to seek out a diesel tanker-truck. Of course that has been put on hold.

I found a guitar (actually a bunch of them) and couldn’t help myself. I was sitting on a stack of big-screen televisions just getting my hands used to the feel again and had a small crowd in a matter of minutes.

I met all the kids. I guess a couple of the folks here got a make-shift class going to keep the kids occupied. Greg Parker, I guess he used to be a math teacher at Portland State, and Crystal Johnson, ironically, a school bus driver, have a class set up. They were in some meeting room and heard me. Greg asked if I would be willing to teach a music class. I’ve got nothing better to do.

Greg turns out to be a pretty funny guy in a dry-humor sort of way. He’s not at all what any math teacher I ever had was like. He has a million jokes, and they are all awful. But the kids love him. He says he was a vegetarian before all of this. He had a nice greenhouse and lived mostly off of his own organically grown produce. I really like the guy, but I realized that before all this, I would’ve not only never associated with this guy I probably would have mocked him and his lifestyle. Now, I see a man who is doing what he can to help, doing the last thing I would think of in the middle of this chaos.

Then there is Crystal. She is a fifty-something gal, about five-feet tall and four-feet wide. She is gruff and her voice is full of the gravel you expect from a former chain smoker. She can tell you, to the hour, how long it has been since she had a cigarette. Crystal knows a lot of jokes, too, but I am pretty sure the kids haven’t heard even one. The couple she has told me made me blush.

* * * * *

Everybody is pretty sure we heard the same thing.  Up in the clouds a jet screamed by! It was headed south, but it was definitely not commercial. That has to mean that at least some of our military is left.  Right?

The zombies even reacted. The horde outside seemed to get restless, and there was a lot of shifting. But none of them left.

Also, one rather disturbing bit of news. The zombies have added a new sound. At first we thought it was real.  In fact, a good number of us ended up searching the perimeter. That is how we know it is them. The sound comes from all over. It seems as if very few actually do it…yet. But that sound, besides how unnerving it is, will get somebody killed.

There.

I just heard another do it. The sound carries on the night breeze.

The sound of a baby cry.

Tuesday, February 5

I had my first music class with the kids today. There are seven school-aged children in the complex. All of them were very excited to be learning guitar. There are three girls and four boys: Andrea, sixteen, is the oldest; Waylon is sixteen, but he is a few months younger and apparently Andrea reminds him often; Jeremiah is fourteen and taller than all the adults including Tom, but skinny as a rail; Marty is thirteen and the quickest learner so far; Alise and Claire are both twelve and don’t seem fazed by what is going on. I think they both have ADHD, but I’m no professional so…; and last is little Joey who is ten, and scared of his shadow. He never once strummed his guitar.

I talked to Greg and Crystal and they say he follows the other kids around, shows up for class and just sits.  When the others leave, he follows. He hasn’t said a single word that either of them have heard. Greg said that Robin Stayton, a young woman of about twenty-two showed up with him. When they got here, she had been bitten and he was covered in blood. None of it his own. It is obvious he saw something up close. Before Robin died she managed to say that Joey was her neighbor’s kid and that his folks were both gone. That is the full extent of what we know about the boy. One other thing I’ve noticed, he will follow the kids to the door, but he will not go outside. He’ll just sit down and wait for them to come back. If we ever have to run, that may become a problem.

People spent a lot of time outside today. It was only partly cloudy and I think they were hoping for another fly over. It never happened. We have noticed something different though and I’m not sure it is good. It was actually Al Godwin who noticed. Al is another case of this event making strange bedfellows. Al is an eighteen-year-old black male who arrived still wearing handcuffs. Apparently he escaped from the back of a State Highway Patrol cruiser after watching the officer who had arrested him get taken down by a pack of zombies at that roadblock I saw on Highway 26. Anyways, what Al noticed, and now we all do, is that we’ve not heard any gunfire in two days. It had become such a normal part of the day (and night) that we had tuned it out. After everybody thought it over real hard, we realized when the last bursts had been heard. It was the day after moving the rigs.

Of course some are saying that it is because every zombie is here that was in about a five or ten mile radius. I don’t buy that. There are stragglers. Ones who were distracted by some-thing…anything…and went their own way. Also, in this dead world, sound travels far.

* * * * *

South and slightly east of here, the horizon is glowing. There must be a big fire. We’ve seen so much smoke in the air that, like gunshots, we had all just ignored it. But this is big. I stood on the roof of the office building—now called The Apartments—and extended my arms out in front of myself. The glow on the horizon barely fits between my hands. Considering how far away it probably is, I am guessing the entire town of Forest Grove is burning. Just as I went inside, it started to rain. I don’t think that’ll be enough. At least it’s not windy.

Wednesday, February 6

Early afternoon

It is a beautiful sunny day. A handful of folks decided to set up a picnic. Pretty soon, the whole place was a hive of bustling activity as tables of snack foods (practically the dietary staple) were put up.

Before long there was badminton, Frisbee, and some other games going. Tom and a couple of the guys hauled out this wooden play structure and set it up. Then one of the kids asked me to play some music. It was a regular party. The only drawback besides the obvious was that Joey still wouldn’t come outside.

I think it did everybody some good to just unwind. Also, I think it is the first time that we were all in the same place at the same time. There was smiling and laughing. Proof that humanity is resilient…able to overcome anything thrown its way.

Early evening

One of the children, Claire, is sick. At first most of us thought it was all the junk food combined with the excitement. About an hour ago, Dennis VanDelay, a veterinarian a little older than I am, late forties, took a look. He thinks it is appendicitis. They moved into one of the meeting rooms down on the third floor. Crystal and another woman are in there helping.

Late at night

Dennis was right. But there just wasn’t the stuff he needed to take care of it properly. I guess he tried to operate, but she lost too much blood. He’s pretty shaken up. So are the rest of the children.

At least she didn’t sit back up after she died.

Thursday, February 7

A group of us had a meeting today. There was me, Tom, Dennis, and a lady named Monica Campinelli. Monica was better known in this area as Sister Mary Campinelli. I guess she was a nun from some local Catholic school and church in the town of Banks. It seems that everybody felt that she should be at this meeting because, if we do what is suggested, she will pretty much be the leader here at the complex.

Tom and I are going to make a run for a nearby hospital. Yesterday’s death of that little girl has everybody pretty shaken up. Dennis has made us a list of things to get. Monica told us where we should look.

I mistakenly thought veterinarians were folks who couldn’t hack it as doctors. Now I find that a lot of those who fail as vets go into human medicine.

Monica was not too happy with our decision. She doesn’t give us much of a chance at making it back. She’s a pretty stern bird and not much for sugar-coating her words. Monica was the other person helping Dennis try and pull off that emergency appendectomy. She did volunteer work at the hospital that we are running for. She said that “the place was teeming with them.” (She won’t use the word zombie.) I guess she worked in the ER as a nurse during the graveyard shift.

I asked her why everybody calls her ‘Monica’ instead of ‘sister’. She stared at me with those harsh gray eyes, and I could actually see them melt into a shade of blue, the lines around them relaxing just a bit. In that moment she seemed to simply be a kind little old lady in her fifties…maybe a favorite grandmother.

“I’m a little upset with God right now. I’m not sure if he’s paying me much attention. I just don’t feel right being called ‘sister’ at the moment. Until I can sort things out between Him and me, I’d rather not be called by a title that I’m not feeling obliged to act the part of.”

It seems funny leaving, but we found out yesterday that our little bastion is sorely lacking in some things. Tom and I will leave tomorrow if we can manage to draw those things away from an area of the fence.

The plan is simple: Everybody will come out and climb ladders that allow them to get on top of the trailer rigs. They will split into two groups and go in opposite directions. Hopefully that will lure enough of the zombies away from an area, even for a moment, so that Tom and I can climb up, jump, and run for one of the cars in the lot.

We have some decent two-way radios that Greg set up so that we can contact a base radio he’s got rigged here at the complex. We’ve agreed to report in during even numbered hours. It has also been agreed that if something goes wrong, we are on our own. There will not be a rescue party.

After hammering out some details, we called everybody together to explain our plan. Most of the folks, while not liking the fact that we (mostly in regards to Tom) would be going outside the fence, understood that there were things we had to have.

Of course this led to a few other ideas that we hadn’t even considered when we came up with the original plan. Greg suggested that we hit a home and garden store. If we can find some seeds, we should attempt a garden since even the processed food we do have will eventually run out.

This, in turn, brought the suggestion that we take a couple more people. Tom explained that, before anybody stepped up to volunteer, it must be understood that no rescue would come if the mission went poorly.

Al Godwin was the first to volunteer. Dennis wanted to, but understood the reason we could not let him. Scott Anderson stepped forward after a quiet conference with his sister. The last person was Preston Cox.

Preston is thirty. He’s about five-foot-eight and a buck fifty. His arms are almost totally covered in tattoos. He says he was in the Navy for four years straight out of high school and has been a postal carrier since he got out. He knows the area around the hospital; which might be pretty handy.

Friday, February 8

Today has been a roller coaster.

Right now, we are trying to figure out how to get home to the complex without losing anybody else. We are on the roof of the Fred Meyer store in North Plains. One thing is for sure, everybody who thought all the zombies were busy surrounding our complex was dead wrong.

The day started with so much promise. It was sunny, and almost warm…in the upper 50s to low 60s. Everybody climbed up on the trailers just as planned. Tom, Al, Scott, Preston, and I stayed on the ground, even taking care to hide behind a couple of forklifts to make ourselves scarce.

The folks began making all kinds of noise. As hoped, those things got agitated. The moans and other gawdawful noises they make got really loud. The groups split and it actually caused the mob to tear apart. There were still stragglers, and some from the rear sorta rolled down the makeshift alley, but it thinned considerably as those things focused on following our people.

Somebody yelled, “Now or never!” and we made our move. Trying to be as efficient as possible, we had five ladders up side-by-side. The jump was the worst part. As soon as we hit the ground, that ten-foot-or-so alley began to close. Fortunately, we only had a few feet to go to be clear of the main mob. That only left the stragglers, and in seconds (each seeming like micro-eternities) we had reached the big, red four-by-four pick-up truck that Tom said we would use.

Tom, Preston, and I hopped in the cab while Al and Scott climbed in back. The engine turned over and we were gone. A decent cluster of those things came in pursuit, and for all I know could be down in that mob below that are pressing against and clawing at the side of this store. The crowd has tripled in the last hour.  I would guess they are about twenty or thirty deep, heads upturned in a sea of grasping, clutching, claw-like hands, eyes all milky, giving an exaggerated emphasis on the black-blood filled capillaries. And the stench…

Anyways, we made it to the highway with no problems.  Tom took us to an exit that led to an upscale development. He said that the neighborhood might be risky, but it would take us past the road block.

The neighborhood was a nightmare. Men, women, and children had lived in this high-priced piece of suburbia. Now there was only death. Death made more grotesque and unsettling as more of the zombies in that place were children than adult.

It was there that I saw…we all saw… something that will never allow itself to be erased from memory. A woman, or what had once been one, was standing in the front yard of a beautiful brick split-level home. Clutched in one arm was a wriggling form…like a giant grub. Except it had four twitching, flailing appendages. A thick black cable ran from the wriggling grub-thing to the crotch of the woman-thing.

Still, those monsters were everywhere and there were many more visual horrors to see. They came stumbling out of houses, backyards, and from behind cars. That baby-cry sound we’d been hearing around the complex was audible on occasion, which makes me shudder to think of anybody that went to investigate.

Tom drove quick but careful. We dove down a couple of side streets and even backtracked a time or two. He said that was to keep the zombies as confused as possible. They seem to track something well it if moves in a straight line. Before too long, we were on a two-lane road headed north to Highway 26.

The drive to North Plains was pretty smooth until about a mile or so out. Then the stragglers became groups, which grew to packs, which bloomed into mobs. We had no choice but to park the truck. It fit in with the many and various other cars all over both sides of 26.

Tom pulled over at an overpass. There were so many of those things coming down the off-ramp he decided it best to stop at a location we could backtrack to and find with minimal trouble. Already Al and Scott were having to bring their bats into play as a couple of those things were at the truck before Tom shut off the engine.

The three of us bailed out leaving those radios sitting useless on the seat.  For the next few seconds it was hectic. Tom told Al and Scott to start shooting since we weren’t too concerned about drawing more attention than we already had. They took out the few that were blocking the way to a huge open field that we had decided to cross. The hospital sign was visible through some trees at the far edge.

All of a sudden there was a loud thud, and Scott was screaming. One of those things above us on the overpass had just tumbled off, landing on Scott. I don’t know how it didn’t knock the wind out of him, but his screams were a testament that he had plenty of air.

Ironically, the zombie on top of Scott was a woman who looked to have been a nurse. Scott struggled to get the thing off as Al, obviously spooked, was trying to recover himself to get a shot. Preston, Tom, and I had our own problems as more of these things were coming from every direction. If we didn’t run soon…we’d be done for.

Then Scott screamed again. This time it was the scream of somebody in terrible pain. We’d all heard it before. It has a very distinct sound. Al stumbled back and almost fell out of the bed of the truck. That was when Tom yelled, “Run!”

He took off, and we all followed. Initially it was instinct. Each of us has to live with the fact that once we regained our sense…we kept running.

Preston was crying.

It sounded like Al was praying.

And I just ran.

Scott kept screaming for what seemed like forever.

Crossing the field was not much problem. It was easy to avoid the twenty or so zombies actually in the field. By the time we reached the other side, the smell had grown noticeably stronger. Tom hoisted himself up on the fence first and I think his exact words were, “Holy shit…we’re screwed.”

I got up beside him along with Al and Preston to see. He was right. They were…they ARE everywhere. I had no idea how many people there were out here in the boonies. Funny how it seems like so many more when they are all out to eat you alive.

To reach the hospital, we would have to run across a parking lot full of those things. The distance was ominous enough. But seeing more of them stumbling out of the wide-open doorway only added to our trepidation.

We might have backed out and tried someplace else, except, right at that moment, a whole bunch of gunfire sounded. And it was close by.

In the street out front of the hospital’s Emergency Entrance, several cars roared up and came to screeching halts. From where we were, these new arrivals were just around the corner to our left. Almost in unison, every zombie in our field of vision turned and headed for the noisy distraction. Since none of them had spotted us yet, we only had the ones in the field to worry about and none of those were within twenty feet.

Tom didn’t look to see if we would follow, he just jumped and made a dash for the big double-doors that were currently clear. The rest of us followed. The gunfire continued as we ducked into the gloomy entry foyer. Shadowy figures moved all around. This was quickly seeming like a bad idea.

Tom plucked a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. It was directions from Monica on where to find the narcotics locker. Dennis had written out a prioritized list as well so that we could grab-and-go as quickly as possible.

From here, we had a plan to put into motion. Preston and I ran for the pharmacy. Tom headed off with Al to fill their bags with the drugs and some medical supplies Dennis had asked for. I had my own map and list to take care of and pulled it out. As I scanned it one more time, Preston stepped up and swung his bat at what had once been a frail old man. I glanced at a sign on the wall and headed down the corridor towards the pharmacy.

At some point, the gunfire outside had stopped. If there were people with the same idea as us, maybe we could work together. Hell, maybe they would want to come back with us.

Preston and I ran along, only pausing for doorways and intersections. Apparently most of the zombies had wandered outside at the noise. It was almost unnerving to find so little resistance. Still, when we reached the waiting lobby in front of the prescription windows there were a few zombies to take care of.

After handling the immediate threats, I checked the door…just to be sure. It was locked, but you have to try or it looks pretty silly when you discover you bypassed the easy way by not checking something so simple. The window was some sort of reinforced glass. It took me ten or twelve swings to break it. Of course that was drawing attention as each blow echoed down the halls.

Preston and I climbed through and began raking bottles of pills and syrups into our packs. We tried to hurry, but already there was a throng of those things at the window. Luckily, we’d be exiting the door that opened into a hall on the side, away from the service windows.

Even taking less than a minute, we managed an impressive haul. I pulled my gun. Tom had said that on the way out, shooting would be a signal that the other group could hear. Plus, since we were leaving, it wouldn’t be a concern if it drew zombies inside.

Preston threw open the door.  I was ready for anything that might be on the other side. Sure enough, filling the door frame was one of them. Obviously a former patient, this thing had a few wires and tubes still sticking out of its arms. It had been an obscenely obese woman with short, bowl-cut black hair. The tattered remnants of her hospital gown was caked in dried gore and one entire pendulous breast was simply gone.

I fired, the bullet catching it in the center of the forehead. It toppled back, and Preston followed me through the door. To our right those things were giving up on trying to get through the service window and staggering into the corridor. To the left, we had an open escape route that led to a door.

We ran as the booming echo of more gunfire sounded. At first I thought it was Tom and Al, only, the single shots turned to the chatter of automatic weapons. Then, indecipherable shouting. Something was definitely not right. I reached the door ahead of Preston. Of course it was locked. The first shot didn’t help, but the second one did. Throwing open the door, I was at the back of a nurse’s station. On the other side of the counter, a couple of those things were turning our way. They were still distant enough that I could save my bullets.

We jumped up onto, and then over the counter and headed towards daylight. It was pretty dark here, with only ambient illumination from open rooms up and down this hall where sunlight was coming through blinds or curtains.

One of those things lurched out of a room and collided with me, knocking me into an abandoned cart of some sort. I heard my gun slide across the floor. As I was scrambling to my feet, Preston booted the thing in the side, sending it over and onto its back. By the time it regained its feet, I had my gun and we were gone. Through all of this, we kept hearing intermittent gun-fire.

We rounded the corner and an exit loomed like a glowing rectangle of salvation. We reached the doors and burst out onto a sunlit landing. A quick look revealed that we were on the opposite side of the hospital from where we had seen those cars arrive. From our vantage point there was a park with a huge pond. If we kept running straight out the door, to our left was the main street that, even from here where a lot of trees and bushes prevented a clear view, was crowded with hundreds of those things. To our right…the back lot…a high fence…and the way out of here.

Before we could decide what to do next, a late 70s model Camaro came fishtailing around the corner to our left. It was Tom! We ran for it as he skidded to a stop in front of us.

We got in and Tom was flooring it before the door was shut. He did a hard u-turn, sending both Preston and I slamming into the passenger side of the car in a big jumble.

“Al turned on us,” Tom snarled as he wove through abandoned cars and pursuing zombies.

As we skidded sideways onto Main Street, hordes of those things converged. It was impossible to avoid running them down. A parking lot held promise with those things more spread out than on this congested two-lane road.

I had questions, but I thought it best to let Tom drive without any distractions. We made it to the parking lot of the Fred Meyer. I suggested driving to the back side. My earlier experience with breaking into a grocery store came in handy.

Sure enough, there were a handful of shipping trucks lined up in back. We parked and, as the walking dead came in bunches, made it on top of the trailers. With no small effort we were onto the roof of the store.

Finally, Tom was able to relate what had happened. As he and Al were gathering supplies and breaking open the narcotics locker, a group of seven men charged into the room. They were there for the drugs, too. Just not for the same reason. There were some words, and apparently a few of the guys knew Al. One had even done some time with him in prison. (That got me to thinking about a certain friend for a moment). They had Tom outgunned and Al wasn’t very hesitant in his decision.

“He just turned on me, leveled his gun at my face and said that I needed to hand over my pack,” Tom’s voice was really shaky. (I think he wanted to believe the best of everybody. He is really a big softie.) “When somebody mentioned that they should just kill me, that was the only time Al argued. He said it wasn’t worth the time.  That I’d be stranded out here and couldn’t really do anything anyways.”

“That is when we heard your gunshots. Al told them about you guys, said he knows where to find you and that you guys would have more stuff. I heard them open fire as I was sneaking out the door we had come in. I figured you guys to be dead. So when I saw their cars, I just figured I’d take one and split. They left them running! I mean, not that there are too many folks out stealin’ cars. I had to take a couple of those things out, but it wasn’t that hard. I took off, driving away from where I thought they might catch a glimpse or get a shot. That’s when I found you guys. I just can’t believe it about Al though.”

Neither could I.

That was pretty much it. Now we’re up on this roof. We had hoped those things would go away. Looks like too many of them followed us here. As the numbers grow, the noise continues to keep drawing more.

A couple of hours ago, we saw the other cars race past. Al wouldn’t take them to our compound would he?

There is a brown metal door that will take us inside. Something is pounding on it from the other side. So much for the store being empty.

Tom has one more nine-round magazine (the others were in his pack). Preston and I have five magazines each. So, after dividing it up, we each came up with thirty-four rounds. Only Preston and I have our bats. Tom never said where his was and I didn’t want to ask.

It is dark now. Tomorrow we will have to make some decisions.

Saturday, February 9

The crowd is not dispersing. We heard gunshots off and on all night, but nothing seems to draw the crowd surrounding us away. We’ve decided that the only choice we have is to enter the store.

Sunday, February 10

The store was a big mistake. Sure, we gained some supplies that we can really use if we get out of this mess, but, going in like we did…

Preston and I took up positions on either side of the door. Of course it was locked. Tom had his 9mm drawn and ready. I took a few swings at the door handle to little avail. There was no choice except to shoot the damn lock. The pounding had grown more intense now that whatever was waiting on the other side of the door was fully aware of our presence. Tom shot the lock and Preston pulled the door open.

That stench was overwhelming and Preston lost it. He starts heaving up his guts and falls over. The first zombie was on the ground where it fell and began trying to regain its feet. Only, seven more of those bastards come pouring out from behind the first one. Tom is shooting, and I am swinging my bat like crazy, doing very little good. There are arms coming at me from three sides and all I can do is backpedal. By the time I have distance between me and them I see Tom on his back. If Tom is a big man, the zombie that has him pinned is gargantuan. This zombie is easily over 6’9”…300 plus pounds.

I have enough time to see that two are down for good, three are coming at me with hands clutching at air and mouths open…one is wearing what is left of her North Plains High School cheerleading outfit…one was a boy of about twelve and the other was a middle-aged man still wearing his cashier’s smock and a name-tag RON from the Fred Meyer store. Two more lunged at Preston who was trying to roll away and get to his feet. One looked like he used to be a mechanic and was wearing faded blue coveralls, the other was a twisted parody of a white-haired grandmother.

I drew my three towards the ledge. As much as I wanted to help Tom or Preston, I couldn’t do anything until I handled my own problems. Cheerleader was the quickest, and as she lunged at me, I ducked under her arms and shoved the barrel of the bat into her back. Over she went with a crunchy splat a second later. I reversed my momentum, bringing the bat around hard, swinging for the fences and catching the boy on the left side of his head with a solid shot that sounded with a muffled ‘thok’. He fell sideways, skidding on the gravel strewn roof. Ron was on me, his hand grabbing my left arm. Those things have an amazing grip. I jerked him towards me, turning as I did. Ron came around and fell right off the roof backwards…taking me with him…almost.

I hit the little lip and teetered forward. The only thing that saved me was dropping on my ass. Still, Ron is dangling; his grip on my arms is with both hands now as he has slid to my wrist. I look down into lifeless, black-shot eyes and he is snapping at me like a crazed dog. I can feel the click of his teeth just inches from my clenched fist. Taking the bat, I slammed it down. It took two good shots to the face. I’m pretty sure that it was reaching for the bat, and that is the only reason the damned zombie let go.

I turned just as Pee-Wee was reaching for me. Grabbing one flailing arm, and the waist of his pants, I chucked him over the side rather unceremoniously, but time was against my friends. I heard moans and snarls echoing in the dark doorway, and they were growing louder.

Preston was on his back now, crab-walking away and kicking at the two zombies seeking to get a grip on either leg. Tom was locked, arm-to-arm with the behemoth intent on trying to bite his face off. I decided that Tom was more vital.

Just that fast. It makes me just a little bit sick of myself that I’ve descended to such a base level so soon. I decided, someplace in my mind, that one man holds more value than another and was willing to put his life up as collateral.

I moved in behind the beast whose clicking, gnashing teeth could easily be heard above all the struggles. Lining up on the back of its head, I swung down like an executioner dropping his axe. The zombie barely seemed aware of my attack. Tom began screaming and as I brought the bat down again, my mind made an observation: I was forcing this thing’s snapping jaws in the exact opposite way Tom wanted!  Fortunately, the thing just stopped moving and collapsed like the giant bag of rotted meat that it was.

I had concerns about Tom, but no time to investigate. I turned to help Preston.  He had managed to get his gun free and was fumbling with the safety. He was still kicking his legs wildly.  The two zombies were like a pair of kittens with a squeaky toy. They batted and pawed at his legs with no concern of anything around them and no fear. Just a fascinated determination and surety that they would have their prize before long.

My swing broke open the head of Granny-Zombie as Preston finally managed to flick off his safety and drop Mechanic-Zombie. A hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. I spun around. By the time I was turning, my mind was already telling me it was probably only Tom.

It wasn’t.

A fat, Hispanic man was leaning in to take a bite out of my throat! The sound of a pistol echoed in my skull as the side of the creature’s head erupted in grayish-black gore. Tom shoved the body away, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. He was talking, but all I heard were angry hornets in my skull. My mouth was full of the thick taste of rot and gunpowder.

Tom and Preston were running for the door now. I heard gunfire through a thick wall of cotton as they vanished into the dark entry. The strobe flash of their shooting was my only light as I entered the pitch-black stairwell. I hurried to catch them in the fits of blinding flashes and cacophonous bursts of 9mm fire in an enclosed space.

Somehow we reached another door, which, by the time I caught up, was open. A dull gray light gave me a look at our surroundings. A long corridor ran to our left and right. A good number of those things were coming from both directions. Eight or nine of them were sprawled at the base of the stairs we had just descended.  They wouldn’t be getting up ever again.

The store was open before us. Big windows someplace in the front allowed a little light, but it was still way too dark and shadowy. The smell of rotten food from the grocery department fought for recognition with the stink of the zombies that were visible only as shadows popping in and out of sight.

“This is a bad plan,” I remember whispering.

“We ain’t got no plan,” Tom snapped.

“I know where the garden department is,” Preston offered. “I used to shop here all the time.”

“You lead,” Tom nudged him, and we were off.

It was clear that all our noise had drawn a lot of attention. I could hear a muffled staccato pounding on the windows at the store’s entrance.

We followed Preston who had a flashlight out to try and minimize any surprises. I could hear them…plowing through clothing racks…crashing down aisles…seeking us. I was glad my hearing was coming back, just not so glad to hear them coming at us from seemingly every possible direction. I kept saying over and over, “Are we sure about this?”

Nobody answered.

We were coming to an area that was relatively well lit. A row of glass doors opened to a fenced in garden area. Fortunately, we didn’t need to go outside. An entire end display held rows and rows of envelopes. Each envelope had a picture.

Flowers. No!

Vegetables. Yes!

Preston told us to load up while he grabbed what he said were essentials. Knowing nothing about gardening at all, I had no problem deferring.

Tom acted as a sentinel, setting up where he could watch us both. He dispatched a couple of zombies and finally announced it was time to go. I looked up to see at least thirty of them coming through the electronics section and right for us.

We had to zig and zag, but managed to make it back to our door. At some point, Preston had grabbed what looked like a coat rack. As we ducked in the door that led to the stairs, Preston jammed the metal frame against the base of the door and wedged the other against the cinder block wall of the long corridor which was now seemingly zombie free. Hopefully, all the ones that had been back here had followed us into the store.

Tom had his flashlight out now and led us up. We emerged into the cold air. It was so comparatively fresh after being inside, even for such a short time.

We shut the door and Tom slid down to his butt. Preston walked over to a big metal air conditioning unit and did the same. I walked to the front of the store and sat on what was some sort of a big power box.

Nobody really wants to talk.

Monday, February 11

DAMN!

After yesterday’s adventure, each of us just sorta went to be with his thoughts. There is a strong possibility that we won’t be able to return to the complex. We are stuck up here, surrounded by what must be thousands of those things.

I never thought to check anybody.

Sitting against the cold metal of the junction box, or whatever it is, I could hear them down below. The constant moans and gurgles—and that eerie baby cry—kept me on the edge between awake and asleep. Just as the sky was turning a soft pre-dawn shade of orange and yellow that announced a beautiful sunny day, I heard footsteps.

I knew what it was without looking. I just didn’t know who.

I considered my trusty aluminum bat, but decided that I just didn’t give a damn. I drew my 9mm and checked to ensure the safety was off.

The steps drew closer; dragging through the gravel in short, deliberate strides. I could tell that the feet barely left the ground. Taking a deep breath, I pressed my back against the box and, with my legs, forced myself up, stepping out from my cover. I came face to face with Preston.  Or rather, the sad and pathetic re-animated version.  I looked into those eyes, just for a moment. I desperately hoped to see something, anything that had once been the man I had only briefly known.

Emptiness.  Hunger?

I put the barrel of the gun to his forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry” as I pulled the trigger. The shot, while muffled a bit, echoed in the morning sky.

I looked over to where I last saw Tom. Something stirred in the shadows of the door frame. I raised my arm to where I thought his head might be and waited for him to step into the light.

“Easy, Sam,” a voice called. Tom took a step forward, hands raised.

We checked Preston in silence. Just above his left ankle was a distinct bite mark. The area around it was black, fading to gray. After only a brief discussion, we tossed Preston over the side.

* * * * *

We hear the rumble of something coming our way…a big garbage truck! Holy—

Tuesday, February 12

It was Al! As happy as I was to see him, I think Tom almost cried. He really felt personally betrayed by somebody he had put a certain degree of trust in. To discover that the betrayal had actually been a clever and calculated move that probably saved our collective asses…

He broke everything down to Tom and me once we got back to the complex.

Knowing the guys back at the hospital like he did, he was certain that if he didn’t play along, then all of us, him included, would be killed. By going with them, he was able to convince them that killing Tom was a waste of time. Also, he led them on a wild goose chase after me and Preston.

He was hoping that we would take off for the truck and head back to the complex. Once Tom stole the car, Al had to think fast because now they were out for our blood. Knowing that if we hadn’t run for safety, we would probably be at the Fred Meyer, he kept them searching in all the wrong places.

He said that since gunfire is still heard all over out here, we never brought any attention directly our way. But it helped him keep tabs. This morning, he had a feeling in his gut that the single shot had come from our direction. Worried that it was something bad since he had seen the army of zombies around the building whenever they had passed close, he decided that he had to make a move for us.

Al said that the gang was only what we had seen. Seven guys. They are holed up at the high school in the gym. They aren’t well organized, and mostly just interested in finding drugs and booze. Everybody was out cold when he slipped away. He had noticed the garbage truck a couple of blocks from the school.

The way they come and go is to get up on the roof and at one end, kitty-corner from the gym is an orchard; it is on the other side of a fence. Only a few of the things were wandering there, the majority are around the main entrance. So far, they had been careful to lure the zombies away and distract them from that orchard.

Al made a dash for the truck and then came for us. He had a Dumpster on the forks out in front and bulldozed his way to where Tom and I were watching. We jumped into the Dumpster and Al took us back…all the way to our truck.

The bed was splattered with Scott’s blood. Tom decided to unload everything from the pick-up truck to the garbage truck and then Al drove us back to the complex. Tom said we didn’t have time to clean it and Samantha would be upset enough without seeing all that mess.

Al even had his and Tom’s pack with most of the stuff they had obtained at the narcotics locker. Between that and what we grabbed with Preston, it was quite a haul.

Just very costly.

I finished washing up. I’m exhausted and just want to sleep.

Thursday, February 14

At last, a peaceful couple of days. Tomorrow, we will have a gathering to speak on the loss of Scott and Preston. Samantha asked if we could wait. I guess she just needed some time to get her mind wrapped around the thought of losing somebody she was such a part of. I know we’ve all lost people, but who can begrudge her some time to mourn privately since time is a luxury we have in abundance.

* * * * *

Al came to see me. So much for a peaceful day.

He’s sick.

It seems that when he got us back here and plowed through those things surrounding the fence, he got scratched up. We were busy blasting the ones close by so he could make it out of the cab and onto the roof. Of course, from there he joined us in the Dumpster where folks were helping us up and onto the trailer rigs.

At some point as he was fighting those things off and climbing out onto the arm of the hydraulic fork his arm got scratched up. Also, he has a puffy lesion on the side of his neck. Funny thing…his eyes are bloodshot…blackish blood.

Everybody was so excited about our return then so upset by the two deaths…nobody bothered to check any of us for marks or bites.

I went and brought Tom and Dennis to take a look. Dennis said that there is really nothing we can do. Al asked us to kill him, but neither of us could do it while he is still alive. Al won’t kill himself. He said something about religious beliefs.  I wasn’t listening.  All I could think of were Beth and Erin.

We decided to set him up with a bed in a bathroom in one of the warehouses. He will have a twenty-four hour watch. If he loses consciousness, we’ll tie him up real good…and wait.

Friday, February 15

The little memorial service has everybody in a funk. It was a reminder of just what we are trying so desperately to ignore on the other side of the fence.

The world is dying.

Let me correct that...mankind is dying.

Everybody knows about Al now. It seems like the entire complex has gone to see him and spend a few minutes with what has to be our first acknowledged hero.

* * * * *

Late this afternoon...Al lost consciousness.

Saturday, February 16

Alvin Maurice Godwin died this morning at 1:14 a.m.

His eyes opened at 1:16 a.m.

Monica Campinelli was at his side with Richard Hess and Cindy Partridge.

Monica put him to rest.

Sunday, February 17

Something big is happening in what can only be Beaverton or Portland. This morning, we awoke to a series of explosions. The horizon to our east lit up and, as the sun rose to a cloudless blue sky, the entire horizon is a smudge of black plumes from what must be incredible fires.

Some of the dead on that side of our complex turned and wandered off in that general direction. Not nearly enough to make that much of a difference.

I held a guitar class this afternoon. The kids were pretty receptive. I think that all the crap from these past several days has, for the most part, just bounced off them. It’s the adults who seem frayed.

There was a fight today.  Over a woman. Don’t we have enough problems? Mankind is being eradicated and we still find time to fight over relatively petty bullshit.

Tom hasn’t spoken to anybody since Al died. He is, in some inexplicable way, taking the blame. Maybe because he felt betrayed at first…hell, I don’t know. What I do know is that I haven’t been able to quit thinking about Paul…the friend of mine in prison.

I’ve heard rumors (from him mostly) that if martial law or something REALLY bad happens, the guards are supposed to kill all the inmates. I wonder if he’s dead. I wonder about my band mates. I wonder about Megan. Hell…I even wonder about Britney and all those folks that used to flit by on the tabloids (and news channels for that matter). I wonder who woulda won the presidential election.

Now…none of that matters. I just wonder if the day will pass without another one of us dying. Turning.

Monday, February 18

Another day and whatever is on fire to the east of us is not showing any signs that it is burning out. Occasionally, the distant rumble of another explosion can be felt.

Saw something strange today. A few deer wandered down the middle of Highway 26. They would graze in the median until some of the zombies would get close, then bound away. It’s like they know those things can’t catch them, so they aren’t threatened.

I sat up on the roof of The Apartment and watched people in the complex go about their business. I watched those deer. And I am watching a pretty large…herd?... pack?...whatever…a bunch of those damn zombies coming this way from the east.  Must be escaping the fires. That would indicate that they have at least some rudimentary form of self-preservation.

* * * * *

A convoy passed on the highway just after sunset! It looked like some 18-wheelers, some motorcycles, and some SUVs.

We debated on signaling them. Maybe there is something better…safer than what we have now.

Too many folks were spooked. Afraid they might be like those guys we encountered at the hospital. In the end, we just watched them roll past, headed toward the coast it would seem.

They did do a lot of shooting. So we at least knew they were armed pretty heavily. Way better than us by the sounds of it. There was some intense automatic weaponry being used.

One of the women, Reggie Vaughn, said it sounded like .50 caliber machineguns. It seems that Reggie was the daughter of an army officer. She married an enlisted guy (much to daddy’s disapproval) and had come to Oregon when her husband’s enlistment expired. He was a cop, and I guess he was one of those poor unfortunate bastards that fielded one of the earlier calls.

I’ve seen this Reggie around. She sticks to herself mostly. I’ve seen her doing what I can only guess to be yoga in the mornings. She wears a baggy sweat suit and keeps her long brown hair in a ponytail. No make-up. But you can tell that she would be a knockout if she ever dressed up. Like everybody else, her eyes—big and golden brown—are mirrors of intense sadness.

Tuesday, February 19

Spent the day with Reggie. She’s a really sweet gal. We both just walked the fence and talked about losing our spouses (or ex in my case) to something so utterly unthinkable.

We ran into Greg who is busy setting up a garden. He had the kids helping while he taught them about soil and whatnot. I don’t think those kids even realize they were learning.

Dennis has posted a schedule. He wants to give everybody a physical. He says he is a little concerned about how our diet may be affecting us.

There is talk about another group going on a food scavenger run. My hands still have tremors.

Walking with Reggie, I am noticing that more and more people are getting despondent. It looks like they’ve given up…not everybody, just a handful or two…and it is a weight that everybody can feel.

There was one positive sign today. Little Joey was outside. He didn’t go over and help with setting up for the garden, but he inched his way out enough to be able to watch.

Baby steps.

Thursday, February 21

We took in a small group of survivors yesterday! It was quite a day. It began early Wednesday morning when one of our sentries, or watches, or patrols…whatever… spotted a flare to the southeast.

A bunch of us met on the roof of The Apartment and tried to locate the source. About fifteen minutes later, another flare was fired from what Rodney Bloss—the guy who was on watch and spotted the first one—said was closer. There was quite a debate. We had all been unanimous in our decision not to try and gain the attention of that big caravan the other night. But this was feeling different for a lot of us. Whoever it was, they were risking bringing a lot of attention their way.

The third flare cinched it.

After that aircraft flyover, we had made sure there were flare guns accessible all over. Never know where you might be when/if such a chance happens again.  We fired one in response. About five minutes later we see two sets of headlights cutting through the darkness.

Once the vehicles came into view, cutting across Highway 26, we shot off one more flare to help them locate us easier.  Using the same method we had when leaving the complex, we tried to split the horde. So many more had gathered that it was like digging a hole in the sand below the surf line. Clearly, these folks would need to figure out a way in.

We needn’t have worried.

Two huge RVs came rolling up the entry drive and into the outer parking lot. Both had been customized. Reinforced siding on the outside along with what looked like a big, steel, vee-shaped ram in the front allowed these things to literally plow through the zombies.

They actually took the time to parallel park beside the trailer rigs we used to protect our fences. A trap-door flipped up, and out popped an older man in his fifties. “Howdy…name’s Pete,” he waved as he climbed out.

Peter Crenshaw is fifty-seven with short, gray hair. He was a principal for a metro-area high school and looked every bit the role.

The other vehicle’s hatch flipped open and a man about the same age as Pete introduced himself as Tim. Tim Delegan is fifty-two and, unlike Pete, his black hair is only sprinkled with gray. Tim was the math and shop teacher at the same school.

It was at that school, in the first days, that Pete and Tim constructed these seemingly zombie-proof RVs. They did so with the help of another twenty-five people that also emerged. It was nothing for them to jump up onto the trailers and enter our complex.

Dennis had them all in our version of a quarantine while he checked everybody out. Early this afternoon they were all cleared. We are finding out through some of their stories that it is worse out there than we thought.

Zombies are only a small part of the problem.

Friday, February 22

Today I spoke with one of the new arrivals named Kimberly Vanderwell. She gave me some really horrific pictures of what is happening outside the relative safety of our complex’s fences.

That fire, which is finally dying down, was the industrial district on the waterfront along downtown Portland. Kim wasn’t sure how it started, but said that the blaze was hot enough to melt windows on buildings that faced the fire at least a quarter mile away.

There are bands of other survivors out and among the chaos. Some are just trying to stay alive. Others are taking full advantage of the total collapse of social structure. She said that the worst stories were coming from the big county jail located downtown. It seems that the criminals took over the facility. There are rumors that all the staff were being used to bait the zombies or simply tossed out of windows to the hordes that surrounded the building. Fortunately, that building was devastated during the fires. She doesn’t know how many escaped…if any.

(Once again this has me thinking about Paul.)

I must say that of all our new arrivals, Kim is one of the most welcome sights. She is a nurse. Dennis almost cried when she told us that she had spent the last two years at Rose City Memorial as a trauma nurse. She doesn’t like to talk about her last days at work. That made me wonder what Erin must’ve seen those final days. Maybe once she’s been here a while, I’ll talk to Kim. If I explain about Erin, then perhaps she’ll open up.

Saturday, February 23

It has been raining hard all day. People are getting on each other’s nerves. Reggie took me aside and said that a few people were overheard talking about leaving. She said that while we are surviving…this is not living. She feels like, if we can get away from the cities, we might be able to find a better life. She all but asked me to come if/when this exodus takes place.

Funny, but even after hearing some of Kim’s horror stories…even after that terrible fiasco during the medicine run…I understand what Reggie is saying.

I remember how grateful I was when I not only found this place, but for the people here. Still, we’ve walled ourselves in. I may not be a chicken in a coop…but have I fooled myself into thinking that being “free-range” is the same as free? Those things outside are not going away. What if some unforeseen disaster like an earthquake were to strike?

I realize that such a disaster may seem far-fetched…but nobody predicted the dead rising to eat the living either. There are no certainties. I can either sit here and await the hand of fate. Or, I can try to take up my own path and see what happens.

That is something to sleep on.

Sunday, February 24

I’ve decided to leave. I took Reggie up to the roof to tell her. Then she let me know who else wanted to leave.

Apparently Tim Delegan is not of the same mind as Pete Crenshaw. He wants to stay on the move and says that he has no qualms about us leaving in one of the vehicles he helped build. But, he doesn’t want to leave with more than ten people. He said that two weeks of having seventeen people inside was more than he could stand. Plus, it made supply grabs more frequent. Only two others from his group want to leave. We must be careful who we ask because of the potential reaction.

So far it is Tim, Greg Chase—one of the new arrivals—a thirty-two-year-old bartender, about six-foot-five, black, with a shaved head, Antonio Rosillo—the other of the new arrivals—a short, stocky-in-a-muscular-way, Hispanic migrant-worker, Samantha Anderson, Rodney Bloss, Reggie, and me. We all met in one of the warehouses and decided that there was no reason to waste time. We will leave tomorrow.

* * * * *

Monica came to my room right after Samantha, Rodney, and Reggie left. She asked me what was going on. Nothing seems to get by that lady. I decided not to lie.

Monica never tried to talk me out of it.

Of course I asked her if she wanted to go. She said that she belonged here. Tom is a strong imposing figure, but he relies on her. She told me that if I was in the area ever again, I should stop in and visit. She gave me a big hug and left.

She never did say “goodbye.”

Monday, February 25

Things don’t often seem to happen the way you plan. We are parked on a hill that looks down into the town of Pendleton. Tomorrow will be a busy day. But for now, I’m sitting here with a child curled up and asleep on the floorboard of the passenger’s side, trying to make sense of things.

It all started so smoothly. We met up after everybody was asleep. Rodney was on watch with Samantha so we knew that we had one less problem to deal with in leaving. The decision to wait until close to sunrise would mean that there would be only a minimal amount of time with nobody on patrol, and since it was unlikely that anything would happen…we felt okay with our decision.

Everybody had small packs with things like a couple days food, a few bottles of water, and maybe a personal item or two. We were equipped with assorted clubs, knives, axes…basic defense items. I was the only one to bring a gun, my trusty 9mm from the last time I left. Tim said there was a small assortment of guns and ammo in the RV so there was no reason to deplete the supply at the complex.

I was to be the last one up the ladder. Then, I would tip it back, hop over to the RV, and with everybody inside, we would roll out before anybody was the wiser. It was all going just like clockwork. No problems.

As we started backing up, I heard a scream. We all rushed to window slits peeking out at countless zombies clawing at the side of the vehicle. Now, I’m thinking that this is a new trick…like that creepy baby-cry sound. Then we heard it again as we cleared the main cluster of zombies. It was coming from the roof!

Tim was turning us for the road, and in the glow of our headlights, a few folks from the complex could be seen on the tops of a couple of the trailer rigs waving their arms frantically and jumping up and down. Tim said something about how it looked like they were taking our leaving pretty badly. I climbed up, gun drawn, and opened the roof hatch, scanning as fast as I can. I was certain one of those things would be there to grab me. That’s when I heard this trembling voice crying my name.

It’s was little Joey.

I pulled him to me, in through the hatch. Everybody was yelling and arguing, the child was crying and by the time I yelled for everybody to just shut the hell up, we were plowing down a couple of straggling zombies at the entry to the driveway that lead up to the complex, hanging a sharp left and moving to the Highway 26 on-ramp.

I argued that we needed to take this kid back, but was quickly overruled by everybody. Of course they had a point. No doubt the entire complex was up and in a fit over our departure. So basically, we’re stuck with this little boy who has once again clammed up.

What would cause this child who never even ventured outside to follow us…put up the ladder…climb up to the trailers and jump onto the RV?

The rest of the day was a visual nightmare. We gave Portland a wide berth. That took us to I-5 South, then over to I-205 before we could catch I-84 East. That journey showed those of us from the complex just how terrible it had gotten.

Due to the nature of things, the main roads are relatively clear. The cars that do dot the roadscape are mostly occupied. Those things stare out at the world, banging on the windows. Thankfully, that has them smeared so badly that you mostly just see moving shapes instead of the actual horrors within.

Still, those things are everywhere. They wander the highways, interstates, and every neighborhood we passed. There is something very disconcerting about seeing zombies stumbling out of stores, houses, churches, and schools. What is worse though is seeing a bunch of them clustered around a building.

At one point, after we had reached I-84 and put Portland several miles behind us, we had to scout a gas station. Tim produced a tool to open the station’s main tank, since none of the pumps work anymore. We siphoned out enough to fill-up while only having to take out a few zombies in the process. Tim says he prefers a station to siphoning from cars. The fewer stops the better.

We reached the outskirts of Pendleton at sunset…now we wait.

Tuesday, February 26

It took some convincing, but I managed to persuade everybody to at least let me see for myself what fate my friend met. We parked on a hill that looks down into the Eastern State Prison. The town itself was once a hotbed for cowboys. They have some big annual rodeo that was famous worldwide.

Now…the dead stumble about in the streets. However, there are a lot of bodies strewn about which indicate that the living made quite a stand. How many remain is the question. Both the living…and the dead.

I climbed up onto the roof of the RV just after sunrise with a pair of binoculars and scanned the prison. The outer fence was surrounded. The entire perimeter was occupied by zombies. That was the bad news. The good news was that they were only four or five deep at the thickest clusters. In some places there was even a tiny wedge of daylight.

Inside, I saw movement. There were two separate prison yards and one was obviously all zombies. The other was currently empty. A big compound separated the yards and it was there that I could see movement that had to be living, breathing bodies. They were moving back and forth between several four-story buildings and a large one-story building that sat central to all the others.

As I continued to scan, I saw signs that suggested a large effort had gone into shoring up the outer-most fence. Also, a secondary fence was covered in what looked to be gray wool blankets. Anybody trying to look in from ground level would see nothing. Clever.

Closer inspection revealed the first horrific signs that lead me to believe that the inmates are running the asylum. Wooden scaffolds are in place at three points along one fence that closes off the compound from the prison yard with all the zombies. It looks like a setup is used to walk people up where they can be tossed over and into the yard full of ravenous undead.

I’ve told everybody what I can see. Tim says he’d like to raid a few of the houses scattered about the area. I want to take a longer look and decide if there is any chance my friend is alive…and if, perhaps I can help him.

Judging by the number of Prison guard-Zombies I see in the one yard…it seems likely that, if I can find him, it won’t be an issue to have him leave. The problem is getting to him without bringing the attention of those remaining at the prison.

Reggie has offered to help. Tim wants to spend the next couple of days on this bluff. We attracted no attention today and have actually walked around a bit outside, opened up the doors, and let the RV air out.

Of course Joey has not come within five feet of the door. What the hell possessed him to follow us?

Wednesday, February 27

What we saw today is not very encouraging. This morning after breakfast, there were several men, inmates apparently considering their clothing (blue jeans and a blue tee shirt) led to those scaffolds. One by one they were paraded up the stairs, usually kicking and screaming. There was usually a cheer that would cause the individual to renew his struggles. Then the person would be shoved, or sometimes thrown, into the crowd of zombies waiting on the other side of the fifteen-foot-high fence that isolated the prison yard from the open compound.

Even from up here, we could hear the screams.

I did notice that with so many of those things attacking and feasting, there is nothing left to come back. It is obvious that the inmates have thought of that also. It seems that there are two forms of punishment.

A couple of men were saved until the end. These men were bound by the wrists and ankles. A large inverted el, like a hangman’s scaffold was brought and placed atop one of the platforms. The unfortunate soul chosen for this fate is attached to a rope on a pulley system and bobbed like bait on a hook. He is bitten a number of times by the sound of the screams, then raised up out of reach of the sea of grasping, clutching hands and snapping jaws below. His wrists and ankles are freed once he dies or loses consciousness. When it awakes, the inmates cut it loose to join those below.

On the good side, Tim, Antonio, and Samantha returned on mountain bikes with packs loaded with food and basic hygiene supplies. That is nice for two reasons. The obvious being the stuff. However, they took off on foot. Those bikes allow them to move quickly and stay quiet. Not one zombie was on their trail. They did say there was no shortage that had to be dispatched.

I filled everybody in on what I saw. They will give me one more day to see if I can spot my friend, then we are outta here.

Thursday, February 28

There is too much risk to validate my making any attempt to rescue Paul. Not only is the fence lined with those things, there are hundreds more simply wandering the area. Add to that the unlikely possibility that the majority of the inhabitants of that prison will do us any favors and I understand that I have no choice but to leave my friend to whatever fate he finds in that place.

In all my time watching, I’ve not seen anybody leave. I have no idea if or how they forage. I’ve seen absolutely no sign of life in the town itself. If there are other survivors, they’ve either left or chosen to remain completely out of sight. We will leave tonight a few hours after midnight. We want to draw as little attention as possible. Once we are on I-84, we have open roads as far as we can see.

The plan now is to avoid large population areas. We will follow the

* * * * *

Monday, March 3

We’ve been captured.  So far, that is the bad news.  I’ve seen none of the others since the night we were taken by inmates from the prison.  Nobody will answer any of my questions.  I am stuck alone in a thirteen-by-six cell with a stainless steel sink and toilet, and a metal hardpan with a three-inch thick foam mattress.  The windows are frosted on the outside so that all I can see is if it is day or night.

Three times a day, somebody comes to my door, a slot is opened, and a tray is slid in with a meal.  Surprisingly, it is a hot, balanced meal.  The quality reminds me of school lunches when I was a kid.  Today, I had a hamburger and french fries!  A half hour later, the tray is handed back.  I’ve never had the nerve to refuse.

I have noticed that it is never the same person bringing the meal, or picking up the tray.  Nobody will speak to me or answer any questions.  Occasionally, I hear a commotion, but it sounds like it is coming from below which leads me to believe I am on at least the second or third floor.

My, what I guessed to be the second day, I was given a questionnaire.  It asked if I had known allergies, diseases, or medical conditions that required any attention.  Also, I was given a bible and a list of books.  They actually brought me two books to read.  Today I was asked by the person who took my lunch tray if I was ready to exchange my books for new ones!

To say the least, I am very confused.

Tuesday, March 4

This morning I was told to place my back to the door and present my wrists through the tray slot.  I was handcuffed, then told to step away from the door and get on my knees.  My door was then opened and somebody placed a dark hood over my head.  My first thought was, this is it!  I’m going to be marched out and thrown into that yard with those things.

Instead, I was marched down what I assume to be a corridor and deposited into what turns out to be a shower stall with bars.  I was uncuffed and told that when the door shut, I could remove the hood.  I was surprised to be in a shower!  More surprised to find hot water!

A bar of soap, shampoo, a toothbrush with paste already applied, and a towel were on a shelf.  It was amazing!  A voice called in to warn me I had two minutes after I had undressed.  I was instructed to push my clothes through the bars.  That was when I noticed one of those orange jumpsuits I’ve seen on TV and in the movies, a pair of underwear, socks, and slip-on docksiders.

After my shower, I did the entire process in reverse.  Of course they did not let me keep the toothbrush or anything else, but…I’m clean.

I still couldn’t get anybody to talk to me, much less answer any questions.  But, and this was huge, I was told that all my friends are “okay.”  I’m not sure what that means exactly, but, it is somewhat comforting.

Wednesday, March 5

Today has been one of revelations and surprises.  This morning, I got my first surprise with breakfast.  My friend Paul brought it!  When he handed me my tray, he said that he would be back after I ate.  I gotta say, I didn’t taste much.  I was so anxious that time went slower than normal.  I found myself pacing as I ate.  I couldn’t sit still.

Finally, Paul came to my door.  He told me to step away and stay put until the door closed again.  He came in and called out for them to “shut eleven.”  He took a seat, using the stainless steel toilet like it was a chair.  He asked me how I was and if I had been treated okay.  I told him I was fine, but was concerned about my friends, especially Samantha and Reggie (and to a certain extent Joey in a different way).  He said that everybody was fine, the women hadn’t been touched.  As for Joey, my concern for him was apparently unfounded.  He’s been like some sort of unofficial mascot.  The past two days, he had been outside!  Playing Frisbee! (I’d have to see that for myself.)

Paul asked about my family.  I told him about Erin and Beth.  I also tried to give him an idea about how things were on the outside.  I explained that I had come looking for him specifically.  That was one of his first big surprises:  he has no intention of leaving!

He went into what had happened here at the prison.  The facility went into total lockdown.  The guards were bringing meals, all of the day-to-day functions were basically cancelled.  Then, one of the guards turned.  It caused a panic and a huge riot broke out.  Apparently, half of the prison is open dorms.  It started there.  In no time, the already short-staffed prison was overtaken by the inmates.

At some point, the infected were forced out to what Paul called West Yard.  Eventually, all the remaining staff were tossed into that yard as well.  He said it was horrific as male and female correctional officers were thrown in with the handful of zombies.  Some ran for the fence only to get torn up in the razor wire.  A couple actually escaped.

The inmates quickly organized and began making weapons in the carpentry and welding shops.  They united in preparation for some sort of outside response.

None came.

A week later, they had the perimeter fence covered in old blankets, making it harder for anybody on the ground to see in and do anything.  But, shortly after that, the in-fighting began.  First, it was the Whites, Hispanics and Natives against the Blacks.  Then, the Hispanics turned on the Natives.  After that they (the Hispanics) turned on each other based on gang affiliation.  For the last bit, the Whites just hung back…waiting.  Then, the surviving Hispanics were finished off by the Whites.

After that, a new movement started with surprising consequences.  Prison has its own social structure.  At the very bottom are the sex offenders, called ‘freaks’.  Guys in on murder, drugs, and robbery are considered ‘solid dudes’.  The solid dudes decided to eliminate the freaks.  However, being outnumbered three-to-one, it was the solid dudes who ended up on the losing end.

It seems that the freaks, many who had been beaten and extorted regularly, decided to fight back once they had been backed into the proverbial corner.  Not all of the solid dudes were killed.  It seems that there were significant amounts that had refused to join in on the persecution, and thus were spared.

The prison has a steam plant that is kept up by inmates.  Additionally the facility also underwent an experimental solar power refit a couple of years ago.

Paul said that anybody who wanted to leave was allowed to go a couple of weeks ago.  Anybody who wants to leave is told to do so if and when they want.

I asked if that included me and my group.  Paul assures me that we are all free to leave!  That, I pointed out, seems like an empty promise considering we were captured and thrown into cells.

He explained that it was a precaution.  It seems that when you are confined and look at the same view every day, little changes leap out at you.  Our RV was spotted instantly.  When we didn’t leave, there was concern that we might be a threat.  I guess this prison was once an asylum…literally.  It was equipped with a crematorium to dispose of unclaimed bodies.  There is an underground tunnel that was once used to transport bodies out of sight of the living patients to limit the upset caused by simply moving a dead body in the open.  When this place was converted to Eastern State Prison, that tunnel was walled up.  The inmates now use that tunnel (they’ve knocked down the wall) to sneak in and out.  They only do so when it is dark.  That explains why we never saw anybody coming or going.  Also, how they snuck up on us.

Paul told me I was free to leave this cell if I wanted.  He got up, called for them to “unrack eleven” and he left.

I guess I’ll go take a look around.

Thursday, March 6

Early morning

Paul made good on letting us leave.  It was strange in the sense that, after asking around, everybody was treated decently.  Nobody was harassed or harmed.  Joey acted like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave. Not that it was ever up for debate, but Paul insisted that the boy leave with us.  Despite my personal connection with him, there are several known pedophiles.  Funny thing, even the sex offenders have a “pecking order”.

So, we leave one strange reality and return to another.  They had the RV in a locked sally-port.  It was no problem climbing in, and once they opened the outer gate, rolling out.  We decided to make a trip through the downtown area of Pendleton.

The zombies had to earn this town!

The streets are strewn with now-decaying corpses that are no longer ambulatory.  They are almost pathetic.

Of course, there are plenty still shambling about.  Our vehicle drew attention fast.  As long as we keep moving, they aren’t a threat.

Holy Crap!  There are people on top of a mom-and-pop diner!

Early evening

Now we have a problem.  We took in three survivors.  Julia Mills—a whip-thin fifty-eight-year-old black woman who used to be a nurse at the prison, Amanda Prentiss—a sixteen- year-old girl from the Pendleton area with raven hair and olive skin that suggests something exotic from one parent, but she’s not talking…due to the shock.  That brings me to Dewey Morton, a thirty-one-year-old (so he claims…but looks at least ten years older) recently incarcerated man.  He’s about six feet tall and three hundred pounds.  Apparently he has been doing unspeakable things to the females for the better part of two weeks.

There was a third female.  Dewey tossed her to zombies to convince the others he was serious.  He made Julia and Amanda watch the young girl (apparently a twelve-year-old Hispanic) be eaten alive.  Then, (as if that wasn’t enough) he hauled the girl back up with the rope he had tied around the girl’s waist.  He bound her hands and gagged her, then tied the body to a water pipe.  Once the girl re-animated, he made the two watch him violate the corpse!  Apparently his example was simply to illustrate their choice of serving him as a sex slave…alive or dead.

Of course, we have Julia and Amanda safe and sound with us.  Dewey is still on the roof.  Tim and Rodney are currently “keeping him company.”

Late evening

God forgive us.

We had a meeting to decide the fate of Mr. Morton.  It was heated to say the least.  Reggie believed that we should take him back to the prison and let them deal with this. Tim, Rodney, and Samantha felt that, based on what they had seen and heard, they’d just let this guy out with no punishment…and who knows what other vile acts he would commit.  Antonio said nothing.  Greg and I wanted to toss the bastard off the roof into the waiting horde of zombies gathered below.

This entire debate was happening on the roof of the restaurant while Dewey Morton cried, pleaded, and begged.  He kept saying he was sorry and that he “needed his meds”.  Finally Tim just backhanded him and he lay still, whimpering quietly.

Nobody noticed Amanda climb up through the hatch of the RV.  All of a sudden, she’s hitting and kicking her tormentor, screaming hysterically.  We were breaking up the beating when Greg and I made eye contact.  We simply tossed the guy off the roof.

He landed on a bunch of waiting zombies and vanished under a pile.  The screams were incredible.  At one point, he emerged.  He was covered in blood and a large flap of his face hung loose where it looked like something had tried to rip his scalp off from back to front.  He couldn’t scream anymore because his throat was torn out.  He staggered a couple of steps, then collapsed.  We watched in horrified fascination as zombies swarmed him like ants on a grasshopper, each one tearing off a piece for itself until there was only a large stain of gore left on the asphalt.

We got Amanda back in the RV and headed for a place on the map called Cabbage Hill.  We found an open area on top of a bluff and are waiting until sunrise to head out.

Friday, March 7

This morning Amanda was up with the sun.  She is all smiles and carrying on like the world is normal.  I didn’t need Julia to tell me that she is masking some pretty deep pain.  We’ll need to keep a close eye on that girl.

After a breakfast of canned peaches and peanut butter crackers with instant coffee, we hooked north on Route 11.  The plan now is to cross over into Washington and keep heading north until we reach I-90.  From there, the idea is to head to Montana or one of the Dakotas.  Someplace with minimal population.  We’ll be moving slow so we can scavenge as much as possible.

We are reaching Pasco now.  Funny thing as we cross the Blue Bridge that spans the Columbia River, the water is beautiful.  In just over a month, it seems that nature is washing man away.

Evening

A day that began so perfectly has quickly taken a turn.  I’ve been separated from the others.

We stopped on this long, straight road that cuts through a rural farm area.  The plan was for us to split into teams and check houses.  I paired up with Reggie, Samantha and Rodney teamed, and Tim, Antonio and Julia (she insisted) formed a group.  Greg stayed in the RV with Joey and Amanda.

Everybody chose a house and set off.  The zombies out here are spread out, so we didn’t even need to run.  You can see them staggering towards you from forever away, so, things seemed simple.

We were almost to the house we had chosen to search when these big trucks came hauling-ass down the hill opposite us and right at the RV.  Greg tried to take off, but they boxed him in.  It was like, whoever these folks were, they had this trap set and waiting.  There was a lot of shooting, but I have no idea if anybody was hit.  Reggie and I made it to an orchard on the backside of the property that the house we were heading for sits on.

It was in the orchard that we made another discovery.  There are zombies hung from several of the trees.  If you run through this area haphazardly, you’ll likely run right into one.  Running through this at night would be certain death.

By the time we reached the other end of the orchard and came out to a big open field and rolling hills, the shouting and gunfire had stopped.  We found a dry creek bed and have followed it for most of the day.

The sun has been down for several hours.  There are no signs that anybody is chasing or following us.  Out here in the middle of nowhere, the zombies are seemingly non-existent.  Still, Reggie and I will sleep in shifts.

Saturday, March 8

You never realize how cold it gets at night until you’ve spent the night outside, huddled under a muddy coat with just yourself and the person shivering beside you for warmth.  Reggie was shaking so bad at one point that I thought she was having convulsions.

The gray morning finally dawned and we walked for most of it along the ditch that we spent the night in.  Occasionally I climbed out to take a look.  Finally I spotted a ranch house.

It is amazing. With the houses in these parts so spread out, how did this terrible event reach the most remote of places?  And where are the animals?  This place had what looked like one of those mechanisms that you hook a horse up to so it can walk in circles.  But there are no horses in sight.

There was a man and woman in the house.  Reggie and I put them down after getting them to follow us outside.  No sense having to haul a body if it has the courtesy to follow you outdoors and to a big open barn.

After throwing a bunch of hay over the two corpses, we went inside and cleaned up as best as we could.  The water was freezing, but once we were clean and found some warm, dry clothes, things were a lot more pleasant.

At one point we heard distant gunfire.  There is no way to tell if it was from the same folks who attacked us.  I can’t believe it happened so quickly.  I mean, one moment we are simply foraging for food and supplies, not hurting anybody, and now….

We’ve taken up in what seems to be the master bedroom.  Reggie is sleeping and I am walking to and from this room and the other couple on this floor, keeping lookout.

Nothing will be able to sneak up on us without plenty of advance warning.

Sunday, March 9

I saw a plethora of reasons today illustrating why we need to scavenge what supplies we can and get out of this house.

All day we saw those never-sleeping, always-on-the-move, walking corpses.  Sometimes just one.  But usually they came in groups.  All Reggie and I could do was stay absolutely silent.

We learned a valuable lesson about their senses…they can see shadow movement.  At one point today, we were watching this lone straggler—a boy in his early teens by our guess—pawing at a tree in the backyard.  He wasn’t eating the bark, but we figured he was feeding on bugs.  He was acting like a monkey grooming another monkey.  I mean, he’d claw and pick, then bring his hand to his mouth, so it seems like a logical conclusion about the whole eating bugs thing.  Reggie moves up closer to me so that she can see better because, frankly, it was kinda interesting.  Now the zombie was sorta standing with his body turned, putting us directly on his left.  As soon as Reggie moved, that thing froze!  Its head turned in that bird-like way they have and it tilted its face up more towards us.  Next—and this was creepy—it seemed to scan the whole side of the house.  When it got to our window…it stopped.  Then, its arms just shot up and it made this wet mewling sound as its whole body turned and it started for us.

I had to run downstairs with my bat and get to it as quick as possible.  I sure as hell didn’t want it breaking a window or pounding on a door.  Sound really carries now in all the silence.  I waited for it to get in range…

It’s odd. I looked at it without seeing that this thing was a person once.  Somebody’s son.  A child really.  His sickly blue-gray color made his blonde hair stand out in stark contrast.  He had a really nasty bite on his left forearm like he had thrown it up to fend off an attack.  Since that was the only bite, I’m guessing he got away…then died.  Slowly.  Painfully.

It took seven swings to crush his skull.

We’ll leave tomorrow a couple of hours before sunrise…around 5 a.m.

Monday, March 10

Early morning

Lots of gunshots today.  Coming from back the way we came.  I am guessing that it is the same folks that got my group.  They probably ambushed another unsuspecting party passing through.

I wonder if this is what humankind was like in ancient, or even medieval times. Roaming bands…all at war with one another over nothing.

It is amazing how truly primitive we are as a species.

Evening

Reggie and I have decided to creep back towards where we lost everybody.  It isn’t that we feel we owe anybody, or that the two of us can pull off some dramatic rescue.  It is simply that we need to know what happened.

Tuesday, March 11

I feel like an idiot.

It turns out that the ‘raiders’ who we assumed to have attacked us out of the blue and for no reason, were actually protecting their homes!  The three houses were in fact empty.  However, the residents have taken to living on a hill that, on one side, looks down at their former homes, on the other side, is a gradual slope that goes down about twenty yards, then literally drops straight down,

These people have a series of catwalks and, for all intents and purposes, tree houses in this small grove of (what I was later told) maples.  When they saw us arrive…they were only protecting their homes.  They thought WE were the evil raiders!!

It was great to see everybody.  Once we got past the joyous reunion…we had a serious talk.  We will stay a couple of days, but then, it is our plan to move on.  We want to find our place.

Wednesday, March 12

Today I walked the perimeter of the area these folks call home.  I was with a husband and wife: Gene and Marla Baker.  They ran a large wheat farm.  Their daughter was one of the first in the area to die…and get back up.  She came home from school after what she had said was a big fight.  She went to bed claiming not to feel well.  From there, the story is fairly universal.

During our walk, we took out a couple of stragglers that we saw.  But it was when we got back that I saw some real action.  The other folks not on watch had roped about fifteen or twenty of those damned things; they led them on ropes out past a little foot bridge and into a cornfield.  There, they had several posts planted in the ground amongst the rows.  They clipped the ropes to eye-bolts in the posts.

When we got back, I asked why.  Gene said it served two purposes. One—anybody sneaking in would have a nasty surprise waiting, just like the orchard.  Two—there seems to be some debate as to whether seeing their fellow zombies in such conditions acts as a ‘scare-zombie’…you know…not quite a scarecrow.  Hey, those are their words, I’m just reporting.

I think they’re sick and a bit scary.  But, it’s their land.  They can protect it any way they want.

Thursday, March 13

There just seems to be something not right here.  I mean, these folks have been real hospitable.  But I can’t put my finger on it.  I’ve asked the others and they sense it as well.

It is a bunch of little things really. For instance, we are never alone. I mean, without one of them tagging along.  At first I thought it was just about them watching over their stuff.  But today, when I decided to get up early with Samantha and take the bikes to go look for food in a totally different set of houses up the road a couple of miles, this guy, Nate Fellows, insisted on coming with us.  Nate worked on the combine belonging to Gene and Marla.  He said that those houses had long since been emptied of anything useful, but he knew a house that we could check.  He took us the opposite direction about five miles.  The whole time he was asking a lot of questions.  That’s another thing, it’s like we’re always being grilled.  And it is the same questions over and over, only with different wording.

It has made me think of Monica Campinelli.  I’ll bet that gal would know what to do and how to handle this.  None of us have told them about the compound.  We’ve all been using Tim’s story about being holed up in the school and making the RV into the fortified vehicle it is now.

If I could only put a name to the reason these folks have me and the others on edge…

Friday, March 14

Late last night…we left that…place. Tim found out what the deal was. We are pretty sure those folks were from the military! Some Special Forces group most likely. And they had no intention of letting us leave.

If it weren’t for the fact that Tim is very particular about this RV, we’d be in big trouble. He was doing a little tinkering and discovered that the fuel line had been cut, and the battery  swapped out with one that was dead. Fairly simple sabotage. He never said a word and did the repair himself.  Then, in the middle of the night, he snuck out and found a battery.

It was while he was sneaking around that he watched a couple of the folks (who had been acting as gracious hosts except for all those questions and never letting us go out on our own) go into one of the houses.

He followed them up a small path that led around to the back of the house on the left; he said that he got close enough to see in a window that sat at ground level. In what he guessed to have once been a large recreation room, there were several gurneys set up with those things strapped down to them. On tables right next to the zombies were living people! He said that at the first he thought he was mistaken…until one of them managed to work the gag out of her mouth and scream.

There were several people working in that room. Many that Tim says he didn’t recognize. They quickly subdued and gagged the woman again. Then, and this is the reason we didn’t waste a moment and just took off, they started what looked like a transfusion. They were pumping fresh blood from three unwilling donor’s into the zombie.

I don’t know if they were trying to see if they could reverse the process or what, but two of the three “donors” died. They didn’t revive…until one of the people working in that room injected what Tim guessed to be contaminated blood into their system.

He didn’t wait to see anything more. Neither did we. We’ve made two gas stops and driven in shifts to put as much road between us and them as possible.  Only…the roads are really damaged out here for some reason.  Lots of craters.  Weird.

Monday, March 17

I think we’ve put enough distance between us and whatever the hell those people were.  We’ve debated it, and our guess is that they were some sort of government group.  For the first time, and that includes the brief time we were held in that prison, we are starting to question our decision to leave the compound.

We didn’t say anything with the kids around, but our unanimous choice is to now treat everyone as a threat.  It just seems that too many of the people left are bad news.  Also, we are making weapons a priority.  We’ve been hitting houses located ‘in the sticks’ since it is most likely that those furthest from the city were gun owners.

We have decided to make an actual town stop.  Shortly after Hwy 395 joins I-90, there is a town called Ritzville.  We will be hitting that place in ‘Assault Mode’.  The objectives will be guns, and supplies.  Also, Tim has made a checklist for each team to get the materials for a second RV.  Of course the kids will not be coming. We’ll be finding someplace for them to wait along with Julia and Antonio.

The hope is that we can pull this off in a day and be gone.

Wednesday, March 19

Getting to Ritzville was easy…but once we arrived, we came upon something unexpected. In what I am guessing to be a—if not the—local high school, a group of folks have mounted a powerful defense against the zombie hordes. They have reinforced the fencing with what looks to be railroad ties and track. An honest to goodness moat has been dug around the perimeter. I am guessing it is ten to fifteen feet deep. The bottom is what appears to be tar or creosote. Whatever it is, once one of those things fall in, they’re stuck. The walls of the moat are sheer, seemingly perfect ninety-degree angles from the floor. A normal person would be hard pressed to get out of that pit.

We are in some brush pine at the crest of a hill that looks down into what I imagine was once a peaceful town. Now, it is a charred landscape. While there remain hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies wandering the area, there is a huge cluster around the school. There is another at what looks to be City Hall, then several more around a few buildings, houses and the local jail.

Strange how this town seems, on the whole, to at least be treading water against this situation. We’ve seen a few vehicles out and about on what seem to be supply runs.

After a meeting, we’ve decided to at least watch things for a day. We really just need to decompress after that ordeal back in Pasco.

Thursday, March 20

Tim is all for leaving. He says that the folks down there in Ritzville seem to be at war with each other as much as the zombies. I asked him what would make him think such a thing. So, he had me come outside and get a look with a pair of binoculars.

Sure enough, there was a fairly new fire burning …City Hall. Just a few blocks away, at what we are now certain is the jail, the roof is a den of activity. Men and women in uniform, are shooting at the City Hall building!

I have no idea what is going on, but seeing this has me agreeing with Tim. We let everybody else in on things as they woke up and we got moving.

Gas stops are becoming increasingly difficult as we find more and more stations have been burned down or dried up. Also, the roads still seem to be deteriorating badly. It doesn’t help that this was such a cold, wet winter. We are encountering some epic potholes and a few complete washouts.

I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep driving. This vehicle gets even worse mileage with all the ‘armor’ and it is not off-road ready.

Friday, March 21

Reached a small town called Sparrow Falls…it is Hell on Earth here.

Today, we suffered some setbacks…and losses.  Currently we are holed up in a lumber yard.  The good news is that the building is a huge open warehouse.  The bad news is that the fencing was already breached in several spots.  Fortunately, the roll-down door to the warehouse was simple to barricade and the windows are all up around the six foot area.  So, while the constant sound of pounding is annoying, we are safe for the night.

The RV isn’t going anywhere until we can get tires for it.  That is what brought us here to begin with.

When the left rear tire blew, we had to roll on for another three miles before this place sprang out of the hills.  Sparrow Falls sits in a small valley.  The sign entering town stated a population of 4073.  Not one of those folks seems to have survived.

The river that offers this place’s namesake has washed out a good section of the highway just before entering town.  It is there that things started going bad.

Rodney was driving as we reached the section of road that was now an expanded part of the flooded banks of Sparrow River.  We already had everybody on the right of the RV to try and alleviate as much pressure on the flat as we could.  We were just about through the water when the sound of spinning tires signaled that we were stuck.

Greg, Tim, and I went out first to make sure that there weren’t too many zombies in the vicinity.  Once we saw that it was clear, everybody else followed.  Rodney stayed behind the wheel and we went to work.  It took us about twenty minutes, but we finally got the RV unstuck.  A few stragglers had shown up, but Samantha and Reggie took ‘em out.  No problems.

We climbed back in…that is when we realized that Amanda was missing.  The sun was just coming up and we could see that we were in a bit of a dip.  About a half mile up the road, there was a rise just before the road makes a straight, gradual descent into the actual town.  Along this section of road we were on, houses dotted both sides.

When somebody goes missing, you can’t just start yelling their name these days.  You likely will not appreciate what answers your call.  So, we decided that we had to at least look around, albeit quickly.

Leaving Rodney and Julia at the RV with Joey, we all took off in separate directions.  This was a big violation of our “nobody goes off alone” rule.  But, we figured it was an emergency.  Plus, how far could she have gotten?

Greg found her.

She had gone into a nearby house because while we were busy trying to get the RV loose, she heard a baby cry.  When Greg arrived, she was beating and poking what had once been a girl about her age.  Only, she couldn’t get a solid enough head shot with the table leg she was using as a weapon.

Greg dispatched Amanda’s tormentor and scooped the girl up, running for the RV.  Rodney honked the horn once, the signal that we had chosen to inform everybody to return.  When we asked Amanda why she had gone off, she said that initially it was because she wanted to use a toilet in peace without somebody right outside the thin door of the closet-sized bathroom we have in the RV.  The baby cry that turned out to be a zombie had startled her so bad that she wet her pants, that was why she hadn’t called for help.

Only a teenager!

So, we rolled into town and the attention we attracted was immediate.  Samantha, Tim, and I climbed onto our roof as Rodney edged up beside a small tire store.  We hoped that the tires we needed would be in stock.  Since there was a sign for an RV park outside of town, we felt we had reasonably good odds.

The problem would be gaining access.  Already there was a swarm of those damned things all over.  The RV was surrounded, and they were thick around the entirety of the building.

We tried drawing them to one place, but all we accomplished was bringing more to our location.  There was no access from the roof. Our only choice was to get in from the ground. But how?

As the sun rose higher, so did our frustration.  We tried having Rodney drive the RV away and leave us on top of the building, but too many stayed behind.  This was futile!

The RV was starting to make a funny sound which meant that if we pushed it much more, we’d really be stuck.  The only good news was that Rodney found a lumberyard with a warehouse that looked to be an easily defensible and sturdy place to spend the night so that we could regroup and plan.

We babied the RV to get it there.  Of course plenty of those damned things followed.  The fence around the yard had been torn down in places which led us to believe folks had stayed here at some point.  They had left the roll-down door up; so it was a matter of just driving in, killing twenty or so that followed, and tossing the bodies out one of the broken windows.

We checked the place out to make sure there were no surprises hiding in a mop closet or seemingly empty manager’s office.  When we finished, it was time to hunker down and come up with an idea.

Joey found a tennis ball somewhere and was busy bouncing it off the wall. Nobody complained about the noise considering the zombies outside pounding on the aluminum roll-down door were much louder.  Amanda, worn out from her ‘adventure’, had climbed into a bunk and gone to sleep.

We could see the tire place from one of the windows.  So after plotting the best route, it was decided that Tim, Samantha, and I would make for the place tomorrow morning before sunrise.  The plan would be for Antonio to open the big door and retreat to the RV.  Then, they would drive out very slowly, go six blocks up the street, and just wait.  As most of the zombies would likely follow, the three of us could make a run for it with the best chance of success.  It would be risky, but, we had few options at this point.

Antonio and Rodney went to work on a pulley system that would hopefully allow the door to be opened from someplace safer like the roof of the RV.  Reggie went in to make dinner, but before she did, she pulled me aside.

“Once we get out of this…I want to get to know you better,” she was looking up at me with those beautiful brown eyes, her hair hanging down in her face like a veil.  Then, she kissed me on the cheek, spun on her heel, and vanished into the RV.

I was with Tim and Samantha, picking out places we could run for if things went bad. Also, we were trying to identify likely places for those things to be ‘hiding’.  Seriously, some of those bastards are like trapdoor spiders…just waiting for an unsuspecting tidbit to wander past.

The scream startled us all.

I turned in time to see Reggie come stumbling out of the RV…with Amanda draped on her back.  Blood was already streaming from a nasty rip on the nape of Reggie’s neck.  Amanda’s teeth closed on the meaty part of the top of Reggie’s left arm, just below the joint.  She tore away a chunk of flesh causing Reggie to scream in agony.

Greg was closest and grabbed Amanda by the hair, jerking her head back and jamming the 9mm that seemed to just appear in his hand against her forehead.  He fired, the blast echoing throughout the big, open warehouse.

Reggie fell to the ground, sobbing and moaning in pain.  Greg tossed Amanda aside and joined me.  I had run to her along with Samantha and Tim.

Apparently, while she was making dinner, she never even heard Amanda come up behind her.  Not that any of us had any reason to think she’d been bitten.  But then, nobody had thought to check her after that incident in the house.

Greg was blaming himself and all of us were so shocked.  I had Reggie in my arms, so I should’ve noticed when she picked up Greg’s gun where he had dropped it after shooting Amanda.

Without warning, she jerked away from me, shoved the gun in her mouth, and pulled the trigger.  We all sat there in stunned silence.  Nobody could blame her really. I mean, who wants to come back as one of those disgusting abominations?

Only…she never said goodbye.

Saturday, March 22

We’ve decided to wait a day.  I mean really…where do we have to be?  Nobody felt like doing much of anything.  You’d think that loss would be acceptable now.  I guess, if we ever do reach that point, we’re no better than those things outside.

We couldn’t bury the bodies.  So, after saying a few words, we closed them up in a bathroom.  Antonio found some paints and painted a cross with a vine of flowers climbing it.  On each arm of the cross he put Reggie and Amanda’s name.

Greg is still blaming himself and hasn’t spoken since the incident.  We will not let their deaths go to waste.  From now on, we do full body check-ups anytime somebody comes back from being outside.  Julia has agreed to check everyone out.  Her being a nurse, it just seemed like the logical choice.  Then, one of the gals can check Julia.  We started today.  Everyone is clean.

Sunday, March 23

About a third of those things outside have wandered off!  We’ve stayed quiet.  The hope is that more will leave.  If we can just be patient, perhaps this gets a bit easier.

Still, don’t want to be too optimistic.  Everybody is staying away from the windows.  We talk in whispers.  Only Joey is having problems with this since he can’t play with his ball anymore.  I promised he could play with it as soon as we get on the road again and find a big open place.

That made him smile.

Monday, March 24

It feels great to be back on the road again.  Our waiting things out for a couple of days really helped.  Only about a hundred of those things were outside when we got up early this morning.

As soon as it was light enough to see, we got everybody loaded into the RV. Antonio was able to pull the door open, and Rodney was rolling out before those walking bags of pus could react.  Those things are, thankfully, quite predictable.  They all stumbled after the vehicle, and of course the engine noise attracted more attention, but it was all going away from where Tim, Samantha, and I were headed.

We bolted as quick as possible out a side window and ran for the tire store.  As I reached the corner, one of those damned things caught me.  It was really just a torso with arms and a head.  Both legs looked to have been physically ripped off!  This poor bastard had to have suffered some horrific pain.  Torso-man was naked and had chunks missing from all over.  I mean this guy was a mess.  One eye had burst, and the jelly had mixed and dried with the blood all over its face.

So, Torso-man grabbed my ankle as I passed and was trying to pull my leg to its mouth.  I kicked it in the face with a steel-toed boot, shattering teeth as well as lower jaw.  This thing didn’t even register the blow.  Tim kept running and Samantha glanced back, but we all agreed, each one must take care of themselves until we get our prize.  In the back of my mind, I heard a raspy Vulcan say, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few…or the one.”

I kicked again and rolled away.  Five or six more of them were around me, the closest within striking range, the farthest about fifteen feet.  I was on my knees and just as this farmer straight out of that painting American Gothic was lunging, I launched myself backwards.  I literally rolled heels over head and popped up in time to set my feet and swing my bat at Farmer’s waxy, bluish forehead.  It was enough to open an escape route, and I was gone.

I caught Samantha and Tim as they were climbing through a rectangular window that was running lengthwise on the garage side of the place.  They had already pushed a Dumpster into position and broken the glass.  I jumped up and dove through, landing on the hard concrete just a bit awkwardly.  I felt something give in my knee and the pain made my vision go white for just a few seconds.

I tried to stand, but the pain renewed its intensity.  I fell to the floor, crying out.  Tim and Samantha shot me a look that had me considering my options.  I could see the true concern and sympathy.  I also saw looks that told me there would be no help coming.  If I could not fend for myself, I was screwed.  They were already scanning the stock for the right size tire.  Once it was located, the next part of the plan would be relying on Samantha and I to go to the front of this tire store and draw attention so that Tim could slip out the side window we had entered through, jump from the Dumpster and catch the lip of the roof, then pull himself up.  All before being noticed and having something grab his legs.

Once he was up, he would drop the line around his waist for us to grab, tie on a tire, and guide it.  Once we had a few spares, he would fire the flare gun and Rodney would come for us.

Then, back to the lumberyard and the relative safety so we could repair the tire.  Tim would give the RV a good look-see, and then we roll out of town and find a deserted field or wooded area to catch our breath.

While Samantha and I made our way to the front, Tim set five tires and two new rims by the window and did his thing.  I found a nice four-inch wide strip of rubber about five feet long and wrapped my knee as tight as I could.  It still hurt like hell, but I could move.

Samantha and I made all kinds of noise to draw attention until we heard Tim call.  Then, one tire after another, followed by the rims, and we had what we came for.  I gave Samantha a reassuring pat and she was gone.

Getting out to the Dumpster wasn’t too bad.  But I couldn’t jump to catch the roof.  So, I stood on this Dumpster, swinging my bat. Once it got crowded, I started shooting.  Tim had already fired the flare as soon as he saw Samantha and I on the Dumpster.  Neither could lean over and reach me. They tried, but I was stuck.

I was never so scared with those things on three sides, reaching, snapping their teeth together.  Finally, Rodney pulled up.  The look on his face when he pulled around and saw me…absolutely priceless.

I can laugh now, but it was terrifying looking down into those empty, white-filmed, black-bloodshot eyes.  Seeing those waxy, rotting, filthy hands reaching for me.  Feeling the Dumpster tremble and rock as more bodies surged forward to get at me.

Rodney was able, once Tim and Samantha had transferred the haul and jumped onto the roof of the RV, to pull up and plow the hordes of undead against the front of my rusty metal island out of the way.  Tim helped drag me up, and the rest was almost academic.

It is late…I’m very tired, and my knee—Julia says it is a severe sprain—hurts like crazy.  I can feel my pulse in the pain.  I sure miss ice.  At least we have a good supply of ibuprofen on hand.

Julia is pulling into a big open field.  The moon is bright enough on this clear night that we’ve got pretty good visibility.  We’ve seen no movement in over an hour.

Tuesday, March 25

I awoke to gunfire and the sounds of engines revved high.  Antonio was on watch and burst through the side-door which is only able to be opened from inside, but we leave it open if we are on watch and making a check of the area.  The rule is that you cannot let the RV out of your sight.

Anyways…everybody is scrambling and Antonio is so worked up he is having trouble keeping his Spanish out as he tries to explain what is going on.  I bound out of bed, and hit the floor…totally forgot about the knee until the pain explodes behind my eyes and almost makes me throw-up.  Guns are being drawn of every sort.

I crawl to the driver’s seat and start the engine while Tim, Rodney, Samantha, Greg, Julia, and Antonio rush outside.  I see this quad-runner bouncing over every bump in the field with a beat-up red jeep in pursuit. The quad is zigging and zagging, but it is only a matter of time before the jeep closes the distance.

The person on the quad obviously sees us and is making right for our group.  I can’t see anybody except Greg and Tim who have moved in front and are waving their guns—each is holding a shotgun—in a very distinct manner that could not be mistaken for anything but a warning.

The jeep skids to a halt and somebody on the passenger’s side pokes out through a window and takes a few shots—all misses—then whoever is driving turns tail and hauls ass.  The person on the quad is now on foot, arms in the air, showing open and empty hands.

That is how we met Meredith Gainey.

Wednesday, March 26

I am convinced that mankind is truly awful.  Life as we know it has been nuked and I find that it is not the cream rising to the top, but rather a moldy crust that needs to be cut away.

How can it be that so few good and decent folk survived?  Will the dregs of our former society be all that is left?  Or, is it simply that, ungoverned, we are barbaric monsters, no better than those creatures we run from?  Are they really a depiction of what lies in our deepest, most true selves?

Certainly I have met some fantastic people: Tom Langston, Monica Campinelli, Al Godwin, and Reggie Vaughn.  Yet, more often, it is folks like those gangbangers at the hospital, Dewey Morton, whoever those folks were back in Pasco, and now…it seems that the people chasing Meredith are a gang of marauding, raping, pillaging lunatics.  A band of men who see women as a commodity and will take what they want, even if it means killing innocent and terrified men, women, and children to get it.

The real kicker? Their leader was the sheriff of Sparrow Falls! These men have been scouring the region since the second week of this nightmare and actively seeking women they deem attractive.  They keep them as sex slaves and those who don’t meet their ‘standards’ become servants…or…bait.

It seems this group uses women it has no physical need for to bait zombies away from an objective.  To add to the already despicable acts these men (and I only use the term to define their gender) commit, they take women who may have been married—some with children whom they simply execute by gun or zombie—to free for more leisurely responsibilities.

Meredith is recovering from pretty severe malnutrition (being without food and water was the norm as the most passive form of coercion).  She was absolutely filthy when she literally dropped on our “doorstep”.  She was so covered with blood we initially thought she had been shot.  Samantha and Julia cleaned her up and Julia determined she was clean…none of that blood was hers.  Julia gave her a sedative.

I guess she related some fairly horrifying accounts to the two while she was being cleaned up.  Whatever it was, they’re not saying much.  Julia said it was up to Meredith if she wanted the details of her situation known to all of us.  All that was shared was the basic information about more bad people doing bad things.

Meredith has slept, albeit somewhat restlessly, for most of the past thirty hours.  We have been parked in an apple orchard, and had to take down a couple of straggling zombies.  But other than that, things are quiet.

Thursday, March 27

We’ve heard a lot of shooting today.  It was a difficult decision to just sit here when the screaming could be heard not too far away.  However, we are only seven people (not counting Joey and Meredith).  The reality is, we have to take care of ourselves.  We cannot save the world.

Meredith is showing signs of improvement.  She is sleeping peacefully right now after being awake for a few hours in the middle of the night.  Tim was on watch.  He said she ate a little, and thanked us all for saving her.  Then, she curled up in a ball and went back to sleep.

Julia said that there was no need for her to keep Meredith sedated any longer.  It was important that she get up and start trying to function.  I like Julia.  She seems like the kind of nurse who would do everything to help make you better, but at the same time, get you to push yourself a bit.

This day really dragged. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

Friday, March 28

It started raining early this morning and now it is pouring.  I never used to believe in omens…

Today, Antonio and I decided to go on a supply search.  The orchard is proving to be a great place to stay hidden.  When the weather turned bad, we put off our mission to hit Spokane on a big scavenger run for at least another day.

There isn’t a lot in the area.  But about two miles away is what looked to be a tiny bedroom community.  We spotted it when he and I crested this hill at the north end of the orchard. Through binoculars, the place looked like it was empty of anything living.  There were scattered packs of zombies, but it didn’t seem like more than a hundred and they were very spread out.

We checked in with everybody and let them know where we were going.  Antonio and I set out on foot with a couple of empty packs and the usual assortment of weaponry; a bat, machete, and handguns with several spare magazines.

We had to climb one fence at the bottom of the first hill.  It took me a moment, but I eventually figured out that we were smack dab in the middle of a golf course!  The lack of a groundskeeper had sure taken its toll.  Imagine your favorite local politician being denied his or her bathing and grooming for almost three months…now apply it to a golf course.

We reached the small housing development and quickly selected a target: a three-story affair with a five car garage.  We looked around for any sort of wandering obstacles, but this place was on the edge of the development, and there wasn’t anything moving as far as we could see.

A dash across the overgrown front yard, and we were at the door.  I tried the door and it opened…but the stench that came rolling out told me that we would be busy.  Still, neither of us were prepared for what we would find.

The best we could guess—after the horror of dispatching with what we found—is that every kid in the neighborhood came to this place and tried to hide in this huge below-ground-level game room.  A couple of them had to have been infected and, most likely at night, turned.  The furniture scattered all down the stairs had kept them from escaping quickly enough.  It is clear that they tried; they just couldn’t clear the exit.

The house itself yielded very little.  The food had been moved downstairs.  What wasn’t spoiled was coated in gore.  We went upstairs and used the windows to scout.  Antonio came up with a brilliant idea.  We found a battery powered mp3 player and a speaker station.  Once we knew where we were headed, we opened an upstairs window, placed the player in it…and cranked the music.

Finally, Eminem contributed something to society!

As the undead swarmed the house, we snuck out back, hopped a fence, and ducked inside a replica of an old-style plantation home complete with white marble columns.  We found food, medicine, all sorts of things.

With full packs, we headed back to the RV…and made two more trips with almost no troubles.  There are always a couple of those bastards that “do their own thing.”

It was on the third and final trip that our luck ran out.  We had loaded our packs and were crossing the golf course.  We tossed our packs over the wall and were just throwing our legs over…when a gunshot echoed.  At first, I didn’t realize what had happened…until Antonio landed face down in the mud.

I rolled him over, his gray sweatshirt was soaking wet, but an ominous dark stain was spreading on his right side.  I left the packs and scooped him into my arms.  I had no idea where the shots were coming from as a couple more rang out.  Something whistled through the leaves overhead as I did my best to dodge between the apple trees.

Julia has been in back for the past couple of hours.  Rodney came out to say that she thought he was stable and would survive if he hadn’t lost too much blood.  We’ve been on the road, crawling along to keep from jolting Antonio when we hit a pothole.  Meredith is back there helping.  Looks like we got a new member of the ‘family’.

Sunday, March 30

It looks as if Antonio is going to be okay!  It was shaky for a while, but, mostly due to Julia, he pulled through.  All of us have taken turns sitting with him.

More good news, Meredith is doing great as well.  And she adds a lot to this group.  For starters, she is probably the best shooter of all of us!  Joey seems to follow her all around the RV.  And, on the occasions that we park for a couple hours, he is right on her heels…even outside!

I must say, besides the fact that her personality is so warm and inviting, she is extremely attractive…even with her red hair practically chopped off.  It seems the man who “claimed” her had a thing for the rough stuff and really got off on pulling her baby-fine red hair.  So, she chopped it off with a huge knife that she also used to slit his throat the night she ran.

When we gassed up just before sunset, we found a map that included a street grid of Spokane.  We won’t know where anything is, but we will know how to maneuver.  That’s something.

Meredith insists on being on a team, and after getting acquainted with her, not one of us objected.  Even Tim deferred to her when we were planning.  She is the one who suggested that instead of a snatch-and-run operation that we radio-up, and using the map, designated pick-up zones.  Each team will place goods in the open along a predetermined route.  Then, once we have maximized our haul, we radio for the RV.  The first stop will be to obtain the second vehicle.

The teams are: Tim and Samantha; they will be getting the second RV and all the repair, upkeep, and maintenance equipment.  Rodney and Meredith; they will be taking a page from Greg Parker’s idea book and seeking gardening supplies. (I wonder if his garden is up and running back at the old compound.)  Greg Chase and I will be hitting drug stores and a hospital.

We are as ready as we can be for the zombies.  The bigger concern will be what sorts of survivors we will encounter.  It just seems unlikely that a city that size will have absolutely no survivors.

The hope is that we can scavenge as much as possible and leave it out in the open.  The zombies won’t touch it.  But if there are survivors…well…our pick-up site may be empty when we eventually call Julia—naturally she, Antonio, and Joey are staying behind—to make the run.

Monday, March 31

We should simply stop trying to plan anything!

Today began with the RV and our finding a really nice hiding place about four or five miles west of the airport that sits on the city’s edge.  A thickly wooded ridge provided a lot of cover, and best of all, very little traffic of the undead variety.

God I hope I live to see the inside of that claustrophobic, smelly, rattling home-on-wheels again.  I have no idea how everybody else is doing.  Greg and I got separated just a few hours after we reached the city and I lost my damned radio in the aptly named Hangman Creek.

We were all together on mountain bikes for the first few miles.  But once we got into the outskirts of the city, we split up.  Greg and I had to abandon our bikes a couple of miles from the completely barricaded bridge that takes you into town.

There are some very active survivors in Spokane who, at one time, seemed to have a real grasp on the situation.  All the on- and off-ramps have cars, trucks, and big rigs jamming them up.  The road, I-90, is almost totally clear going into town!  We heard before we saw, a pair of fighter jets scream overhead.  They came in low enough that I was certain we had been noticed.  But, when we’d heard the distinctive thump-thump-thump of a large military helicopter, we decided that is was best if we hide.  Greg and I jammed the bikes between some cars at the mouth of an on- ramp and then ran into a small office complex that was just at the bottom of the ramp, across a deserted four-lane road.

At first I thought we caught a hugely lucky break.  No zombies…and we were hidden before that helo made the scene.  We ducked into a glass-fronted four-story building. It was easy since damned near all the glass on the bottom floor was gone.

We decided to hunker down and see what gives.  Maybe we can find a safe haven.  The helo is hanging in the area, obviously looking for us.  Then this booming voice from a speaker starts in, “You are entering the quarantined City of Spokane.  You are in violation of martial law.  Surrender to authorities or you will be considered hostile and shot on sight.”

It only took Greg and I a look at one another to silently agree that there was no way in hell we would be “surrendering” to anybody.  After what seemed like forever, the helo moved away, but since it kept repeating its message, I was fairly confident that they didn’t know where we were.

As soon as we decided it was safe—or at least as safe as it would get—we ran for it.  The plan was to get across that bridge and then south to the medical district where a couple of hospitals and a bunch of medical centers are.

The hope was that, while it would seem likely that the military would hit these places, that just maybe they hadn’t been picked clean.  We could see one of the hospitals from the windows of the top floor of that frighteningly empty office building.  There was a lot of zombie activity on the ground.  So, while risky, it seemed possible that there would be some goods available to scavenge.

We were staying close to the right side of the road as we approached the bridge.  The blockade was unmanned and we had a few zombies to deal with, but Greg and I hit that bridge at a dead run.  Scrambling over the twisted metal and jumbled pile of mangled vehicles, we fought our way past the handful of zombies that had seen fit to hang out in what had to have been slim pickings as far as warm bodied victims were concerned.

That was precisely when the second helo—hell, maybe it was the same one—swept in.  We were halfway across when the sound of rotors came hard and fast from the north.  At first I thought I could make the other side.

Nope.

The last time I saw Greg, he was almost across the bridge…well ahead of me.  I did the only thing I could do…I jumped.

Once again I have to say that the movies make that sort of action look way cooler than it is.  The impact knocked most of the wind from me.  The icy coldness of the water stole the rest.  I broke the surface and damn near drowned when I gasped and inhaled a mouthful of water.

There is noise of all sorts now.  Helicopter rotors, moaning hordes of undead coming to the source of such racket…oh yeah…and machinegun fire.  All I could do is snatch a breath and duck under, swimming for a shore that was becoming increasingly less safe as droves of Spokane’s zombie population were now arriving.

Once my feet could touch bottom, I kept moving downstream, staying underwater as long as possible.  I finally saw a gap and made a dash.  That damned helo was swooping around as I hit dry ground.  Now it was a race to a narrow street where I would be down to only one enemy to face head-on.  I could feel the hum in my feet as bullets tore up the grass behind me.  I had to dodge a couple of nearby zombies who of course turned in pursuit as I sped past.

I heard the helo roar overhead as I ducked into a parking garage.  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I knew that this place was not anywhere I would want to hang out in for long.

A tall blonde wearing nothing but the sagging, unraveling remnants of a dark blue turtleneck sweater was lurching for me from behind a red sportster that had been tee-boned by an SUV some weeks past.  I managed to swat her aside with my bat, but there were plenty more hungry mouths coming.

I decided that running up the nearby ramp would only lead to me being trapped on the top floor. So, I spun left and vaulted over a four foot high concrete divider, and back into the open.

A sign above a sturdy looking door hung askew right across the street: Hangman’s Tavern. I made it to the door, which was blessedly unlocked, jerked it open and ducked inside. The air was stale, but it definitely smelled like a bar. Light flooded from the back wall which I quickly discovered to be a panoramic façade of huge picture windows that looked out on the creek which provided the establishment’s name. My good fortune held as I saw that a deck was on the backside of this tavern, suspended a good ten feet above ground. That would explain why the windows were still intact.

A dull thud on the door I now leaned against made me jump. I checked, but could find no way to lock the door without having a key. So, after a quick visual inventory, I grabbed a few tablecloths and tied them from the door handle to the banister of the stairs.  It wasn’t too difficult of a fix. Next, I piled enough furniture to create a solid obstacle in the entryway between door and stairs.  Then, I went up and chanced a look outside.

I still heard the helo, but it was a good distance away and seemed to be receding. Not too many zombies were visible. I imagine most are out front, but there aren’t any windows on that part of the building, just this rear view.

I found a jar of olives and those horrible fake cherries, some bags of peanuts and pretzels, and all sorts of things to drink including bottled water. It has been dark for hours, but I can still hear them out front.

When I went through my stuff, I was really frustrated to discover I’ve lost my radio and my spare magazines. I don’t know how my pack came open or where, but I do know I am alive, and that counts for something. I’ll do my best to catch some sleep.  But, now that I’ve been here a while, I’m hearing a sound that has me almost more concerned than the zombies outside my door.

Lots of sporadic gunfire.

* * * * *

Tuesday, April 1

I awake with a shudder…and I must’ve yelled because my daughter Beth almost dropped the tray she was carrying with my favorite breakfast:  Four eggs over easy, a half rack of thick maple-bacon, fresh grated hash browns with minced garlic, seven grain toast, real butter and marmalade, an ice cold glass of milk, and a steaming cup of fresh ground Millstone Morning Blend coffee, black.

“Ummm…good morning?”  Beth’s raised eyebrow was about as much concern as a teenage daughter can show a father and maintain her aloof image.

“I had the worst nightmare,” I sat up, rubbing my hands together.  “So, what’s the occasion?”

“You better be kidding,” she placed the tray on my lap, adjusting the legs so I wouldn’t bump it with my clumsy moving about.

I thought it over.  Birthday?  No.  Father’s day?  Nope, that’s in June.  Damn.

“You win,” I stabbed an egg yolk so I could swab my bacon through it.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Megan will be thrilled.  You really don’t know?”

“She’s picking up the last of her crap?”

“Dad!” Beth walked to my closet and pointed to the tuxedo hanging on the door.

“She died?”

“Have you been drinking with The Muses?”

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to cut me some slack.  I had the worst damned nightmare last night.”

“You’re getting married in six hours.  If I were you, I’d eat breakfast and take a shower.  We can’t share this story with Megan until your guys’ tenth anniversary.” Beth walked over to the window and opened the curtains.  The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes.

My bed shook, spilling breakfast all over.  Beth fell, bouncing off the foot of my bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

Two hands reached up and grabbed my bedspread.  The skin was waxy and gray.  Beth stood up, mouth open in a rattling moan of the undead, staring at me with black bloodshot eyes…

* * * * *

I hate nightmares.

I woke up…for real.  There was still the echo of a rumble in the air.  Cracks ran through the huge windows in the back of the tavern and the sky was glowing, but it wasn’t daylight.

After several more explosions, things settled down.  The absolute quiet was shredding my nerves.  I sat in silence for almost an hour until the sun rose.  It took that long to realize I didn’t hear any more pounding outside.  Still, I think it best if I wait the day out.

If I’m being totally honest, that dream hurt me deep in my heart.  I keep thinking that maybe I should’ve put a gun in my mouth a long time ago.  My body aches all over, and now…so does my soul.

Wednesday, April 2

From my window view, I watched a trio of those huge, double-rotor, cargo helicopters fly back and forth several times today.  I don’t believe that the military has total control of Spokane.  Not just because of the zombies, but those birds took a lot of gunfire.  At one point, a pair of fighters came in low and I heard explosions, but could not determine how far off they were.  It was enough to rattle the walls here, but the windows are still holding.

I’ve been debating going out onto the deck.  My visibility is pretty limited.  If I can get out and look around, I could see more of my surroundings.  However, once I break the glass, I risk exposure.  And, while I know I have to leave this place soon, I just don’t have the heart to fight…to run…to kill.

Today…I vow to stick to just drinking water.  I might have failed to mention that I polished of a bottle of Jack that first night…two more since.

Thursday, April 3

Water seems to be a magic elixir.  With my system flushed of alcohol, I am beginning to feel much better.  That said, I still haven’t figured out a plan.  I sure miss my friends.  Strange how when you are around something so much that it is so damned easy to take it for granted.  I guess that’s just human nature.

I imagine that, provided everybody else did better than I, they have written me off for dead and moved on.  It is obviously a bad idea to hang around this area. There is constant gun-fire…explosions…screaming. If a city of this size is so chaotic, just how terrible was it in the major metropolises?  Is our military taking orders from a central government?  Or, is it every province for itself? Are we fighting back…or are we just fighting?

I have noticed that whenever I hear aircraft come in, the gunfire picks up drastically. I can only deduce that the survivors of Spokane are battling the military as well as the undead.  Everybody (or thing in the case of the zombie) is fighting a war on at least two fronts.  Since the ground fire I am hearing comes from all over, I can safely conclude that there are multiple pockets of survivors in this city.  Are they united? Or do they fight each other?

* * * * *

I’ve seen my first miracle!  Now I feel that seed of hope I feared had been killed in my internal freeze beginning to grow.

A few hours ago, I heard gunfire closer than at any time since I’d sealed myself off in this dismal tavern.  It was coming from the direction of the creek.  I went to investigate.  Straining to see anything, I obviously pressed too hard on the pane of glass on the far right while trying to look left of my location.  The only warning I had was a loud crack, then the window just collapsed.  I had to dive backwards to avoid the cascading rain of glass.

I could hear a man yelling, and then more gunshots.  Part of me worried that the military had figured out where I ran and sent a ground team.  Well, the glass definitely gave away my position, so I may as well go down swinging.  I only had a few rounds, so I’d make them count.

I snuck out onto the glass strewn deck and duck-walked to the wrought-iron railing.  What I saw froze me.  A man and woman were back-to-back with a child, a girl of about age ten, between them.  Both had pistols in each hand, blasting every zombie they could.  The little girl was loading magazines and handing them to the adults as needed while having the presence to scoop up the discharged magazine from the ground!

Finally, the spell of astonishment broke and I yelled for their attention.  A bullet whizzed past close enough for me to feel heat on my left ear.  The woman paused, thankfully, before firing again.  She said something, because they angled my way.  I couldn’t find a clear shot that would actually be of any help.  Instead, I dropped everything and climbed over the rail.  Holding onto one of the vertical black iron bars, I leaned down while still struggling to keep my footing on the three-inch lip of balcony.

The woman said something and the man widened his stance.  The child scrambled up his back like a monkey.  I clasped her hand and swung her up and over.  I was in for a second surprise when she drew a small .22 caliber pistol and began methodically dropping the nearest zombies as the woman now holstered her weapons and tapped the man on the shoulder.  He squatted and leaned forward, then, faster than I can describe it, she stepped up onto the small of his back and vaulted upwards.  Her hands caught the lip of the balcony and I leaned down to offer help, but she swung a leg up and all I could do was move the hell out of the way.  As she scrambled up, the girl was uncoiling a nylon line from around her waist under the leather jacket she was wearing.  She dropped the line between the bars and sat down with her feet braced against the bottom crossbar.  The woman re-drew her pistols and shouted, “Now, Michael!”  The man took one last shot at a naked, middle-aged, balding man-zombie that was about a step away from being able to grab him, then, holstered his weapons, grabbed the line and scurried up.  The child only grunted slightly to indicate any strain. As he reached up, the woman clasped his arm and just like that, I met the Thompson Family: Michael, Stephanie, and Amber.

Friday, April 4

It seems there is an Air Force base just outside of the city.  According to Michael and Stephanie, they’ve been operating what was initially designated an emergency shelter when the whole zombie epidemic started spiraling out of control.  The stories coming from folks who left, or as they refer to it “escaped”, are of abuse and executions.

The actual commanding officer and many of the upper chain of command died due to bites received early on when folks were still refusing to believe what was happening.  There was a bit of a power struggle. Eventually, a man named Captain Terrance Dahl assumed control.  He quickly issued orders extending martial law in the city and began broadcasting on a local radio station that all civilians were to remain in their homes and await military evacuation.

Initially folks were relieved.  Only, the evacuation kept being delayed.  In a matter of days, the undead outnumbered the citizens.  Rumor spread that the captain was intentionally delaying evacuations to “thin the draw on supplies.”  Groups of citizens began organizing to take back the city.  It is these groups that blocked all the on- and off-ramps leading to the city.  The bridge blockade, something put in place by Captain Dahl to keep citizens from leaving the city, was apparently the scene of a terrible battle.  Ever since, it has been an ongoing war that has seen increase in the zombie’s numbers.

Now there are factions in the city fighting for control as well.  The Air Force is rumored to be running low on supplies such as fuel and ammunition for their aircraft.  A few times they have sent out the huge cargo helos, but they never came back.  Also, some of the airmen from the base deserted when they saw the way civilians were being treated.  They say that there has been no radio contact in over five weeks from anyplace.

This confirms what I’ve suspected for quite a while.  The world is dead and it is every man and woman for themselves.

Sunday, April 6

We had to run. Early this morning a convoy of drab, olive-green military vehicles came up the bank of Hangman Creek. They were unspooling coils of razor wire. Whether it is to keep people and/or zombies out, or in, we have no idea. Still, the fact that they (the military) were so close didn’t initially scare us. However, when a second convoy crept in and unloaded about twenty heavily armed, body-armor wearing individuals who quickly secured a building to our left (a six-story hotel as we discovered when we snuck out) it was time to leave. Best we can guess, the Air Force is moving to secure the main points of entry to Spokane.

Of course that meant we had to go out the front door. Thankfully, our immediate vicinity was clear as the zombies are down the street doing their best to get at the soldiers, or whatever they are, who are seemingly safe on the roof of the Hangman Creek Inn.

We made for the parking garage I’d run into when I’d been busy avoiding attack helos. There were a few stragglers that quickly made for us, but their numbers were thin enough that we could avoid them and cut through the building. The far side opened onto a street that looked like something out of news footage when you saw those poor bastards in the Middle East shooting up market places. The buildings were riddled with bullet holes; many had caught fire and burned. There were bodies littering the ground, a few were burned terribly, but still moved and twitched, unable to stand.

The undead were everywhere, milling in and out of buildings, bumping into one another without seeming to notice. Directly across the street from where we emerged was an avenue that led to a large cathedral with huge wooden double doors. Zombies were all around it. As many as could squeeze in were against the doors, clawing at it to no avail.

We cut to the right, following the edge of what had once been a huge city park. There were too many trees and shrubs to even consider cutting through. A few times we had to change directions because there were too many undead clustered to safely avoid. Michael and Stephanie were very effective with these iron-tipped mallets they both carried. Even Amber wielded a heavy-duty ball-peen hammer.

I had not heard the young girl speak much in my couple of days with the Thompsons. In fact, none of them were that talkative. At first I was a little put off, but I just decided that it would take time to build any trust. Hell, if I was Michael, I’d be leery of strangers, too. Especially when it came to my family. The fact that all three of them survived and operated as a single unit to keep each other alive…it’s nothing short of amazing.

We ran, putting distance between ourselves and the military invaders. I suggested the idea of a hospital, but Michael said that was like walking into a zombie beehive. Before all this he had been a local policeman. That revelation brought a million questions, but I’d wait until we were someplace relatively safe. He said that he had not found a single one of his co-workers after the third day, and that the entire medical district which we’re just on the edge of, had been the epicenter of the death of Spokane. The undead rolled across the city like a tsunami wiping out almost everything in their path. Then, like a wave, they slowly receded back to their point of origin, bringing the fruits of their destruction in their wake.

We found a strip mall with a sporting goods store that had been ravaged at some point, a video store, and restaurant that had obviously been out of business for quite a while. The sign board still advertised that it was “Available for Lease: call Gina at 71- 3 6”. The restaurant was two-stories high, and a narrow staircase went up one side, likely to an office. It would be feasible to go up the stairs, then, by climbing on the handrail, make it to the roof. This would give us a good spot to scout the area.

Michael and Stephanie agreed.  A handful of minutes later we were on the roof. We’d drawn some attention; a good sized crowd gathering within about twenty minutes. We moved to the center of the building to stay well out of sight and try to plan our next move. A few times we had to duck under the huge air conditioning towers when we heard aircraft approaching.

So…now we wait until dark. We spotted an armored bank truck about eight blocks north and east from our position. There is a gas station just a few blocks further, if they have a battery charger on a hand truck, we’ll—

* * * * *

Holy crap…somebody is in one of the buildings below us! The shooting. The screams.

* * * * *

His name is Kevin Davis. He is forty-three years old… and he has been bitten. Twice. The first time—according to him and seemingly verifiable by the almost healed, red, angry scarring—was January 29th.

He shows no sign of turning.

Monday, April 7

Kevin is from Ritzville.  He says that there is a group there being led by some fire-and-brimstone preacher who will not allow his followers to kill the zombies.  He denies that they actually die, and has a core group of almost a hundred followers.

The preacher is Randy Davis…Kevin’s brother.

Apparently the first person infected in Ritzville was Kevin’s dad, Oscar.  He returned home sick from his semi-annual trip to Seattle where he’d met up with a bunch of old army buddies.  After Oscar turned, he killed Kevin’s mom who was the one to bite Kevin when he came over to check on his folks as the news of the epidemic spread and he hadn’t heard from them in a few days.  Randy and Kevin restrained their mom and then found their dad in town wandering down the street.  It was later discovered that Oscar had already gone into a neighbor’s house and attacked a thirteen-year-old girl.

Kevin had come to Spokane for help, but faced the same welcome I had when he arrived the day before yesterday.  He said that his brother and those following him are holed up in a World War II bomb shelter with about thirty of those things tied up and in there with them.  He was desperately hoping to find a doctor or a pastor or both, but now that he’s been in the city, and in particular the medical district, he sees it as a lost cause.

As I was helping him change the bandage on his left hand where he was bitten yesterday, I asked if he was going back to Ritzville.  He said he has to.  He has to try and talk sense into his brother.  The five of us leave tonight.

Tuesday, April 8

This morning was totally insane!  Kevin decided that he would act as a human decoy so that Michael and I could run to the gas station and hopefully get ahold of a battery charger.  Stephanie and Amber would get to the armored car and clear it if need be.

We wanted to move at sunrise because of fears that the military would spot us easier using infrared goggles.  Nobody could say definitively if they were or not, but we chose to err on the side of caution.  The sun broke over the hills with what promised to be a warm and visibly beautiful day.

Kevin had a spot picked out that was fairly open and scaled quickly down a rope to the ground.  He began moving up the block, and once he put distance between our building and himself, he picked out the closest car and smashed the windshield with an aluminum bat.  He cut around a corner and out of sight, but we heard him smack a couple more vehicles as he moved away not only from us, but from our objectives as well.

Then we heard automatic weapons being fired.  Kevin was carrying a military issue Colt .45 semi-automatic and a shotgun.

Having no idea who or what was shooting, all we could do was make our run.  The zombie traffic was thin at first and we split as the girls cut left to the armored truck while we stayed straight the five blocks further to the gas station.  As we reached the gas station, more gunfire erupted.  Michael froze in his tracks when we heard the screams of what had to be Stephanie.

Ducking through the broken front window, I kicked the door open to the garage.  You’d think I would have learned by now as this obscenely obese man in stained coveralls lunged out at me.  I slipped in the broken glass and landed flat on my back.

Rick—that was the name on his coveralls—came at me.  Thankfully, his six foot, four hundred-plus pound frame did not fit easily through the entryway.  My bat had skittered across the floor and under a metal-framed couch with cracking, orange vinyl cushions.  I had no choice but to reach for my 9mm.  I fired and Rick’s head twitched just slightly.  I could barely discern the dark fluid drizzling like cold sap from the hole in his grease smeared face.

Regaining my feet, I looked out front at the twenty or so zombies visible that were now coming my way.  Michael was nowhere to be seen!  I considered scrapping the plan right there, but decided I would do this for myself if nothing else.

I grabbed my bat and made for the darkened open-bay garage.  I figured that if there had been more zombies in there with Rick, they would’ve already made it to the open door.  As I stepped over the huge carcass, I glanced down and saw a nasty bite on his left leg at about mid-calf.  I froze and quickly fumbled for my flashlight.  Sure enough, dragging itself along the bare concrete was the upper torso of an old man that couldn’t be younger than seventy.  He looked to have literally been ripped in half.

Two swings of my bat was all it took.

I was thrilled to see a portable battery charger.  My luck held as I pushed an LED indicator that read “charged.”  I pushed the hand truck mounted charger to the backdoor.  Looking out, I saw a few zombies milling, but not towards my location.  Of course that changed the moment I opened the door.  The loud squeak of the hinges did nothing to aid my cause.

I pushed the waist-high charger in front of me, cutting across the back lot and to the street. I heard more shooting from the direction I was intent on, but at that point I was committed.  I ran as fast as I could, dodging the outstretched arms of the growing number of zombies converging on the area.  I glanced over my shoulder once.  Once.  The street was thick with hundreds of the damn things on my trail.

I rounded the corner, not sure what I would find.  What I saw froze me.  My eyes jumped from one shocking image to the next.  All three of the Thompsons were dead!

Amber was closest.  A pool of blood lay around her head on the gray sidewalk like a dark halo.  A bullet hole had blown a dark hole in her face where her left eye had once been.  Stephanie was only a few steps away, a trail of blood showing where she had tried to drag herself back towards her daughter.  Unfortunately, the bullet wounds in her chest had not finished her off and two zombies were still feasting from the hole they had torn in her stomach.

Two more zombies lay sprawled nearby where it seems Michael had shot them before taking a bullet in the back.  He now lay face down, a zombie feeding intently on his left arm.  It glanced up at me as it tore a sinewy strip of meat from the forearm.

A shot rang out and chips of the brick wall next to my head flew, cutting into my face in a few places.  I flinched and ducked as a second shot rang out.  I was stuck.  I couldn’t run back the way I’d come as the street was packed with zombies.  I did the only thing I could do, I ran forward.  A few more shots ricocheted off the asphalt nearby.  I ducked behind the parked armored truck and the metallic ping of a couple more bullets rang out angrily.

I only had a second to catch my breath as zombies were swarming from every side.  I glanced around, looking for a place to run.  There was no direction that offered any sort of salvation.  Reaching over in desperation I tried the door of the armored truck.

It opened!

I climbed in just as I saw Michael stir.  The zombie that had been feeding on his arm was already walking my way.

The day has been warm.  Fortunately not too much so.  A constant cacophony of hands pounding on the flat metal exterior, punctuated a few times by the metal ping of a bullet threaten to break open my skull.

Wednesday, April 9

I am so overwhelmed.  I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or just sit in a corner and rock back and forth.  Greg Chase, Kevin Davis, and several men and women—many “deserters” from the Air Force base—rescued me.

It seems that when Greg and I got separated, he was taken in by a group of survivors who have basically turned Gonzaga University into a fortress.  They send out nightly recon groups to try and rescue anybody who wants to come.  Also, they do their best to quell some of the lawlessness that is so widespread.

Greg said he has not seen or heard from any of the others.  His radio shattered after he landed on it when he jumped over a car.   But with the city now effectively blocked off to any sort of incoming traffic he is not ready to give up hope.  He was on recon with a patrol—he goes every chance he gets in hopes of finding any of our group—when they found Kevin.  He recognized me from the description.

Turns out that our sniper was a sixteen-year-old boy!  He was hidden in an office building across the street and halfway down the block from the armored truck.  The kid was stocked with enough crystal meth to last a lifetime.

Once I was alone with Greg I asked if he knew that Kevin had been bitten twice and had no signs of turning.  Apparently—and understandably—Kevin is keeping that a secret.

* * * * *

Greg, Kevin, and I spent several hours in my dorm room—I have a real bed to sleep in!—discussing what to do.  While this place seems safe, organized, and well stocked, we’ve opted to leave.  Each for his own reason, but we don’t want to stay longer than a couple of days.  Since we’re not sure how this will be received, we’re not going to tell anybody.  In a few days we will sign up for a recon and just take off.

Thursday, April 10

Spent today in my room.  I really just needed to wind down after everything the past few days.  From my room I could look out and see several steps that the folks here have taken to secure the area.  Besides fencing, they have several access points blockaded by huge piles of gravel and rock.  The zombie’s lack of coordination makes it very difficult to climb.  When one falls, he often takes several down with him.  Of course once they do manage to climb over, there are coils of razor wire and then open kill zones where those on watch sit and pick off all the over-achievers.  Then, when the bodies start to pileup in the street, a bulldozer detaches and pushes the bodies back to the gravel berm and they torch the pile.  That also keeps back any approaching zombies in the area for awhile.

They have quite a system.  And you’d think that eventually the zombies would thin out.

They don’t.

Other than that, the folks here are friendly.  It has some of the same qualities the compound I left behind has.  Including the fact that it is confining.

I did discover how they keep the Air Force from just bombing them into oblivion.  Some of the deserters brought stingers.

Sunday, April 13

Greg, Kevin, and I are back on the road. We’re joined by Steve Morgan and Colleen Kaufman. Both were members of the Air Force. Both worked as mechanics. They are not your typical poster candidates. They decided to leave when Captain Dahl assumed command. It seems that on his first night of power he made it clear that the citizens of Spokane were of no consequence and that it would be easier to let them die and then scavenge the supplies.

The civilians that did seek refuge at the base were kept in a fenced compound and treated like POWs. When a couple of them turned, the captain left it to the detainees to deal with the problem. All in all, a bad scene.

They say that over seventy percent of the base personnel deserted. Most took off during their watch or simply slipped out at night…with a lot of equipment. When the first helos came to strike the city and two were shot down, the captain stopped sending aircraft into the heart of the city and instead kept to the perimeter. Both sides seem to be waiting each other out.

Oddly enough, it was Colleen who came to my room and asked if I planned to stay. I asked if there was going to be any problems if I was leaving with my friends.  She said she doubted it and that she and Steve would like to come.

The two returned an hour later to my room. They expressed a real concern that there would be an actual attack soon. Steve said that from what he knew of the base’s supply situation, they would be forced to take action very soon. When I mentioned what I had seen at Hangman Creek, they said we should leave tonight.

Since Greg, Kevin, and I have already decided to take off, we agreed there was no time like the present. The five of us spoke briefly of our past and Kevin recounted his story. Steve remarked that there was a rumor that some CDC team had landed at the base about a week after things got ugly…late January. The next day they were simply gone and nobody knew where.

Greg and I shared a glance, but we didn’t say a word.

All of us are now heading back to Ritzville to see if we can talk some sense into Kevin’s brother Randy. If not, we’ll at least see if any survivors want to leave.

Tonight we managed to make it across the creek and to the Spokane airport. We are holed up in a DC-10 that was parked near one of the runways. We had to actually break in through the co-pilot’s emergency exit hatch. Fortunately there weren’t too many zombies around. It seems the airport was shut down early on so only a few stragglers remained, and by the time the sun came up, the few that were attracted by our noise had already wandered off.

Monday, April 14

Found Tim and Meredith. It is a mixed blessing. They managed to get a nice RV. They are parked next to the original and Tim has done a lot of modifying already. Thanks to Julia, Antonio has almost fully recovered. They stayed put the entire time! Julia was up in a cell phone tower with binoculars when we made our run into Spokane. She watched our plan fall apart. But, and this is amazing, she was able to keep an eye on us all. She lost me when I vanished into the tavern, but held out hope since a swarm of zombies clustered in one area and stayed for over a day before wandering off.

She lost track of Greg when he moved deeper into town. Everybody else stayed in radio contact. I guess Jim and Samantha are stuck in a bad position. They found a few good home and garden stores, but got chased by some locals and had to hide out. They were making their way to a top floor of some insurance office when a zombie managed to trip up Jim. In the struggle he took a minor bite on his left arm. Samantha sat through the entire ordeal of his downturn. I guess she had to put him down two days ago.

She hasn’t been able to leave because about fifty of those things followed them in and for some reason have not cleared the stairwell. They continue night and day to just pound and slap on the door. Fortunately they can’t get enough leverage to break in. She doesn’t dare risk trying to take on that many. So, she’s stuck on the top floor in a storage area at the top of the stairs.

We talked it over, it is unanimous. We are going back in. If everything ever goes right with our plan, I just don’t know what I’ll do.

Tuesday, April 15

The only hope Samantha had relied on our ability to break into a city that had been sealed by Air Force personnel. The military has gone to great lengths to hamper any exit or entrance to Spokane.

Steve Morgan offered to accompany us so that, just in case, we had a chance to at least try and bluff our way out of a situation if we encountered a military patrol. Of course, Tim, Greg, and Meredith came. Kevin offered and at one point tried to insist. However, we decided that with Antonio still not fully recovered, Julia and Colleen might need help if it became vital that the RVs move out.

We even decided that if all hell broke loose, Sparrow Falls was the fallback point that everybody would head for. Also, no matter what, whoever makes it back, the group moves on to Ritzville no later than the twentieth.

We went in just before sunset. It was rainy and a bit on the cold and windy side, but we had no other real problems getting in. Getting to Samantha’s location wasn’t much of a challenge. It seems everybody is staying out of the weather.  Of course the zombies absolutely do not care about such things.

We did encounter something that almost cost us. A pack of zombies were grouped around a strip mall. One of the buildings, a wood stove dealership, had the windows boarded up. We heard screams from within and nobody could agree to just ignore it. So, we went to help. Everybody drew hammers, bats, any weapon that would not give us away.

There were eleven zombies that we could see. As quick and as quiet as possible, we rushed in. Four of them hit the ground before they even knew we were there. In no time we had cleared them out. Tim, knocked on the door but nobody answered. He called out as loud as he dared but still nothing. Finally he just kicked the door in.  A zombie was waiting on the other side. At first we thought it was a really dirty teenage girl until she lunged at Tim and tried to bite him. As he was fighting her off, six more of the things came from the darkness. We managed to take them down.

Then, another woman sat up from behind one of the several wood stoves on display. I took her down and, after a brief look around, the best we can figure is that at some point there had been survivors here. How they got infected we can’t tell. But, and this is our best guess, the woman I killed last had finally committed suicide by zombie. She was obviously freshly turned. There is a store room in back that had to be where the woman stayed. Also, it looks like there had been at least two more people in there judging by the nest-like bedding heaps.

Maybe she had simply given up. Or perhaps she tried to make a run for it. But since she wasn’t carrying any supplies and we found two bottles of water back in the storeroom, I’m guessing it was the former versus the latter.

We got to Samantha’s building and cleared the stairwell.  Now we are parked in the woods off the main road (I-90 is becoming almost undriveable in spots due to washouts in several places). Tomorrow we should reach Ritzville.

I made an observation to Tim which got a laugh. We were so over prepared with contingency plans on Samantha’s rescue and it was no problem. Maybe we should over plan everything.

Wednesday, April 16

A sixty mile trip should not be so damned hard! That is the distance from Spokane to Ritzville. But, we can no longer travel freely on the interstate.

Early this morning we were startled awake by rapid pounding on the side of the RV. Now that we have two, we park them side-by-side. In the newer one it is me, Steve, Colleen, Kevin, Meredith, and Joey. The other of course has Tim, Greg, Samantha, Julia, and Antonio. So we wake up and it is not hard to know that those are not the hands of zombies slapping the flat siding of our vehicle.

Kevin covers me as I go to the curtain that isolates us from the driver’s seat.  Meanwhile, Meredith moves to climb up and out our roof hatch. Steve is right behind her and Colleen stays with Joey. I peek out and see this flashlight beam waving erratically around the front through the windshield. A man in combat fatigues—obviously standing on the front bumper—is peering in. He sees me, screams, and falls back out of sight.

Hoping to get a jump on whoever it is, I scramble forward and out the passenger side door. Lights are coming on in Tim’s RV now as I am looking everywhere with no idea what to expect. A bunch of zombies on the heels of a hot meal…a squad of soldiers…or perhaps pursuit from Spokane Air Base…the last thing I expected was Perry Rose.

At just about five-feet-eight inches tall and easily over two hundred sixty pounds with curly, sandy blond hair, blue eyes, more freckles than any five people that I’ve ever known combined, a permanent blush in his cheeks, and a stutter that only gets worse when he is excited, Perry is a terrified twenty-year-old who had been serving his enlistment in the army at Ft. Lewis. Once he was able to speak, which was a few minutes, he told all of us just how much worse things could get from what we imagined.

The United States of America is dead.

The world is dead.

I’ll let Perry tell you.

* * * * *

“My name is Perry Rose. I was stationed at Ft. Lewis in Washington State. When the Z-Plague began, the Powers-That-Be spent so much time arguing that the events taking place could not possibly be happening that by the time they faced reality, it was too late.

Nations around the world began blaming each other. Moscow managed a “limited” nuclear strike of China. Before they went completely silent, Israel eliminated Tehran, Cairo, and Damascus with tactical nuclear weapons.

Our own armed forces fractured shortly after the President was reported dead. The Vice-President simply vanished and the chain-of-command with it. Nobody stepped forward, and when somebody in our own military suggested nuking our own cities, the last straw burned away. Still, New York vanished in a mushroom cloud before the power grids failed.

There are rumors that DC, Philadelphia, Norfolk, Chicago, San Diego and Atlanta also took warheads. But, communication is gone.  Also, it was being said that a rebel faction of our government launched two of our space shuttles with orders to eliminate specific satellites.

There is no order. No law. Only chaos. Expect no help. Trust no one.

The last estimates, and this was the one that convinced me and several others to abandon our post, were issued on February 24th. The ratio of Z-Plague units to living, uninfected humans was 7,346:1”

* * * * *

We’ve invited Perry to join us. Julia looked him over and pronounced him clean. He was grateful. We then filled him in briefly on our plans for tomorrow. He was skeptical that there were any survivors left in Ritzville.

He spent the last six days in the basement of a house there. There were no sights or sounds of survivors. Still, we’ll go to be certain.

Additionally, after hearing about what sorts of folks are traveling the roads, we travel only at night and must find a hiding place every morning.

Thursday, April 17

In the basement of an old brick building in downtown Ritzville, we found Kevin’s brother Randy and his followers. The building itself was flooded ankle deep in vile smelling water. It was clear there had been a fire.

It was obvious when we went in this morning that looters had been through this tiny town. Not just a few from the looks. Every single building showed signs of damage as not a single pane of unbroken glass remained on Main Street.

The dead litter the street. Most shot several times by what, judging from the damage to the buildings as well, had to be a fairly high caliber machinegun. A few of the dead are dressed in leather or military fatigues. It seems this band was a mix of soldier and civilian. They clearly have a zero tolerance policy on those who are bitten. Each one has a single shot to the back or side of the head in addition to his or her bite.

Kevin and I along, with Perry, Steve, Meredith, and Greg went into town early this morning. It was almost too easy; the looters had taken out most of the zombies. The town population according to the sign welcoming you claims 1736. Kevin says that if you add a few hundred to that for the migrant workers you wouldn’t be off by much.

He led us to this old spire-capped building and I could tell he was already prepared to find no survivors. A few lone stragglers stumbled out from various buildings to greet us, but none were close enough to pose any real threat.

The entry door was already blown open.  That was when we discovered the water just lapping against the raised lip of the frame. We debated going in. Greg raised the argument that if the water found any cut or nick, who could be certain that we would not catch the infection.

Kevin finally decided that he would go in alone. Everybody moved to window frames and I stayed in the doorway to cover him in case any of those things were in there hidden amongst the debris. He moved cautiously, tapping the floor in search of the hatch that would open to the cellar. He knew it was somewhere in the northeast corner of the room, but with the interior such a shambles it was tough to gauge just where.

Finally he found it. In the meanwhile, Samantha and Perry had dispatched a few of the zombies that were now closing in. There still weren’t enough to be worried about, but Perry called that he could see more movement up the street towards what looked to be a residential area.

I watched Kevin struggle with the submerged door. It was Steve who came up with the idea to break the metal lip that was helping keep the water in. Greg ran across the street to a big pick-up truck with one of those black storage boxes in the back. A moment later he returned with a splitting wedge and a short-handled sledgehammer.

Of course we knew this would attract attention, but there was just no way Kevin could pry that hatch up with all the standing water.  Also, this way, we could go in and offer him back-up if anything nasty came up out of that cellar. It only took Greg six or seven good hits to knock a hole in the frame.

Dark water gushed out onto the street along with an absolutely horrid stench. Perry, Steve, and I all managed to keep from puking only about three seconds longer than Meredith and Greg. All of us could see that, while many of the town’s zombie population had been dealt with by the looters, there were still plenty left.

A couple of hundred were moving in now from every direction. We told Kevin we’d have to hurry as we rushed into the puddle strewn room and helped him with the obviously water-swollen wooden square. A single, recessed metal handle was all he had to grasp, but Greg once more put the wedge to good use.

When the hatch finally gave way what we saw was about four inches of stairwell, and then water. That is until this hideously bloated face popped out. Hands grasped Kevin’s leg before we had managed to all back away. From that point everything happened so fast. Another set of blue, water pruned hands had Kevin’s other leg and had yanked him off his feet. His head thudded hard on the wet wooden floor causing him to just suddenly go limp. Before anybody could grab him he had been pulled halfway into the three-by-four foot opening.

Greg and I grabbed his arms just as more bodies began pushing up, crowding the space with arms, hands, and heads. One of the zombies took a chunk out of Kevin’s leg and he screamed in pain suddenly seeming to shake off the near-unconsciousness from his fall.

It was a hideous tug-of-war. Meredith moved to one side of the opening and brought Greg’s discarded sledge hammer down on the top of the skull of a gray haired lady who had just taken another bite out of Kevin’s right leg. Kevin sat up suddenly, jerking away from Greg’s and my attempts to pull him free. He kicked and set his hands on the lip of the opening to push himself back. That was when two more hands grabbed his right wrist and pulled him into the opening with a splash.

Perry lunged forward, but thankfully Meredith stopped him. A zombie began to rise out of the water just as the sounds of the ones approaching from the outside could be heard.

The last thing I saw before I turned to run with the others was a swirl of darkness that could only be blood spreading across the surface of the frothing water.

We returned to the RVs and decided to head north once we skirted the outside of town. A small private road split these two huge fields and led up to some foothills. We only passed one house that we could see. We had slipped into Ritzville just before sunrise, and with it being full daylight by the time we made it out, we just wanted to find a place to hide.

Nobody is talking much. I dozed off, but woke an hour or so later to find that Meredith and Joey had climbed into my bunk. Joey is nestled into her back. I draped my arm across them both and went back to sleep.

Steve Morgan eventually woke me and said that Tim wanted to get moving soon. I guess we’ll head north and then east.

Saturday, April 19

Tim and I went out on recon today. We used the bicycles. Yesterday was one bad indicator after another. Bridges are being taken out intentionally. It is impossible to tell if it is survivors trying to protect themselves or military trying to take steps to prevent movement of looters…or control the ever-dwindling population of survivors.

Another troubling sign is that we can’t find a gas station that has not been cleaned out. At first we just thought that the remote location had probably not received a refill from a tanker.  But yesterday we watched two military trucks roll into a small roadside station. We had intended to hit the place ourselves right after sunset, and were using an abandoned barn to hide and survey. Late in the day we heard the rumble of large vehicles. Eventually these two big trucks rolled into view. They pulled into the gas station, dispatching the handful of zombies in the area as a team of soldiers went to work. Both of the trucks had cylindrical tanks in back and they ran a hose with a pump from the ground tank to the trucks. Then…they torched the place.

We face the real possibility that we might need to abandon the RVs. This changes everything. Tim and I went out with the hopes that this was an isolated case. It is not. This could mean that the only places we could find fuel are the big cities, and that is suicide. Not only are the zombies a problem, but Spokane proved that there are things almost as bad. I still have bad dreams about seeing little Amber Thompson shot and killed by a sniper. Both of her parents meeting the same fate. They had survived together…a family intact…and it was some anonymous survivor who, for no apparent reason, gunned them down. Only then had the zombies been able to take them.

I don’t know what Tim saw today as we searched in futility for something we had taken for granted—fuel—and returned empty. I saw another reason to question why we were fighting so hard to stay alive. Where could we run? Where can we hide?

We have enough fuel including reserves to take us a few hundred miles at best. So, tonight we sit down together with a AAA Road Atlas and figure out where to make a run for that we can reach, because it seems these RVs we’ve been taking for granted just became obsolete.

Sunday, April 20

Things become more bizarre with each passing day. We have been staying put. Not ready to move until we knew exactly where we would go. We were just south and west of someplace called Little Falls. We could not actually see the town from our hiding place, but early this morning we could hear a lot of vehicle activity.

Greg, Tim, Meredith, and I followed the ridgeline we had been parked behind these past few days and had plenty of brush to creep through. We could look down on what Tim said had to be State Route 23. Sure enough, a convoy of military vehicles was creeping along. They were killing every zombie in sight.

At first we thought they would be raiding the town. We guessed that this group or one like it had been the reason Ritzville looked the way it did. Meredith was the first to hear screams. There were survivors in Little Falls! But the convoy seemed oblivious. Two half-tracks with mounted heavy machineguns continued along with guns blazing.

After at least ten minutes, the shooting stopped. It became clear that not all the folks in the convoy were military. We saw all sorts of people jump from the back of the covered trucks and begin running into places—businesses, residences, it didn’t seem to matter—and emerge with arms full of all sorts of stuff. They were stripping the town.

For some reason, I was reminded of the Grinch and his late night raid on Whoville.

Then…the Indians showed up. Native Americans for the politically correct.

The folks raiding the town never saw them coming. We could because we were up on this hill. They swept in from three sides, sneaking into buildings from the side opposite the looters.  Whoever was in charge of the convoy was too late in noticing that his people were not returning. I had read in history books about the “war whoop”, but I never figured to hear one for real. This cry cut through the air and suddenly guns opened fire from every direction on the hapless convoy.

Ten minutes later, other than the ones burning, every vehicle was taken.  There were no survivors. We hustled back to the RV’s. We had not really considered anything spectacular about the pink swath on the map labeled “Spokane Indian Reservation”.

It seems we’ll need to use caution tonight. We have determined that this is no longer a safe hiding spot. We will have to dive between Spokane and the reservation. Hopefully before any sort of war breaks out in this area. It is a safe guess that the convoy came from the Air Force base. Now it appears as if the Native Americans are reclaiming what was theirs. Take it any way you like, but they are welcome to it. Lord knows we’ve screwed it up enough.

I may have failed to mention this, but the Spokane Reservation Indians…some were actually on horseback. I saw bows, arrows, and a lot of hand-held weaponry in with the guns they used on the convoy. I am curious to know what they are doing to survive…but not curious enough to go onto their land and find out.

Monday, April 21

It is windy, cold, and rainy. We are in some pretty wild country. This isn’t quite a mountain like Mt. Hood or Mt. Rainier, but it is bigger than a foothill. We are looking down on something, and don’t know what to make of it.

It is a small town.

The lights are on.

Thursday, April 24

It is possible that we may be in a place we can stay!

We are on the Washington/Idaho border in what the residents are calling Irony, USA. Situated on a plateau in a rugged valley is a heavily fortified town. The plateau itself is almost two miles wide at its thickest. Shaped sort of like a football that is flat on one side, the town has a dense tree canopy. It sits about thirty feet off the valley floor. One side is bordered by a fast-flowing white-water river that is fed by a waterfall a mile or so up the valley. The other is a thick ravine that slowly inclines several hundred yards before the sheer face of a mountain suddenly thrusts up out of the ground.

The place is well hidden. We would have more than likely missed it entirely if we had not come in from the south. We had been following the river off and on as terrain allowed, seeking a crossing point.

We waited till sunrise to try and get a better idea of what sort of folks were there. We watched a group of about twenty people come to the southernmost tip. They were all armed with assorted weapons, but they also carried buckets and gardening tools. With varying degrees of skill they repelled down on five lines that, once everybody was down, a few young children about Joey’s age pulled up.

There didn’t seem to be any zombies in the area, but it was clear that these people took no chances. They followed the river on the side opposite us and disappeared over a slight ridge. Tim and Samantha crept away to try and see them from another position and returned forty minutes later to report that they had a large fenced garden in an obviously well tended plot of land about the size of half a football field.

After a quick discussion, we backtracked with the RVs and found a place to hide them. It was decided that Antonio, Colleen, Perry, and I would go and see if they were welcoming strangers. If no word returned within a week, everybody would leave and continue seeking a place to try and call home. I made it clear: No hero crap. No rescue. We should be able to tell in a relatively short period of time what sort of folks these were.

The four of us grabbed a few weapons and enough supplies to support our story that we had been on our own as a group surviving off the land. We approached the plateau in plain sight from the northwest, again doing our best to keep knowledge of our comrades’ direction and location as hidden as possible.

We knew we had been spotted when a crowd began to gather along the western edge of the plateau. A man with a bullhorn actually called down to us, telling us to follow the river south to a single tall pine. We did and were met by a handful of men and women on the other side.

They directed us to a six foot log with an eye-bolt screwed into it. A casual look around revealed three more logs of similar size scattered about. Hmm. Clever. They tossed us a nylon line with a big nut-and-bolt weight at the end. Of course it fit in the eye-bolt, and after hauling the log to the water, the folks on the other side pulled us across the thirty foot wide rushing river.

We were asked very politely to come forward one at a time to be searched. After being looked over, and a brief conversation, we were invited to climb up. It was made clear that we would be quarantined—together if we wished—for seventy-two hours for “safety reasons.”

This evening we will be invited to come out and meet people. So far, they’ve treated us fine. They did ask that we relinquish our firearms, but were allowed to keep our hand-held bludgeons.

“Nobody should be without some protection,” a young blond in her twenties named Tara smiled as she led us to a long building that served as a crude medical facility. This is where we spent our isolation time.

We’ve been treated great. Fed well. Had several visitors, who I can’t remember the names of, all inquiring if we need anything.

I’m terrified that I will wake up any moment now to discover this is all a dream.

Friday, April 25

Irony, USA. I get it. It seems that this was a compound built by some fringe white-supremacist group. They set up a town and, while they were apparently on some government watch list, they had managed to live off the grid. When the Z-plague hit, that’s what it is referred to as by folks here (I can’t bring myself to be so glib just yet) the Homeland Security agent assigned to the area died, but not before he told his wife about the compound.

Grace Arndt could be a neighbor on Desperate Housewives. She’s in her mid-to-late forties and is a total knockout. That is where the similarities end. Grace is a no-nonsense lady. When she heard about the compound, she rounded up a bunch of her twenty-two-year-old son’s college friends, equipping them at an arsenal of the town’s (she is from Boise) abandoned National Guard depot.

It turns out that somebody had brought the infection in from the outside. All they had to do is clean the place out. Now Derrick Arndt, Grace’s son, is masterminding the garden we saw on the way in. It seems he was a major in Agricultural Science at Oregon State.

I must admit that finding salvation in some separatist compound has an ironic element. Did I also mention that while Grace’s husband was the image of a WASP, at least in the picture I glimpsed in Grace’s house, Grace is what I would call Vanessa Williams-brown, complete with long, silky black hair and green eyes that seem to cut into your soul.

There are almost a hundred people here. About a third to half of what this place seems built to hold. There are solar cells, windmills up on the hill opposite of where my people are hiding, and four generators. One is modified to run on some sort of bio-fuel and Derrick plans on converting one more of the generators soon.

Everybody here works and shares in the maintenance, security, upkeep, and farming. In short this is exactly what we were seeking to start ourselves. I’ve only been here a couple of days, and only out of quarantine for one, but tomorrow I think I will talk to Grace. That is if everybody else has the same vibe as me. I will ask to go get the others.

I want to do it tomorrow because I’ve already signed up to make a supply run. It seems this place still has need of outside resources. (They say the hope is to be completely self-sufficient within the year.) We have a briefing tonight to lay out the plan. They have maps and all sorts of stuff.

I do think that it would be wiser to let Grace know about Spokane and also about those government spook types we encountered in Pasco.

I am actually feeling hope. For the first time in a long time, I truly believe that things might be okay. Sure, they will never be normal. But maybe, just maybe, we can stop running. Sleep the night through. Take a walk in the sun.

Maybe.

Saturday, April 26

The tiny town of Chilco was the target for today’s supply run. Of course it has been a busy twenty-four hours for me. Grace was not only thrilled to have the rest of our group join the population of Irony, she was impressed to see the foresight we used in our approach to this community. She was most excited to welcome Julia. Having an RN arrive was big news here. We still have no actual doctor. But there are five nurses here now which is, when you think about it, a very favorable ratio.

Anyway, there were ten of us on the supply run. We hiked out of the woods and came to a gravel logging road. After a couple of miles we came to an abandoned Ranger Station where an assortment of vehicles are kept: Jeeps, Hummers, pick-up trucks, and five deuce-and-a-halfs! All but one of the deuces have tarp covers. The real prize is a pair of fuel tankers. Derrick has it rigged so that, upon return, any vehicle that needs it can be gassed. Having been told about the RVs, he said a team could have them brought here tomorrow. Tim has already signed up.

So, we pair up and I team with Trent Blake. He was a bank manager in Coeur d’Alene. Never married, but had a seven-year-old son who he says lives—he won’t use past tense—in Seattle with his mother. Trent, at age twenty-nine, has pretty severe male pattern baldness with just a faint wreath of blonde hair. He seems a bit too optimistic which, from all I’ve seen, can only end badly if and when reality sets in.

We rolled into town and it was clear that they had hit this place before. Trent pointed out buildings with big, white spray painted “Xs” on them. Those were places already hit. So as we roll in, the zombies of course start coming from everywhere. The town population was posted at 2107 and it looked like more than half remained to greet our intrusion.

Each of the deuces had reinforced bars in front so the convoy just plowed through, sending bodies in all directions. I was driving ours and I glanced over once at Trent who had grown silent the moment we hit town. He had his hands covering his eyes. I can’t say I enjoy smashing into what had once been a five or six-year-old, but I can’t think of them that way. They are the husks of humanity and will try to take a bite out of me any chance they get.

So…the targets given Trent and I were a bakery and a pair of houses. Each location was marked with a circle on our map. We rumble up to the bakery first, and I intentionally overshot it to take out a cluster of five zombies coming right at us. No sense in going hand-to-hand if I don’t need to. Trent and I jumped out and used our machetes to make sure the downed zombies stayed that way.

Trent drew a pair of .22 pistols and climbed on the top of the cab of our truck while I ducked through the already broken glass door and into the bakery. I got to the counter and found it clear on the other side. Before I climbed over I listened best as I could, but didn’t hear anything.  So over I went and to the door to the production area in back. Now, this place was about the size of two mini-marts together, so I knew the rear was gonna be pretty big. I pushed open the door and jumped back, nothing comes.  But I could smell it. Eventually what I was looking for tumbled from behind three big Hobart mixers. At first I couldn’t tell if it had been male or female. It was short, about four-feet-eleven and easily over two hundred pounds. One arm had been torn off at the shoulder. The back area had several skylights and plenty of windows mounted up high, all of which were miraculously intact, and allowed for plenty of light. I brought my 9mm up, Grace was kind enough to provide a laser site, and once the red beam reached the center of its forehead, I fired. Nothing else emerged.

Then I went to work grabbing bags of flour, salt, sugar and everything related to baking that lined racks and shelves. Tonight, as I write this, I feel every fifty, twenty, and ten pound bag that I loaded onto a flat pushcart which I found next to one of the big, now defunct ovens. It took most of the morning. A few times I had to stop and help Trent take down a few zombies. Since we—the other trucks and mine—were scattered all over the tiny town, the zombies stayed spread out. That helped a lot.

After the bakery, we hit the private residences. This time Trent went in. I heard a couple of shots before he came out with clothes, linens, any food still useable, kitchenware…you name it. Basically, the house was stripped of anything and everything.

Eventually the radios we carried began calling for us to re-group. It was time to leave. I asked Trent if any survivors were ever found. He said it had been a few weeks since they’d brought any back.

Well…I’m exhausted. But I feel good. Maybe I’m being too optimistic…only time will tell I guess.

Sunday, April 27

Her name is Snoe Banks. Maybe she got teased when she was younger, but around here…she is called “Lady B.” At no taller than five feet (she keeps her hair cropped in a crew cut so she isn’t getting anything extra height-wise in that department) and build like a gymnast—except for being way top heavy—she is final death to any zombie unfortunate to cross her path.

I was in a five person team with her today on a scouting mission of some town called Opportunity, just over the Washington Border. It is one of the largest communities the folk at Irony have considered raiding. Our job was to gauge the density and scout for signs of survival.

I’d seen Snoe…Lady B…around, but she wears these oversized sweats all the time so I really had no idea. She showed up at the vehicle site wearing skin tight leather from neck to mid-calf.  She had a studded-collar, gloves with two-inch spikes mounted on a padded knuckle-band, boots with a steel heel that looks like a meat tenderizing mallet-head and angled steel-toes. She had a pair of laser-scoped 9mm pistols on each hip, sword hilts sticking up over each shoulder, and a knife that would make Crocodile Dundee jealous strapped to one thigh.

Nobody even blinked so I figured it was normal…for her. We loaded into an Army Hummer and made our destination just as the sun was coming up at our backs. We found a spot to conceal the vehicle and made our way to the edge of town on foot. We found some ridge lines to follow and with binoculars we were able to spot concentrations of zombies in a handful of locations indicating possible survivors. One was on the very edge of town in a Wal-Mart Superstore.

We’d only been watching for a couple minutes when a young girl no more than twelve walked to the edge of the roof and dumped a bucket over the side onto the moaning, growling pack below. We decided on the fly to see if we could find a way to rescue whoever was inside so Larry Bonn—I haven’t really talked to the guy much, seems like a real prick—fires the flare gun to see what sort of reaction we get.

The girl sees the flare and runs to an open hatch or skylight. We see her waving her arms and pointing. Pretty soon about a dozen people come up. Larry fires another flare. By now, I can hear the moans of approaching zombies. It seemed that quite a few had wandered up into these scrub hills.

That’s when I hear it. The heart-wrenching sound of a baby cry. I freeze, looking in what I am sure is the direction. Somehow, these folks hadn’t heard that sound from the zombies before.  Ryan Grimes, one of our few quality mechanics, goes bounding into the brush before I can stop him. Only, a second later he is falling backwards through the bushes with what used to be a teenage girl still wearing the top half of her cheerleading outfit clamped onto his left arm. This next thing would’ve been comical were it not for what was happening to Ryan. A burly zombie wearing a letterman’s jacket…and no pants bursts out next.

Before I can move, Lady B has these razor-sharp blades drawn in each hand. She whirls and the top third of Letterman- Zombie’s head goes flying into the tall grass at its feet. She takes two steps and punches Cheerleader-Zombie in the back of the head with her spiked gauntlet. She rolls the zombie off Ryan. His arm is a gory mess. Blood is bubbling up through his fingers where he is trying unsuccessfully to stem the flow.

I can still see Ryan sitting there. Legs splayed out in front of himself, holding his wounded arm. Lady B stepped around him. He never saw or heard a thing as she drew one of her pistols and shot him point blank in the back of the head.

We all just stood there as she wiped off her things like nothing happened. Finally, we decided to return to the Hummer. Zombies were coming from all over now. After taking some video of the area, we headed back to Irony.

There are folks looking at the tapes now and deciding on the best way to make a run on the town. Another team left shortly after we got back. They used a crossbow to get a message to those folks on the Wal-Mart that we would be back within the week, and if they wanted to come with us to light a fire on the roof or make some sort of sign. Otherwise, we would assume they are secure and wish to stay put and we would make no supply runs in their area as a sign of respecting their “territory.”

Monday, April 28

Had they survived, today would be my parent’s anniversary. It would have been their 50th. In the society we lived in just a short time ago…that was becoming a real rarity. Now, relationships are life saving. I do not believe we as a species are meant to survive alone. But, like everything else, we just took love and marriage for granted. Now, we don’t have time to really enjoy each other…we just huddle…waiting for the boogeyman.

Today I grabbed my guitar (and assorted weapons) and took a hike up into the woods. I only had to stop twice for zombies. One was a gal—probably early twenties—with a terrible bite on her left cheek which had taken a nice meaty hunk out of what had probably been a real pretty face. It broke through to the clearing wearing only a push-up bra and the waistband of what had once been a pair of pantyhose. It stood there staring at me as I continued to play. At one point, it actually closed its eyes, as if remembering. Then, as they always do, its arms stretched out and it groaned as its jaws began to work in anticipation of the biting and tearing to come. A long thick, mucous glob rolled down its chin.

I set my guitar down and drew the long, slender, three-foot blade I carried on my back. One quick thrust through the right eye socket, and I was back playing guitar a moment later. I still think that just for a moment, something in that thing’s brain remembered music, remembered its humanity. But, instinct always wins.

Tuesday, April 29

Town meeting today. It seems that after a good look at the video shot, a full-scale run on Opportunity, WA is going to happen. Because of the size of this run, we are going in in teams of four with five deuce-and-a-halfs, the fuel tanker—for possible refilling—and they want to use one of the RVs escorted by a pair of Hummers to try and extract those people. We roll off May 1st.

Wednesday, April 30

Meredith came to see me today. She said she had something she wanted me to see. Never one to refuse a pretty girl, I went.

I didn’t even recognize Joey when I first saw him. He was sitting in a circle with several other children with a notebook scribbling furiously as Tim was writing math problems on the huge dry-erase board. It was hard to believe that this was the same frightened child who would not step a foot outside back at the old complex.

We went back to my place and had lunch, which I must say still feels very surreal knowing what is going on out in the world. We talked about how she doesn’t really feel like she fits in. Other than Grace, who is a leader in political sense but does not leave the compound, and Snoe, who doesn’t talk to anybody and never leaves her place except to go out on missions, most of the women here are—in Meredith’s words—girly. They are care takers and nurturing types that don’t leave the compound other than to go to the garden. Even Samantha had balked at Mission sign-ups.  Instead, she is a regular on kitchen detail, (everybody eats dinner together in the meeting hall as a community) and the vehicle maintenance team.

We spent the day talking and eventually shared some of our personal stuff prior to the epidemic. I learned that she had her own fitness studio and had been engaged. Her boyfriend was an EMT, he died early on. She had a sister who was a dancer on Broadway and a brother who was a cameraman for a cable news channel. He was working in the Middle East with some army unit.

I told her about my failed marriage, my daughter, and my band. I told her about being a newspaper delivery guy and living a simple, no-frills life which was enough for me.

We drank a whole bottle of wine and most of a second as we told funny stories. At some point, she kissed me. Now, she is asleep beside me, the moonlight shining on her milky-white skin. Occasionally she stirs when the rumble of distant thunder echoes. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but tonight I am going to sleep, comforted by the warm feel of her body nestled to mine, skin-on-skin. If I wake in the morning and she is gone, so be it. But for tonight...

Thursday, May 1

For now...Opportunity lost.

We are being deluged by rain that has everybody staying inside. On the positive side...Meredith was still here this morning. I can hear the rain pounding the roof, and the sound of thunder rolls into our little valley, sometimes causing the windows to vibrate.

It is odd, walking around this house...my house...wearing a pair of clean black jeans and a baseball jersey from some city league sponsored by “Hank’s Transmission”, listening to The Planets suite by Holst on a boom box CD player, sipping a cup of hot tea with a dash of honey. Stranger still is seeing this little redhead reclining on the couch reading The Time Traveler’s Wife by Niffenegger, wearing Capri pants and one of my flannel shirts.

It’s almost like the past four months never happened. I know I must enjoy it while I can, things change fast...and usually for the worst.

Friday, May 2

Day two of the torrential rain, thunder, and lightning. Less than half of Irony came to dinner last night. Grace and her son, Derrick, went door-to-door today requesting everybody be at dinner tonight. She feels that isolation might be too much “alone time” for some folks. It seems an elderly man named Boyd Garrett hung himself sometime yesterday.

I thought back to my time alone in Hangman Creek Tavern.  How close had I come to giving up? I guess there is a lot of healing to be done. But the question is…when will there be time? Will these things eventually fall down and stay dead when they run out of food? And can we outlast them here in our little bastion of humanity? Will they rot to the point of no longer being mobile? Some of them have lost much of their clothing, while others haven’t. But truthfully, I’ve seen no sign of the bodies wearing down in similar fashion. These things might never go away.

Damn.

Saturday, May 3

Today, a group of us decided that, weather-be-damned, we had to at least try for those folks at that Wal-Mart. If nothing else, we could see if they left any indication that they even wanted our help.

Snoe, Meredith, Larry Bonn, Derrick Arndt, and I climbed into an RV and headed out early this morning. We came in from the south as dawn cut through the dismal gray enough for us to actually see past twenty yards. What we saw…well…none of us would have ever thought mankind could continue to find new ways to degrade itself.

Thousands of zombies have flooded into the area…lured by living humans dangled from five helicopters. I have no idea who could think of such a thing, but having seen what was happening in Spokane, I have no doubt that if Captain Dahl is still in command at the Air Force base, this is his handiwork.

Using the natural topography of the Spokane Valley, he is herding the zombies using the carrot-on-a-stick approach. While this has likely cut back on the dangers in Spokane, every other small outpost is now under siege.

We can see the folks we came to rescue. They do in fact have a huge S.O.S. banner hanging, along with what looks to be a huge canopy set up with “Save us!” painted on it. There are, from our best count, seventeen people, all on the roof. It is obvious that the zombies have gained entrance and chased them from the inside to where they now wait. Unfortunately, the crowd outside is at least twenty deep at the thinnest point.

This undead exodus brings a new concern; if our sanctuary is discovered by the Spokane powers-that-be that are seemingly bent on control for whatever the reason, would they seek to have us overrun? Or, are they simply attempting to clear their territory, the City of Spokane, albeit with no concern for the few survivors who may be clinging to a dwindling strand of hope.

We returned to Irony with the news. Grace has called for a meeting tomorrow of all residents over age fifteen. This should be interesting

Sunday, May 4

I have to hand it to Grace. She does not miss a thing. After hearing our report, it is obvious that she is seeing the possibility of the undead swarming down into our valley. She asked for volunteers to try and scout out two possible locations for us to fall back to. The first is near a town called Thompson Falls, Montana off of Prospect Creek. Supposedly there is a militia survivalist outpost nearby. North of that, some off-shoot religious sect reportedly set up in a very rugged area near the Noxon Reservoir off of a tributary that feeds into Trout Creek.

I have volunteered for the latter location along with Meredith, Trent Blake, Scott Paulson—a twenty-two-year-old kid who obviously spent a lot of hours pumping iron, Steve Morgan, and Sasha Ivanoff—the nineteen-year-old blond-haired, blue-eyed counterpart to Scott. We’ve been told only to scout and report. If it is occupied, we are not to make contact, but simply return. Both teams were given similar edicts.

Everybody staying behind will be involved in an extended boundary patrol. Lady B is in charge of setting up a defensive perimeter which includes some sheer sided pits about ten feet long, four feet wide, and six feet deep. Also, razor and barbed-wire barricades will be put up. Since it is strictly for zombie control, they will use trees and not bother with fence posts. Also, another set of two teams will work in shifts, keeping a lookout on the Spokane Valley. Their job is to stay alert for the mass movement heading our way, as well as watching to see if the Air Force folks are probing with any personnel in our direction.

There was a lot of discussion and debate, but to me...it seems like we are at war. I wonder if we’ll ever find peace...not just from the walking dead, but from humanity as well. Due to all the logistics...we will be leaving in three days.

I am going to spend these few days with Meredith. We have no idea when the luxury of just enjoying one another will come. I spoke to Tim before he left for the first cycle of standing watch over the valley. We wished each other good luck. Funny, I think on all the times I bid farewell to friends and acquaintances. I never realized or even considered it could be our last moments together.  It has come to such a dire and extreme situation for me to realize that it is important to treat every relationship as something special to cherish and not take for granted.

I will be sure to say something to all those who I spent all those days, nights...life and death situations with. Meredith also mentioned that if we get back, perhaps we could consider having Joey live with us. That was a surprise on two levels; one, the idea of basically adopting Joey (he lives in a barracks with six other orphaned children), two, Meredith wants to live with me!

Wow!

Thursday, May 8

I almost forgot how horrible it is out here. Oddly enough, I’m not speaking of the undead. We have to cut through the Panhandle National Forest on service roads that saw a wet, cold, nasty winter. No crews have come through to tidy up after Mother Nature. The Hummers are struggling. Also, we are actually at elevations where snow is not only still present, but deep enough to force us to back track and change course a few times. We barely made fifty miles today as we sit camped next to the Coeur d’Alene River just north and east of someplace called Cougar Peak. What should’ve taken a few hours took all day.
Tomorrow, Steve and I will go on foot north.  Scott and Sasha will go south.  We will look for a good crossing spot. Best case, of course, is to find an intact bridge.

The best thing I can say is that, at least on our first day, we were fortunate enough not to encounter a single zombie. Although, about an hour ago we did hear the distinct, yet distant, sound of a gunfire burst. Direction is very tough to determine from our location which is basically a trough carved out of these mountains.

Friday, May 9

It is a good thing we made sure everybody was clear that this would likely be a slow process. Fortunately, having two-way radios, we managed to keep communication most of today. When the signal began cutting in and out, we marked the location by tying a white tee-shirt to an overhanging branch of one of the many trees along the river’s edge.

It wasn’t more than an hour after losing contact that we encountered a roamer. It looked like a hardcore biker, still suited up in its leathers and, unfortunately for us, wearing its helmet. It was making a lot of noise as it charged through the brush like an angry bear. The now blood-caked remnants of a forked goatee stuck out stiffly like a divining rod from its gore smeared chin. I could tell instantly that this thing had been feasting recently.

Steve and I flared out, forcing it to choose a target. I won. I adjusted my backpedaling to allow Steve to move in from behind. It was a simple maneuver, one we often used on single targets. Neither of us even considered that bikers often travel in gangs...until twelve more of the damn things burst from the woods. I know this was not an intentional ambush (at least I’m pretty sure). Keeping our location a secret quickly lost its priority status. We both drew our handguns aiming for the couple without helmets first.

I dropped two before I had to return my attention to the first one I had been luring. At least I could see its face. I brought my arm up as it closed to just a few feet away and fired. I think I heard the sound of my bullet ricochet inside the helmet a couple times.

By the time it was over, two of my four magazines were spent. We hadn’t expected much activity.

A few minutes later, the victims of the zombie biker gang came stumbling and crawling out of the trees. It was a group of kids! The oldest could not be older than sixteen, the youngest, about nine. They had been torn up pretty bad. Some were missing limbs that had been ripped off in the vile feeding frenzy. Most had gaping holes in their chests and stomachs. The youngest, had to be a girl, was missing both legs, dragging itself through the tall grass by one arm. The other arm was gone from the elbow. A long gray coil dragged behind like a serpent’s tail.

I could not think about what they might have done to survive this long, or what had caused their demise. Steve and I simply switched to our blades and put the five young bodies to rest. At some point, I had started crying without realizing it. My eyes blurred, and I missed the creeper twice before finally driving the point of my blade through the back of its skull.

We are up in some trees now.  Steve is asleep. I am listening to the gurgle of the water, staring up at the moon. It looks like the face of a little girl.

Saturday, May 10

We are camped beside a bridge. Honestly, Steve and I are too damned tired to start back. Plus, we’ve got company. We found the camp that was the home for those kids that the gang of biker-zombies attacked.

It seems some of those kids were on a foraging mission. They were part of a group of twenty-three kids from Thompson Falls, Montana. When the plague hit, these kids were part of the population that ran for it. They left by bus.  There was an accident when the lead bus swerved to avoid a bunch of zombies. The three bus caravan was totaled. One went down a steep embankment on its side. They were the lucky ones. I guess they could hear the screams begin above almost as soon as they came to a jarring stop against a huge boulder.

Initially there had been about a dozen adults.  Two were already infected. It was one of the older girls, Brittany Maldanado, who figured out how the disease spread. However, adults being adults, nobody would listen. Since the kids were kept away from the sick, the adults were all gone in the first week. They had managed to make it to a campground. It was deserted…either abandoned or the keeper had turned and then wandered off.

There were plenty of supplies at first. But when they had practically stripped the storeroom bare, it had become necessary to forage. Using a map that had all the Ranger Stations marked, they systematically went on raids. A few times there had been a zombie. But they had heard reports on how to dispatch them and everybody carried a weapon of some sort. Against one or two, it seems they have been able to take care of themselves.

Anyways, those kids actually spotted Steve and I before we saw them. Once they made contact and all the sharing of information was finished (the ten-year-old little girl named September Marie Bluthe and her older brother Rusty were in that group we had just put down) the kids were able to show us the bridge. They will come with us back to the others, showing us a series of logging roads we can drive the Hummers on to the bridge. Then, they will come back to Irony.

Sunday, May 11

Making our way back is easier, but slower. Brittany Maldanado is obviously these kids’ leader. Even when Steve and I say something, they look to her for a nod of approval. About half of them won’t talk to us at all. I don’t blame them. I mean really...this world is ugly and messy.

There are a lot of things I don’t miss...Amber Alerts, the most recent teacher-student sex scandal, another dead priest being accused of fondling his altar boy, and which idiotic Hollywood bimbo lacking any talent or actual contributing skill was seen getting out of her car in a mini-skirt and “accidentally” forgetting her panties. I truly believe that, in some ways, these children are living in a better world.

What does that say about the world that used to be?

Monday, May 12

Made contact with Meredith and the others. It was great to hear her voice. Scott and Sasha have not called in yet. That is only a minor concern since both of those kids are little wannabe-action-figures. The downside is that it looks like we’ll have to hike the whole way back. We can’t have them returning to find everybody gone. I just hope they’ve reported in by the time Steve and I make it back. I wouldn’t want to sit too long.

Tuesday, May 13

Tucked all the kids in. They are in huddled little puppy piles in each of the Hummers. Nothing at all has come over the radio. Meredith and I are under one of the vehicles. It’s not quite camping, but the clean air is refreshing and very conducive to nestling in nice and close.

It was great to wrap Meredith in my arms and just feel her close. The kids seemed relieved when they saw the rest of our group. It was like they held some doubt and feared we may be leading them to someplace (like what my Meredith escaped from) terrible.

On the bad side, still nothing from Scott or Sasha. We wait one more day, then if still nothing, Meredith and Perry will go look for them. Initially, I said I would go, but Perry argued that since Steve and I had already made a hike, we should stay put and let him do something productive. Meredith piled on in agreement.

Wednesday, May 14

Meredith left this morning. Already it is obvious that Steve and I had gone in the easier direction of the two. Perry has been frantic at times on the radio. Between the terrain and unusually frequent zombie appearances, both he and Meredith have expressed wonder that Scott and Sasha communicated so infrequently.

The unspoken tone from both sides is that we fully expect not to find our friends. If we do, we meaning Meredith and Perry since I’m watching over a bunch of kids, it will likely be just to put a bullet in their heads.

Thursday, May 15

Lost radio contact early today. To add to the misery, a storm is steadily dumping water on us, and some zombie activity here in the middle of nowhere got the kids all shook up, which is making for a miserable day. I already told Perry that they should not search more than a few hours once we lose contact. If they find nothing, it will be sad, but we can move out with a clear conscience. And really…that is all this little exercise is about.

The real focus needs to be moving on, scouting the objective, and getting back to Irony. Not that I think there is a high possibility of danger to the folks back at Irony. At least not from the zombies. My bigger worry was, and always has been, the danger posed by other survivors.  Most notably in this situation, the folks from the Air Force base.

I spent a little time chatting with Brittany Maldanado today away from the others. For seventeen, she has her head screwed on tight. She can’t be much taller than five feet and I would guess her to have about a hundred and seventy pounds packed on. She keeps her waist length hair braided and coiled on top of her head like a black python.

It is not hard to imagine that she was one of those girls that never gave a flat damn about what anybody thought of her. She is a take-it-or-leave-it sorta gal. I wonder how many of the little cheerleader types that pointed and laughed behind her back are stumbling around with bites out of ‘em, condemned to an eternity of vacuousness that barely exceeds what they exhibited when alive.

Anyways, Brittany said that about three weeks ago there was a loud noise that took everybody a while to realize was aircraft. They ran to a clear area just in time to see at least seven jets battling each other in the sky above. At least four were eventually shot down, but it was unclear who was fighting who since all of the planes looked the same. One of the boys, Henry Mills, kept insisting at the time that they were all American. Apparently he was a fighter plane aficionado. Unfortunately, he was one of the kids we put down with the biker-zombies.

Still, it was good to get a sense of this kid. She is obviously the heart of the group. If we hope to make any in-roads with the others, she is our avenue. I told her a little about Irony and how things work. I explained why we were out here scouting and she understood everything perfectly.

It was after we’d been talking for a while that she exposed the hesitation in the others. The last adult to succumb to the disease had managed to tie up all the boys the first night he had been the final adult. Then, once he had all the girls isolated in one room—he used the pretense that the boys had gotten infected and they had to separate themselves—he came in with intentions of having his way with one of the girls; Marissa Blaney, a fourteen- year-old little gal that had been “cursed” with an older girl’s body, big blue eyes and blonde hair. He had the girl pinned to the bed when Brittany crushed the back of his head with a shovel.

Like I said, she has it all together.

Friday, May 16

We are in the Hummers and on a gravel road that, come tomorrow, will take us to a bridge that crosses the river. The rain splattering with a metallic buzz on the roof is mind numbing. All of us need a little mental Novocain right now.

Perry is a wreck. But then, he’s the one who found Scott and Sasha. To his credit, he held firm in his refusal in allowing Meredith to see them. When they got back this evening he took me aside and told me everything.

Scott obviously put up quite a fight. Perry said that he was chained to a tree and showed signs of having been sliced a couple hundred times. Eventually, whoever these sick bastards were turned a zombie loose on him, but only enough for him to suffer. He had one bite on his left hand. The size of the bite indicated that it was a child.

Sasha likely witnessed it all. Just as Scott probably witnessed the multiple times she was raped only a few feet away…staked to the ground. Even through the discoloration of death, Perry said it was obvious she had been badly abused. Her inner thighs were almost black with bruising, and blood was caked almost to her knees. I didn’t ask what he did to discover it, but he said it was apparent that she had been anally raped repeatedly as well. All of her teeth had been pulled from her mouth. Perry couldn’t be sure if this was done before or after the animals that did this allowed her to be turned. Their finishing touch was to cut her head off and shove it into her ripped open abdomen so that her face stared out. This was particularly unnerving since, while the body did not move, the head was fully animated.

One oddity Perry observed—besides all the obvious—was how agitated the Scott-zombie got when the Sasha-zombie was disposed of. Perry says that he now wishes he would’ve killed the Scott-zombie first.

I used to watch movies like The Road Warrior and think that surely we would not devolve so drastically as a species in the event of an actual apocalypse.

It seems I was terribly, terribly wrong.

Saturday, May 17

Found the compound. I’m not surprised that folks were retreating from society. Actually, and this may be the shock talking, I’m now wondering why more folks weren’t doing it.

We’ve watched all day for any signs of movement. There is nothing living or dead down there. We will respect Grace’s request that we simply scout and then return. There are a couple of populations outside of those small bergs of society.

First thing in the morning we will head back to Irony. For some reason…I’ve been thinking a lot about the folks back at the old compound: Tom Langston, Monica Campinelli, Greg Parker, and Crystal Johnson. I hope they are all okay. Would it have been better if I had stayed there…oblivious to what is becoming of our world?

Evening

Nobody spoke much today. I think grief, shock, and horror are all accepted parts of the life we now live. Still, sometimes something happens that takes just a bit longer to digest. While only Perry actually saw Scott and Sasha, everybody knows enough to be shaken. This is an event best left behind.  Yet, we cannot do that because it is of the utmost importance that everybody be vigilant for the dangers in this new world. After all, it was our society as a whole that tried to dispel this last and most horrible crisis by ignoring it and keeping the community in the dark about just what was out there on the streets of their neighborhoods.

I do still believe there are good people out there. Only, you never see their handiwork. It is in our nature to try and allow the bad to define us. We lived in a world where mistakes and wrongdoings were news, and do-gooders were ignored if not mocked. Or worse, suspected of ulterior motives. Think back…at the end of a newscast, sometimes you could hear a story about the person finding an envelope of cash or a bank bag that fell out of a truck. How often did it spark the conversation on how big of an idiot that person was? We wanted addicted Hollywood stars behaving badly…politicians and theology figures in sex scandals…athletes on steroids.

Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio indeed.

Sunday, May 18

Terrible thunder and lightning started early this afternoon. Driving over terrain that has now undergone almost a half year of neglect…or reclamation by Mother Nature if you want to see it that way…caused us to become just a little bit lost. Unable to see as the rain became worse, we stopped to wait out the storm.

We had no idea we were just outside of a town called Pritchard. The close quarters with so many of us stuffed into these vehicles led to some squabbles. One of the boys, Randy Smythe, a fourteen-year-old, started picking on a couple of the girls. Steve Morgan attempted to settle things down which prompted Randy to start yelling about how nobody was his boss. At some point, the kid punched Steve in the nose. Now Steve is bleeding, everybody is yelling and young Randy wriggled and squirmed until he got to a door, opened it, and took off in the rain.

While Meredith and I were trying to settle everybody down, Brittany took off after Randy.  Then, Steve took off after Brittany. The kids were almost settled down when suddenly Perry is at our vehicle pounding on the window. I opened the door and could hear screaming. It was a familiar scream, one of pure agony. The sort you hear when somebody is being eaten alive.

I got out and told everybody to stay put. It was an odd thought now that I look back. Strangely enough, the scream had shut everybody up and not even Meredith argued as I ran after the direction of the now dying—no pun intended—screams.

Perry and I had to slog through this ankle-deep muck that had washed over what used to be the main road into town. We had to round this long gradual bend with tall pines lining either side.

We came around the corner and almost fell over one another trying to stop. Perry and I each had a pistol on our hip, but that was not going to help much. More than a hundred zombies were, at furthest, eighty feet, and at closest, less than twenty feet away.

Brittany had Randy by the hand, trying desperately to pull him from a zombified construction worker wearing the tattered remains of a flannel shirt and jeans along with a now-empty tool-belt. Randy was jerking and screaming, doing all he could to elude the gnashing teeth of his attacker.

However, it was Steve who had been the source of the screams. He—or what was left of him—was under a pack of no less than twenty of those things. Like famished piglets to the belly of a sow, zombies jostled for position as they ripped away glistening crimson globules from his gaping abdomen. One of his arms had been ripped free and was now caught in an obscene tug-of-war between two undead children of about ten years old. Worse, Steve was still gasping, fighting death for as many seconds as he could. I did not hesitate as I drew my .45 and extended my arm. The last thing I saw from him was a moment of clarity where his eyes conveyed the thanks his mouth failed to as a gout of blood exploded from his lips.

The shot echoed, and every zombie seemed to suddenly realize that Perry and I were there as every head snapped our direction. The best thing about that was the one trying to eat Randy let go sending both him and Brittany falling backwards into the muddy ditch nearby.

We ran, Perry and I, dragging the stumbling children along. Both were shoved unceremoniously into our respective vehicles and we were moving, slamming through the now increasing number of zombies attracted by the screams and gunshot.

Bumper-to-bumper we roared through the tiny hamlet, down what was probably the main street. We left it all behind and pushed through the worst of the storm. We stopped a little before dark just as the last of the dark purple storm clouds rolled away to reveal the deep crimson of sunset.

Randy hasn’t spoken a word since we got him back in the car. The other kids know something bad happened, just not to whom it has occurred. There seems to be this space around the boy now as if they fear he may be infected. Even in such cramped quarters they have managed to squeeze away from him. Of course, as soon as we stopped I took the boy out of the vehicle and checked him.

Not a scratch.

Still, he has obviously been outcast from his group. I’ll talk to Brittany tomorrow and see if she can salvage this. As angry as anybody may be…nobody can function alone in this new world. That boy will need his group, but it is clear he’ll have to earn his way back in.

Wednesday, May 21

Finally, it looks as though we’ve caught a break.

We arrived back at Irony the day before yesterday. The other group arrived this morning. Both sites are viable fall back locations. But, at least for now, there is no hurry to move.

Tim has been reporting back, that while it was obvious that something herded or lured the majority of Spokane’s zombie population east and in our general direction, the horde dissipated eventually. It seems that unless they have a specific target to pursue, they tend to be like water or electricity and follow the path of least resistance.

Grace has decided to ask for volunteers to undertake some precautionary missions. We will be keeping a vigilant watch on the valley for any unusual activity. Additionally, next week, two ten-person teams will return to the sites we scouted and see to readying them for the possibility of our need to relocate.

Of course Meredith and I will be taking one team. We will not be splitting up into any scouting parties in light of what happened to Scott and Sasha. Also, any survivors that might be encountered are to be seen as a threat first.

Snoe is leaving tomorrow with a group to try and rescue the folks from that Wal-Mart in Opportunity. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about not volunteering. Meredith and I deserve a little break. We want to spend some time with Joey and feel out if he’d be interested in making a go at trying to build a family structure.

Of course we also want a little time to spend just the two of us. Tonight for instance…I’m planning on serenading her with my guitar…naked.

Thursday, May 22

Snoe’s team left before I even climbed out of bed. Honestly, I just could not peel myself away from Meredith. Once I did finally get up, we grabbed our towels and a plastic carry bag full of toiletries and walked down to the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, so the brisk water was quite refreshing.

Meredith, Joey, and I hiked the short distance to a picturesque, ten-foot waterfall. Joey played in the deep pool. After a refreshing waterfall shower, the three of us splashed around or laid down on one of the large flat rocks, soaking in some sun.

I found myself craving an ice cold beer. Next time we make any run on a town, I think I will be sure to look for a library. It would be interesting to brew my own. Before the Z-plague, I had a friend…acquaintance really, who used to make his own micro-brews. Some of them were atrocious. Still, others were actually kinda tasty.

It seems strange…but today actually seemed… normal.

Friday, May 23

Good days never seem to run in pairs.

Derrick Arndt, Greg Chase, Larry Bonn, Trent Blake, and I are en-route to the ridge that Tim has kept the lookout post stationed. Late last night, Snoe’s rescue team snuck into Opportunity in an attempt to rescue those folks at Wal-Mart.

Tim reported a flash and a huge fireball that rolled skyward. Something big blew up. Just prior to that, Snoe radioed that she thought she heard vehicles fire up in a nearby building and was on her way to investigate. Nobody has heard anything since. To make matters worse, the first relay station—we have six set up to keep contact between Tim and Irony, sorta like the kid’s game “post office”—lost contact with Tim less than an hour after he made that report.

We should reach Tim’s station just after sunset at the rate we are able to travel. I can actually see a time when travelling on foot is going to be faster than by car. One of the main roads we have been using has been totally blocked by a huge landslide. I think all the melting snow is the chief culprit. Whatever the case, the roads are definitely facing extinction in some of these hilly regions.

Saturday, May 24

Opportunity is on fire. The entire town seems to be burned or burning. It appears deliberate. From our vantage point, it looks like there are at least nine blast sites where, in some cases, city blocks are almost leveled. One such area is right by where the Wal-Mart used to be.

Zombies by the thousands are radiating out in every direction, moving away from the multiple infernos. Interestingly, it has sent a wave of them back west into the Spokane Valley. Many of them are actually on fire. That is setting off grass fires in places. I’ve sent word back to Irony. While I do not think that fire is an immediate threat, we will have to watch this unfold for another couple of days.

My team that will head for the compound near Noxon and Trout Creek is going to postpone for a few days. Initially, Grace was going to replace me with Perry, but Meredith objected and Perry flat out refused. He’s not getting past what happened to Scott and Sasha. Not that I blame him. Still, his new mindset can be dangerous at best and infectious at the worst. I hope he will be okay.

Sunday, May 25

Radioed back to Irony this morning. The five of us want to at least search the outskirts of the area near the Wal-Mart for any signs of our people. Our response came back in less than thirty minutes. Grace was emphatic.

NO!!!

We’ve been told that a new team is being sent to relieve us. Both Trent and I are on the expedition to the Noxon Com-pound. Grace wants us back so we can gear up and be gone by June 1st.

So, today we will simply wait and watch…and hope.

Monday, May 26

Today is the first time I considered just openly defying Grace’s requests. I’m not alone. Even Derrick climbed into the deuce-and-a-half begrudgingly to return to Irony.

The fires are starting to burn out down in Opportunity. Sadly, we saw no signs of a living person either in the city or as part of the exodus.

It was Greg who made another interesting observation as we were leaving. There is no movement in the direction of Spokane. We were certain we would see aircraft at the least. Perhaps even the helicopters and their dangling human lures. But…nothing.

Tuesday, May 27

Back in Irony.

No time to rest as we load two of the deuce-and-a-halfs with tools, supplies, and of course, weapons. We will leave on Saturday following the map I made on the way back from the last trip. The roads are roundabout, but at least we’ll be able to ride versus hike.

Still, it should take a couple of days to reach our destination. Once we get there, I expect we will be busy securing the perimeter. Ten of us should be enough to perform the tasks needed to create another haven like Irony.

The team will consist of me, Meredith, Antonio Rosillo, Trent Blake, Caren Pilgrim, a late thirty-something, copper- haired, freckled, former pizza joint manager with one of the most happy-go-lucky attitudes you could ever hope to meet all bundled into about five-feet-seven inches and a hundred and sixty pounds. Bill Steiner, a six-foot-plus, two hundred and fifty pound slab of meat with hands the size of a large pot-roast, he was actually some minor league pro-wrestler who went with some sort of Frankenstein’s monster gimmick. Roy Haines, a mid-fifties, average guy who doesn’t talk much, but happens to be one hell of a mechanic. Shannon Wizer, a no-nonsense gal who was a cop in Boise and an army reservist who did not one, but THREE tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and happened to have just returned to her “civilian” job a week before all this began. Jimmy Mitchell, at nineteen, he is the youngster in our group, at five-two…he is also the shortest. Jimmy was really just drifting through life before all this, but it seems he has a real knack for shooting with amazing accuracy. Last is Kyle Danson, a television news anchor, also from Boise. Looking at him, you would expect some sort of stuffed shirt prima donna. I don’t know anybody who works harder on keeping the buildings repaired and the fencing in place where we use it. It seems he worked part-time construction in college, but spent his childhood growing up on a ranch. Once we reach the new compound, he’ll actually be the one spearheading the efforts.

We all have sat down to get better acquainted. Grace said that we should plan on being no quicker than a month on our set up if things go perfect. We all know better than that. So, she believes we should get to know one another since we will be trusting the other nine with our lives.

Everybody wanted to know more about Scott and Sasha. Meredith and I told them what we knew which was little more than what was already common knowledge to the adult population of Irony. Still, I believe it strengthened everyone’s belief that zombies are just a fraction of the danger out there beyond the idyllic bubble that is our little community.

Saturday, May 31

Just as we were saying our farewells, the radio message came. Tim returned to the lookout. He, Snoe, three survivors from Opportunity, and five of the combined fifteen members of their teams are returning to Irony! Wish I could stay...details were sketchy. But at least we left knowing some of them were safe.

* * * * *

Sunday, June 1

Back in the wilderness.

Today felt like summer. Driving through the church-like silence of the woods reminded me of camping trips with my folks when I was very young. Of course, I wasn’t sitting in the cab of a deuce-and-a-half with a rifle resting between my knees and a pair of pistols under each arm in quick-draw holsters.

Roy Haines drove most of the day. He’s not very talkative so it was quiet except for the droning snarl of the big engine that propelled us along the increasingly harder to navigate roads. Three times we were forced to stop to move a fallen tree. Twice required the motorized cable winch.

We may not have slowed to the pace of the wagon trains that settled this country two hundred or so years ago, but the express lanes don’t exist in the back woods. It made me wonder how much of our nation’s infrastructure took care of all the mundane things that we never gave a moment’s thought to.

Still, it beats walking.

Tomorrow is when things will start getting dicey. We will leave the relative safety of the logging and forest service roads for a paved and most likely populated route. It is the only way to get the big deuce to our destination.

Monday, June 2

Nothing that happened today can bode well for anything resembling a future of peace and the chance to rebuild humanity. Of course after today…who can really know what is worth saving. And strangely enough, those of us who remain are now more determined than ever to get to the Trout Creek area and clear the compound.

But where to begin…how to begin with what exactly happened today as I sit here on the charred remains of one of the deuce-and-a-halfs and watch Roy checking out the other deuce to make sure it’s going to get us safely to our destination.

We woke up, and I mean all of us, to the blood-curdling scream that can only be a person being eaten alive. We’ve all heard it enough. Friends. Family. Adults. Children. Men. Women. When the pain and terror reach that point as a person is being devoured alive by the undead, often times it is impossible to tell if it is man or woman. Adult or child.

Instinctively I grabbed a long blade and both my holsters carrying my loaded .45 Colt semi-automatic pistols. All around me, those that had bedded down in the back of my deuce were similarly engaged when the first set of blue-gray hands reached through the flap of canvas at the rear. I had no time to shout a warning as those hands grasped Antonio who was on his knees trying to find his baseball bat in the nest of blankets he’d been sleeping in.

Those hands grasped the collar of his shirt and yanked back cracking his head hard on the metal tailgate. Then his body lifted and seemed to slither backwards through the gap in the dark cloth much like an alligator propelling itself from a muddy bank into the water.

Kyle was closest and dove for Antonio’s leg, missing by a hair. More hands were now clutching at and pulling away the canvas covering of the cargo area. I heard a pair of shots fired and quickly guessed them to be in the direction of the other deuce.

All of this was in the first five or ten seconds from the scream that woke me and the others.

Kyle yanked the canvas with the ‘brrrrrap’ of Velcro tearing away. It was like some sort of ghastly magic trick. Appearing to be at least five deep and as far as our view allowed left and right, zombies were pressing against the rear of the big truck. The only thing saving us this very moment was how high up the clearance of the deuce sat. But, with hands slapping and clawing at the sides as well, I knew they had to be thick out there. It would not take long for them to start climbing in, and all of our combined ammo in the weapons we held wouldn’t make so much as a dent in their numbers.

In the cargo area of the deuce with me were Caren, Meredith, Bill, Kyle, and Jimmy. Of course Antonio had been with us, but the hunched over knot of zombies identified his current location, or what was left of him anyways. Shannon, Roy, and Trent had the other deuce. One of them was supposed to be on watch. My guess is that whoever was the owner of the scream is who got the day started. That left eight of us—hopefully—to deal with this and try to get out alive.

Caren was scrambling up the back side of the cab, slicing through the burlap overhead with a long buck knife and pulling herself up using the support above her head. Just that quick, everybody was scrambling to follow, mostly in an every-man (or woman)-for-themselves mode. Nobody jostled or pushed another aside. It was just a simple case of each of us knowing the consequence of stopping at this particular moment to be a hero.

Bill was the last to pull himself up with Meredith and I grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and hoisting. The scene that greeted us was truly horrifying.

We had pulled well off the remnants of the road we intended to take, but those damn things had found us. They were pouring through the woods and had our three vehicles totally surrounded. I could see Roy and Shannon in the front seat of the other deuce staring back at us in total shock. The hummer sat empty between us and them.

Jimmy suddenly yelled something about having an idea. Before long he had handed us everything but a long sword he had strapped to his back and a pistol on his left hip. He reached up and grasped an overhanging branch from some monstrous pine tree and began working his way to the trunk. In a moment he had climbed up and his eyes were on a tree only a few feet away. But, and this is where I was thinking he had lost his mind, it was much thinner. In fact it couldn’t be much bigger around than my leg at the thickest part of the thigh. Most of the nearby trees were similarly young and less sturdy.

We all watched, even Roy and Shannon were leaning forward, necks craned and straining to see what the hell the kid was doing. On yeah, and the zombies were in a tizzy. All his movement had them interested and agitated.

Then…he jumped.

The zombies were like a crowd at a fireworks display. Instead of “ooo’s” and “ahhh’s” there was a ripple of moans and snapping teeth. Arms reached skyward, almost in unison, reminding me of that scene in Close Encounters where the Frenchman asked the crowd of desert dwellers where the sound and light came from and they pointed straight up.

He caught the thinner pine which swayed violently. Climbing just a bit higher, Jimmy began rocking back and forth. All the while, the zombies are going crazy below. Then he reaches out and grabs the next tree. Tree by tree he moves away from us, bringing practically all of the hundreds of zombies that had surrounded us.

That allowed Roy to get the deuce moving and Meredith to dash for the Hummer. In no time we had bashed or decapitated the stubborn remnant that remained between us and our goal of getting into the cab. Bill remained in the back, the idea was to drive to a spot where Jimmy could jump down. I got the big deuce rolling and followed the “path” that Roy was making through the zombies who were now torn as to which meal possibility to pursue.

Bill slapped the roof of the cab, signaling me to stop. I heard a thud as Jimmy landed in back and then gassed it again to break out of the ever-thickening ring of walking dead. In seconds that seemed agonizingly slow we were out on what passed for a road.

Roy had opened about a good fifty yard lead by the time we rolled out of the trees and was hard to see through the rooster-tail of dust in his wake. We were driving faster than was sensible, but, at that moment, fear and adrenaline were pretty much in charge of the show.

He still says he never saw the three men until they were right in front of him waving their arms frantically. He also says, and I believe him, he wouldn’t have slowed down the slightest in light of recent events. The men dove out of the way at the last second and came up shooting.

As we rounded the corner, we were just in time to see the deuce swerve and then roll up the embankment on the left and flip onto its right side. Three men were in a line and, as they walked side-by-side, began pumping rounds into the incapacitated vehicle.

Whether it was how focused they were on shooting, or the noise from their guns, they never had a chance to react.  I think one of them just started to turn his head when I plowed into them with my deuce.

That was also the almost exact same moment that the other deuce exploded.

I slammed on the brakes and we skidded to a stop. The heat from the flames made it impossible to approach much closer than ten or twenty feet for a moment. Then the rounds in back started to cook off. All of us had gotten out and were just standing in the road like gawking idiots when shots began popping like popcorn. We dove back behind the protection of the truck until it stopped.

Of course by then we had the leading edge of the zombies we had left behind shambling up the road towards us. They were spread out enough that we were able to dispatch them without drawing guns…not that our location was likely any great big secret.

Bill and Jimmy along with Kyle took care of the zombies.   Meanwhile, Meredith and I inched as close as we could to the burning deuce. It was Meredith who spotted Roy’s legs on the far side of the upside-down vehicle. We raced around to the other side. The deuce was sitting on its hood now, laying crossways blocking most of the road. The explosion had helped flip it the rest of the way over and deposit it smack dab in our way.

Unfortunately, Shannon had not managed to crawl out. I tried not to look, but I could see her body in the flames. Roy later told me he had shot her when he couldn’t get close enough to save her and it was clear she was not going to get free.

We have no idea who those three men were. We’ve seen no movement, living or otherwise since the ordeal. After a vote, we decided unanimously to continue on.

We will move tomorrow. Everybody was pretty worn out from events. Plus, we buried Shannon and planted markers for Antonio and Trent.

Tuesday, June 3

Some sort of insane storm is pounding us today. It started before sunrise with a freakishly heavy rain. After about twenty minutes it was gone and the sun rose bright and hot. We got rolling, and in no time were forced to stop at a huge wash out. It looks like a scoop of hillside was unceremoniously dumped on the road. Going around is not an option. There is a steep drop on the right side and an incline on the left. All we can do is back track.

Three more of those thunder and lightning riddled down-pours have come and gone as we tried first to dig out a path. That was fine until we unearthed a rock almost as big as the Hummer, which by itself might have been capable of getting over the blockage. The deuce has no chance. Next we back tracked. We finally reached an offshoot road that seemed to go in the right direction. Only it came to an end at some huge clearing that looks like some serious logging activity was taking place…back when that mattered.

There was no signs of activity and the vote is to camp here tonight. None of the heavy equipment is of any use, but there is a trailer. We’ll bed down there for tonight as these storms continue to roll in about an hour and a half apart. At least we can stretch out a bit and dry off. We’ll try again tomorrow. We just seem to be lacking a lot of heart.

Wednesday, June 4

What I saw this morning still has my blood running cold.

I was the first to wake up as a beam of sunlight came through a frosted window and pierced my eyelids. Very quietly I slipped from Meredith’s arms and put on my shoes and socks. Tip-toeing around the others, I carefully and quietly opened the door.

I was grabbed suddenly; a rough hand was placed over my mouth. Huge arms turned me and I was face-to-face with Bill Steiner. He brought his hand away and quickly mimed the index finger to the lips in the universal sign for “be quiet”. Then, he placed his hands on my head and turned me so that I could see the huge open clearing.

A steady stream of undead was trudging through the brush, branches, and stumps. Imagine every busy sidewalk scene you’ve ever seen of rush hour New York, now multiply it by about ten!

We were against the trailer at an angle that made it unlikely we would be seen. Still, there had to be several thousand of those things. They numbered about ten or twenty wide and I had no idea how many had already passed. The tail end of their line was somewhere out of sight in the woods.

I’d seen zombies follow something relentlessly.  Even after losing the trail those things just continue on the path they had begun. If this was a case of that, I wondered if this was a cluster from Spokane.

All I know is there were lots! Bill signaled me to go in the trailer and pre-warn the others which I did. One by one we all came out and simply watched. The “zombie parade” lasted all morning and well into the afternoon. Starting the vehicles would be folly. That swarm would change course and come for us.

With them a few hundred yards away, we were actually in relative safety. Nothing caused any of them to wander our direction so…we simply waited. And waited.

Once we were confident that they had passed, we had a lengthy discussion that revealed something we had once believed in to be utterly false. No place was safe. No matter how far away from society we retreat, those things can show up at any time in huge numbers.

We will stay put for at least today and tomorrow to ensure that that horde has moved a good distance away. All of us are curious and want to go across the clearing to see the area that the zombies passed through.

Thursday, June 5

Went across the clearing. You could smell the stench from about a hundred feet away. The ground was not only trampled down, but bits of gore were scattered everywhere. Not just the insides falling out of open wounds, but entire limbs. None of us were so bold as to suggest venturing into the woods in either direction.

One other particularly grisly discovery was of a couple of zombies in various stages of decay that must’ve fallen and been unable to regain their footing. They were nothing more than smashed pulpy remains. But, the resilience of the skull left the head intact. The eyes, milky and black bloodshot followed our every move and the mouth opened and closed with the click of teeth. Nothing that a good stomping with a pair of industrial boots couldn’t put an end to.

We returned to the trailer and spent the rest of today scavenging everything that we thought we might be able to use. Other than fuel, the best thing we nabbed was one of those big chainsaws with the yard long blade. Hopefully it will work. None of us wanted to start it up because of the noise.

Maybe we’ll move out tomorrow.

Friday, June 6

We have two choices. We can back track to where we split and found the children the first time we made this trip and then hike it to the bridge with whatever gear we can carry. Or…we can make a run through a handful of populated areas and hope we don’t get mobbed.

The argument is fairly evenly split and this is one of those times I truly wish we had an actual leader. My concern is that we simply decide and get moving. After what we witnessed with that migrating horde of zombies, the folks at Irony are living under false security.

Evening

Well, it took all damned day and a perceptible rift that now exists between Bill, Caren, and Kyle versus Meredith, myself, Roy, and Jimmy. We are making a dash through a few small towns with unassuming names like Cabinet and Lakeview.

In the morning we will reverse directions and then cut north. We do know that the roads we’ll be using are all but washed out.  So, the deuce will be moving slow and we will need to take turns driving the Hummer out front in an attempt to clear a path.

The drawbacks are being uncertain of how slow our progress will be. After all, the reason we didn’t take that route before was because scouting parties had indicated that a lot of debris—both from slides and fallen trees—blocked the way making it treacherous.

Saturday, June 7

I still feel phantom buzzing in my hands as well as my ass. My hands from a lot of time with a chainsaw, my ass from riding on the hood of the hummer as we make painstaking progress.

To the credit of Bill, Caren, and Kyle…they have all worked hard and nobody bitched. We were a real team. Of course our progress did not come quietly and that drew out more than a few zombies.

Tonight we are camped out in some sort of Forest Ranger tower. Jimmy spotted it when he was standing watch from atop the roof of the deuce while Bill and I were cutting a tree that lay across the almost indiscernible gravel road we are following. We made that our goal for today and reached it just about an hour before sundown.

There is a great view, and we can see that the first bastion of what once had been civilization waits at the bottom of a long shallow valley. We were able to get a glimpse via binoculars with the waning daylight that remained, and there are definitely signs of movement. Tomorrow looks to be a busy day.

Sunday, June 8

Early this morning we were all awakened by the distinct sound of large vehicle movement. From our vantage point in the tower we were able to watch a convoy of twelve vehicles roll past and into the town we had scanned visually last night.

We figured that this was probably a band of raiders or perhaps just folks like us. We also agreed to simply let them pass. That would’ve worked fine except the last two vehicles came to a stop on the road, then turned in and came to investigate the tower.

We didn’t have much time to really plan anything so Bill and I grabbed our shotguns, strapped on our pistols and a few spare magazines and hustled down, taking up positions behind our vehicles. Jimmy grabbed three scoped rifles and went up onto the roof of the tower. Caren and Meredith also grabbed rifles, but they stayed inside with Roy and Kyle so that somebody could keep an eye in each direction.

Both approaching vehicles rolled into the little clearing and stopped suddenly. Probably the instant they saw Bill and me. One of the vehicles was some sort of dune buggy with three people riding in it. The other was an old, beat-up Volkswagen bus. Neither was overly impressive compared to our military-grade machines. All told, there were six guys and two gals. They weren’t soldiers. Just survivors.

One of the guys raised his hands and came out from the vehicles alone. With all that I’d seen from surviving humanity, this person was either very brave, very trusting, or very stupid. At least, that’s how I saw it at the moment.

Without warning a shot rang out from above. The man walking towards us stopped, looked down and then fell back hard. In no time we were in a nasty firefight..

Jimmy was pretty much the hero. At some point, one of the new arrivals tried to take off in the dune buggy only to catch a round in the face, slump over the wheel and run down two of his friends.

About the time we were considering taking a prisoner to question, Roy yelled down that the convoy was coming back. Then he yelled something down that solidified things for me. These were the people Meredith had escaped from!

They basically moved into position to surround us. Jimmy says he puts their numbers at no more than forty. So…about six to one with the odds in their favor.

I give Jimmy the best chance to survive this. The best news seems to be that they don’t have any exotic weaponry. I can’t believe it’s come to this.

Wednesday, June 11

We did all we could. Held out and fought back. And in the process, we took out a lot of those people who did such terrible things to Meredith before that day she first joined up with us. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Still, there were simply too many of them and not enough of us. I’d guess they lost half their numbers. But we did not escape—if you can call it that—unscathed. Bill is dead. Kyle and Meredith are missing. We all got separated when we broke south.

Bill didn’t go down easy. The second day there was what I guess you’d have to call a charge by a big group. Jimmy yelled warning and we were fending them off as best as we could, but a handful made it to the base of the observation tower. Bill was on what we counted as a rest up in the tower with Caren, and of course Jimmy perched on the roof. I was on the ground with Kyle and Meredith; Roy was in the woods. All I remember seeing is Bill charging down the switchback staircase with pistols blazing. It was enough for Kyle and I to pop up and start firing. Unfortunately, Bill took about a dozen rounds to the body. He was dead before we got to him. Our one loss was bigger in scope than the handful the invaders had taken. That was when we decided to run for it.

Just after dark that night everybody bailed and loaded into the deuce which was still miraculously undamaged save for a few holes which did nothing to hamper it. We roared out of there headed what we were sure was south.

We drove as hard and fast as possible. There was no way to know where we were going. We simply turned off at random points on the almost invisible logging roads. Try as we might, we couldn’t lose our pursuers. Every time we dared hope, a pair of ghostly yellow headlights would waver into view through the dust cloud we left in our wake.

I never even saw the section of washed out road. The deuce lurched violently to the left and seemed to hesitate for just a moment before toppling onto its side at such an angle that the wheels were practically pointing to the dark sky above.

Then…we tumbled over a steep bank and into a river. All of the winter snow had piled up this year. Coupled with how only recently it had begun to warm…and there was a lot of cold water rushing down this river.

Kyle, Meredith, and Roy were in the back of the deuce. I was driving and had Caren and Jimmy in front with me. We had the windows up. I don’t know how many people have ever tried to get out of a water-filled compartment while strapped in and upside down. I do not recommend it. Once the windows were rolled down and I got free, I made for the surface with all the choking and gasping you can imagine.

The raging water was whisking me along even faster than I think we had been moving in the big vehicle. I was pretty sure that the coldness of the water would prove fatal so I kept angling for the shore. When I finally made it, I was on the opposite side of the river. Roy and Caren both made it to my side, but further downstream, Jimmy was on the other.

Nobody saw Kyle or Meredith.

Our pursuers must’ve seen the accident and been satisfied with the presumed outcome. We actually came away relatively uninjured. At least those of us present.

Jimmy was able to cross early this morning. For the rest of today we will hole up in this rocky area we found. The rocks are high and flat giving us not only a place to dry off, but also relative protection should any zombies happen by, as well as a semi-concealed place to look out.

While everybody is focusing on watching for any sort of approaching danger…my eyes are seeking only one thing.

Meredith.

Friday, June 13

We are going to have to move. It seems clear that our two missing friends will not be strolling up to reunite with us.

While water is plentiful, we have no food. Also, in all the events of the other day, we have one 9mm and seven rounds in the magazine, two baseball bats, and one long sword. Jimmy has the gun, I’ve got the blade, Caren and Roy have the bats.

To say things are bleak might be understating it. We are moving south, following this river. It stands to reason that we should eventually encounter someplace that was once inhabited. We’ll re-supply there and try to obtain transportation.

Then, we’ll return to Irony. This mission is a failure. Let somebody else go to that other compound and “settle” it. I just want to crawl in my bed and sleep for a month.

I know I’m concerned about our little group and the chances of survival we face. That is probably the reason that all I can feel in regards to the loss of Meredith is total numbness. I can’t even grieve for her properly right now.

Saturday, June 14

We have stumbled—almost literally—upon a small town. From the signage still standing, I’m pretty sure this place is called Thompson Falls. We came around the base of the foothills and bingo! The town is right there to our left. There is an open inlet we need to go around. Or…what looks to be a bridge. Today we’ll only watch and observe.

Sunday, June 15

Lots of activity. None of it looks to be alive. There are a lot of bodies that look to be decaying in the open. Also, it is clear there were some bad fires.  We have climbed this hill that towers at least a couple hundred feet above town. Had to take out a couple of stragglers.

We can see another road on the other side of the river. That is just one more thing to watch in case those bastards that I now blame fully for Meredith’s death should happen to come this way.

Anyways, hunger is winning. We have to go into that town. We have to find food. Just another thing you took for granted when the world was not dead. The simplicity of walking into a grocery store is long past. I only hope we can find something edible. There haven’t been any fresh delivery trucks in these parts in a long while.

Tomorrow…

Monday, June 16

I can’t believe we didn’t notice!

This morning we snuck into town just as the first hint of light kissed the sky. At least these damned creatures are slow. The plan was to slip into a few houses on the outskirts to find food.

We were not in a position to see the total layout of town. What we couldn’t see was the telltale sign of living people in the form of a large pack of zombies surrounding a building. The place looked like a brick, two-story insurance office.

We found Meredith! Oh yeah, and Kyle.

The problem is getting them to notice us without drawing attention. The way we found out it was our two presumed lost comrades is because they made a journey up onto the roof. Obviously scouting for an escape.

The only way we could see that would get them out of their predicament would be to make some noise. So, we’ve loaded up on some canned food. The second house we hit was still “occupied”, but after clearing it we hit a bit of a jackpot. Seems this was a Mormon family, and I guess they were ready for the apocalypse. (We know they were Mormons because of the Book of Mormon sitting on an upstairs nightstand.)  Anyways, we found this pantry that was literally loaded with non-perishable foods, bottles of water, all kinds of stuff. Once we had all we could carry, we snuck back up that hill.

It was difficult leaving, knowing that Meredith is down there. It took us most of the day to get in, gather everything, and get back. Now, as it is late…we are forced to wait one more day. Caren is going to stay here and watch the town and the road…Roy, Jimmy, and I will slip in. Roy is going to make a racket and be certain that crowd sees him, then Jimmy and I will get Meredith and Kyle’s attention and slip out of town.

Hopefully.

Tuesday, June 17

I guess the most important thing in the life we live now is our ability to maintain humanity. Before this happened, we all seemed to lose perspective on what was important. Bad news and scandals sold more than good deeds and honest living. It became all about labels, marketing, and if it would turn a profit.

If something was done that could be deemed “heroic”, it was trumpeted, exploited, and buried all in the same day more often than not. If there was a scandal, a tragic death, or an act of depravity…it could surf the wave of headline status or lead-in story for weeks until the next great foul deed was uncovered.

People that live on both sides of that spectrum have survived the horror of this past half a year. I’ve seen both in extremes. I’ve tried not to linger on either side. I’ve had to put down for the last time folks I’ve known, including my own daughter. I’ve tried to help those around me in any way I could. If there is anybody left who knows/knew me a year from now, I don’t want to be thought of as somebody who never tried. Leave the labels and over-exaggeration in the dead past.

We did all we could to rescue Meredith and Kyle. After Roy came up with the clever idea of attaching a note to a rock, we were lucky and got close enough to throw our note and get their attention with minimal zombie interaction.

All went relatively smooth. Once we were ready, Roy began shattering windows and making a real racket. Of course the zombies have no concept of lures, traps, or anything of that nature, and followed eagerly after the sight of warm, living meat. Then, as the mob around Meredith’s and Kyle’s building began to pursue, Jimmy added to the chaos and this caused the pack to sorta disperse.

I was never happier than when Meredith and Kyle were able to bolt down the stairs only having to dispatch the occasional persistent zombie that had refused to follow the pack. I waded in to help, dispatching a handful of those things.

We ran for the Walking Bridge as fast as possible. Caren fired twice as the signal for both Roy and Jimmy to break and run as well. Meredith, Kyle, and I waited on the town side of the bridge, urging our friends to run faster.

We all crossed and then I tossed a match on the ground to ignite the trail of gasoline back across to the pool we had dug and filled. It went up with a “FWOOP” that sent an oily black cloud skyward. We knew we had to move, because if any of the folks who had been chasing us were still in the area, they had a good idea where to come look.

Roy, Jimmy, Kyle, Meredith, and I scaled the hill to where Caren was waiting. I kept glancing at Meredith as we climbed. I was so happy to see her. I thought for certain that I’d never see that smile again.

Screw Noxon, screw Trout Creek! We’re heading back to Irony. Let somebody else make this run. Let them clear out a backup compound that we may or may not need. I just want to live without running, fighting, or killing. I want a shot at a family with Meredith and Joey.

Those were my honest to goodness thoughts as I was scrambling up that hill.

That is most likely why I never saw, heard, or smelled the creeper. I’m guessing he was in his early teens when he died. The zombie did him in good. Most of the left side of his face was torn away leaving plenty of crusty, exposed skull. The left eye-socket was literally packed with dirt and gravel. He had bites out of him all over his body, and the legs had obviously been ripped off. A dried tether of intestine trailed about a foot or so behind him.

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 Remington 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.

This is some crazy weather we’re having. With all this warm-water rain, the mountains are dumping so much water from snowmelt in these rivers and streams. And with no Department of Transportation, roads and bridges are just getting swept away.

Caren and I were talking this morning, and she says that Irony may be in trouble. When I asked why, she went on about how that make-shift garden wasn’t very high above the water. She said that if that river flows over its banks, it wouldn’t take much more for it to reach the garden and wash everything away. Turns out Caren grew up in some town called Sherwood near Portland, Oregon on a big farm.

I asked her why she didn’t step in and supervise or at least advise Grace’s son Derrick. She said she tried, but he was dis-missive and said that his location was safest for the community. I guess we’ll see when we get back.

Sunday, June 29

Gads! You can smell those things from way up here. We backtracked and found a road that is little more than a trail. We were able to follow it most of the day. We stopped to make camp and Jimmy came with me to climb this ridge and take a look.

We made it just as the sun was setting. We kept in contact with the others on the radio so nobody would worry. It is a big mess down below. There are even packs that just seem to be standing still. Like they have just decided to stop moving.

There are a handful of small towns that we can make out. The strange thing is that they’ve been dead so long, no pun intended, that the landscape is starting to absorb them. An old geology professor of mine in college used to say, “Mother Nature hates heights.” He explained how wind and erosion break down hills and flattens the ground. Well it looks as if that holds true for signs and such.

I have driven this stretch and can recall tall signs on poles advertising such oases like Denny’s, Burger King, BP, 76, and all manner of similar things. It seems that without maintenance and upkeep, they’ve all been knocked or blown away. The buildings are dingy, and without electric light, hard to make out in the shadows of the mountains.

The night is warm and clear. I can see a million stars peeking from the sky. With the exception of the smell from thousands of rotting corpses that spent the day drying in the sun, it is almost perfect.

* * * * *

Tuesday, July 1

The last twenty-four hours have been a nightmare. Our quiet, peaceful camp fell into the hands of another roving band of maniacs. Everybody scattered…but they got Kyle.

We’re hunkered down. Hiding like those meerkats from Meerkat Manor whenever they spotted a predator. I’m trying not to shake, but damn I’m scared.

We heard what they did to Kyle. They made sure to press the send button on his two-way while they killed him just in case he was too far away and we might miss his screams. His begging. His death. And finally, his moans as he joined the ranks of the walking dead.

I’m certain I didn’t recognize any of the voices, so it wasn’t the gang we’ve already dealt with. These are a new batch of bad people and they know we are close. I don’t blame Kyle for telling them we were near. It sounded so horrible…what they were doing to him. At one point, his scream was so shrill you couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Then, I’m certain I heard a voice say something like, “They sure (sounded like shore) don’t suck dick very well. Too much teeth.” And then roars of laughter. There are a lot of them. That I am sure of.

I never wished for death for somebody I knew or had any relationship with. After an hour, I was praying for Kyle to die. At one point I found myself saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over. I don’t completely know why. Maybe because we wouldn’t come out like they beckoned. Maybe because he and I had words when he was just trying to be human. All I know is I can still barely see through the tears and he is out there.  Kyle is out there.

A zombie.

For that Kyle, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.

Wednesday, July 2

For some stupid reason, all of us have moved enough individually that I’ve no clue where anybody else is. I turned my radio off a long time ago to prevent those bastards from finding me because my radio spat out static just as one of them passed by. I’ve watched enough movies and stuff on television to know that is exactly how it works. I’m pretty sure Caren is to my left somewhere and Jimmy is behind me. I’ve no clue where Roy is. He was beside me for most of the night, but when he heard the truck being looted, he crept away. I have no idea what he hoped to accomplish.

Late this afternoon I found this nasty blackberry patch. I got cut up pretty decent, but I am thicker in this thorny den than B’rer Rabbit. I’ve been able to snack on berries.  Also, it is cool which is a plus because, as bad as the weather was a couple of days ago, the sun is really making up for lost time.

I’ll say this about whoever is out there…they are very tenacious.

Thursday, July 3

One person’s fortune is another’s dilemma. It seems that our seekers have given up on us for more readily available game. I was not in position to really see, I thought it sounded like some sort of big rig, like an 18-wheeler.

When those lunatics heard it they were off like crazed hounds on a hunt. And yes…I do know what I’m talking about. My daddy raised hunting dogs. When I was little he used to take me hunting with him. Then, in my early teens I reached that stage where I wanted to be accepted by boys, and truthfully, (even though we never had much in common) the girls, too, so I quit going. I realize now that even though he never said a word, my dad was heartbroken.

Anyways…I stayed in my briar patch until I eventually heard Jimmy whispering our names. We finally all re-grouped. Me, Jimmy, Roy, and Caren. That is all that remains of our hearty band. I wonder…would it have turned out different with more of us on the team? Probably just more folks dead.

So, we set out for Irony again. After, that is, we dealt with Kyle. Those folks must be awfully proud of their handiwork. They left the armless, legless, torso of our friend hanging from a tree by a noose. His dead, black-veined eyes followed us as we approached. Of course he was completely naked, and we confirmed that some of his screams had come from having his genitals eaten. Jimmy took care of it by jamming an eight-inch blade in the left temple. We cut him down and then realized there wasn’t much else we could do. Caren said a prayer, then we left. Even if we’d had the tools to bury him, we knew it was best to get moving. I’m glad we at least cut him down.

If we don’t encounter too many more problems, we could reach Irony in two days. At least that is what Roy says.

Sunday, July 6

Reached Irony early this evening. It seems our happy little community has had problems and tragedies of its own. While we were gone, a bit of a power struggle took place between Grace and the resident hard-ass, Larry Bonn.  And a child drowned in the river.

There have been a slew of folks just living off the sweat of the few who work. Larry raised the issue at one of the meetings of the community and from what I’ve been told, Snoe, having just returned from her latest trip out into the wild on a foraging mission, took Larry’s side. Eventually it was decided that we needed to let the community decide who would be calling the shots.

It seems Irony will be having its first election.

Personally, I don’t care. I just want a shower and my bed. It does seem odd that I will sleep in this bed that I shared with Sam—even though it was brief—alone.

The worst part about being back was having to tell Joey what happened. Of course I sanitized it.  But that didn’t make it any easier. I asked him if he still wanted to stay with me. He said no. It seems that all the children will be getting matched up with couples. He said he’d rather be in a “regular” family.

Good luck, kiddo.

Monday, July 7

Met with Grace to debrief on our adventure. Somebody musta warned her about assuming how to react with me on the loss of Sam. I bet it was Roy.

Anyways, he never came up. But, already a second team is being assembled to make a try for Noxon. We had a pretty heated discussion, but eventually I won.

I will lead the expedition.

Tuesday, July 8

Life seems kinda boring here. Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie. Who knows, but I think I prefer being out there. If this were the pioneer days, I’d be the one leading caravans of settlers out west, then going back for more.

It’s not that I don’t love my bed. It sure isn’t the desire for fewer showers and exposure to zombies and lunatics. I think I just thrive on having a purpose. That was another area Sam and I disagreed on deep down. I’m sorta glad Joey decided to find a family. Responsibility and I don’t see eye-to-eye.

Sure, the dream of normality with a family sounds great. But in the couple of days I’ve been back, I am restless and find myself envious of the folks radioing in that they are coming back with supplies.

They are out there in the world. Sure it is a dangerous, scary, dead place. Yet, somehow, it is more alive than this place. I can go to the garden. Or, down to the river to swim and watch the kids—a new mandatory rule now—who still seem to be able and act like all is right in the world.

I’ve considered just taking off. There is a great big world out there that I’ve never seen. The only city I’ve been to of note is Seattle. My family always went to every Husky and Cougar football match-up. That meant a trip to Seattle every other year. Other than that, I’ve been no place.

We’ll see. It is worth considering. After reading all of Sam’s journal, I am curious about whether the compound he was at is still okay.

Wednesday, July 9

Well, Joey has a family now. That nice Air Force girl, Colleen has hooked up with Tim Delegan. Who am I to say anything about a nineteen-year-old girl and a fifty-two-year-old man getting together? I’ve noticed a couple of match-ups like that going both directions. The boy I saw with Julia doesn’t look a day over fifteen. And Snoe is always with that boy Randy that got Steve killed. Seems this hot weather has all the folks worked up. It may have something to do with everybody walking around half-naked all the time. Or…maybe folks are starting to get over the trauma of what has happened to our world.

Hell, Roy showed up last night with a bottle of rum, and after half a bottle, I was ready to go. He was gone when I woke up. That was a relief. I like Roy, he’s sensible and, at fifty-nine, I doubt he’ll make any overtures for my attention.

I have noticed that some of our younger community members are getting a bit frisky. I wonder if anybody is thinking about the consequences if several women and/or girls turn up pregnant. That cuts down on mobility, and this is not an ideal world—not that the old one was—to bring a child into.

I say all of this because I don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. I already am.

Thursday, July 10

After meeting with Grace and Larry—both are now “involved” in sending out teams as the election looms—it is decided that my team leaves in one week. I am supposed to pick my group.  First, they’d like us to try for Coeur d’Alene and scout for supplies.

Initially I argued against a city that size. We have to risk our asses twice for folks who barely acknowledged that we lost over half of our team last time. That was when Larry chimed in with, “It’s all part of the new world order.” I invited Larry to go “Fuck himself”.

After a lot of very similar words, I agreed to go only if Grace’s son Derrick and Larry’s seeming conspirator-in-arms, Snoe, are part of my team. I made it clear that the old ways of the supposed people in power keeping their families out of harm’s way are as dead as the majority of the global population. And, while Snoe is no kin to Larry, they are very close. Like drinking buddies.

They agreed, which means I now have two of the twenty folks that will make this next run at Noxon. One other point I need to make.  That other team that left back when Sam and I made our ill-fated Noxon trip has never returned. While there is still hope being held out that word will return of their success…I highly doubt it.

Friday, July 11

Picked my whole team: Snoe Banks and Derrick Arndt of course. Roy, Caren, and Jimmy…can’t break up the old team. Troy Marsh, a middle-aged guy who used to be a janitor. Ella Reecie, a housewife who walked in on her eight-year-old son eating her husband. Jacob Porter, a youth minister. Doug Keller, a self-professed forty-nine-year-old burn-out who is relishing his new, albeit forced, sobriety. Five refugees from that Spokane air base: Gus Miller, Delmar Jones, Brad Johnson, Cory Simpson, and Gene Tasker. These guys are all twenty-somethings like most of my friends and co-workers from before…only with great work ethics. Cera Lee, her name is pronounced like the former baked goods name, only she looks like a geisha. She has no Asian accent at all, but tells the best jokes. Her funniest stories all revolve around her former job in a Chinese restaurant where she was always pissing off management with her politically incorrect impersonations of their accents. Tracy Russell, at six-foot-six, she’s the tallest in our group, beating Delmar by about two inches. She’s that coffee-with-crème color, and pretty enough to make me wish I was a lesbian. Ringo, he’s a biker, and that is pretty much all anybody knows. Sugar, Ringo’s girlfriend who is bigger and meaner than Ringo. Last is Gary “Turk” Morris. He played pro-football for Seattle on the offensive line for two years until he blew his shoulder. Soft spoken, but very much a no-nonsense guy.

Saturday, July 12

Took a pair of deuce-and-a-half trucks and rolled out early this morning. It was a bit of déjà vu. I hope this run is not as ill-fated as the Noxon run. Supply runs are actually sorta fun. It is like shopping with an unlimited credit card and somebody else pays the bill. Now before you start stereotyping me as just-another-girl-who-likes-to-shop, I will say in my defense that I only did it back in the pre-zombie days when my best friend Corinne Flotsky wanted me to go. And whether you’re a guy who went to Home Depot or a gal that had to get her Macy’s fix …shopping is shopping.

So there.

Snoe led us to a relatively deserted road called East French Gulch Road where we were able to drive into this walled- in private golf course. She said this was the best staging point. From here we can cross under I-90 and sneak into Coeur D’Alene then, in teams of four, all equipped with two-way radios, we can fan out in search of supplies.

I teamed with Derrick Arndt, Gene Tasker, and Cera Lee. We hit a hardware store for tools and such, then a sporting goods place which turned out to be a total bust. Looters—as well as zombies—have taken or ruined so much. Our luck was better in private residences. We found plenty of abandoned weapons, often with ammo supplies in reach. Lots of shotguns and hunting rifles as well as handguns. Strangely, clubs, bats and that sort of thing are not as common. Maybe people started to catch on that shooting should really be a last resort unless you’re in a position where drawing a bunch of attention isn’t going to greatly increase the chance you will be bitten. Basically anyplace high up or without windows.

Food is another matter. It is getting almost impossible to find anything you can actually consume. Even a lot of dried foods are turning moldy now. Stale corn chips and crackers are okay, but salsa and dip are off the menu. We are unwillingly becoming vegetarians, and, as the junk food has begun to turn, we are left with canned soups, ramen noodles, and the Hawaiian favorite…Spam. Or, as I’ve divided them…condensed liquid salt, dry salt, and jellied, greasy, meaty salt. The only things that taste good anymore are the stuff from the gardens.

Oh…there are also various powders and such from the stores that used to cater to those perversely obsessed workout types. So’ I’ve described our dietary staples. We are fully stocked with a variety of that junk—minus fresh garden veggies—guns, tools, generators, and fuel.

I am noticing that a lot of places are sporting a spray-painted “X” which is our sign that the location has been thoroughly sacked. We are having to venture further into town with each trip. We had enough “company” during our run today. Nothing we couldn’t handle, but pretty soon we’ll be going in where the zombies are thick.

Something to consider.

Sunday, July 13

Spent today with Joey and his new family: Colleen and Tim. We hung out down at the river. I might as well enjoy wearing a two-piece while I can. In a few months, not only will it be getting chilly, but I will be getting rounder.

I’m pretty sure that nothing I do now will cause any problems or complications. Who knows, if the Noxon compound is nice, maybe I’ll stay there to have the baby. Best not get too worked up about things until I know I’ll be alive to see it through. After all, that is the reality we live in.

Am I cynical? Maybe.

Monday, July 14

First time we’ve seen the zombies at our complex. Sure, it was only one. But one zombie, when you are just not expecting it, can wreak havoc. Even after our report about that migrating herd we encountered, nobody, myself included, expected to see anything out here in the middle of nowhere. To make matters worse, it was a creeper.

That zombie caused a lot more trouble than the usual horrid death here at good ole Irony, USA.

It happened this morning at about five. It was the first scream that told everybody one of them had found us. Of course, initially, we had no idea if it was one, or a hundred, or a thousand. I was up and running, crossbow in hand, before the sleepiness had even cleared my brain.

I ran down the main—I guess it is nothing more than a really wide path—avenue and before I got to the rope ladders, Snoe, Derrick, and Larry Bonn were right there with me. We were climbing down when the second scream sounded…a bit different in pitch, but obviously the result of somebody being torn into by a zombie. It was coming from the other side of the stream, which was a good sign. That was the last bit of good news for us today.

Crashing through the brush, we burst into a clearing to see Greg Chase, that thirty-two-year-old, African-American… black…hell, does it matter anymore…anyways, that guy has this creeper by what is left of its torso and he is pounding it on a rock. Only, two things; first—he is buck-ass naked and bleeding bad from one arm, second, curled up in the fetal position, covered in blood, is Marissa Blaney, one of those kids (she was fourteen) also naked.

Snoe simply walked up behind Greg, put a bullet in the back of his head, then turned to Marissa and, while the girl was looking at me as I put a crossbow bolt in the zombies head, shot her in the temple. I guess we’re not waiting to see if they’ll turn anymore.

By now, thirty or so people are catching up. Any chance of containing this vanished with their arrival. There can be no disputing what was going on with Greg and Marissa. Also, the folks at Irony now know that no place is safe from the threat of the undead plague.

At dinner, the main conversation was who is having sex with whom. What should be done about it…and how will it be enforced.

I’ve never been happier to be leaving this place. These next three days can’t go fast enough. Until the 17th, I’m going into hiding and, unless it has to do with my team or the trip, I’m not coming out.

Thursday, July 17

Early Morning

I’ll be surprised if Irony is still in one piece when I—if I—get back. Once more I’ve left the rugged Cougar Peak area and the relative, if not falsely relied upon, security of the community known as Irony, USA. Once more I set out for the Noxon/Trout Creek area and an abandoned religious sect’s compound. The thrill of being out in the uncertainty has me actually giddy with anticipation.

Maybe I am an adrenaline junkie.

Evening

We made excellent time today. Tonight we are camped beside a beautiful blue river surrounded by pine trees. As the sun sets, it is almost completely silent. I did see a bird, a really big one, gliding in the cloudless sky.

More exciting, we are looking down on a tiny town that Roy says is Heron, MT. this is exciting on a few points: First—we made great time on some back roads and only ran into issues late this afternoon. Considering how long this trip has taken in the past, and to know it would be possible that we could be looking at our objective tomorrow feels like a good omen. Second—we have located what looks to be the encamped location of the maniacs who killed Scott, Sasha, Bill, Shannon, and Kyle as well as being at least partially responsible for Sam’s death.

They are set up nicely in Heron. They have big rigs, motorcycles, Hummers, and a freakin’ tank! We actually found them by mistake. Their mistake.

We were setting up by the river deciding that it would be best to hit our target shortly after first light. We hadn’t seen more than a handful of zombies—all stragglers—during the day. And did I mention that it is so very quiet?

A burst of gunfire suddenly echoes. About twenty minutes pass. We have all gone to locked-and-loaded status and on the lookout for trouble to come from any direction. We had just about reached the point where we could relax when Ella, who is set up in some dense brush by the water, starts snapping her fingers (it gets attention without being too loud). A raft is floating down the river. It has a few posts mounted on it. There are a total of seven people fastened to them. Also, lying sprawled on the raft are a few more…and they are starting to stir! The folks fastened to the posts are all dead, obviously shot up.

None of us can figure out why there are some who were shot to death and yet, obviously, several recently bitten folks are left unbound, unshot, and just lying on a raft, then set adrift on a river.

We were rotating in our groups of four, keeping watch on their camp. We had a vote and have decided that even if we have to delay our trip to Noxon/Trout Creek…so be it.

These people are worse than the zombies and need to be dealt with.

Friday, July 18

Nothing worth having or doing seems to come easy. Today is no exception. My team had the second watch. All of us have come to the conclusion that these people have no regard for themselves or others. They make no attempt to hide or be secretive. Sure, this is the middle of the wilderness, but zombies seem able to hone in on sound just as if they could hear. Since I’ve never met one that could tell me one way or the other, I can only guess.

These people have obviously made obtaining alcohol a priority. I won’t say I was surprised when we found a wide variety of drugs as well. They partied until long past my watch shift.

We moved in before sunrise. Since we’d had a couple hours of evening light, as well as their blazing bonfire, it was simple to side-step the barricades and pits meant only to stop or hamper the unthinking, unreasoning undead.

There was no formal sentry in place. These folks were cowboys to the last. They did have a handful of zombies collared and chained to twenty-foot leads. A couple actually got aggressive at the sight of us. Nothing a well-placed crossbow bolt didn’t solve. The oddity was the pair that simply sat quietly watching us pass. It almost seemed that they—the zombies—wanted us to come and kill these demented folks.

I can say without question, even discounting their penchant for sadism demonstrated by the manner in which they killed our friends, that this was a sick group. More on that in a moment.

We crept in and made for the biggest concentration. We knew they were crashed out in a trio of double-wides. It was almost too easy to tie off the doors, making exiting a real problem. Then, after dousing the trailers and a good portion of the surrounding ground with gasoline…we positioned ourselves in firing zones and lit the match.

The fire spread quickly. Within minutes we could hear them. About then, Turk’s group, who had our backs, opened up on the few who had sought their night’s sleep in other locations and came stumbling out bleary-eyed and confused to investigate the fire and now growing commotion.

That was also when the middle trailer exploded. I don’t know how we missed the big, white propane tank. A moment later…their ammo started cooking off. They had a lot of ammo.

Doug Keller never saw it coming. At least that is what I’ve convinced myself of since he looks so peaceful. The bullet took him right in the temple in a way that would have made a mob goon proud. He was still smiling that goofy grin, only his dead, glazed eyes made it look a bit creepy.

Doug was our only casualty.

It was while we did a thorough walk-through of this no-stoplight town that the more disturbing finds were discovered. The vast quantities of various drugs were no big surprise. Then we found the gruesome discovery in the tank. I can only imagine what purposes were served by having no less than ten armless, legless zombies in its cockpit or whatever they call the interior of a tank. There is blood caked everywhere as well as unrecognizable remains of whoever was unfortunate enough to be cast inside and locked in.

It was just after the tank revelation that we found HER. I could still recognize her face even in its discolored, waxy, sagging, zombie state. A face seen in several movies and often on the front of those useless tabloids. I seem to remember reading or hearing that she had a huge log cabin style mansion out in these parts.

My guess is this group found her. I bet she thought she’d been saved. Who knows how long they kept her or what they did to her until boredom set in. At some point, they let her be bitten. Not bad, just enough to put her in this state. Only, it seems they had not finished using her for unspeakable, unthinkable things.

She was tied to a pallet. Naked. The pile of used, discarded condoms tell a story I’d rather not dwell too deeply on. I looked into her eyes for a moment. Can a zombie be sad? Her eyes, even in death, looked like those I’ve seen on a few girlfriends who become their significant other’s punching bag on Saturday nights after a few too many cold ones.

I almost felt sorry for her before bringing up the crossbow and ending her career once and for all.

Tonight, we’ll spend the evening in our camp from yesterday. Tomorrow, we move on to Noxon/Trout Creek.

Saturday, July 19

Their names are Julie Barton and Jack White foot. They are the only survivors of Noxon, MT.

We had decided to check the town for supplies before continuing south where we will take the gravel road that will loop us back into the mountains and eventually lead to the isolated commune-cult complex.

We came into town from the northwest using the increasingly treacherous Highway 200. The street or road …whatever…is littered with scattered bodies. These rural areas probably put up the best fights. That helps, since not only was the base population minimal, but the locals took out a high percentage of the undead before eventually succumbing or perhaps retreating.

In Noxon, it seems that the fight went in favor of the living. We encountered twenty or so of the undead former residents as we rolled into town. They came out in typical fashion, attracted by the sound of our vehicles.

We stopped in front of a long, log cabin style building; the Hereford Restaurant. In less time than it takes to write this…we had put down the only visible threat. Just as we finished, a shot rang out and Turk fell to the ground clutching his left leg. Of course everybody except Sugar went diving for cover. Sugar dove for Turk.

A voice called out, telling us that we’d “best get back in our trucks and go back the way we came.” I figured the owner of that voice to be a bit more frightened than we were, even with us being initially the more vulnerable. Mostly due to the quavering change in pitch. I stood up, setting my crossbow on the ground and extending my arms out to try and show I was not a threat.

“We’re not here to harm anybody,” I said. “We are only passing through, heading towards Trout Creek.”

“Trout Creek’s dead,” a shaky male voice answered.  “Nobody left, so don’t bother.”

“There was a commune nearby,” I prompted.

“The Jesus-Crispies?”

I heard a smattering of muffled laughter from my group.

“They’re all dead, too,” he called back after I shushed the others.  “In fact it was them that brought this crap down on us.”

I was tired of yelling my conversation. “Why don’t you and I talk normal, instead of yelling back and forth? I’m un-armed.”

“Just you,” the male voice said hesitantly.  “Come up the road to the school.”

After assuring everybody that I knew what I was doing, and checking on Turk—it was a clean shot—bullet went in and out. That’s not to say that his left calf wasn’t messed up, only that we wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet. Hey, take your plusses where you can.

I walked down the empty street, through the empty town of Noxon. I spied my young negotiator. Jack Whitefoot is seventeen. He is a couple of notches taller than six-feet and thin as a whip. His long, black braid hangs down his back, all the way to his waist. He is exactly what you would picture when imagining a young Indian—or if you insist, Native American—from the Old West.

He had pistols on each hip, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and an old style M-1 carbine in his hands held crossways in front of his chest like he was about to “present arms” at the command of a Marine DI.

We spoke. A lot of what eventually passed between us is his own business. In short, this place fell to the plague much the same as the big cities. By the time folks were figuring it out, it was too late. The zombies we killed when we arrived were the friends and families of Jack and a young lady named Julie Barton.

Jack and Julie are the only survivors. But even more interesting…Jack is immune! He has a well-healed bite to prove it.

They were able to kill off most of the zombies. Only, neither could do away with their closest friends and immediate families. When they realized he was immune to the bite, they decided that, while they would not willingly allow the zombies to get to them, the need to kill those they loved was not a necessity.

To each his own.

Tomorrow, we’ll move on to Trout Creek. The kids will join us. They were given the choice and eagerly accepted. Turk was even a good sport about it and thanked Jack for NOT shooting to kill.

Sunday, July 20

I bet this place was absolutely beautiful before death found it. It sits right on this vast sparkling stretch of what I learned from Jack is The Clark Fork River. Trout Creek itself has a few forks and we want West Fork Trout Creek. Still, no reason to hurry or leave behind a potential danger.

Today, we went systematically through the area and put down every zombie we could find. The only real problem turned out to be a once majestic hotel. We discovered where the residents made their final stand. It is also where the plague seems to have finished them off from within their own ranks.

I’m no forensic specialist, but the trail is almost too easy to follow. It looks like the residents of Trout Creek retreated to this point with most of their guns and ammo (that made scavenging very convenient). Who knows how many bite victims were in that group. They boarded up all the doors and windows on the ground floor while having presence of mind to leave gaps for shooting through.

Likely, several of their own turned at once and in short order. The unfortunate element seems to be that it was the children who turned. I say this because when we were looking in, we saw very little activity. When we pried open the main entrance a dozen children no older than ten or twelve rushed us. They were short enough and the gaps were placed high enough that we couldn’t see them. This was made worse by the fact that many of the adults were torn in half. At least two-thirds were creepers.

When it was all over with, everybody was so completely drained. Even Snoe, who never seems affected by anything, looked drawn and more than a little upset. It will never be easy killing the child-zombies.

We gathered and inventoried enough guns and ammo to supply a small army. One thing about places like this, it is definitely NRA country. Gun-Control fans, Democrats, and vegans need not bother stopping.

In one house, we did find something that I’m sure will be a legacy of our dead generation: A meth lab. The occupants obviously decided to make one last batch and die in the clutches of their addiction. Actually, that find was a bit more gruesome than some of the death-by-zombie discoveries we’ve made.

I had a friend who was into the meth scene. She was so pretty. She had that curvy body that made you so totally envious. A full bust, then a narrow and slender waist that truly exemplified the hourglass figure with perfect hips. Then…she found meth. Her long, shiny, black hair became matted. Her milky white skin erupted in hideous sores and her figure caved in.

I hope that whatever generation rises out of all this never rediscovers such a terrible thing.

Tomorrow we hike in and do what it takes to secure the compound. It’s been seen from above and afar, let’s hope that we continue to enjoy the success we’ve had so far.

God, I’ve probably cursed us.

Monday, July 21

We could not have counted on there being so much death in this complex. I remember when that cult in San Diego thought the Hale-Bopp comet was going to whisk them away to some paradise or something and put plastic bags over their heads after slipping into sweatsuits and tenny-runners.

We are having to go from building to building on extermination runs. Every single building has a basement, and this seems to be where most of them were kept. Each building is done and marked because after a while…it all starts to blend in.

The operation goes a little something like this: we walk the perimeter and look inside any windows. In the case of two-story buildings, we grapple, scale, and infiltrate from the top down. Once we clear the floor, we fan out and, after a rock-paper-scissors process, the loser opens the door to the basement.

Of course we had no idea how bad the basements were until we opened the door to the first one. That was how we lost young mister Gus Miller. He pulled open the door and a stringy-haired blonde missing all of her nose returned the gesture. She latched on to poor Gus before he knew what was happening. All hell broke loose as zombies of all ages came pouring out of that doorway and into a rather narrow hallway that made shooting absolutely impossible. We went hand-to-hand which took almost fifteen minutes. If you’ve never been in a fifteen minute hand-to-hand brawl, put on biker leathers and a helmet, now start swinging a baseball bat hard enough to crush an almost ripe watermelon for fifteen minutes.

We put down the last one and I turned just in time to watch Gus shove his pistol in his mouth and spray brains all over the wall he was propped against.

Three buildings done. Twenty-seven to go.

This could take a while.

Thursday, July 24

Halfway done. The good news is that we are close to halfway…bad news…we are only almost close to halfway. At least we haven’t lost anybody else.

Jack and Julie are just like part of the team. It is nice that this place was preparing for some version of Armageddon. They have a lot of non-perishable food, as well as cases and cases of bottled water.

There are a couple of really large buildings that we are concerned about clearing. The continuous pounding and moans of the undead are beyond description. I’m willing to bet that if there are generators…that is where they will be.

Saturday, July 26

Rolled the dice today. We’ve put off until today clearing the larger building for fear of what we felt we were sure to encounter. It was voted on and unanimous that we go into this three-story affair. It is, In fact, the largest building in the com-pound. It sits on what I would guess to be an area that would be two blocks long and one block wide.

There are large double doors on all four sides of the ground floor. The second floor only offered tall, thin windows that nobody could crawl through if we wanted to access the building from that level. The third-floor is like the top of a wedding cake inasmuch as it is recessed in from the outer edges of the first and second floor. There is a balcony railing all the way around as well.

We grappled and climbed to discover that sliding glass doors provide entrance on all four sides and thick blinds are still intact on most of the windows.

This is where they seemed to have brought a good many of the children. Most of them were five and under. To say the very least, this morning was unpleasant. We also encountered two elderly ladies that I imagine brought death with them since neither had bites from small mouths. There were also a few teens.

We noticed something odd with the youngsters. At first, nobody could place it. The top priority was to put them all down, so nobody was taking a lot of time to examine bodies. However, once we finished, the realization was immediate and practically everybody picked up on it. Almost all the baby-teeth have fallen out of the mouths of the zombie-children! And since they are in all respects dead, no adult teeth grew back in. That does not lessen their danger level much, but it helped.

There were a couple of large rooms, what looked like a big, open, gathering place, and one large bedroom. I’m guessing this floor was ceremonial in capacity. The ceiling is glass which meant this floor was lit naturally for the most part. I’ve found no artificial light source, so I’m pretty confident in my guess here.

We were going to simply toss the corpses, but there is just something about all these things having been children. So, we lowered them down by ropes and, in a big gravel lot that is full of cars that will probably never leave their spots, we have a pile of bodies growing that we plan to torch.

Tomorrow we’ll go down to the second floor.

Sunday, July 27

Slept in shifts because of the constant racket from the zombies downstairs.  Many of which came up the stairwells and spent the night on the other side of the thick oak doors at the ends of the north-south running main hallway.

We tossed a coin and decided to open the south set this morning.  Everything was going fine, but at some point Julie saw somebody she recognized and just freaked out.  Do you remember when Bill Paxton’s character in Aliens does the total ‘crazy marine’ bit after he goes through the floor and starts yelling stuff like “Oh you want some?” “Here, eat some of this!”  “You too!” All of that right before he dies.  Well, Julie’s episode was pretty similar.  She started screaming things like “You can’t fight this!”  “They’ll get everybody!” and “I told you not to go outside! You should’ve listened!” As she waded into the midst of a pack of those things that were struggling to climb the stairs, she went down and everybody lost sight of her.

Jack was screaming her name and Sugar did her best to keep him from following.  Meanwhile, we were using some ancient war tactic of fighting side-by-side, three wide.  Every couple of minutes, the group in front disengaged, stepped back, and were then replaced by the trio behind them.  I don’t complain, it works and so I’m happy to try ideas that come from other members of the team.  Anyways, the zombies, as of late, haven’t left enough of their victims to return in most cases because there are so many who dive in and feast.   The stairwell seemed to have hampered them from finishing off all of Julie because about five or ten minutes later she shambled towards the front three of me, Troy Marsh, and Delmar Jones.  She was tore up really bad, but mobile.  The worst part, besides most of her abdominal cavity having been ripped out, was the way her head just lolled to one side because most of her neck had been eaten.

It took us a good part of the morning to just sit and wait and to use our bash-and-slash tactic to eliminate what must be most of the zombies.  We killed forty-six when it was all said and done.

Nobody felt like going downstairs and sweeping the floor for stragglers.  At least we have something to do tomorrow.

Monday, July 28

Finished the second floor.  This was some sort of meditation area.  There are several small rooms with speakers set in the walls.  The floors are hardwood, but many had mats or remnants of mats.  I also noticed a couple of rooms that were not contaminated at all and there were bottles of scented oils.  I only recognized eucalyptus.

The bottom floor was actually a bit easier to clear.  It was sectioned into four parts.  Each large room was mirrored on two sides.  In the center was some sort of reception area on a raised dais.  This was also where we found a narrow hallway that led to a single metal door.

Sure enough we found two huge diesel generators.  We also lucked out by finding ten fifty-gallon drums, a dolly, and a hand pump.

We all agreed not to turn these babies on until Roy gives them a good going over and we’ve cleaned the place out, gone through and shut everything off.  It would be bad if we powered up and a fire set off or something equally bad.

Snoe is leaving tomorrow with Jimmy Mitchell, Caren Pilgrim, Jacob Porter, Tracy Russell, and Cera Lee.  They will slip into Trout Creek and scavenge supplies.  You can never have enough guns, ammo, and medicine.  No matter what, they are to be back in five days.  We will have a radio relay team—Gene Tasker and Brad Johnson—who will set up in between our position here and Snoe’s team.  I hope that she can get in and out without too much zombie interference.  More importantly, no roaming bands of living lunatics.

Tuesday, July 29

More killing.  Men. Women.  Children.  After a while there is no difference.  Size, age, and sex make absolutely no distinction.  You either put them down…or you become one of them.  It isn’t safe to try and think of those things as having once been us.  I found this written on a scrap of paper:

They are empty shells.

Clawing.

Scratching.

Biting.

Eyes devoid of life.

Hunger never-ending.

Victimizing victims.

Fate’s losers, yet champions.

They are we.

We are meat.

Thursday, July 31

Snoe reached Trout Creek.  Reported that there was very little to scavenge.  But she and her team will scoop up what there is.  The good news is that she said the zombie population was even more sparse than Noxon.

Here at the complex—now being called Huckleberry Gulch—we are almost clear.  Tomorrow we will burn the bodies stacked up in the parking lot in a large clearing a few hundred yards away.  It is hot and dry, and at least for now, there is very little wind.  We debated our choices and decided that the fire will likely only attract the living.  We will be on high alert in case of marauders.  That central building we cleared with the windows facing all four sides gives us a distinct advantage over anybody who tries to approach.

We found a small backhoe in one of the buildings and already have begun digging a trench that is going to be about three-feet-wide and six-feet-deep (sorta the width of a grave).  We want it to run the entire perimeter of this place.  It will keep the stragglers out.  It will also help expose anybody living.  To reach this complex they will cross sixty to seventy yards of open terrain that we will burn off the same day we torch the corpse pile.   Then, they will have to jump or cross that trench in some manner.

Of course nothing is perfect.  Nothing is impermeable.  We’ll do what we must to make this place livable.  I’m already considering my next move.  Once this place is ready to inhabit...perhaps I’ll head north to that other complex and clear it.  I’ll need to get my adventures in now because in a few months...I’ll be too pregnant.

* * * * *

Friday, August 1

Huckleberry Gulch is open for new residents.  I will wait for Snoe’s team to return—she said they’ll be back tomorrow—and then we’ll have a vote to decide two things: first—do we send a two or three person team back to Irony with the announcement; second—if so, who?

Personally, the way things were when we left, if anybody goes back, my vote is Snoe and Derrick.  There is no way we can send one without the other.  Let them go back to the bullshit politics.

Don’t get me wrong here.  I miss the normal world and all the ease in which I lived.  I miss being able to walk around and not be on constant alert for my life.  But...I don’t miss what our world had become.  All the emphasis was on the wrong stuff.

In my lifetime, I think that the world has only been mostly in harmony one time.  It lasted about two days.  September 11th and 12th.  Then...it was gone.  We all went back to hating, killing, and being petty.  I think there was potential for greatness to come from that horrible tragedy.

Now, we’re trying to pick up all the pieces.  Only, if we use the same pieces and put them back in the same places...we’ll be no better off.  Maybe this is our last chance to get it right.

Saturday, August 2

Snoe is back.  They brought more guns, ammo, and a decent cache of non-perishables.  Also, there was some local mom-and-pop market fully stocked with soaps, shampoo, toothpaste...all kinds of good stuff.

We talked and I am shocked to say the least, neither Snoe nor Derrick wanted to go back.  It seems that their support of their respective factions is more duty based than anything.  Caren told Snoe about my plans to journey to a major city like Seattle—if it still exists—or, more likely, Portland.  She wants to do it!  I guess I may have to spill the beans about the upcoming natal event.  Those two were talking like we’d do that run in the next few weeks.

Of course...I could still make the trip now.  But we’d have to winter on the west side of the state most likely.  Something to ponder.

Troy and Jacob left this evening.  They said they prefer to travel at night.

Sunday, August 3

Told Snoe and Caren.  We talked it over in detail and will make the trip west in a couple of weeks.  We want to gear up.  Snoe says there were a handful of super-deluxe Winnebago RVs in Trout Creek.  With a little work, we could rig them up similar to the one Sam left his original complex in.  We decided to include Roy.

I’m relieved.  For a while I’ve felt like a bit of a freak with all my wanting to move around.  That was another big difference between Sam and I.  He wanted to settle.  He had this illusion that he could find a place that wasn’t confined.  It just isn’t gonna happen unless those things suddenly all fall down and stay.

For the next few days, we’ll help get this place cleaned up.  It is inhabitable now, but could use a bit of cleaning supplies in stock.  That should keep us busy for a bit.

Friday, August 8

Remember that insult to women and music known as Spice Girls?  I recall this big fuss over “Girl Power.”  Apparently “Girl Power” meant to dress like a whore and lip-sync on stage to over-processed garbage.  Well, what I saw today...that was real Girl Power.

Caren, Snoe, Cera, and I decided to take liberal advantage of some of the soaps, oils, and lotions brought back from Trout Creek.  We went to one of the many streams that are around and—after warning the men that any sounds in the brush would be treated as hostile or undead—we grabbed the cleaning stuff and a modest arsenal.

Each of us found a spot that included a sun-drenched rock for after and enjoyed a nice bath.  Not even twenty minutes in there is some rustling in the brush.  Cera hurled a rock and let loose a string of threats and profanity that were almost embarrassing.

The rustling stopped...for about five seconds.  Then, three hideously ravaged zombies stumbled out.  These three had been dead a long time.  One of them was all but hollowed out.  The spine and ribcage were intact and had enough around them to barely support the upper body.  Even so, it bobbed and wobbled like a hideous Jack-in-the-box on a worn spring.

The other two were equally horrid.  Cera was their closest target and all three lurched at her.  She is rolling in knee-deep water, fighting off these three things while Snoe, Caren, and I are fumbling for the nearest weapon.  In my mind, I was saying my goodbyes to Cera.  Spinning around with my crossbow, I turn in time to see Cera literally yank the head off of the Jack-in-the-box- zombie.  She snaps off a rib and jams it into the eye-socket of one that had been knocked to its knees at some point.

That left one.

It was clutching a handful of Cera’s hair, trying to take a bite out of the nape of her neck.  Cera snapped her head back, crushing the front of the thing’s face.  Of course, it could care less and continued to gnash its teeth in hopes that it would close them on a mouthful of warm, honey-gold, Asian-bred flesh.  With a snap of the fingers she had ducked under this thing, spun—which yanked out a handful of silky black hair—and, with the still gooey-tipped rib bone, skewered the final zombie from under the chin and deep up into the brain.

Nobody does it like Cera Lee.

Saturday, August 9

Snoe and I had a long talk today.  We talked about the potential value versus the absolute risk involved in making a big city run.  She wants to make this run count.

I’m not surprised to discover she has been formulating a plan for just this sort of venture for weeks.  She actually produced a notebook with pages of notes!

Her plan, which, unless I hear something remarkably better, is the one that will be used.  An all-woman recon team!  This has potential!  The participants will be me, Snoe, Caren, Cera, and from Irony—it seems Snoe had talks with a couple of others prior to joining me on this most recent run—Tara Jacoby, Brittany Maldanado, and a nurse named Penelope Sinclair.  Penelope is around forty with shoulder length brunette hair, brown eyes, and a Susan Sarandon sexiness.

Snoe wants to fit a pair of eighteen-wheelers with wedge-shaped plow blades in front; a machinegun turret atop the front and rear of the trailer of one.  The second rig will be a tanker to provide ample fuel for the trip.  The objective is to fill the trailer with supplies.  Whether we return to Irony is not exactly etched in stone.  Hell, it’s not even written in pencil.

Tomorrow, Snoe, and Caren will be leaving to scout for the vehicles.  Again, I am not surprised that Snoe knows the whereabouts of a couple of potential targets.  She says that the machinery to affix her modifications are more difficult to get at, but she knows where she needs to go.

Apparently she sent a coded message to Tara, Brittany and Penelope, with Roy. He’s decided he’d rather not make the trip. I was more relieved than surprised.

I asked how she managed to arrange for her message to be carried without being concerned that the word might get out at Irony, or that it would even be delivered.  She looked at me with absolutely no expression and said, “You’d be surprised what a little threat of physical harm coupled with a blowjob can get accomplished.”

Okay then.

We will meet at a specified location in about a week.  It seems that Snoe has everything else in hand as far as being prepared.  All Cera and I need to do is hang out here.  We’ll slip away two or three days before and that should give us plenty of time to get where we need to be.

I’ve avoided writing down where just in case somebody reads this and gets any ideas.  Not that we are prisoners of Irony.  Just that some folks might take issue with us leaving.  Also, we don’t want to bring anybody other than this core group.

Monday, August 18

We’ll leave tonight after dark.  It just seems better that way.  Snoe returned yesterday and we have a vehicle, a 40’ Country Coach with a 400hp Cat diesel engine.  The sides and rear have been reinforced and a series of three-inch studs were welded in place.  Fang-shaped blades were attached so that the vehicle looks like a prehistoric porcupine.  Forward and rear heavy machinegun mounts are in place on the roof.  There is a V-shaped plow blade in front rigged to a hydraulic motor so it can be raised if need be.  In addition we have a gas-tanker.  It has also been rigged for protection.  All the doors are welded shut.  The entry ways are through hatches made in the roof.  The RV is also rigged with an emergency escape/entry hatch in the floor.

Best we can figure, we’ll shoot for thirty miles max per day.  The two most important things we can do is find a safe haven before sunrise. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention if it can be helped.  Also, we will only travel at night.  Those two things should increase our chances.

Sometimes I think we all have a death wish.  Really…I mean…is it smart to travel TOWARDS populated areas?  Cera says we should consider ourselves pirates or mercenaries.

Tuesday, August 19

That thirty mile max will be a real challenge.  We rolled out late last night/early this morning.  Following Highway 200 to the south, we are just outside of Thompson Falls.  Traveling at night is really creepy.  We don’t use headlights.  Instead, Snoe managed to acquire night-vision goggles.  All of us are wearing headsets and can communicate.  I feel like a Special Forces member.  The gun-turrets are great lookout posts, and whoever mans them is always keeping the drivers updated. The drivers are wearing the goggles, too, but the view from above really is superior.

Mostly we’ve seen a straggler here or there.  Nothing like that herd we witnessed at the logging camp.  Still, every single zombie we passed turned and followed us.  They must be able to communicate or something because we pulled off the main road and up into some thick trees.

We dispatched with all the ones who were in sight and then retreated to our rigs.  About an hour later they started walking past.  We could see the road well enough and it was decided that we always keep somebody on watch.  I have drawn the first shift.

First it was one, then a couple, then a handful…then what was probably close to a hundred!  Most likely we will plow through them tomorrow night.  It is just not realistic to think we can take out every zombie we pass.  This does illustrate how vital it will be that we clear out every threat before we stop for the day. They do seem just as hampered by darkness as we are, so we’ve got that going for us at least.

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 pronounced.  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 mother lode.  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.

* * * * *

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.

Sunday, September 7

Crossed into Oregon just before sunrise.  We are in an extremely overgrown field atop a hill looking out over nothing.  We will be on I-84 first thing in the morning.

When the sun rose, we could see what had to be the town of Hermiston just to the east.  Something really bad happened because the area is completely leveled.  Burned to the ground.  Karen and Snoe slipped out for a while and came back to tell us that it is even worse than it looks from this distance.  But that it is cold which means it’s been that way for a long time.

Monday, September 8

Leaving the charred remains of Hermiston behind lifted a weight that I didn’t realize was hanging over me.  To see someplace so utterly destroyed was more upsetting than I realized.

We ran into our first real problem at about 3 a.m. this morning.  As we approached Boardman, our easy drive got nasty.  A big section of I-84 is just gone.  That meant we had to sort of go off-roading.  That slowed us way down as the RV and the tanker struggled in places.

Snoe would drive ahead in the Bradley and scout the best route, then we would follow.  It was like leapfrog without leaping.  The rest of us would wait for her to radio back.  That drew more attention than we’ve had in quite a while, not counting the city drive-thrus.  My shoulders ache from wielding the bat.

Dominique gave me and the others a bit of a scare.  We were all dispatching a group of twenty or so that were surrounding the RV.  For some reason, those things are more attracted to this vehicle than the others.  Anyways, we were on the roof, me and Dominique and Tara, acting as a distraction so that Cera and Brittany could move in from behind and take them out.  As usual, her fearless—bordering on reckless— attitude had her leaning down, poking this one middle-aged man still wearing the tattered remains of a set of coveralls in the face.  In a lunge that surprised all of us, it suddenly grabbed the baseball bat and yanked.

I was helpless.  I could only watch as she plunged head-first with a shriek.  She landed on top of Coveralls-Zombie and the two vanished into a cluster of three others.  Before I realized what I was doing, I stood up, yelling for Tara who was closest as I jumped off, hitting the ground in a crouch. I quickly dis-regarded our concern to be somewhat quiet and drew a Navy Colt .45 that I had on one hip.  I fired point blank at the back of the head of what had once been a ten- or eleven-year-old boy with a crew cut.

Dominique emerged from under Coveralls-Zombie.  I noticed something shiny sticking out of the side of its head.  Of course she was blood splattered and I just knew that my fears would be confirmed.

After dropping the remaining zombies, we got back into the RV and Penelope helped Dominique get cleaned up; that allowed her to visually inspect her.  Miracle of miracles, she was unharmed in any way!

She is sleeping now.  We are camped inside the relatively intact fence of some coal-based power plant.  Low clouds are rolling in promising rain, and a steady wind is blowing.  Every once in a while we go out and clear the area.  The zombie traffic, while sparse, is surprisingly steady.  We’ve been killing four or five an hour since we made camp.  Some have come from the water.

That is a bit disturbing.

Tuesday, September 9

Mortality seems to be a concept that Dominique now grasps.  She has been considerably more quiet today.  We rolled through Boardman, and from our best guess, we are now camped in what was one of humanities big jabs in the eye of Mother Nature…a waste management landfill.  Three-quarters of a year has done nothing to improve the look or smell of this blight.

You may wonder why we chose such a horrid place to camp when the whole of the countryside is at our disposal.  Simple.  It was the closest cover we could duck under when we heard the sounds of gunfire and a big black cloud of smoke snaked skyward from what Snoe says is a town across the river called Roosevelt. Here, I’ll let her tell you:

“A big pleasure boat was coming up the river.  I spotted it just as I pulled into this park on the river’s edge in Arlington.  The bad weather was making it even more difficult to see so I was looking for a camping spot a little later than normal because we had some extra time before it got really light.  I know the boat, or the people on it to be more precise, could not see me, so I was just watching to see what they might be about.  I’m pretty sure they never even saw the six-pack of rockets that slammed into their side.  That boat lit up the sky for a moment when it blew.  In that flash of light I am pretty sure I saw at least twenty vehicles of all types and sizes parked in some sort of fenced lot as well as a sizeable amount of people.

We are at a slight bend in the river, so this evening I will move along a ridge that gives me a good view and try to figure out if we should be concerned.  If they are just some sort of group of survivors, there is little chance we’ll need to be looking over our shoulders tonight when we move out.  I have no idea what the situation surrounding that boat is, and honestly I don’t care.  As long as we can continue on our way without the worry of being pursued by anything more than the walking dead…I’m fine.”

Wednesday, September 10

Early this morning, while we were cautiously escaping whatever is happening in Arlington, we picked up a fragmented, static-filled radio transmission.  I heard it.  So did Caren, Tara, and Brittany.  Each of us has a small, portable AM radio with a digital tuner.  When we ride in the turrets, we keep them on and let them just scan.  Until now, they just zoomed through the numbers on the dial.  Tonight, they all stopped at 730 on the readout.  I was able to make out only a few words.

Afraid I might miss something (the others apparently felt the same way) I didn’t do anything for several seconds after the static overwhelmed anything else being said.  Finally, convinced we’d lost whatever it was, I called for a halt.  We backtracked to where we were approximately when the message was heard.  We even found a ridge to drive up to off the main road and made camp for the night, but nothing else came through.

Snoe says if it was a radio signal, it bounced off the atmosphere so it is hard to gauge how powerful the transmission was because I guess even weak signals can travel far that way.

After talking about it we all agreed that we heard two things distinctly.  “Las Vegas” and “power”.

Friday, September 12

We stayed put for two days and never got another hint of anything.  I’m almost upset that Caren, Tara, and Brittany heard it.  Had I been the only one, I could simply write it off to being delusional.  Oh well.

Tonight, we moved within sight of what could be another test.  The Dalles.

This small town had more than 10,000 people in it when things were “normal”.  I think it is a good place to make a practice run on a supply grab.  There should be plenty of stores, shops, and residences that will provide us with a chance to work on getting in and out with whatever objective we decide on.

After a spirited and entertaining meeting of the minds, we decided on a rather unique set of targets.  Seeing as how it is September, we thought it would be nice to grab school supplies.  Paper, pens, books, the whole she-bang.  Dominique even wants to pick out her notebook.  The other part of our run is less glamorous, and it came about during a conversation that took place after we were sure the youngest adventurer was asleep.  Without a man, each of us would like to find a suitable “replacement” of the battery operated variety.  Also, liquor.  While it may seem selfish, and even a bit careless, we’ve decided that, while the world may be dead, we are very much alive.  After all, that is a part of why we left Irony…

To live.

Saturday, September 13

There are survivors in The Dalles.

Monday, September 15

Morning

We crossed The Dalles Bridge and are now entrenched in The Dalles Municipal Airport.  We can’t say exactly who is on whose side yet.  But, we do know that there are a few bands of survivors there, and we’ve seen them clash on occasions.  The undead are thick here.   I believe that is due to all the activity.  It keeps them agitated.

Snoe wanted to take US14 and just cruise the rest of the way to Portland on the Washington side of the Columbia River.  We voted.  She lost.  Everybody else is a bit excited about staying here for a couple of days.  After all, if The Dalles is this bad, Portland should be insane.

Evening

This afternoon we watched a group of five people drive a grain harvester, one of those great big combines with the rotating blades in front, down a huge grassy hill.  They were so intent on their objective that they never saw the two people who came running from what I had to assume was their hide out.

We all watched helplessly as the couple, probably trying to join up with the group in the combine, ran past the scattered zombies that had turned and walked heedlessly into the whirling blades that would scatter their remains in gore soaked bits and chunks.  The couple, a man and woman, were easily dodging the zombies as they closed in on apparent salvation.  Unfortunately the man stumbled, sprawling out of site in the tall grass.  Some of the zombies close to the couple changed course.  The woman dragged the man to his feet, but the couple had to run quick to avoid being caught.  They veered right into the path of the combine.

I don’t think the folks driving and riding in the huge machine even know what happened.  They reached the bottom of the hill and we lost sight of them as they ducked into what looks like an office complex of some sort.

Other than that, we heard gunfire a few times and just before sunset there was an explosion in a residential area just south and west of town.

Our airport terminal is easy to defend.  We’re up high so the stench-bags don’t notice us.  There are twenty or so around each of our vehicles making a fuss.  I guess they think we’re still inside.

Tuesday, September 16

A caravan of makeshift armored vehicles rumbled down I-84 just after 10 a.m.  They had the look of a band of pirates.  Large, black, skull-and-crossbones flags waved from poles and antennas to really complete the image.  Of course the flags were very redundant here.  When several of the vehicles have a collection of heads mounted on the bumpers and a few of the trucks had cages in their cargo area with living beings chained inside, it is clear that this is a group intent on living out some sick, twisted Road Warrior fantasy.

Thankfully they didn’t seem interested in The Dalles and methodically plowed through the undead welcoming committee that greeted them on the interstate.  Between road conditions and the walking corpses, their procession was forced to move at little faster than a walking pace.

Interesting item of note: none of the living factions in town made so much as a peep.  Obviously, whatever divisions exist, nobody wanted to deal with what looked to be a large, well-armed group of folks who most likely would act in as lethally a hostile manner to the living as they do the living dead.

Wednesday, September 17

Awoke this morning to screams that you instantly recognize as those belonging to somebody being eaten alive.  No matter how many times you hear it, nothing liquefies your spine like that sound.

I was the first to the window looking out towards The Dalles Bridge. I saw most of what happened.

Three women…well…two were barely girls by the looks, were running across the bridge.  None of them had so much as a stitch of clothing on them.  I was so intent on watching them that it was a few moments before I noticed the group of leather-clad men atop a lone railcar. They were having quite a time by the looks of it.  Slapping one another on the back, pointing and laughing it up as they watched.  When the second runner, the oldest of the three, was pulled backwards by the hair and vanished under a dozen or so zombies, I actually saw them exchanging what looked like bottles of booze.

They were betting!

The third and final runner, a girl of no more than twelve, decided to take her fate into her own hands.  By now, the others had joined me at the window and were involved in an argument about trying to rescue the doomed.  That’s what they were.  The young girl scrambled up onto the rail of the dull pink bridge and leaped.  While the height was not too dreadful, her landing was.  We watched and waited.  Finally, we spotted her, face down, drifting away with the current of the Columbia.

Still, it is what happened next that has us stationed so that we can watch all approaches.  It is what we all saw and none dispute the danger which is why we made a few trips to the vehicles to retrieve large amounts of ammo, grenades, and two of our tripod-mounted .50 cals.

The men looked seemingly right at us…then…they waved.

Thursday, September 18

This is no way to spend my birthday.  The big 3-0.  Not exactly living up to the dreams and expectations I had when I was growing up.

Although, if I wanted, I could be part of the ruling clan of The Dalles, Oregon.  It is unlikely that we would receive any resistance if we declared ourselves as such after today’s events.

It seems that the men we saw yesterday were the largest group in this town.  By best guess, they numbered about fifty.  I will hazard a guess and say that they saw us at some point and only saw a handful of women and girls.  I guess they didn’t see the firepower.

They came at us around noon today.  In pick-up trucks and flatbeds they came storming across the bridge.  We let them get across before we opened up.  Snoe and Brittany started things off with a quick volley of grenades that did most of our work for us.  Then, from the roof, Caren and I opened with the .50 cals.

It was actually quite anti-climatic.  I’m sure that these redneck buffoons felt they had easy prey waiting.  Snoe actually dragged a badly wounded survivor out of the wreckage.  She’s been down in the baggage claim terminal “questioning” her captive for a few hours now.  Every so often the screams are loud enough that we can hear them.

Outside, things have been quiet.  The zombies came in like crows after carrion to finish off anybody who may have still been technically alive after the brief engagement.  Then, they wandered off.  Some our way, others back across the bridge and into town.

There has been not so much as a single gunshot from outside since ours echoed in the cool fall air.  Perhaps the survivors are waiting for something from us after the vulgar display of firepower we put on.

Friday, September 19

All day yesterday, Snoe would come up and give us a briefing of news she managed to extract from her prisoner.  Early this morning, she determined that there was no more information to be had.  She apparently dragged the man outside and drove him to the bridge and shoved him out of the Hum-Vee.  I guess the guy could only crawl from what Cera told me when I woke up.  He barely made it ten feet.

My hunches about these guys being the “evil overlords” of the area were correct.  It also seems that they have a stronghold in some hotel in town.  Most of their entertainment comes in the form of women and girls they’ve snatched up either from passers-by, or other local clusters of survivors.

All but a handful of the gang were involved in yesterday’s attempt to storm our little location.  Snoe, Caren, and Cera are now on a recon mission.  It seems we’ll be liberating whoever is left before we continue our journey.  We are on radio silence until midnight when they will check in and decide if this is doable.

If we get the word, all of us are to pile into the Hum-Vee.  Since Snoe has already driven the Bradley over and hidden it someplace, we will be directed to a pick-up site.  From there…well. I’m sure Snoe will tell us what to do.

I don’t really know exactly what that guy said, but she has taken this mission a bit personal.  She’s not acting reckless, but she is definitely not acting normal right now.  I will keep an eye on her, but of course, at this moment, she is out there.  Among the living dead and the deadly living.

Sunday, September 21

Nothing went right.  Snoe radioed us early yesterday morning.  We did just as she’d instructed:  We piled into the Hum-Vee and drove up to someplace called Kelly Viewpoint.  She gave great directions.  The problems started when somebody went on the offensive…against us!

Gunfire from seemingly every direction came from the darkness.  Instinctively, I swerved and ended up slamming through the front of what had to be an absolutely gorgeous house before all this madness began.  We had to abandon the vehicle then and there.  Without night-vision goggles, it was a chilling sight to see hundreds of those damn things coming for us.  You could hear their ghastly moans and the occasional baby cry (which still chills my blood) from every direction.

With zombies coming en masse and fearing that whoever had opened fire on us was waiting to gun us down, we had to rely on hand-to-hand weaponry so we couldn’t be tracked by our gunfire.  Of course if they (whoever they were) had night-vision, we’d be screwed.  It seems they either didn’t, or, took off after we crashed.

In the confusion, we all got separated.  I ended up on the roof of a video store.  One-by-one, as each of us reached relative safety, we had to get Snoe to come for us.  Unfortunately, Dominique didn’t have a radio; Penelope’s broke, likely during the crash.

It took all day, seeking out places where zombies were congregating.  We did find some survivors of the City of The Dalles holed up in the city jail, but we were waved off.  I guess they were fine with their situation.  So, late yesterday afternoon as we were on the verge of giving up, Dominique came running out of a ranch-style house.

Just before sunset, we found Penelope.  Her entire left arm had been ripped away.  Even worse, something had fed on the right side of her face.  Most of the cheek as well as the right eye were blood-crusted, gaping holes.

Caren’s shot was clean.  Center of the forehead.

Monday, September 22

We keep getting a static heavy message.  All we can tell for sure is that it is a girl’s voice.  She is in Hood River, Oregon.  The part that doesn’t make sense is that she says she is “on the Broken Bridge”.  We have a couple of AAA maps and an atlas.  We can’t find any reference to Broken Bridge, or, if we are getting the message wrong, Broken Ridge.

We’ve looked for anything that rhymes and have nothing.  She sounds a bit frantic at times.  Other times, she sounds almost bored.  Her message repeats every hour at the top, give or take a few minutes.

Hood River is about half the size of The Dalles.  We will drive through slowly to see if anybody tries to get our attention.  Of course we have considered the possibility that it is a trick.

That is why we won’t be taking any of the exits unless somebody actually tries to contact us.

Tuesday, September 23

Her name is Jenifer.  She is fifteen.  I believe she and Dominique are going to be good friends.  In fact, it was Dominique who spotted her.

There is a bridge across the Columbia River to a town called White Salmon.  The center span of the bridge rises to allow river traffic.  Jenifer was stuck on the raised span.  We don’t have all of her story yet. Here is what we do know…

A few months ago, Jenifer gave up hiding in her home.  She had raided every neighbor’s house to stay fed.  (We asked about her family but she immediately stops talking when we try).  Deciding to try and find the person who’s blog she had been reading until power failed (Sam would have been proud) she went first to the Albertson’s that he used in his initial foray.  Sure enough, the groceries he left stacked were there.

She stayed a few days and came up with her plan. From the roof, she scanned for a pick-up truck. She saw one parked in a nearby apartment complex. There were plenty of zombies wandering, but, again remembering the blog, she came up with an idea. One street over was an abandoned police car. Hoping for the best, she tried the handle, it was open! She found the switch that activated the lights and siren. Still plenty of battery because the darkness and silence were shattered. Running along a fence, Jenifer stayed out of sight as she made her way to the truck. The parking lot was painted with apartment numbers. Going on blind faith, she went to the corresponding building and found the door with the matching number. With nothing more than a sharpened axe handle, she stormed into the residence which was occupied with an entire zombified family. She lured them out into the stair- well. They fell over each other trying to get at her, and of course a few stragglers came to investigate. Somehow, she got back upstairs and into the now empty apartment.

It took a few hours, but eventually, she found the keys. From one of the bedroom windows, she could see—and hear—the police car. By now, there were hundreds of those things surrounding her decoy. Even the few who had joined the evicted zombie family in pursuit of her seemed to have wandered off. She snuck out, jumped in the truck, adjusted the seat and started it up. The engine was relatively quiet and she slipped out and circled around back to the store. Climbing up and in, she managed to supply up. It took her the whole night and the next. By then, of course, the squad car had died. Deciding she could do with what she’d acquired, she headed out, following signs that led to I-84. Having never driven before, she drove very slow and still wrecked a few times.

Only driving at night, and staying on the main roads, she leapfrogged from place to place. Her main goal was to head east. She won’t say what—or more likely who—she was looking for.

At some point, she joined up with a small band of survivors headed the same way. It was while they were camping near Multnomah Falls—a journey that takes about an hour took six weeks or so—that a band of raiders arrived. Fortunately for Jenifer, she had been down by the water cleaning her clothes. She won’t say what she saw, only that the living people had done worse than what she had seen the zombies do.

From that point on, she’s been alone and on foot. About a week ago, she was out searching for food and saw a Pepsi truck up on the raised span of the Hood River Bridge. The climb up had been easy.

She picked up our radios in The Dalles and heard a lot of what happened. Hearing only female voices, she risked using her radio to call for help.

I have to say that for fifteen—today is actually her birthday—she is very pragmatic. I don’t know what she’s seen, but, like Dominique, for such a young girl to have braved this, seemingly alone for the most part, is amazing.

Of course she and Dominique are now fused, mouth-to-ear. They whisper and giggle. It is a strange sound in these extreme times. Pretty soon we’ll be wearing jammies, doing each other’s nails, and listening to Justin Timberlake...or whoever.

I wonder...

Wednesday, September 24

Today, Jenifer led us to her last hideout. I find it remarkable that somebody so young showed such an aptitude for survivalist skills. Today, we are at the Bonneville Dam. One of this place’s tourist draws are windows that you could look into the river and see the oft times gigantic steelhead swim past. In effect, this is a concrete bunker, easily defendable, with enough room for us all to stretch out.

Looking at the fish was therapeutic. That is until a few of those damned corpses wandered up. Well, wandered isn’t accurate. Drifted would be better. One of them actually wedged into a space between some big rocks and is now pawing at the thick glass panel.

Is it possible to look more dead?

Tomorrow we hope to make Multnomah Falls. That should be the last break we get before hitting the Portland Metro area. From there, I guess we’ll see if this was such a good idea.

Thursday, September 25

Another garbled radio message today. This time it was Snoe and Tara that heard it. Snoe was a few miles ahead scouting a good place to hole up for the day when she heard it. Tara was up top in the front gun-turret of the RV.

Again, the words “Las Vegas” were very distinctly heard. Jenifer says that before her group completely abandoned the Portland area, they heard similar broadcasts. Nobody wanted to undertake such a journey. Even using back roads, which pose the problem of road conditions, it seemed like a pointless journey. After all, what could there be in Las Vegas worth a trip so dangerous?

This afternoon, we are atop the cliffs of Larch Mountain, camped beside where the river falls 620 feet to the plunge pool below. Even now, the beauty is breathtaking. The burned out husk of the Multnomah Falls Visitor Center is the only remaining scar of humanity. There used to be a bridge that folks could cross in front of the falls and take pictures. I have no idea where it is, but it is very much gone. The most likely thing seems to be that somebody, or a group, blew this place up. Perhaps they climbed to the top and destroyed everything behind them. There is a lot of forest to vanish into. That is a tempting option for some. Maybe the day will come when I’ll wish I’d done the same...or...never left Irony.

Today is not that day.

Friday, September 26

It may take days or even weeks to get into Portland proper.  Here, on the outskirts, in Gresham, it is a nightmare of chaos.  There are definitely survivors, and it is clearly every man or woman for themselves.  We are no longer able to use I-84 as it is a jumble of wrecked, burned-out, and abandoned vehicles.

We are in a rundown area and have managed to secure what used to be a huge warehouse. There are dilapidated houses around, most are missing doors and/or windows. We hear gunfire from every direction, and in the distance almost constantly.  There are also the periodic screams. Jenifer usually stops whatever she’s doing at the time and seemingly ritualistically states “they got another one.”  She then returns to her interrupted task like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Today has been hectic, that much is true.

When we neared the outskirts of Gresham, we knew it was going to be more than a little crazy. At some point just before sunrise Snoe radioed back that we needed to halt.  She informed us that the interstate was no longer viable.  We were near an exit and gave her the number. Veering off, we immediately began encountering the undead.

They came from everywhere, drawn by the sound of our rumbling engines.  Within minutes they were thicker than I’d ever seen.  Crawling out from every shadow, they just kept coming.  Snoe came up from behind in the Bradley, and that is when we drew fire from various directions.  Cera probably never felt a thing.  That is what I tell myself when I remember the tanker rolling to a stop.  A few seconds later, it erupted in a fireball. She’d be pleased to know how many zombies she took with her.

We pushed on; bullets began ripping through the RV and that is when I yelled for everybody to get down.  Up top I heard Tara and Brittany open up with the machineguns.  That silenced whoever was shooting at us long enough for me to find the large warehouse building and blow through the ten-foot high fence.  Snoe was last through and we circled around to check out how secure the building was.

Most of the windows were mounted up above head-level.  There was a regular door at each end and roll-ups in the middle.  The perimeter fence looked to be intact with the exception of where we burst through.  That could be remedied by parking the RV sideways.  Of course it wouldn’t be perfect, but zombies aren’t particularly bright or graceful.  Logic says that enough of those things would mass up preventing anybody living from getting at it easily.  We would keep a watch as a precaution.

So far it is working.  The only thing we didn’t count on was how damned many of those things would mass up along the outside fence that surrounds this place.  I honestly have my doubts as to whether it will hold more than a day or so.  The one good bit of news is that shortly after we cleared the area and ducked inside, they—the zombies—seemed to settle down.  However, the moment one of us steps outside, it sets off a chain reaction.  They start to moan and hiss and mewl.  They begin clawing at the cyclone fence, causing it to undulate.  It takes about twenty minutes for them to settle.  Then we hear the baby-cry sound.  Right now, it is like being just outside the door of a hospital nursery.

Creepy.

Saturday, September 27

We’ll wait a bit longer before leaving.  A series of fairly large explosions shook the place today.  They were easily within a mile of where we are.  Two big, black clouds are rolling sky-wards just to the west of us.

We have been watching for an hour now as hundreds of the zombies on the outer edge that surrounds us are peeling off, wandering in the general direction of the explosions.

Now that we are actually here, we have to decide what we want.  We can see a hospital.  It looks pretty tore up, but it’s close and we have a seemingly clear path to retreat back.

The plan is for us to try just as first light hits in the morning.  Snoe, Caren, Tara, and I will make the run in the Bradley.  We will have Brittany, Jenifer, and Dominique load into the RV, move it back so we can drive out, then seal the entry again.  They have been told that under no circumstances are they to climb out and engage however many zombies may gain access while letting us out.

Right now, Snoe is swapping out all the batteries in each radio.  We have a diesel generator that we are using for power.  It is a bit noisy, but doesn’t seem to be drawing any more attention than we already have.  I’m actually a bit excited and anxious for tomorrow.

Sunday, September 28

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised how insane the world is.  I am on the roof of a four-story office building with Jenifer and Dominique.  About a block away I can see the rear of the Bradley jutting out of what is left of a small, one-story cottage-style residence.

I’ve heard bursts of gunfire from that direction off and on for about three hours.  About ten minutes ago, I heard a muffled single shot.  The smoldering remains of the RV is half in and half out of that warehouse lot.  I’m positive that I saw what was left of Brittany crawl out from under a rusted Pontiac Firebird.  I swear if I had a gun, or my crossbow, I would have put her down.

A light rain is falling, and tonight promises to be cold.  Somehow we have to find a way off this roof, but first…here’s what happened.

As planned, Snoe, Caren, Tara, and I loaded up on gear and after reminding Brittany, Jenifer, and Dominique to stay put in the RV unless a major emergency demanded: such as living raider-types, or we called for help on the radio and gave the codeword “Irony” (which would mean we weren’t taken prisoner and being forced to lure them out into a trap), we loaded into the Bradley and went after our first target: The Hospital.

We were turning onto the street that would take us to Gresham Trinity Hospital when a young boy no older than Jenifer darted out into the street right in front of us.  The boy was screaming and waving his arms when bullet holes just seemed to appear all over his body.

Snoe swerved to avoid hitting him and careened off an unidentifiable convertible that had burned and sat on the rims.  The Bradley blew through a wooden fence and into the front picture window dominated wall of a small house.  Somehow we ended up cocked at a bad angle and couldn’t back up and out.  With hundreds of those things closing in, and the ‘plink-plink’ of bullets glancing off the Bradley, we had no choice but to bail.

I’m positive somebody has been watching us since we arrived.  Perhaps they wanted the Bradley.  Or, maybe they wanted us.  But when we climbed out, we had to scatter.  This was far worse than The Dalles.  There were hundreds of zombies, but it was the barrage of gunfire that was a bigger concern.

Snoe yelled for everybody to run for the hospital.  That seemed the safest direction lacking both heavy zombie density and no gunfire coming from that way.  I dodged between some hedges and burst out into an empty yard.  I caught a flash above and to my right and felt a sting of pain on my neck from where the bullet struck a tree beside me, spraying bark and wood splinters.  With no time to think, I grabbed one of the five grenades from my belt pouch, pulled the pin, tossed it and took off.  I flipped up and over a fence and dove between two cars as the explosion sounded.  Not waiting to look if I’d even hit my target, I scrambled up and ran.

To the left I saw Caren in a hand-to-hand fight with a mob of undead.  Brittany had already tossed the rules out and her voice was frantic on the radio, asking us what was going on.  About that time, Caren vanished under the mob and I heard “the scream”, Snoe is on the radio yelling at Brittany to shut-up and I’m dodging bullets and zombies.

Halfway across the parking lot, several windows in the upper levels of the hospital erupt with more gunfire.  Obviously our target is occupied.

Veering away, I start warning everybody.  I had two choices: a non-descript, four-story, brick office building, or try to fight my way back to the warehouse.  The office building was closer.

Next thing I know, Snoe was telling Brittany to come get us.  I tried to warn her off.  All the gunfire would chew up the RV. Unfortunately I couldn’t get a word in.

Of course the RV got shot up trying to pull out.  With no tires, it wasn’t moving.  Before I could say or do anything, I heard Brittany yelling on the radio that she’s running for us.  By the time I could finally talk, there was nothing.  Nobody was responding.

I reached the building, but of course it was locked.  With a couple hundred of those damn things right on my heels, I did the only thing I could.  I shot out the nearest window and dove through.  The only good fortune I had was that the building was empty.  A few minutes later, I climbed up a hatch, and hauled myself onto the roof.

From my vantage point I spotted Jenifer and Dominique running through a series of backyards, climbing or jumping fences as they came to them.

That was when the big explosion came.  My best guess is that something caught fire in the RV. That’s where all the grenades were.

It took some doing since neither of them had a radio, but I got the girls’ attention.  They had to come from the back side of the building, but managed to break in.  I climbed down and met them on the second floor. With my last rounds, I shot our way back up the stairs in a building now swarming with zombies and got us back onto the roof where we currently sit.

I have four grenades and a bottle of water.  We are huddled together as night grows colder and darker.  I have no idea where we’ll go from here, or how we’ll get down.

Monday, September 29

The crowd below is thinning.  I’ve seen some movement in the area, mostly around the hospital.  Whoever was shooting at us is currently making runs to the warehouse we initially stayed at.  Not that they’ll find much.  Most of our useable, scavenge- able stuff was in the RV which is now nothing more than scattered chunks of charred debris.

I’m pretty sure I saw flashlights over by where the Bradley crashed last night.  Again, they won’t find much of use there.

I did give some thought to these survivors’ mindset last night while I was shivering and failing at all attempts to sleep.  We rolled into town in a reinforced RV with machinegun turrets, a gas tanker, and a Bradley.  They probably saw us as invaders.  When we bee-lined for what looks to be their hospital sanctuary, perhaps they acted solely on perceived self-defense.

Anyways, we are staying out of sight as best we can.  Periodically I check the crowd below.  They are steadily being drawn away by the survivors in the area who are picking over our stuff.

Hopefully tomorrow we can think about getting away.  I’m starving, and I know the girls are.  Their stomachs are making plenty of audible protests.

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 1

Jenifer, Dominique, and I are in a relatively nice two-story house at the end of a dead-end (no pun intended) street.  The dead wander around in packs outside, the lone straggler is practically non-existent.  We had to use two of my four grenades to get here, but at least we created enough of a diversion so that we got away from that building and to this house (which is only two-blocks away).

The girls seem relatively unfazed by all this.  I mean, they are sad that everybody is gone…but not shocked or surprised by it.  Is this the way of the New Generation?  Will death become so common-place that even when it is through violence, it is just simply accepted as “the way things are”?

We got in while it was still dark and found some canned goods in a pantry.  We’re eating sparingly because we don’t have any idea how long this will be our home.  Amongst the rotted food in the refrigerator we found a few bottles of water.  They have a nasty aftertaste, but at least we can quench our thirst.

It is strange watching the dead wander past.  Sometimes they wander up to the house, pawing at doors, slapping on windows, then drift away.  There are so many.  We still hear intermittent gunfire all around.  It seems strange that there are potentially so many possible survivors, yet they all remain isolated from each other, preferring small groups to large ones.

Thursday, October 2

I don’t think we can risk staying here much longer.  While the undead remain oblivious to our presence, I’ve noticed small “squads” of survivors poking around.  They are usually in groups of three, and are obviously looking for something…more likely someone…err…ones.

I don’t think Dominique or Jenifer have noticed. These squads are good at staying in the shadows and out of sight.  Also, I’ve noticed they move shortly after I hear gunfire from farther away.  To me, that indicates coordinated movement.  That would likely mean radio communication.  That leads me to wonder if they were listening in on us.

Oh well.  Can’t be helped now.

I want to take this time to make one thing clear.  I don’t regret leaving Irony.  That place was an illusion of living.  We were just as much prisoners as Sam was back in that old compound he came from. We just replaced fences with cliffs.

Sure, things went bad, but we at least tried.  We went out to see what is left.  I will continue to fight until the end.  And I will do it out in the world where I am truly free.  Just in the little time we were out here, I have some amazing memories.  And, you simply can’t put into words how peaceful and beautiful the sunrise is when you witness it and realize you may be the only human being for tens or even hundreds of miles in any direction doing so.

Friday, October 3

Evening

We found Snoe!

Saturday, October 4

We found Snoe yesterday and have been trying our best to keep her alive.  I don’t know how she avoided being bitten in her state.  She’s been shot up pretty bad.  It doesn’t help that she’s been crawling on her belly for the past week.  Her arms and legs are scraped raw.

We have washed her down, but to do that, we’ve had to sneak out a few times to nearby houses and rummage for alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and iodine…as well as rags that weren’t moldy.  That has been quite a task since the only weapon we’ve been able to scrounge up is a pitching wedge.

Naturally, Snoe still had a Beretta 9mm and a magazine with three rounds.  Of course we don’t dare use it for fear of bringing attention.

She is upstairs now.  Sleeping.  I don’t know if she’ll make it.  She has no idea where she is and who we are.

If it weren’t for Dominique, it is likely we would have never seen Snoe. Yesterday morning, Dominique and Jenifer were going window-to-window, looking for a house that would be the easiest to raid. Since the ones on either side of us have been gutted, doors kicked in, windows broken, we decided not to even bother.

All of a sudden Dominique starts hissing to get our attention. In the side yard of the house across the street we could see somebody dragging themselves under some bushes. Apparently Dominique had seen the then stranger plunge a big knife into the temple of a zombie that had wandered over and lunged down for what it probably figured—if zombies figure—was an easy meal.

I was skeptical. My guess was that whoever it was, they’d likely been bitten. So, we waited to see if a zombie emerged from the bushes. After the afternoon passed, we saw whoever it was—we couldn’t tell it was Snoe yet—move out to allow the rain to come down into their open mouth.

Of course now we were sure it was a living person who was hurt and in need of help. When we snuck over just after dark, I was stunned to find Snoe, bloody, bruised, and unconscious. We were able to tweeze out most of the pellets from a shotgun blast that shredded her left leg. Another wound was clean through right under the collarbone. Then there was the bullet hole without an exit wound just under the rib cage. I poked around and found the bullet was relatively close to the surface. When I dug it out, she sat bolt upright for a second.  Good thing we had her gagged because I’m sure that scream would’ve been loud.

I don’t know enough to tell if there is serious infection.  I am comforted in the fact that there was a piece of cloth coating the bullet.  I know enough from Discovery Channel to know that a fragment of cloth like that could have been bad if it was still in the wound.

All we can do now is wait.  Wait.  Hope.  Pray.

Sunday, October 5

Snoe isn’t seeming to improve.  We have made sure to get her awake enough to drink some water.  Jenifer found some instant oatmeal and we’ve managed to get some of that in her also.  Still, she’s just not doing well at all.

To make matters worse, something has the undead stirred up.  We’re seeing more activity than normal, and in larger clusters.  I watched a pack of them claw their way into a house that is kitty-corner to us.  The place is unoccupied, but for some reason, the walking meat-sacks decided to fixate on the place.  If that happens here, we are screwed.

We have to abandon this place for a more fortified location.  Tonight, I will slip out and try to find a vehicle.  That will be the easiest part of this whole thing.  If I do find one, can get it started, then get back here…we’ll have to load Snoe into it.  Likely we’ll have no shortage of zombies trying to take a bite out of us.  Then, there are the survivors in the area.

And me with only two grenades left.

Monday, October 7

We are now hiding out in one of those multiplex movie houses.  One really good thing about this place is that, except for the several glass doors at the entrance, this place is impenetrable.  At least by the dead.

I managed to find a school bus about three blocks away.  It makes me feel just a bit of satisfaction to know it belonged to the survivors holed up in that hospital.  When I found it, there were two guys inside.  I guess they were keeping guard.  One of them had a radio.

Anyways, when I spotted the bus, I didn’t figure I could do anything since all I have is a pitching wedge and a pair of grenades.  But, as luck would have it, the one with the radio came out while I was watching from behind a nearby car.  I heard him tell the guy inside that he was gonna clear the handful of zombies that had just begun to cluster around them.  That was when I noticed over twenty bodies littering the ground around the bus.  It was easy to figure that they’d been parked at that spot for a while.

Taking time to be as quiet as possible, I crept up on the guy as he was jabbing a long, slender iron spike into the temple of the last zombie.  Knowing I’d only get this one chance, I brought the wedge down on the back of this guy’s head as hard as I could.

In the movies, folks usually drop when such a shot is delivered.  I had to swing twice more and then dive for cover as the other guy in the bus came to a nearby window and began shooting at me.  I rolled under the bus figuring that I’d totally blown my chance.  That was when I saw the butt of a pistol jutting from the belt of the guy I’d brained.  Good thing he landed on his side or I’d have missed it.

I snatched the gun as the engine to the bus turned over.  As fast as I could, I rolled out the side opposite the driver and scurried up to the door.  The guy was looking away from me and never saw the bullet that blasted through the glass and caught him in the throat.

I forced the accordion-like doors open and stepped up as the guy fell almost right at me.  His foot came off the clutch and the bus lurched forward and stalled.  Unfortunately, I was only half in and got thrown across the concrete.

By now, I can hear the radio on the one guy squawking.  That actually helped my cause as the few zombies that had arrived went for him.  Lucky for him he never woke up as they began tearing into his body with their filthy hands.  I staggered to my feet and limped to where the bus had rolled to a stop.

The guy inside was still gasping, his hands trying desperately to hold the blood in that poured from the hole in his throat.  I couldn’t just toss him out the door to be eaten alive, so I dragged him out, then shot him in the head.

I got back to the house.  Sure enough, I now had a bunch of those things following.  Credit Jenifer with really being on the ball.  When she heard the bus rumble up to the house, she and Dominique were already carrying Snoe down the stairs when I burst in the door.

I had stacked what little food there was by the door.  It only took one trip and we were loaded.  When I saw the theater, I knew it was our best chance.  I pulled us up so that the bus was almost touching the bank of entry doors.  Then, I shattered the pane of the ticket booth window on the side that the nose of the bus was up against.

It wasn’t easy getting Snoe across the hood and eventually in, but we managed.  Of course the dead are about forty deep now, but we’ve been able to retreat to a spot where they can’t see us. We can watch in case the occasional zombie manages to stumble in.  It was unfortunate that I had to kick the door in that led to the lobby from the ticket area, but it couldn’t be helped.

So far none have managed to gain the hood of the bus, but we have to be sure.  Hopefully the crowd will disperse over the next few days.  We did find a good amount of bottled water.

Oh yeah.  And a sickening amount of stale candy.

Tuesday, October 8

The crowd has grown.  This is not boding well.  We’ve stayed out of sight, only taking peeks from the shadows.  Yet, they remain out there in alarmingly large numbers. We can gain access to the bus if we bail out of here by breaking the glass doors out front.  Unfortunately, Snoe has shown little improvement.

Jenifer and Dominique have been uncharacteristically quiet.  Of course the rippling wave of moans, cries, and groans are non-stop and more than a little unnerving.  I’ve never seen such a huge concentration of those things before.  I went back in Sam’s journal; I guess this was what he was talking about when he described the multitudes that had surrounded the compound.

I wonder how those folks are fairing.

Thursday, October 9

Awoke to find Snoe sitting up, propped against a wall!  She’s not quite ready to bust out of here, but it was nice to hear her complain about everything we lost.  As an added bonus, she wants to make a run back there!  She thinks that if we come late at night and have something to hook to the Bradley, we could pull it free provided it is still where we left it.

The girls were totally elated to see Snoe awake.  Dominique really looks up to her and I think Jenifer was just glad that another person she knows didn’t die yet.

Snoe gave them a work-out program and now they’re both in one of the theatres exercising. Anything to get them to burn off some of that chocolate they’ve been gorging on.

Even though she says she is feeling much better, I am concerned.  She’s lost a lot of blood. And we had no blood to give her, so it is up to her body to re-strengthen itself.  Even taking that into account…she looks awful.  I am trying not to stare too long, but Snoe is no dummy. She probably knows everything I am thinking and feeling by reading my face.  I’ve never been a good poker player.

All I can to do is watch.  And wait.

Friday, October 10

WHY WON’T THEY LEAVE?!?  The dead seem to be growing in number, not shrinking.  The crowd fills the parking lot and flows out into the four-lane road that passes out front.

I am not convinced that, even if we can get into the bus safely (they are smashed in so close that there are several under the bus now and pressed against the glass doors) we can get out of here.  We’d have to be able to plow through what now looks like thousands of those things.

At best we have a few days to figure this out because we only have a few bottles of water left.  We checked the bathrooms and for some reason the toilets are dry.  Whatever we’re going to do we’ll need to decide.  I won’t just sit here and die slowly.  I’ll either escape and move on…or I’ll die trying.

Saturday, October 11

I woke up and Jenifer and Dominique are gone!  Snoe and I didn’t hear a thing.  The bus hasn’t budged.  There is no broken glass.  They’re just simply gone.

At first we just assumed that they were in one of the theaters exercising or goofing off.  More and more those two have reverted back to teenage girls.  By that I mean independent, giggly, moody, and so obscenely certain that they know it all that you spend nine out of every ten minutes around them resisting the urge to, as Snoe puts it so eloquently, “put a boot in their ass.”

We can’t imagine either how or why they left.  Much less that they said nothing.  I mean, did they hear Snoe and me last night discussing the direness of our situation and how strapped for necessities we are?  And if so, why would they just take off?

For the first time, I am questioning my decision to leave.  Not because of the danger I or Snoe find ourselves in.  Not even because of the losses we’ve suffered in losing Caren, Tara, and the others.  No, it is the sadness I feel when I consider the futures—or lack thereof—for the likes of Jenifer and Dominique.  Back in Irony, you could at least pretend that things are somewhat normal.

Monday, October 13

The girls are back!  I feel like an idiot!  It never occurred to us that they would sneak out a back door.  Apparently they were doing a lot more than exercising in those theaters.  They checked each exit and found one that empties out to the rear of this multiplex to a far off corner of the parking lot.  A part not swarming with zombies.

They said they would’ve been back yesterday but a handful of survivors were poking in and out of some nearby buildings taking advantage of the fact that most of the mob seem focused on the front of the multiplex.  They hid out in the garage of a nearby car dealership.

Of course they had two full backpacks—not the school type, but the outdoor variety—full of canned food and water.  Snoe was impressed since those packs had to weigh at least fifty pounds.  Jenifer said that they brought one pack to the door late last night, left it and then fetched the second.  Still, a very impressive piece of work.

As for the door, when Snoe began to get angry about how they left us vulnerable, Jenifer actually laughed at her.  It seems that the doors are flat and flush on the outside.  They used a piece of cloth to keep the latch from locking, then, used a stick to slide under the slight gap at the bottom and as one pulled the door slowly, the other waited for enough of an opening to grab the door and pull it open.

This afternoon we feasted on canned beef stew and room temperature water.  It was fantastic!

Tuesday, October 14

Morning

We’ve got problems.  Snoe isn’t getting any better and the pressure against the front doors is becoming too much.  There was a pop early this morning that woke us all.

Snoe says we should run for it, but I just can’t leave her unless the doors actually break.  We’ve moved into the theater that the girls slipped out of earlier.

Just moving Snoe the twenty or so feet we had to go caused her to pass out.  I’m no doctor, but I’m starting to think maybe there is some serious internal damage, and, judging by her sickly color, some form of infection.  Plus, and I’d never tell her this, she smells bad.  Her breath is toxic and there is this funk.  Now, I’ve checked her from head-to-toe for anything that looked bitey and she is clean.  I just think she’s suffering from no clean environment in which to recover in.

Evening

They’re in! We have piled as much as we can at the door.  It won’t hold.  I’m giving this to Jenifer and sending her and Dominique ahead.  There has to be a way to help Snoe.

I hope the baby inside me will forgive me, but I can’t leave her.  I can’t let Snoe just lie there helpless without trying.  Last night, I sat down and drew out a map to where the warehouse complex is that Sam stayed in those first days.  I’ve told the girls to take this journal and make it to that location.  If it is safe, they are to stay there or in the vicinity (we have a symbol that will be a code they can leave in obvious and visible locations as a signal) until they are certain we won’t be showing up.

Wish us luck.

Zomblog II

Introduction by: Tony Monchinski

To Ronni Gregg,
my daughter, my first-born, and my princess

An Introduction by Tony Monchinski

Author of Eden and Eden 2: Crusade

If we can safely claim that there’s never a good moment for a zombie apocalypse, we can equally safely say that, in so many ways, Zomblog II couldn’t have come at a better time. An explosion of interest in zombies in popular culture, changes in the publishing industry, and a seemingly unquenchable thirst for horror and good stories sets our stage. Let’s face it: vampires have been growing soft and effete for the last two decades. Their undead cousin, the zombie, has waited patiently in the back-ground, rotting slowly and biding its time, the great untapped natural horror resource of a troubled psyche.

Defying expectations, the popularity of the cannibalistic corpse continues to rise, much like the ghouls themselves. Zombies won’t go away and their expressions are multiplying exponentially. In literature (J.L. Bourne’s Day by Day Armageddon books; Kim Paffenroth’s Down the Road series) and  film (Romero’s Survival of the Dead; France’s The Horde or The Dead, set in Africa); on television (AMC’s adaptation of Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead; the British series Dead Set) and on gaming consoles (Capcom’s Dead Rising and Resident Evil franchises); the subject of  lampoon (Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice and Zombies with an assist from Seth Grahame-Smith; Lewis Carroll’s collaboration with Nickolas Cook, Alice in Zombieland) and philosophy (Kenemore’s The Zen of Zombie; Greene and Mohammad’s Undead and Philosophy: Chicken Soup for the Soulless); from guides offering advice to dealing with and dispatching the undead (Brooks’ The Zombie Survival Guide; Zombies for Zombies, whose author, David Murphy, promises—in its subtitle—Advice and Etiquette for the Living Dead) to poetry in general (A.P. Fuchs’ Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes) to haiku in particular (Mecum’s Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your…Brains) …whew! You get the idea. A veritable smorgasbord of zombies exists for those of us who can’t get enough of our favorite undead foils.

The market for zombie literature in the early twenty-first century reminds me of what I imagine the pulp fiction market in the middle of the last century must have been like. A lot of “zombie books” are coming out. Some of them are good but, let’s face it, some of them are not. Zomblog II is one of the better ones. There are characters you will care about. The novel begins with Jenifer, a teen protagonist and continues with a pregnant young lady, Meredith—not your typical heroine. The novel’s characters do not lose their sense of humor amidst the horror and cruelty surrounding them. Zomblog II posits what, for my money, makes novels featuring zombies interesting, and that has nothing to do with the undead. “If the living people worked against the dead people,” one character remarks, “I bet we’d be doing lots better.” Indeed. Todd Brown takes a well-defined genre and puts his own spin on things: there are zombie-bite victims who don’t turn; zombies, like dogs, can sense an earthquake before it hits. Speaking of dogs, we learn that man’s best friend hates the undead as much as we do.

All writers have limitations. I, for one, often wonder how writers I enjoy manage to pull off the first-person point of view. The problem with this perspective, from my perspective, is it lends itself to exposition and information dumps, to excessive telling and not enough showing, ever threatening to derail a storyline. I’m further wary of journal or diary-type tales, which are necessarily written looking backwards on a day’s events, recounting what has happened. And yet, so many authors I enjoy pull it off and pull it off well, from Andrew Vachss’ Burke books to Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter series, from Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse novels to J.L. Bourne’s anonymous naval officer in his two Day by Day tomes. Add Todd Brown and the first two installments of his Zomblog series to this short list.

But Zomblog II represents more than a solid, entertaining novel that will please zombie fanatics. Zomblog II is an imprint of MayDecember Publications, Todd Brown’s own independent press. The landscape in which the publishing industry does its thing is changing as I write and you read. The traditional publishing houses are hemorrhaging and contracting. As I write, Barnes & Noble is looking for a buyer and Borders appears to be on the ropes. I read that fifty thousand is the new one hundred thousand when it comes to advances (err, okay; I know nothing of this first hand). As if it isn’t hard enough writing a book, the difficulty of getting your book published with an established house can drive you batty and leave you questioning your worth as an artist. Book publishing is not and has never been a meritocracy, though those of us who get published like to kid ourselves otherwise. The stories are legion: Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time got the thumbs down from twenty-six publishers before it saw the light of day and over seventy printings; when David Lassman submitted selections from Jane Austin’s classic corpus to eighteen major players in the publishing industry, he received rejection letters and only one nod to what he was up to. And these are the “classics” we’re talking about here—not the red-headed step children of the publishing industry that our beloved zombie novels have been relegated to. Today, it’s still not enough to have talent; nor is it enough to write a good book that people are going to want to read.

Yet the audience for our dear undead is there, as seemingly insatiable as the rotting antagonists of their preferred subject matter. Cue the independent presses, like Permuted, Library of the Living Dead, and May December Publications, which are providing us undead junkies our fix. Don’t think Manhattan hasn’t noticed. In 2008, Simon & Schuster entered a deal with Permuted to jointly re-issue select Permuted titles as mass market paperbacks. But the original, bold and innovative voices in our genre are rising up through the independent presses and print-on-demand publishing and will continue to do so for some time. May December Publications gives voice to these previously voiceless, in works such as the anthology Eye Witness and the novels Dead: The Ugly Beginning and Zomblog II.

We like to be scared. We like to be frightened when we know we are ultimately safe. Hence our love of roller coasters and Halloween haunted houses. Horror movies and books, when done right, fulfill this same desire. The zombie is uniquely situated to scare us. Zombies are not charming; they’re not sexy. Zombies are not potential romantic interests, unless necrophilia is your thing. They rarely glitter (unless radioactive) and they’re never vegans. The undead are rotting, ever-hungry, and usually not too swift. A side of beef in your supermarkets’ butcher case has more smarts than the typical zombie.

When Todd Brown emailed for the first time a couple of years ago, complimenting me on a zombie-themed action-horror novel I’d written, I didn’t know him from Adam. When he asked me to write a blurb for the first Zomblog, I was honored. When he asked me to contribute a short story to Eye Witness: Zombie, I was honored again. When I read Eye Witness: Zombie and some of the stories in it—like Ron Harris’ Baby Killer, which is exactly what it sounds like—I thought to myself, what kind of a deranged son of a bitch could be dedicating himself to this form of fiction? I figured May December Publications referred to an age disparity between Todd and his wife; later I found out those are the months three of his kids were born. Todd Brown is a good man and a solid writer; May December Publications is an upstart new house delivering the proverbial goods; and Zomblog II, rest assured, will not disappoint!

Tony Monchinski

Peekskill, NY

Halloween, 2010

Thursday, October 30

My name is Jenifer and now I have this stupid journal.  It has been almost two weeks since Meredith shoved this in my hands and told Dominique and I to run.  We haven’t gotten very far.

We are in a bar called Buxom. I’m not old enough to have actually been in a bar before the zombie thing happened… but I’m pretty sure this was a nudie place.  There are no windows, but there were two skylight thingies.  We had to scrape black paint off ‘em, but I’ll get to that later.

I finally read all the stuff that guy Sam wrote.  It was kinda sad, but I guess it’s that way for everybody.  I sure didn’t know about all that bad stuff that happened to Meredith either.  The part I think is totally stupid is that they had that place, Irony.  Why would they just leave? And that place Sam was at…it sounded okay, too.  The closest I’ve had to anything like that was the movie theater; and now this place.

It is early in the morning and Dom is still asleep.  When she gets up, we’ll do what we’ve done every day since the day we left Snoe and Meredith behind.  We’ll sneak up onto the roof and keep watch.  We have gone through half of the pack of food, and I’m not moving until we have to.  Those creepy zombies are all over.  So far, we haven’t seen a single living person…but sometimes we hear guns.

Dom’s up!

* * * * *

Another day wasted up on the roof.  In fact, today, we didn’t hear a single gunshot.  Now there’s something I never thought I would say.  It’s not that I’m used to how things are, it’s just that since everything is so far away from normal, there are crazy things that now fit into everyday life.

While my folks would have never admitted it, I bet they wouldn’t be too surprised I ended up in a nudie bar.  Only, not quite how anybody could’ve expected.

Dom and I found this place on the run.  As it turns out, it was a good choice.  There is only the main entrance to worry about, and the lock on the door was easy.  Snoe showed me how to pick a lock a few weeks ago, which I still think is totally cool.

I miss her.  Meredith, too. And I hate that now I have to take care of Dominique.  Not that I think she needs taking care of.  She lived fine all by herself for a long time.  Only, well, I feel responsible.  If this is how Meredith and the others felt about me, I feel kinda bad for some of the stuff I’ve done.

Anywho, that first day here, we actually ran for this building because it was just this ugly stone square.  There were no obvious windows, and only the one door we could see, which was metal.  It looked safe.  We got in easy enough, and Dom held the door open while I checked for any zombies in the entry.  Nothing came at us, and it only smelled funky.  None of that stinky zombie smell.

There were lots of those things coming for us by now.  I held a flashlight, and Dom came in and grabbed a nearby table.  The entry was small and two tables slid in side-by-side worked perfect as a wedge between the door and the wall of the entry hall.  The door didn’t open even a smidge as they pounded on it.

It took us a while to search the place.  It was empty, which was good.  There wasn’t one single thing we could use though, and that was bad.  After double and quadruple checking the place, we turned off the flashlights.  Then…we fell asleep.  When we woke up, Dom noticed the pinpricks in the ceiling.  That is how we discovered the skylights.

I found a small step-ladder in a closet full of gross, moldy mops and we put it on a table.  While we took turns scraping off the black paint, we sang songs.  Dom knows the words to like every Beyoncé song.

I decided to break out one of the sections so we could go out on the roof.  This place had a bunch of dark curtains in a back room with a long counter that had the biggest mirror I’ve ever seen.  Dom had a great idea.  There is a bunch of bleach in the cleaning closet, so we poured it in the pattern of the signal that Meredith told us to use.  The first night, we climbed up to the roof and hung the curtains over the sides of the building.

It’s not like zombies can read.

Friday, October 31

Spent an absolutely boring day on the roof.  It took us until after lunch to realize just how totally quiet it was.  I know there are groups of people around.  It was a pretty big group that screwed this whole trip up in the first place.  I can see the top floors of the hospital that Meredith thought they were using, or at least claiming, as their own property.

I wish somebody could tell me why everybody is so stupid!  If the living people worked against the dead people…I bet we’d be doing lots better.

Dom and I just watched zombies wander around all day.  Our favorite was this super fat lady pushing a grocery store cart down the middle of the road.  Dom whispered in this sorta weird voice that sounded drunk more than dead—although who am I to tell her that zombies don’t talk like in some of the really dumb movies—“I want two sides of thighs with my manburger…and a Diet Coke.”  We started giggling so much, I was sure those things would hear us…but they didn’t.

One good thing.  I found a big jar of those cherries on a shelf in the back.  You know the kind, the fake ones they put in drinks.  They didn’t smell bad or nothing.  When we went down for our dinner, I asked Dom what she would have been for Halloween.  She said anything but a zombie.  We laughed some more; which is something I have realized that the so-called adults didn’t do very often.  I made Dom say “Trick or Treat!”  then I pulled out the jar.  After sniffing a bunch of the bottles, we decided to try this stuff called Amaretto.

Saturday, November 1

I’m never gonna drink again.

Sunday, November 2

I still feel terrible.  And even after using a half a tube of toothpaste, I still taste that icky, nasty, fake-cherry and amaretto-vomit taste.  I brush and brush but, like ten minutes later, it’s back.  It reminds me of when my family and I would go to the beach.  Two weeks later I’d still be finding sand in strange places.

Gunshots!  Close!

Monday, November 3

Snoe didn’t make it. But it is nice to see that the girls have fared well.  Mostly.  It’s been a rough couple of weeks since I sent Jenifer and Dominique out that back door.  I didn’t think I’d ever see them again.

So, here’s what happened:

The lobby filled with those things, and they didn’t take long to stack up outside the door to our theater.  I tried several times to move Snoe, but she couldn’t walk at all, and I just wasn’t strong enough to carry her.  It is one of the few times I cursed being a woman.

The doors started giving, and I remember crying and begging Snoe to please get up.  Finally, she waved me close and whispered, “Run!” I told her I wouldn’t leave her.  She managed to open her eyes just a bit, and I could see that fire that made her so strong still burning bright.  She placed her hand on my stomach and said, “Name the baby after me.  Now give me a gun and get your skinny ass outta here!”

I’ve never cried so much.  I don’t know what happened.  It felt like every single sad thing that has ever occurred to me just poured out at once.  I handed her a pistol, made sure it had one in the chamber, and that the safety was off. (I still can’t remember ever hearing it fire.)

By now, the smell was overpowering.  I looked up and saw that the door was opening.  Heads and hands were poking through.  I kissed her on the forehead and then…God, forgive me…I left.

The girls had only been gone a few hours, so I hoped I would be able to catch them.  Only, it seemed that they had drawn some attention.  When you are alone and those things are everywhere, it is a bit hairy.  Some I could shove away, others I had no choice but to spear.  I don’t think Snoe realized that I gave her the only other gun.  Had she known, I’m sure she would’ve asked me to shoot her, and I know I would not have been able to do that.  Shooting a zombie is one thing.  Shooting a living person who you care for…totally not the same; I don’t care what the situation is.

Anyways, I was out in the open with a makeshift spear and nothing but a knapsack with very meager supplies to rely on.  Eventually, I had to stop trying to guess which way the girls went.  The only thing I could do was run.

The good news was that residential areas were close.  I knew that a house was not a long term situation, but I had to get off the street.  I had to climb or vault over a lot of fences.  I’m sure glad I’m not much further along in this whole pregnancy thing.  Still, after about twenty or thirty minutes of running, jabbing, climbing, jabbing, vaulting, and more jabbing, I managed to break clear.  This allowed me to scout out a place to hole up in.

I chose an older two-story with a front porch that sat a good four feet off the ground.  There was only one set of steps, and they were wood.  Seeing how I was by myself, and not a single zombie was in sight, I had an idea and enough time to implement it.

Fortunately, the stairs were already in bad shape.  On the side of the house was a decent supply of firewood.  I grabbed a sturdy piece and, with surprising ease, knocked out the side supports.  Very pleased with myself, I demolished the little five step access and tossed the pieces into the grassy side yard.

There were bushy pine trees at each end of the porch.  I’d already noticed an upstairs window that was broken, so, after ensuring that the front door was firmly locked, I peeked through the surprisingly intact living room window.  I was modestly confident that the place was empty.  Up I climbed.

I found my first surprise just inside the window.  A body was plastered in place just underneath the windowsill. Whoever this guy was, he had deep-throated a double-barrel shotgun and pulled both triggers. I guess weather and time helped clean up some of the mess.

This poor fella knew what was happening.  There was a bite on one arm.  Not too bad, but obviously this guy wasn’t gonna wait to turn.  Only…I wonder. We’ve met a few bite victims who haven’t.

Oh well.

The other surprise was good, his box of shells were still on a table a few feet away.  The box was in fairly good shape, so I guessed that the contents would be good, too.

I did a walk-through, and it is obvious the residents were going to try and hide out here.  Lots of stuff was in place to board up the downstairs.  Somewhere along the way, it went wrong.  There are a woman and three children—two boys and a girl—wrapped up in one of the three upstairs bedrooms.

Seeing this made me remember what I’d read in Sam’s journal about his wife Erin and daughter Elizabeth.  Only, this guy got nipped and cashed in.  I dragged the body in with the other three.  I have to admit I got a little queasy when I grabbed his feet and pulled.  The sound he made tearing free will stay with me for a while.

For the most part the place was secure.  I decided against doing a bunch of banging and hammering.  This place has been empty long enough that I didn’t feel the need to make changes.  I used the master bedroom as my home.  I even had a bathroom.  Sure there was no plumbing or running water, but a bucket beats a bush.

The first night, I didn’t sleep.  I still had the whole hypersensitive-hearing thing going on.  By the second day I took catnaps all day.  I peeked out the windows a lot the first couple of days.  It was so strange to see absolutely nothing.  In fact, not a single zombie the first three days.

I could hear gunshots every once in a while.  One night I heard the distinct sound of an engine.  I couldn’t tell which direction it had come from, or which way it went, but it is still so strange for the world to be this quiet.

After almost a week, I was rested.  But, I was also restless.  I began slipping out in the early morning, going to surrounding houses and searching for anything useful.  I’ll say this, we—and by “we” I mean most Americans—have a lot of crap.  The things I saw in some of those houses was simply mind-boggling.

Unfortunately, the nature of what’s happened seems to have made guns disappear. It looks like everybody who ran made sure that they took every single weapon they owned. Those who tried to wait it out in their homes used every last bullet. Over half made the choice to save one for themselves at the end.

A few houses had nasty surprises waiting inside. I wonder, if I’d never come along, would those things just stand for eternity until they rotted away. Though I must say that while they show definite signs of rot, they aren’t coming apart or drying up into mummy-type husks. Their blood has the consistency of dark molasses. I wonder if there are labs full of scientists trying to figure these things out.

Anyways, it was early one morning while I was rummaging through a bedroom on the second floor of what had once been a very posh residence that I happened to glance out the window. Through some near leafless trees I could see 148th Avenue. A black curtain hanging from the roof of a non-descript building had our symbol.

The girls, I thought. If nothing else, I knew they’d been there. The next few days, I “leapfrogged” from house to house until I’d gotten as close as I could. Then I spent a day just watching the amount of zombie traffic. By then, I could see them. Jenifer and Dominique would come out on the roof every day. Only, I didn’t want to risk making any noise that would bring the hordes, or try anything visual that somebody else might catch. I think my general distrust of strangers is now fully justified.

My last dash wasn’t too perilous. Fortune decided to give me a break. Just as the pre-dawn sky yielded enough light to see a dozen or so feet, what looked like a tricked-out armored bank truck came rumbling along a nearby cross-street. Sure enough…it drew plenty of attention. I waited an extra half an hour which made it a little brighter—even in the overcast dawn—than I’d have liked. The couple of stragglers I encountered I was able to spike, which kept a crowd from gathering at this former strip club.

The girls look no worse for the wear. Except…both are obviously a little green around the edges. I found the empty amaretto bottles. If both of those were full…well… it’s a wonder that they didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. I’m gonna let this one go. From the looks and general attitudes, I doubt either one will be tipping a bottle again anytime soon.

Tuesday, November 4

This neighborhood is hotter than I’d feared. All day there has been a vicious firefight to the south and east of us.

At first, I thought maybe it was a group doing battle with a horde.  Then, an armor-plated van sped by a few blocks over.   It was being chased by a sedan-from-hell with a machinegun mounted on top running on full-auto trying to bring down that van. A few moments later, there was an explosion, but I never saw either vehicle come back.

Even having pulled down those curtains that the girls had hung…I feel really vulnerable here. We need to bounce on outta this place.

Soon.

Wednesday, November 5

I made a decision today and must live with it. What’s done is done.  I realize that right this moment; more so than ever before. I may have made a choice today that will haunt me for the rest of my life, however long or short that turns out to be.

This morning, Dominique woke me and said “some guy was sneakin’ around in the lot next to us.”  I had no idea what sort of business that place had been since it was mostly burned down and really nothing more than a black, charred husk.

I decided this warranted bringing my shotgun. I jacked one into the chamber and went up to take a look. Staying low, I saw him before he saw me. He was probably in his early forties, streaks of gray sliced through his thick brown hair…he was definitely showing the signs of being without food for a while.

There were already a handful of downed zombies scattered around him. He had a pair of pistols on his hips and a bandolier of bullets outside his buttoned-up, long, black leather duster. He was a whirling dervish of steel as he spun blades with abandon in both hands. Occasionally he would dart one direction or the other and plunge a blade into the head of the nearest zombie.

The problem was that he’d managed to get himself surrounded. Every one of those things he dropped was being replaced by three more. Still, he’d managed to fight his way up to the chain link fence that separated our lot from his. Up to this point, our lot was still relatively empty. A couple of well-placed shots could give him time to get freed up enough to scale the fence and make it to the Dumpster that would offer him access to our roof.

Our roof.

Funny thought that. Considering the fact that I’m so busy planning our departure. But all the issues I’ve dealt with in regards to strangers kept me from acting in any way that would help this guy. Even worse, I was considering putting a load of buckshot in him if he managed to make it over the fence.

He saw me in the end. His eyes found mine just as about a dozen of those things got solid grips on him. Those eyes had the most sincere look of “why?” in them. He screamed something that sounded like “Please!” as he was torn into at least four different parts. I didn’t even put one in his head to end it.

My only initial regret? Not being able to get to his weapons. A few hours ago I started to cry…and haven’t really been able to stop. Damned hormones!

Thursday, November 6

An earthquake! A goddamned earthquake! Isn’t it bad enough that the dead are walking? I mean seriously! If there is some sort of divine being—a creator—don’t you think he/she/it would grow tired of fucking with us!

Early this afternoon, the girls and I were on the roof. I am mapping our escape route. Well, the first leg of it anyways. I wasn’t really paying attention to the shambling masses. It was Dom who tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention.

There was this entire new level of silence. But what was really strange—and I say that in a world dominated by the living dead—was that the zombies had all stopped moving. I mean they were simply standing there…rooted in place. It was as if, all of a sudden, each of the undead had been turned to statues.

I’ve never experienced an earthquake before. I was alone in that distinction.  Weird, huh? So there was this sound that I will make no effort to describe. Then it was as if the world had turned into a giant Etch-a-Sketch and God was trying to erase the picture.

Zombies fell like dominoes, and I know for a fact that I screamed. Only, they must not have heard me over that roaring sound. It was an experience I hope to never endure again.

Afterwards, with all the sounds of glass breaking and things crumbling, those things simply lay still for at least five minutes. At first I thought that maybe…just maybe…it was over.  At least here.  Then, they started getting back up and wandering about on their little zombie errands.

The quake wasn’t massive. But still…it was extremely scary. We checked out our place and everything seems okay.

A freakin’ earthquake. Sheesh!

Saturday, November 8

We have to get out of here. I’m going stir crazy! I can’t explain it. My rational mind is screaming that I find someplace and stay put. I’ve left Irony. Huckleberry Gulch. For what?

All I know for certain right now is that I have to get the hell outta this damned strip club. Even that house was a better place than this. At least I had windows.

I’m certain that Jenifer and Dom feel the same. Either that, or we just happen to be the three biggest bitches in the world.

Wait! Considering the current state of global affairs that might be true!

Sunday, November 9

Tomorrow we are making a run. We will aim for the house I stayed at. From there, we will start leapfrogging. If we don’t leave tomorrow…we may never get another chance.

We’ve been spotted…and I don’t think they are friendly.

Tuesday, November 11

And now there are four. We added a new member to our little clan. His name is Sean Byers, and he is nineteen. Jenifer and Dominique are like a pair of wiggly puppies.  But first, the past forty-eight hours have been a bit crazy. Everybody got a little bloody yesterday. Both girls made me proud.

We were up well before sunrise. I’d decided that using darkness as a cover was our best bet. A pair of armored trucks had cruised us twice on Sunday. I was certain they were trying to gauge our numbers. If they were friendly, they would have tried to make some sort of direct contact. So I was fairly certain that this was gonna be ugly.

We were horribly unprepared to deal with an enemy directly. However, I also saw an opportunity. We snuck out, as planned, and made for the burned out husk of a used-car dealership almost directly across the street. All the window frames were free of any glass, so we slipped inside and waited.

The girls were a little antsy. Hey…nobody really likes being out in the open, so-to-speak. I made it very clear that they were to sit still, shut-up, and be ready to move when I said so. I wish I could bottle whatever it was in my look or tone, because neither of them said a word after that.

About an hour or so later, but still well before sunrise, one of the armored trucks rolled to a stop. I’d watched them as they cut the engine a few blocks away and coasted in on the quiet. They were definitely up to no good.

Three men climbed out of the cab and moved in slowly. One disappeared around back, and another took the side to the right as you face the building. That was when I signaled for the girls to wait, and I climbed out the window. Using all the cover I could find, but still moving at a crouched speed-walk pace, I made it to their truck.

When I got close, I could see there was still one guy sitting in the driver’s seat. Fortunately, this cowboy had his window open! He never saw the butt of my shotgun. A solid hit to the temple is a good stunner. The hard part was reaching in, pulling him out, and jamming a metal spike through his throat.

What I’d taken for careless and cocky was, in fact, a necessity. The window was actually broken. The doors had been welded shut. The only way in or out of the cab was through the window. (I’d find out that little fact later from Sean.)

Once I pulled the body the rest of the way out and did a quick frisk for weapons, I climbed in. The whole time, I had one eye on the three men scaling rope ladders to the roof of our former bastion. As soon as they reached their goal, I turned the key, started the truck, and peeled out for the car lot. I pulled up to the window like I was at a drive-thru and yelled for the girls.

The three men were smart enough not to waste any time shooting at me.  Instead, they scrambled off the roof, jumping as soon as they cleared the lip, and sprinted after their newly pilfered vehicle.  I didn’t give them enough time to get more than halfway across the street before I had Dom pulled through my window enough so that I could go.  I aimed the vehicle at their lead runner, who wisely dove aside as we rocketed past.

I knew I didn’t want to bee-line for anyplace I truly intended to hide.  I considered making a run for the interstate and heading back east a bit.  The only problem being that I didn’t want to risk driving through what I remembered as being very much like a warzone.  Also, the second armored truck was coming from that direction.

I screamed for the girls to hold on and I took a hard left, blowing through a cyclone fence and into a schoolyard.  Across the overgrown field we went until we smashed through a wooden fence that put us in what was once somebody’s backyard.  I said a quick prayer as we exploded through another fence.  Luck was on our side, and we came out on a narrow strip of knee-high grass that ran between two houses.  I clipped a wooden post with a basketball hoop still hanging cockeyed from the top.

Turning right on the residential street, I noticed we were bringing in crowds of zombies from every direction.  I’ve seen herds of the damned things that number in the thousands, yet there never seems to be a shortage no matter where I run.  Anyways, I knew that another right would put me back on 82nd Avenue.  Since my goal was to disappear into a residential zone, that seemed to be the best choice.

I paused for just a moment when I reached the strip, and that was my fortune.  Actually it was Jenifer who spotted the big propane tank next to the non-descript and unidentifiable building.  She and Dom had gone through the cab and came up with four flares and a tire iron.

Looking around, I couldn’t see our pursuers.  I was hoping all the zombie traffic a couple blocks back had slowed them.  It was also in that momentary pause that I heard the pounding coming from the cargo area.  I’d have at least a few seconds warning before anything would be on top of us so…I pulled up next to the propane tank, lit off a flare, dropped it beside the tank, and then drove to the corner.  Climbing out so I could fire across the roof, I waited.  Finally, the other truck came into view.  Just as it was almost parallel to that tank, I made a wish and fired.

The explosion was enough to knock me backwards from my window perch.  I landed awkward on my left shoulder and the shotgun skittered away.  The pain was sharp, but the only thing on my mind was if I’d hurt the baby.

I could see that the other truck had been knocked over onto its side.  Also, while all the zombies nearby had been knocked over, more were coming…from everywhere.  I couldn’t see the shotgun and didn’t have the time to look for it.  The girls had to help me climb into the truck and we were off.  Oddly enough, the clearest path was now back the way we’d just come from.  Speeding past the truck, I was a little surprised to see somebody climbing out.

There was enough light from the fire that I could see the guy was bleeding pretty heavily from a nasty head wound.  I could also see several figures gathering around the disabled truck.  That guy had the audacity to wave!  Yeah…like I was gonna pull up and rescue the bastards who were gonna try and raid us or God-knows-what.  Then two more climbed out.  Now there were three of them standing on the side of the armored truck.  We took a turn down a mostly empty street, that was the last we saw of them.  Three men surrounded by several hundred very eager zombies.

I drove down dark streets with only a slight glow from the moon above when it would peek from behind the thick clouds.  The explosion had brought them out from everywhere.  Spread out but numerous, the zombies were a definite concern.  We’d gone maybe a mile when the truck sputtered and died.  I hadn’t even thought to check the gas gauge.

There we were, in some dark residential area, no weapons other than three spiked bats, a spike-tipped pole, three flares, and a tire iron. Whoever was in the back of the truck began pounding again with much more urgency.  More out of hope that there might be some supplies in back, I had Dom open the door while Jenifer and I waited with bat and spear.

Dominique flung the door open and dove to the side.  That is when we met Sean Byers.  He was on his stomach, hog-tied and handcuffed.  He’d been beat up pretty good, but could move on his own.  I pulled his gag out, deciding that this was a bit too elaborate to be a hoax.  Meanwhile, Jenifer was urging me to hurry.  I briefly explained bits of the evening’s events as I untied him.  We didn’t have keys to the cuffs, so he had to run with us with his hands behind his back.  I remember thinking, where is a cop car when you need it?

Oh yeah…there wasn’t a damned thing in the back of the armored truck…except Sean.

We reached an intersection, and I could see a lot of movement to our left.  Straight ahead there were only a few.  To the right, it was a little hairy, but I saw a big house with a large open yard and a sturdy fence.  My thinking was that we could cut through, come out the other side, and lose the herd chasing us and growing larger with every passing block.

I took the lead, bashing a couple of those bastards along the way.  We reached the fence and discovered that the only gate was locked with a hefty padlock. Not having the time to try and bust it, I told Sean he’d have to climb up on my back and vault over.  Dom went first so she could try to help him.

The fence was one of those fancy wrought-iron sorts with pointy tops on each spirally bar.  Basically, a row of spears.  The horizontal bars were shaped like railroad tracks with the spears running through them.  All-in-all, a very sturdy design.

Sean made it over without breaking his neck, which left me and Jenifer…and about fifteen of the walking dead.  Jenifer put a foot in my clasped hands and pulled herself up as I heaved.  A hand grabbed my shoulder as I stood up, helping to propel

Jenifer, but Dom jabbed the tire iron into the side of the thing’s head.  All I saw was a body tumble to the ground beside me.

It had collapsed in a heap, so I actually was able to use the corpse as a step.  As I went over, another of those things grabbed my pant leg.  Fortunately, all I lost was a bit of pride as my pants ended up halfway to my knees before a fold snagged on one of the fence-top spikes and tore.  Thankfully the girls caught me.  Sean earned a few points for looking away as I struggled to haul my drawers up.

We cut down the side of the house and into a backyard that resembled a jungle straight out of a Tarzan movie.  I’m talkin’ huge plants and dangling vines, along with a thick undergrowth of bushes.  I could see that there was a tall brick fence, and, noting the lack of any zombie presence, decided this was as safe a place as any to catch our breath.

We had to jimmy open the backdoor, and in no time we were inside.  The house was mostly empty.  By that I mean that, from the looks of things, the wife turned…bit the husband…who shot the wife…then splattered his brains in the upstairs bathroom.

Yay! We found guns! The girls and I were in the act of loading a pair of hunting rifles and a nifty double-barrel shotgun, (the one the husband had swallowed in the tub) and deciding what to do with Sean when the backdoor slammed open.  On reflex Dom spun and fired both barrels—her shoulder is a lovely shade of purple now—and Jenifer put a round from the .30-30 in the right eye of the person who foolishly charged in behind his cohort who’d just had the majority of his chest blown out.  I don’t know if they were escapees from that armored truck, or two guys who followed us in all the insanity, or what…but they’re dead now. As for me…I need a nap.

Wednesday, November 12

Tomorrow, the four of us are going to make a move. However, this house is actually a bit of a gold mine. The guns were a nice find, but we only found one box of ammo for the shotgun and it wasn’t brand new…only seven shells. For the pair of .30-30s we did a little better. We have twelve rounds each.

Also, we found a few items of the canned food variety, and some really fancy, high-end camping gear. A bunch of Columbia Sportswear coats and shoes that fit Jenifer and me were in a closet upstairs. We found a couple of super nice sub-zero sleeping bags. Basically, it was like winning an REI shopping spree.

We do have quite a crowd of zombies out front, but out back over the brick fence isn’t too bad. We were gonna leave today, but something Sean said has us waiting for nightfall. Before he was captured, he’d been in the process of gearing up for a trip to Las Vegas.

He’s heard the broadcast twice, but only at night.

Thursday, November 13

It’s not like we have a timetable or a schedule to keep. We spent the night in shifts with a portable boom-box that Sean found in the laundry room. We went through a drawer full of junk and found batteries that worked. (Like I said, this place is a gold mine.)

Not a peep. We’ve decided to hang for a couple. Sean wanted to know why we were so anxious to be out amongst those things. I explained that it wasn’t so much that, as the need to not feel caged. He’s only spent a few hours in the back of an armored truck…he’s never been in a cage.

Friday, November 14

Still nothing last night.  At least not on the radio.  We did hear somebody with a bullhorn or something about an hour before daybreak.  After a while, it faded away.  None of us could make out what was being said.

Dom and Jenifer aren’t speaking right now.  I’m guessing it has to do with Sean.  They are in for a huge disappointment.

I pulled him up when I had to physically separate the girls.  They both clammed up when I tried to question them, so I did the next best thing.  I cornered him in one of the upstairs bedrooms and demanded to know if there was anything taking place between him or either of the girls.  Bless his heart…he was mortified.  Sean had no idea that the girls were arguing over him, and doesn’t really care beyond the group peace and unity aspect.

Sean is gay.

Sunday, November 16

Still nothing on the radio.  We’ve talked it over and have decided that we want to go to the compound.

I am not very popular right now.  When I say that ‘we’ decided, I really should admit that I decided.  I told them that the three of them could go to Las Vegas, Los Angeles, or Hell for all I cared.  My mind is made up.  I am going to the compound that Sam first found shelter when all of this started.

That is where I plan to have this baby.  Then—and here is where I made huge friend-points—I plan on leaving it with somebody.  Boo! Hiss!  I know.  I’m a terrible person.  Well, I was NEVER one of those girls who dreamed of settling down and starting a family.  NOT to say that it couldn’t happen.

How do I explain this in a way that doesn’t make me come off like a complete bitch?  The world is a wide open place right now.  Sure, the rides aren’t running at Disneyland, but there is a world of things to see.  Zombies might be a big danger, but you can certainly outwit the things.

Haven’t you ever been to the Grand Canyon, Mt. Saint Helens, or Yellowstone National Park and taken in the beauty…then wished all the smelly, noisy tourists weren’t there screwing it up?  I’ve never been to any of those places.  Sure, I’ll have to duck zombies and avoid lunatics, but that is something I can manage.  Only, not with a baby under my arm.

Call me selfish, or any of the other names I heard today, but if I leave that baby at the compound, it will have a much greater chance of survival.  I know me.  I’d get antsy, and before long, I’d be leaving that place.  I can’t bring a baby.  And I won’t abort it.  Period.

Monday, November 17

There wasn’t a lot of food here, but what we lacked in quantity is more than made up for in quality.  There was a case of freeze-dried “gourmet” meals.  It seems these folks liked the outdoors, but wanted nothing to do with roasting wieners and making s’mores.  There was this stack of bottled water.  Also, we found a pair of what I can only call luxury canteens.  They have filtration devices in the top.  I guess you submerge them in a stream with a weighted attachment.  According to the box, thirty minutes later you have a canteen full of “spring-quality water” that you can drink without worrying about dysentery.

A light snow is falling; we may wait this out a bit longer.  Zombies are one thing, but slogging through the snow holds no appeal.  We will spend this little break making sure we’ve left nothing useful that we can carry and continue monitoring for any further radio traffic from Las Vegas. By the time we are ready to make that journey…we should be much better armed and equipped.  Of course we’ll still need to scavenge, but we will at least have the luxury of not living hand-to-mouth with minimal defensive capabilities.

Wednesday, November 19

I haven’t seen snow like this in ages.  And seeing it in such a constant downpour—or whatever you call it—basically it is a blizzard.  Only there isn’t much wind.  The dead don’t even seem to notice.  The ones out front just continue to grip the fence and carry on.

Heard the megaphone again.  But still no radio.  Maybe whoever it was got overrun.  Or, whatever they were using for power conked out.

Evening

Somebody—or bodies—is close.  Maybe it’s the megaphone owner.  Whatever the case, we are on high alert.  The situation between Dom and Jenifer hasn’t thawed much even after Sean and I explained his…preferences.  Maybe the girls are a lot like me and need to be on the move.  Neither one has ever actually been in a secure, compound-like environment.  Being in this McMansion is a bit like a poorly gilded cage.  Of course, if I’d been in a place like this a year ago, I’d have thought that I’d died and gone to heaven.

Saturday, November 22

On the run once more!  So little time to write, but if we don’t make it…

Sunday, November 23

I am alone…and I’m freezing.  Jenifer…if you or Dominique find this and I’m one of those things…blow my brains out.  And if you see those bastards (I’m sure you’ll remember their faces) kill every last one of them.

Monday, November 24

The baby has certainly been feeding off of my anger and frustration.  It’s been treating my insides like the speed bag in Rocky.  I realized the past few days, while thinking that I may not survive this most recent adventure, that I haven’t written much about my pregnancy.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to start, but for selfish reasons I need to give a bit of an explanation.

First: anybody who picks this up and considers using this as a text of what worked versus what failed is not going to want to read about my swollen feet, hormonal surges, or peculiar upswing in assorted bodily emissions.  As my bladder seems to be shrinking exponentially each day, do I really need to log my frequent need to pee?  It’s like going to see a comedian who does nothing but airline food jokes and the differences between men and women in their routine.  Bo-ring!  Men won’t care, and women will either think “Been there, done that, have the stretch marks!” or, get scared to death.  Second:  I’m honestly not trying to build a deep bond or whatever with a child I don’t intend to keep and raise.  Hate me if you must.

Tuesday, November 25

I am stuck under an overpass!  I see part of a sign that says “I-205 South THIS EXIT” and  I need to get across that interstate.  Tonight, once it gets dark, I’ll move.

I am certain that this group has Jenifer.  I am pretty sure they have Dominique.  I put my trusty spike-spear through Sean’s head.

I was sneaking along the side of Interstate 84, moving against the grain of the eastbound lanes.  There are plenty of trees to use for cover, so the going was actually pretty smooth and easy.  A few shamblers were around, nothing I couldn’t avoid.  I have the shotgun and box of shells, along with a five-foot splitting-maul handle with the head removed and replaced by an eight-inch long iron spike.

I have been on the trail of these bastards since yesterday evening.  The owners and operators of that megaphone …bullhorn…whatever…have had Jenifer calling out for me.  It hasn’t been easy listening to her cry, but I knew full well that no good would come from me just surrendering to these animals.  I had to listen to a friend die a brutal death over a two-way radio once.  When we found him—

Kyle Danson—he’d been turned and was hanging from a tree with his genitals eaten away and his arms and legs cut off.  So yeah, I’ve been in situations like this before.

When I “ran across” Sean, it brought back some horrific memories.  Whoever these assholes are, they stripped him naked and chained him to the bumper of a car.  Apparently that is how they left him…zombie bait. Only, they carved the word ‘FAGGOT’ in his chest before leaving him cold, naked, and defenseless.  At least he took a few zombies down with the chain before they got to him.

When I saw him, I initially thought that he was there to bait me into the open.  I thought he was still alive.  While I was searching the area for any signs of the bad guys, he turned my way.  The skin discoloration was difficult to discern in the gloom, plus, he coulda just been cold…hypothermic.  Then I saw the front of him.  The dried blood where he’d been carved, and the mouth-sized chunks missing from his left thigh and shoulder.

I walked up, on the way I spiked what was likely one of his attackers.  A zombie is a mess, but you can still make out “fresher” dried blood stains on some.  It was a man who could’ve been anybody’s best friend and beer drinking pal.  Probably in his mid-twenties with short, dark hair, long bangs hanging in his eyes—those black-veined horrors—and most of his right side torn away so that you can see ribs and black, rotted organs dangling from grey gristle…like an obscene biology class display.

After I drove eight inches of iron through one of those hideous eyes, I walked up to Sean (I was fairly confident that the people who did this hadn’t stayed around long.  Partially filled in tracks leading towards I-205 in the distance confirmed my suspicions.)  and let him come to the end of his chain.  He still had those damn handcuff bracelets on his wrist.  We’d intended to search for a police car or, if it came down to it, find a hacksaw.

He stood there, or rather, the shell of him stood there. It was strange, normally those things reach out for you, but Sean just stood there.

“I’m sorry, Sean,” I whispered. Then I drove the spike into his head through the left eye.

I won’t cry. I want to save everything that I am feeling for the ones who did this. I made it to the overpass. I am wrapped up in a sleeping bag—one of the nice ones—up on a support stanchion.  I can see their camp through some trees. They should enjoy those fires tonight, because tomorrow there’s gonna be a lot less of them.  If I die, you can bet I am going down with several notches in my belt.

Wednesday, November 26

Never underestimate a “tiny gal” with a “belly bump” and expect to live. Tonight, I am in a wooded encampment near the I-205 and I-84 interchange. We have a fire going in a pair of steel, halved, fifty-gallon drums partially buried in the ground in front of my tent.

This morning, before the sun rose, I slung my shotgun—fully loaded—over one shoulder, shoved the seven remaining shells in my coat pocket, grabbed my spiked maul handle, and headed towards where I’d seen fires burning most of the night.

The first obstacle was on the downhill slope on the far side of I-205 from where I was. The entire slope was strung with what had to be hundreds of coils of razor wire. I could see a few of the walking dead tangled in the stuff. I could hear more in the darkness, which is how I initially guessed that the razor wire was all the way down the hill.

I knew that these yahoos had to have a way in, so I began skirting, looking for a break. That is where I found the first guard. He was up on what looked like nothing more than a reinforced lifeguard tower—maybe twenty feet tall. I watched for a few minutes and determined it was just one person. He was armed with at least a crossbow. I watched him peg a couple of those things that “figured out” that there might be something to eat up in the tower and began slapping at one of the girders or support beams.

I waited until I didn’t see anything staggering about, and I baited my first trap. I stumbled out from a small cluster of vehicles and moaned as pathetically as possible, “No! I can’t have my baby now. Please, not now!” Then I dropped to the ground and crawled on my knees to a car I’d already checked, ensuring it was empty. I yanked open the door and made a show of crawling into the backseat.

Hooray for me! I could see a dark shadow climbing down the tower’s ladder. I set the gun on the floor—safety off—as an emergency weapon, with the barrel aimed at the door where my “rescuer” would be standing. Then I slid my spiked spear up next to myself where all I’d have to do was grab it. This next bit is what I think sealed the idiot’s fate. I yanked my pants down, and then pulled my shirt and coat up just enough to reveal my slightly rounding belly. With my knees up it looked more pronounced. Then I just started making little breathing noises, panting like I imagined I would in labor.

I gripped my spear when his shadow fell across the open door. There was enough moon reflected off the snow that I got a look at his eyes staring right between my legs! What a perv!

“Ain’tcha just a tiny gal with a little belly bump ‘bout ta pop!” Even his voice was filthy. What he said next made my conscience feel much better about what I was about to do. “Let’s get that baby outta there so’s we can use that hole for its proper purpose.”

I made a moan like I was getting a burst of pain and reached out with my left hand. When he leaned forward, I already had a grip on my spear and, with my right hand, I thrust it forward and up. I’d hoped to get him in the throat. Instead, there was a nasty ‘clink’ and ‘crunch’ as I drove the iron spike into his mouth, shattering his teeth.

He fell back, hands grabbing the smooth handle, jerking it out of my grasp. I sat up fast, yanking my pants up like I’d just heard my folks’ car pull into the driveway. He was sitting on his ass tugging the spear out of the back of his throat when I reached him. I saw shadows moving, coming towards the commotion, and knew I had to act fast. His crossbow was a few feet away, so all I could do was snatch my weapon from his blood soaked hands. Whipping it around, I brought the butt right into his temple and he fell over. I grabbed his crossbow, the pouch on his thigh with a few bolts in it, and my shotgun, then I scrambled up into the tower.

I watched as the half-dozen zombies found him. He was still alive. I wondered at first, but then his feet started kicking as they ripped open his beer-belly and started pulling out ribbons of intestine and chunks of unidentifiable viscera. Soon, there was a huge, dark stain in the snow that had traces leading off in several directions.

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 chosen 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 Jenifer, 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 interrogation, 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. He 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.

The legless one was real slow, but the other was actually scary-fast once it was out from under the car. It could move at what would be equal to an average speed walker. I thought of the purple sweatsuit-clad granny for just a moment. Torso-zombie scooted out from under the car and hand-galloped towards the dog that now stood in the middle of the street, growling.

Then Jonathan rounded the corner. He was coming at an easy jog and had a golf club—a pitching wedge I would later be told—in his hand. With practiced ease, he brought the wedge down, catching the zombie in the temple. He’d filed the wedge’s face, and it bit into the side of the thing’s head, actually exploding the eye on that side. He brought a hobnailed boot down and crushed the skull in three good stomps sending greyish-black jelly out in a splatter arc. He dispatched the other in much the same way, then went over to the dog and fed it a treat out of a pouch he had on one hip while scratching it behind those big, floppy ears.

I glanced at Jenifer who shrugged. We decided to trust the dog. I cleared my throat. In an instant Jonathan had a pistol I’d not seen—up until that moment—in his hand. Coach made a ‘woof’ sound and bounded over, where he ran in circles, looking up at us until we climbed down and acknowledged him with praise and petting. And that is how we met Jonathan and Coach, the Golden Retriever.

Saturday, December 6

The sky is clear. The sun is shining bright. And it is FREEZING! We are inside the mostly intact remains of the clubhouse of a golf course. The place is fairly quiet. Once in a while we see something stumbling around out there on the fairways. We’ve been following signs calling this stretch of road “The Banfield Expressway” which will eventually lead us to the city of Portland. None of us knows what to expect with the exception that we are certain there was a big fire in the early days of the…uprising?…epidemic?...apocalypse? We will have a lot of neighborhoods to pass through. It is a double-edged sword in that we should be able to forage for supplies. However, there is a real potential for not only increased zombie problems, but the possibility of encountering living folks like The Genesis Brotherhood.

Jonathan says he stayed here for a week and saw very little in the way of zombie problems. There is a five foot high brick fence all the way around the facility. It is still intact, and the few zombies within are the ones he says found their way inside before he shut and chained the fancy iron gate that is this place’s main entrance. He said that all the other ways in were shut before he arrived. There wasn’t anything salvageable in the food department, but we have all the booze, wine, and water we could hope for.

I’ve made it clear that I want to reach Sam’s compound in a month…two at the most. I explained my reasons to Jonathan…and he seemed to totally get it. I did notice Jenifer’s scowl the entire time. Maybe we’ll talk later. Perhaps I’ll ask her if she’d like to stay at the compound (if it’s still intact) and care for this baby. Maybe she wants the chance to settle down. I’ve tried, and know it’s not for me. It really is just that simple.

Tuesday, December 9

It was nice to rest a bit. I’m not gonna lie…this whole pregnancy thing is tiring. Plus…I’m having the strangest dreams. Last night I dreamed I gave birth to kittens. And this morning I woke up wanting a baked potato like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.

Jonathan only made things worse. I mentioned my potato craving, and this afternoon he came back from his daily patrol around the perimeter with a can of white potatoes. He said he looked for regular potatoes in a few houses nearby, but they’d all gone bad. Still, it was such a sweet gesture. Then, for no reason at all…I started crying. How crazy is that? Anyways, even from a can, those were the best potatoes I’ve ever tasted…but I didn’t have the heart to say that it just didn’t quite do it. It was like having an itch between your shoulder blades and scratching all around the edges.

I will say that we have eaten rather well these past few days. I guess there is a high school nearby that had some sort of agricultural program. Jonathan says that there is a greenhouse running off of solar panels. While some of the stuff has died, we feasted on tomatoes, carrots, and squash all cooked in foil over an open fire with fresh basil and garlic. It was wonderful…but I still want a baked potato.

Wednesday, December 10

We have decided to cut through the residential area rather than stick to the interstate. Last night we watched from the roof as a swarm of motorcycles roared past heading east. We can hide better moving through yards. While that also means more hiding places for zombies…it appears to be the best plan.

Thursday, December 11

This is insanity on a whole new level. We made it a few miles today. We are on the Portland version of the Mason-Dixon Line, across the street from what I think used to be a park on the corner of East Burnside and 39th Avenue. On one side of Burnside it is Northeast 39th, on the other was Southeast 39th. We are in one of the few places not torched in this neighborhood. It looks like the government tried to erect a hasty encampment here.

The dead have been a bit thick. We’ve had to duck, dodge, and double-back all day. I can’t imagine what happened here. There are so many bodies. And even worse, partial bodies. If forced to guess, I would say that whomever was in charge of this fight tried to use large scale weaponry here. The type that makes a big bang. Only, you can actually separate a zombie’s head from its body and that head will still be active; sorta like a rattlesnake. Just because you lop the head off doesn’t mean the venom in its fangs won’t getcha.

We’ve run across a lot of upper-bodies—and even just the heads—of zombies today. It is like walking through a minefield. It almost cost us Jenifer.

Coach and Jonathan were leading. We had left the interstate behind just after a lunch of rice, beans, and canned apricots. (The interstate seems to become exponentially more congested on both sides the closer we get to downtown.) Anyways, we had to climb this hill and scale a fence which put us at the terminal end of a dead-end street. We decided that backyards were our best route. Staying on the street was asking for attention. The hard part was climbing fence after fence of varying types.  Every time we crossed a yard, we had to keep an eye on the house. If a zombie was inside and saw you, it would start pounding on the window, which will just about scare the piss out of you—literally—when one catches you by surprise and breaks the silence with an open-handed slap on glass. Once we crossed the yard, we’d have to scout the next one. Then Jonathan would lift Coach over. Jenifer and I took turns being next. Jonathan always came over last. I’ll tell ya something, after a few hours of that, you are tired and sore.

We started seeing heavily damaged or burned houses around 40th Avenue. Keep in mind that all the yards are overgrown; knee-to-thigh-high in some places. We were crossing one, actually crouching low because most of the house was gone and we could easily see the street and front yard through the sections of burned out and missing walls. There was a stretch of four yards that had no real fencing left, so it was a lot of open area. We were so busy watching for anything that might wander past out front and see us that we missed one.

It was only the head and a section of the torso that included the right arm. It was burned beyond the ability to identify it as male or female. Both its eyes had burst and were part of the thick, dried, scaly coating on its face. There wasn’t enough “body” remaining for it to even have any ribs left.

The hand snagged Jenifer’s foot, tripping her. She shrieked as she fell. I heard moans in instant response. Coach started growling, but just that fast, they were coming from everywhere. Fortunately, Jenifer was wearing steel-toed leather boots. This thing bit down on the top of her foot with its jagged, broken teeth, but it did little more than put a few divots in the black surface. With her free foot, she kicked the thing in the forehead a few times to knock it loose.

I brought my spear up and drove it through the eye socket of one of the first ghouls to emerge from the burnt wreckage of the house. I could see one of those bastards appearing to literally come out of the woodwork. I did have a moment to appreciate how Coach and Jonathan work as a team. The dog darts in snarling and snapping his jaws, which never failed to get the intended target to bend down and reach for the pesky pooch. That is when Jonathan brings the Wedge-o-matic (what he calls it by the way) down hard into the back of the zombie’s head. This usually drops whatever is struck. Sometimes a second or third swing is needed. Jonathan says that the back of the skull is actually much easier to break than the front. Who knew?

Jenifer had dispatched her abomination; she and I were making for the fence when the first explosion came. A black pillar of smoke rose—about three blocks away—from back the way we’d come. The good news was that most of those things headed in the direction of the new sound. The bad news is that some unknown brand of nutjob was close by and blowing things up.

We could see a mostly intact home one yard over and one back through the overgrown yard we were climbing the fence to get to.  I decided to head for it. Two more explosions rocked the ground a bit. I could hear some of the burned and less stable remnants of houses crumble, along with a chorus of moans from every direction. Whoever this mad-bomber was, he or she was stirring up an undead hornet’s nest.

I went first, with Jenifer on my heels after Jonathan had handed Coach over to her. He took a couple of the more persistent monsters out before vaulting the fence to follow us…show-off. Let him try it being close to six months pregnant. We cut across and, in the same order, climbed the other fence. I felt a little comfort in that the explosions—three more—were now moving away from us.

It was Jonathan who noticed that there was a definite swathe of grass that looked to have been recently trampled. We were all still pretty much on “alert” status. With me taking point, and Coach at my side, I moved towards the house. There was a large deck that held a hot tub and a rusting metal frame that probably used to be a porch swing. The sliding glass door was broken, shards of glass visible mostly just inside what looked like a dining room, which means something probably broke in and got whomever had been hiding out inside.

I had no plans of going inside the house. My objective was the debris-filled cement stairs that led down to the basement. Once I was close I could see a couple of small windows just above ground level...way too small for anything to climb through. It was getting dark, a mad-bomber was blowing up the neighborhood, and zombies were coming out from everywhere. We needed a place to spend the night. That basement seemed the logical choice.

I had to poke around at the bottom of the stairwell because the dead leaves and garbage was deep enough to conceal a head. It was clear, so I stepped down and tried the door—a sturdy, solid wood-type without any windows—which was locked. By now, Jonathan and Jenifer had caught up and Jonathan was pointing out that the trampled grass came from out front and to the stairs that led up to the deck from the yard. I didn’t really care. Loafers, zombies, survivors like us, whack jobs like The Genesis Brotherhood, nothing was moving inside the house that we could see or hear, and this house was one of the few that didn’t look like it would cave in if a swift breeze blew.

After a little “conversation” I was able to convince the other two that this would be our best option for the night. Jonathan had me step aside. He can pick locks. Who knew? Just as he opened the door a crack…a sound drifted from the other side that made my hair stand on end along my arms and the back of my neck.

A baby’s cry.

Each of us made eye contact and readied ourselves. Jonathan threw open the door and stepped aside. We all expected Coach to bolt in growling and snarling. Instead, the stupid dog’s tail starts wagging and he bounds in with what I can best describe as a playful woof.

The three of them were huddled in a corner of the mostly wide open basement. A few chairs and a sofa were the only furniture. There were more of those small windows on the other walls, a few on the side farthest from us had the “curtains” open; by curtains, I mean towels hung from hooks. There was enough light to see them. A man, woman, and…a baby.

The man was holding a three-foot long pipe wrench. The woman was holding the baby. That is how we’ve come to meet Victor Pierce, Lynn Huffman, and Adam.

Friday, December 12

“The Genesis Brotherhood sucks!” Details at 11. I am taking a personal dislike to that bunch. The more I learn, the more I am prepared to make it my new life’s mission to eliminate each and every single one of them.

Victor is a former member.

After spending a day with Victor, Lynn, and Adam, I have a better picture of what the local scene is like. I also know where The Genesis Brotherhood is entrenched. Now we just have to process everything, sort it out, and plan.

In a nutshell, we are smack dab in the middle of a warzone. There are dozens of factions—or tribes—scattered in about a twenty mile radius of Portland. Apparently they spend as much, if not more time, fighting each other as they do the undead. Over half the groups treat women as a commodity! It didn’t take long for us to plummet through the dark ages.

The Genesis Brotherhood is simply one such band. Their distinguishing mark is that they hide behind religion…or their slant on it in any case. I am in no condition to wage a war on them…but I won’t be pregnant forever. Now, more than ever, I am determined to get to Sam’s old complex and have this baby. Then…The Genesis Brotherhood will discover why that old saying exists. You know the one:  “Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn.”

Saturday, December 13

I’m trying my best to like Victor Pierce. I am having a really hard time with the fact that this forty-four-year-old man who used to drive a city bus joined up with a pack of sexist degenerates, and “found the err of his ways” after supposedly falling in love with the twenty-year-old girl he knocked up. A girl he considered property at one time.

Today he took a few steps towards my good graces. We hadn’t left this basement in a couple of days and things outside actually seemed quiet. Water was becoming a small concern. After a little discussion, he offered to go out with me on a small foraging run. All we absolutely had to find was a water source. We’re actually surprisingly well off in the food department

A grocery store—mostly sacked and burned out—provided us a little treasure. We found two undamaged water-filtration pitchers and a dozen of the filter-cartridges. I had argued against finding anything of value, but Victor has been reading Sam’s and my entries. He reasoned that most of the looters have been after food and weapons and more obvious supply staples.

The biggest problem was all the dark shadowy places for things to hide in. It was in one of these spots that what had once been a child of no older than seven crept out and up behind me. So much of its face had been torn off…along with both hands. The bones jutting out from both stumps would’ve plunged into my back if Victor hadn’t come around the corner to tell me he had found the pitchers and filters. Luck is a funny thing. One more second and…

I can’t believe that thing snuck up on me. And just what was I doing? Rummaging through a jumble of moldy, useless, partially melted containers of powdered baby formula. More impressive was how Victor took down my would-be assailant…he threw a hand-axe from about twenty feet away. It seems his hobby was competing in lumberjack games at the state Timber Carnival.

It takes all kinds.

Sunday, December 14

I don’t get women with the mentality of Lynn Huffman. She is everything that perpetuates the damsel-in-distress stereotype. Lynn is what men would call an “exotic” beauty. She has olive-toned skin, wavy black hair, and hazel eyes that almost look fake they’re so bright. She is curvy, and even after having given birth a mere two months ago, she has one of those types of bodies that used to give men whiplash when she walked past. Other than that…she’s useless.

Even Jonathan commented on her total dependence on Victor. So I get how women like her end up in the hands of groups like The Brotherhood, but Dominique’s flip has me puzzled. First, she’s a child. According to Jenifer, she didn’t just give up when they were initially captured, and it seems that her virginity was not surrendered willingly. So how did they brainwash her so quickly and completely?

But back to Lynn. She gets edgy and nervous anytime Victor is not in her line of sight. Also—and this was a real kicker—she all but accused me of making a play for Victor. Apparently that was the sole reason I had him join me on yesterday’s foraging run. As if!

Monday, December 15

We’re moving out today. Last night was like the worst parts of living in a warzone/horror movie. Besides…one more day in this damn basement and I’m gonna strangle Lynn.

Thursday, December 18

We’ve made it to the Willamette River. It is a disaster beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined. The good news is that the Marquam Bridge looks to be intact. The bad news is that it is the ONLY bridge intact as far as the eye can see.

After spending the past few days ducking in and out of the charred remains that became more and more prevalent as we neared what used to be the sparkling jewel that was downtown Portland, we are finally inside the mostly intact office building situated in between the collapsed ruins of the Hawthorne and ghostly quiet Marquam Bridge. Rotting and blackened corpses are everywhere, strewn like dead leaves in the fall.

We all made it safe. No small miracle. However, I have never known a baby as quiet as Adam. (I did ask his last name; Victor and Lynn say he doesn’t have or need one, that there is no need for a surname because that is the “old” way.  Whatever.)

I have the luxury of a room (an office that used to belong to Resource Allocation Manager: Casey Tripp, according to the slightly askew doorplate) all to myself. We are on the third floor. The fourth is unfinished and wide-open. The bottom two are minor disasters and mostly windowless. This floor is a bit messy, and we had to take out a couple of lone stragglers, but the windows on the south and east sides of the building are unbroken. The north and west sides were exposed to what were obviously terrific explosions and fires. I don’t even want to think of what it must look like farther north and around the slight elbow-bend in the river.

There is what was once obviously a marina across from us. The fires were so huge that not a single boat remains afloat, and all the remains jutting out are visibly burned. A large— what was probably a park—is a dark smudge. The snow has washed away with the last couple of days of rain, but blackened tree husks and hedges line the perimeter of a large expanse of scorched lawn.

Jenifer is dozing in her sleeping bag in the corner office. Jonathan is roaming someplace. Victor, Lynn, and Adam are in what looks like used to be a conference room in the south corner. I am hoping to get a good night’s sleep. My feet are swollen and sore, my back hurts, and I feel like I have to pee…constantly. But tomorrow, we will try our luck at crossing the bridge.

I hear screams, shooting, moans of the dead, and even an occasional rumbling engine. After all I’ve seen, I briefly wondered if I should’ve stayed in Irony (for about two minutes). This is an adventure, and I’m living it.

Sunday, December 21

There are worse outcomes that could’ve been the end results of our excursion…death comes to mind. But if you take that out of the equation, then this is the least desirable scenario. I’m separated from the group…trapped with Lynn. The only comfort I have at the moment is being fairly certain that Jenifer, Jonathan, Baby Adam, and Victor are safe, and that Coach is with me. Oh yeah, and Lynn.

As with most plans, it started out great. We got under way just as the sky was beginning to lighten. There were only a few wispy clouds, and the temperature wasn’t too cold. It was quiet.

Jonathan had located a late seventies model Honda Civic. We doused it inside and out with gasoline after pushing it near the collapsed on-ramp of the Hawthorne Bridge. Once it was in place, everybody except Jonathan high tailed it to the Marquam. The sun was rising just as we reached our spot. Victor waved a white shirt and Jonathan torched the car. He had actually covered half the distance to us when the car exploded.

That brought everything out. Jonathan was doing great avoiding any of the zombies…until a creeper snagged or tripped him as he sprinted past the charred remnants of a police cruiser. When he fell, all of us reflexively lunged his direction like we could catch him from a few hundred yards away. It was Victor who vaulted the rail and slid down the concrete embankment to the rescue.

Shoving the slow-moving, uncoordinated, and thankfully still spread out undead aside, instead of taking the time to fight each one, Victor reached Jonathan quickly. By then, the creeper had been taken out and the two men methodically made their way back through the ever-thickening horde. Lynn started to cry and it was Jenifer who, after pulling the increasingly distressed-due-to-being-squeezed baby from her arms, slapped the near hysterical woman in the face and shoved her towards the uphill slope that would take us onto the actual bridge.

I stayed back—Coach standing alertly at my side, growling deep in his chest—taking the occasional shot with my crossbow at the corpse that wandered too close in my direction or might be too much of a hindrance to Jonathan and Victor reaching me. I tried to be careful with my shots, not wanting to exhaust my finite supply of ammunition.

I heard a shriek behind me, but Jenifer and Lynn had already crested the rise onto the bridge and were no longer in sight. I had to make a decision. The sound of a baby wailing a shrill, painful sounding cry made my decision for me. The men would have to make it the rest of the way on their own.

I can’t say I ran because I can only walk fast as of late. But I made it up the slope fairly quick. I could see a few dozen of those things spread out along the length of the bridge, weaving through the empty and abandoned vehicles that sat, sometimes apart and sometimes in congested bunches, along the span in all lanes.

Jenifer was standing in an open space between a fire-blackened city bus and an SUV that contained several zombies noisily beating on the windows trying to get out. She had Adam between her feet on the ground and stood over him using the Centurion Sword to drop any ghoul that was within range. Only, there were seven of those things moving in from every side. Lynn was crouched down behind Jenifer with her face buried in her hands and proving once more to be positively useless. I had absolutely no clear shot that didn’t have the risk of clipping Jenifer, who I could only see in flashes, as the arc of undead staggered closer and closer to their prey.

I sped up, knowing in my gut I would be too late. One of the zombies was drawn to the sound of the shrieking baby between Jenifer’s feet, bending down with hands reaching. I saw the sword flash, but it bit into the thing’s shoulder. It had been male and wore the tattered remains of blue jeans and a flannel shirt under a filthy, but strangely intact reflector vest. It crumpled to the ground under the force of the blow…ending up right at the tiny kicking feet of Adam.

I felt beyond helpless knowing I’d never get there in time as three more flesh-hungry zombies—all children—moved in, clutching at Jenifer; meanwhile, the one on the ground reached out and snagged the blanket that Adam was kicking his way out of. That was when Lynn finally snapped.

At some point she must’ve dropped her hands from her face and seen what was happening. I actually stopped in my tracks, stunned at what transpired in those next seconds. Lynn leaped up and forward, launching herself at the monster dragging the bundled baby from under where Jenifer was busy fighting for her life. I hadn’t known Lynn to carry any sort of weapon, but suddenly she had an ice pick in her hand and she was beating the zombie’s head to a pulp. Black, viscous goo flew away in ropy strands of odd-shaped gobs; splattering the ground as well as Lynn’s sky-blue blouse.

Scooping her baby under one arm, this crazed woman became a flurry of doom for every zombie within an arm’s reach. I was moving again, but still in awe at how this mousy woman had suddenly turned so fierce. Even more surprising was how she turned her fury on the handful of child-zombies. In effect, she literally saved Jenifer. I arrived in time to drop a scrawny, but heavily tattooed guy who was easily in his thirties before having most of his guts ripped out, leaving a long since dried, open abdominal cavity.

The good news was that we’d cleared the first third of the bridge. Jonathan and Victor were sprinting to us—a few dozen yards away and closing fast. The bad news was the hundred or so on their heels. That, and twice that number coming from the opposite direction. I remember briefly thinking that I’d made a mistake in insisting on this mission.

The two men reached us. Jonathan unshouldered his pack and came out with a plastic one-gallon milk jug full of kerosene. He waved us on and ran to the tipped over bus. I heard a ‘plink-plink’ sound. We were just starting to encounter the lead elements of the zombies coming from the west side. There was a whoosh, and I glanced back to see black smoke rising from beyond the bus. Jonathan sprinted out from behind it and towards us.

Everybody was in some form of hand-to-hand with the undead. There was enough open space to work through the oncoming horde without being overwhelmed. Still, it was a case of everybody for themselves. A sudden explosion sent a wave of heat our way as the bus exploded. Seconds later, parts could be heard raining down on the bridge, or landing with a splash into the river below.

I have no idea how we got so spread out. The thing is, you start fighting and you’re avoiding snapping jaws, grasping fingers, and even with all the horrendous wounds encountered over the past several months, you are still taken aback by strands of intestine, blackened and dried, hanging from gaping holes in the stomach. Chunks of throat, arm, even face missing. Those eerie white-filmed, black tracer riddled eyes. The smell. That stench stays in your nose…forever it seems. You reach a point where you can’t remember not smelling it.

All I know for sure was that I reached the west side of the bridge at some point. I’d found an opening and was a little surprised to discover Coach—and a lot surprised to see Lynn—right on my heels. I was starkly aware of how not a single living soul made its presence known as we fought for our lives. I crossed over 99W, and it was like descending into a black maze. Buildings on all sides, many of them several stories high, were nothing more than charred remnants. I kept finding openings towards the left, and at some point climbed a hill that put me on a wide strip of road. A dangling sign proclaimed it to be SW Naito Pkwy.

I stopped…looking everywhere and realizing that I had lost sight of Jenifer, Jonathan, and Victor. Towards the ruins of downtown Portland I could see movement. Lots of movement! It was time to hide. I ducked into a residential neighborhood and, once I was certain nothing was in my line of sight, I chose a slightly damaged and windowless two-story house. We’re upstairs now, and I hear them out there. The moans, the strange noises of the dead. And every time one of them lets go with that eerie baby-cry sound, I watch Lynn. The first time it happened I had to physically restrain her.

I’ve already made a decision: I will kill her if I have to. I do hope it doesn’t come to that, but her skittishness is a real concern. Even Coach seems annoyed by her. Tonight I will slip out after dark…I’ve managed to find a bottle of Clorox Bleach and used it on a red blanket. Jenifer will recognize the symbol. I just feel in my heart that they are all fine.

Monday, December 22

Still no sign of anybody. Lynn has now deteriorated to sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth. She won’t eat or drink. I’ve tried to get her to take in something, but she won’t. I’ve made two trips for supplies and to get a look around. I found myself hoping she’d be gone when I came back. No such luck. I may need to leave her, I don’t plan on staying much longer in this place.

Tuesday, December 23

A big gunfight went down about midday today. I heard shooting that seemed constant for almost five minutes. That is a long time when you are talking about bullets flying. There were a lot of fully-automatic weapons being used. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see anything except a bit of smoke in the distance. I watched a few walking meat-bags stumble down the empty streets in that direction, but from the numbers I’ve seen since reaching Portland, what’s twenty or a hundred more?

Wednesday, December 24

I wrote the date and stared at it for at least ten minutes until I realized what today is. I used to bitch about crowded stores and doing my last minute shopping. I always put it off. And every year I complained about it. I always vowed to be more organized next year.

Next year isn’t ever going to come now.

Thursday, December 25

Lynn started crying about ten minutes ago and won’t stop. I might be forced into doing something very unpleasant. Those things are everywhere outside.

* * * * *

God forgive me. I had no choice. I couldn’t just leave her and let those things get her and turn her into one of them. If I’d left, simply walked out the door and ran, that is exactly what would’ve happened. I–

Shit! They’re coming!

Saturday, December 27

It feels strange to write this with Victor and Adam mere feet away. If I do this, I’ll have to either tell Victor everything to his face, or not let him see the notebooks anymore. He’s been so interested in everything that Sam (and ultimately I) went through. And these entries have been open for anybody to read this whole time, I don’t see being able to keep them from him—or anybody else for that matter. Besides, I think Jonathan knows, and I’m pretty sure Victor suspects. They haven’t asked me more than if I knew what happened to Lynn. I said that a bunch of those things surrounded us inside the house and that she hadn’t made it. But, I did say I ensured she wouldn’t come back as one of those things. That was a really incomplete answer.

So here’s what happened:

When I woke up, Lynn was still just sitting in that corner rocking back and forth. Only, now she was crying. At first it was just an annoying whimper. Then it got hysterical. I jumped up and scurried over to her. First I grabbed her arms and kept telling her to look at me and that everything would be okay. It didn’t seem to help. I assured her that I knew Jenifer had Adam and that I’d seen them breaking clear, only in the opposite direction we’d carved out. They’d gone north to our south. That didn’t help either. I tried to hug her, to hold her, but that didn’t help either.

Then I heard them. At first it was just a raspy moan. Next, it was a crunching of broken glass and I heard footsteps close by, just outside. I crawled to the closest busted out window, next to where Coach was standing with teeth barred and hackles raised. A few dozen zombies were converging on our building. And that was just from the view of this one vantage point. I scurried down the hall and to another window, this one looking out back deeper into the neighborhood. It only got worse.

I returned to Lynn. By now, Coach was getting edgy. He kept looking at the stairs leading down, then back to me as if to say, “Let’s get moving!” I shook her, then I slapped her. Nothing seemed to get through. She kept crying, and it only got louder.

I heard the noise that forced my hand. A thud and crash. They were inside! Coach began growling now and standing at the top of the stairs to block the way. I put my face right in Lynn’s, nose-to-nose. “We have to go,” I pleaded. “If you ever want to see Baby Adam and Victor, we have to run. Now!”

She didn’t even seem to recognize that I was there. She stared straight ahead, crying hysterically. Coach barked, then lunged down the stairs. I heard a lot of racket between the moans, groans, barks, and snarls. And, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was past time to go.

I had my spear in one hand, my crossbow in the other. There was no way I could carry Lynn, I couldn’t leave her to those things. A blue-grey face came into view, turning its white-filmed, black-bloodshot eyes my way. The mouth was stained dark with old blood and open in a raspy moan. In life, this young black woman had been fond of long, blonde, braided hair-extensions. She was naked except for a leopard-print thong that was barely visible from under the flap of hanging flesh where her abdomen had been torn open. That, and it was probably two sizes too small to begin with.

I took a deep breath and looked back. Lynn hadn’t budged, or gotten any quieter. Setting my spear against the wall, I brought up the crossbow and took careful aim. I didn’t want this to be any worse than it had to be. The bolt went through her right temple. And that was that. Grabbing my spear I brought it up just as Hair-Extension-zombie reached the top stair. It crashed back through the railing that ran from the wall where it ended in an ornately carved post.

I half-shouldered my backpack, cursing myself for not going through Lynn’s the past couple of days. And there was no way I could tote both. Reaching the top of the stairs, I looked down. I could hear Coach going ballistic, he sounded like he had gone deeper into the house. Meanwhile, the front door was busted in and a teenage boy wearing what appeared to be a grocery-store smock was stumbling in. It looked as if he’d had several piercings in his face. It also looked like each one had been ripped out rather messily. That, along with a good piece of his throat.

I started down the stairs when I heard the sound of automatic weapons from right outside. Pierced-zombie did a little dance before a bullet burst through his face.

“Meredith!” It was Jenifer! “Lynn!”

“Coming out!” I screamed.

I hurried—as much as I could anyways—down the stairs. I reached the bottom just as Coach bolted past, leaping the pair of downed corpses and slipping past me out the door. I was right on his heels.

Across the street, in the yard of the house I had hung a blanket with our “symbol” bleached on it, stood Jonathan, Jenifer, Victor, and seven people I’d never seen before. Each of them had pistols and various sized blades ranging from long knives to swords. Six rickshaw bikes were scattered about, all loaded with gear, except one. It held a middle-aged woman who was holding Adam.

Somebody asked about Lynn. I shook my head. A terrible feeling grew in my stomach. Just a couple more minutes, the voice in my head accused. There wasn’t time for a tearful reunion. We made for I-405 and are in a mostly burned out building next to a football field. The location has an intact fence. It’ll do for tonight.

Sunday, December 28

I’ve got to keep my eyes on Victor. This morning, I told him everything. I explained that it is all written down in the journal, he could read it if he wanted. All he said was, “You did what you had to do and now I don’t have to go lookin’ around for her to put her to rest. She’s at peace with God.”

I don’t buy it for a minute. I mean, I killed the mother of his child! I’ve told Jonathan and Jenifer as well. They both said that he never seemed too anxious or upset about his—

Wife?

Whatever. He still seems to be taking this way too good. I won’t be relaxing around him anytime soon, that’s for sure.

As for all the new gear, guns, and travelling companions, I’ve met everybody and can’t remember a single name except for Eric Grayfeather. He’s about forty with a long braid that is equal parts black and silvery-white. He doesn’t talk much, but has taken to shadowing me. When I spun around and asked him what the problem was he said, “No problem. Just feels good to be close to new life.”

That was it. I waited, but he just stared at me like he’d given some perfectly clear and sane answer. And when I asked, “Is that it? Really?” He just folded his long arms across a very wide chest and nodded.

Whatever. We move out again tomorrow.

Monday, December 29

We sure took transportation for granted. Cars, busses, light-rail, all of it. Even bicycles are somewhat of a luxury. Today will be the last day with our rickshaw bikes. This next stage will be on foot.

This evening we are camped out in an apartment building. Most of the units are uninhabitable due to all the rotting body parts and, in a few cases, whole corpses that litter the complex. A nasty fight must have happened here. You can’t look anywhere without seeing a splattering of bullet holes. We did manage to find three units that let us divide up into three groups. I’m with Jonathan and Jenifer—Oh! And Coach, too!—Victor is with Adam and the lady I first saw holding him, although I still don’t remember her name, and Eric. The other five newcomers are in the last group. One of that group is a woman named Shari. Shari, or Nurse Shari as everybody calls her, checked me out. She even has a bundle with all sorts of gadgets like a stethoscope, blood-pressure cuff, and one of those doo-dads they look into your eyes, ears, and mouth with.

She said the baby sounds good. Then she gave me a bottle of horse-pill-sized vitamins. I’m not good with pills. I have to chew aspirin. These things taste gross! Now I burp vitamin taste all day.

I found out a few things about what happened after we got separated crossing the bridge. Victor barely pays attention to Adam. He pawned the baby off on Jenifer the first night. The second night is when they met those other folks. Jonathan actually sorta knows one of them from crossing paths a few months ago. I guess there were fifteen or twenty of them back then. He asked for help finding us. Jenifer had told Jonathan about our signal, who shared it with everybody. It was one of them who saw my blanket from the balcony of one of the few high-rise buildings still standing—some luxury condo place—and told the group. They were coming for me when they encountered a gang of some sort. That was the shootout I’d heard. A lot of the weapons we now have used to belong to that gang.

Jonathan says I shouldn’t worry about any reprisal from Victor. He’d already made some statement that he doubted Lynn would survive, and that of the two of us, he expected me to emerge no worse for the wear. He also said if it came down to saving only one, that since I am “with child”, it would be more prudent to save me.

Creepy, right?

Tuesday, December 30

I saw myself in a full-length mirror today. Actually, this morning while everybody was scavenging. Jenifer found the mirror, cleaned it, then brought me to it. I didn’t realize how long it’d been since I’ve seen myself. Maybe since Irony. I honestly can’t recall.

Other than needing a good shower to get at least one coat of the nastiness off—how long have I had that dried smudge of blood on my forehead?—I look okay. My eyes seem a bit harsh. Do I really look that angry all the time? And who stuffed the volleyball under my shirt?

I always felt I had a bit of lingering baby fat, especially in the face. That’s all gone. Of course I have been getting in plenty of daily walks. This has me looking more closely at everybody else. We are filthy!

Some fairly severe freezing rain began falling early this morning. Not even the zombies seem to want to be out in it. I saw one sprawled on the street. It tried to stand several times, but there is at least a quarter-inch of ice on the surface of everything. Eventually it gave up and is still lying on the street—with a crust of ice welding it to the road. While there is no movement, I keep hearing things falling. There is a symphony of breaking branches, cables snapping as long dead power lines—those still intact—and even building facades give way. So many of the buildings, as you got closer to downtown and the waterfront area are heavily damaged. Big pieces tumble in terrifyingly loud crashes. It is starting to wear on everybody’s nerves. I realized about an hour ago that I haven’t heard a single weapon fired. Mother Nature has called a timeout.

Thursday, January 1

The freezing rain has changed to snow and we are forced to remain in this complex. Jonathan and Eric brought me this moldy, musty recliner-chair; I actually got weepy! What the hell? But back to the chair, it is heavenly. I’ve slept more—and more comfortably—than I can remember.

You would think that being this close to downtown would be bad. Time seems to have had a great effect on dispersal. That, and the weather. Speaking of weather, that zombie is still up the street, only now it looks like a misshapen speed bump. I pointed it out to everybody, which spurred a conversation about if zombies freeze solid.

Saturday, January 3

A few of the guys—including Jonathan and Victor—went out scavenging. It is getting colder, and we have kept a fire going in the courtyard non-stop for the past couple days. It’s the only way for us to have water. Everything is freezing up, and it has gotten so bad that we are all staying huddled together for warmth.

I’m a little concerned. It’s getting dark and the group should’ve been back by now. All I hear is the sound of falling snow and the occasional crash of something—be it tree or building—that eventually succumbs to the weight of the snow and ice.

Sunday, January 4

They’re back! Mostly.

Monday, January 5

No matter the weather, we leave tonight using darkness to cover our departure. There will only be seven of us (not counting Baby Adam). Jenifer, Jonathan, Eric, Shari, Dessa Robinson—a tall, Germanic-looking woman with black hair shot full of gray, blue eyes that don’t look like they’ve ever seen happiness, and sharp features exaggerated by a very thin, but pointy nose, Skip Bliss (real name, swear-to-God), a hippie-type with stringy hair—where he can still grow it—tied back in a ponytail; which only makes the whole top of his head, which is completely bald, stand out more. I think he believes he is trapped in one of his hallucinations. His brown eyes are almost always half-closed and bloodshot.

We had to put two others down yesterday. They came back with bites. They could barely walk, Jonathan and Eric were practically carrying them. This big argument broke out when I unholstered my little .22 pistol. I guess the knowledge of some folks showing immunity is becoming widespread. I pointed out that both men’s eyes were already showing black tracers. Dessa and Shari argued that they still couldn’t be sure. There was a lot of yelling—until one of them got up and came for our group.

Besides zombies, The Genesis Brotherhood was out in numbers as well. They got that woman whom I saw holding Adam—her name is Glennis by the way. They also snatched Victor. Jonathan said their party was ten men, but only two had guns. He said that he didn’t actually see them take Victor, but Victor was with Glennis when they crossed paths. The gang from TGB attacked right after the zombie incident that left one dead, and the other two who came back bitten, wounded. Jonathan said the timing seemed perfect…for them.

We’ve already stayed too long. We risk Victor bringing them down on us if we stay put. I never did trust that bastard. I should’ve gone with my gut and put a round through his head when I had a chance. We do have his baby. Maybe that will prove to be a useful bargaining chip if things play out badly.

Tuesday, January 6

We’re spread out tonight. It took us until right around the time the pre-dawn light started illuminating the thick, snow bearing clouds hanging overhead. The journey was tiring—at least for me. I’m starting to feel the effects of being pregnant in such a way that it is becoming difficult. People are having to wait for me to catch up, or give me a hand over certain obstacles. If I hear Eric say, “Let me give you a hand with that,” one more time, I may punch him square in the nose.

There is no way we could cover our tracks in the knee-deep snow. However, it seems today will be another blizzard, so, perhaps our tracks will be covered for us. Also, the wind is howling out there. All that works in our favor.

We did encounter a few of the dead during our trek. One case in particular gave us a new reason to stay put in this sort of weather.

We were moving through a maze of under and overpasses, towards what Jonathan said would be a tunnel that cut through the big hill separating the city of Portland from the outlying Westside suburbs and the highway that would take us to Sam’s old warehouse complex. Slogging through the snow, everybody including myself had forgotten about our zombie speed bump. Then Dessa tripped and fell.

It was like watching one of those old nature shows where the crocodile lies in wait at the edge of the water for the gazelle. That was when I learned I probably won’t be picking a fight with Dessa Robinson…ever. She exploded back up through the snow, locked up with the shredded remains of a zombie that had nothing left from the shoulders on down. It looked creepy in the red glow of the lantern Jenifer was carrying. (Eric covered our light source with these red sheets of what looked to me like opaque plastic squares. He says it preserves our night vision and doesn’t draw as much attention.) Anyways, Dessa has the thing held at bay with one hand clutching its mostly torn out throat. It’s moaning and mewling while snapping its teeth and trying to grasp Dessa’s arm. Only, neither of its hands seem to be able to close. They’re frozen! The thing is sluggish, but still mobile. It flailed uselessly as she pulled a knife from her boot with her free hand and plunged it into the thing’s eye. Now that might not sound impressive, but if you’d seen the fluidness of her motion…the absolute calm. That lady never made so much as a squeak. Then, she just cast the corpse aside, wiped off her blade, and resumed walking, dusting the snow off herself as she went.

When we came in view of the tunnels, it was clear that something was wrong. When we got closer, we discovered there’d been a big landslide that eventually ended any debate as to whether we go in or over. Tonight, we’ll go over. Eric and Skip are scouting now, and should be back before too long. I didn’t like the idea of one man scouting parties, but was out voted. They went in opposite directions to see which might be the best way over. I hope they both make it back.

Wednesday, January 7

When I’m wrong, it is never halfway. Nope, I am wrong in spectacular fashion. We took the northern route, Skip’s, to cross over the hill. We chose it for two reasons: first, there are no neighborhoods, which means less chance of a zombie encounter; second, there are the thick woods on this side of Sunset Highway which allows us to stay hidden (except for the smoke from the campfire).

We stayed in sight of the highway until dawn, then moved into the more dense woods. But not before we made a chilling discovery. Hanging from one of the signs above a sea of dead cars was Victor.

The Genesis Brotherhood were obviously fans of The Passion of the Christ. He was barely recognizable for two reasons: They beat and whipped him brutally. He was a mess. Also, they had him bitten. So, nailed—with what Eric said were railroad spikes—to a makeshift cross which was suspended from the metal crossbar of a sign that extended all the way across the highway, was a writhing, moaning, undead version of Victor. A sign was around his neck, declaring: TRAITOR.

I can only assume that to mean that my conceptions of him were completely and utterly wrong. This also deepens my resolve about coming back for these bastards and wiping them off the face of the earth. I’ve also come to terms with the idea that if Dominique is part of these monsters, then she’ll see the same fate. Jenifer and I discussed it, and while she thinks it is just the actions of a confused and frightened teenager, I believe it is a choice.

That’s one of the problems I had with our former society. Every time a child acted out, they slapped an acronym on it and wrote a prescription. Maybe what the kid really needed was a swift kick in the ass. I never shared it with Jenifer, and I know she doesn’t read this anymore, (I think she’s writing her own journal now) but I am certain that it was Dominique who opened the doors and led zombies to the place Jenifer and I slept the night after I rescued her.

To me, that’s not a confused teenager. That is a psychotic, brainwashed human being who is a danger to the survival of people who don’t see the world through the same narrow lens. So, will I kill her on sight? No. But if she gives me the most minute of reasons, I’ll put her down. This is about survival. Mine. And yes, it really is that simple.

Thursday, January 8

Moving is a slow process. We don’t dare move down to the open terrain of the highway. Even though there are cars—sometimes in bumper-to-bumper packs and sometimes spread out—there is movement in places where walking dead migrate. They are like electricity in that they seek the path of least resistance. Also, we would be easy to spot.

The real problem is that we are very close to the main base of operations for The Genesis Brotherhood. We know this because we’ve heard and seen them! Jonathan left just about an hour before sunrise. He took Coach with him. I didn’t realize how much I could miss that stupid dog. He hovers around me all the time when we are on the move, and sleeps curled up across my feet at night.

He came back just after sunset. (It was actually sunny today, which we couldn’t enjoy because of these damned trees.) We have to cross the highway tonight. He found a few houses, probably worth three-quarters to a million bucks a lifetime ago. He says we can hold up in one for a night or two. We will have to plan the next day. For some reason, as we move west, the undead concentration increases. Jonathan said he put down over two dozen. He saw mobs, and even a small herd while he was out.

Friday, January 9

The weather has been sunny, crystal-clear, and freezing cold! The snow has a thick, icy crust and makes so much noise when you move through it that we’ve stayed put.

One thing we haven’t heard is the gunfire I’d become so accustomed to these past months. However, what we have heard is just a bit worse.

Screams.

On a half-dozen instances, we’ve heard them. Some want to go investigate since they’ve all come from the same general direction. This is probably the very pregnant Meredith talking, but I definitely vote against it. Right now I’d just like to get to that warehouse complex.

Saturday, January 10

A Cessna-type plane just flew overhead! It was heading west!

Sunday, January 11

We might have discovered the reason for such a heavy concentration of the undead. We are near a hospital. It’s like watching a beehive or an anthill. From our vantage point, we can see the main entrance. There is no window intact on the bottom floor. The lobby, which is clearly visible during daylight, is crawling with them.

I recall something about Sam and a small group making a run on a hospital. That would be impossible here. It makes me wonder. There has been tons of speculation about these things acting out in certain ways that were familiar to their former lives. Have they come to the hospital for the simple reason that they were programmed in life to seek medical attention when sick or seriously injured? It seems as likely as anything else. They certainly aren’t there in response to anybody living. There is no way possible that anybody could be inside that place. Even as big as the hospital is, I can’t imagine there being one place that could offer sanctuary from the hundreds—if not thousands—of those things.

In a way, that hospital is like staring at the old Christmas catalog. It is full of toys you’d love to have, but the prospects of getting any of it are slim-to-none.

Monday, January 12

We may be screwed. We are in a half burned down elementary or junior high gymnasium. The only windows are about thirty feet or so up and that sucks. There is no way for us to look out and see how thick those things are, but if the amount of pounding on the door is any indication…there are lots.

We left before sunrise this morning from the small three-story office building we’d spent the night in. I’d noticed all night that, even from almost a half-mile away, I could hear the assorted moans, groans, and baby-cry noises from the hospital up the hill. By the way, a lovely new discovery, that stupid baby-cry sound makes my breasts tingle and even hurt a bit. Lovely.

So, slipping out the side of the building away from the hospital, we began making our way through the knee-high growth of these stem-like weeds and some barren shrubs. Moving through that type of stuff is like crossing a minefield. Everybody was alert. We all had staffs, spears, or pointy sticks to poke the ground. Nobody thought to keep a look over our shoulder.

Dessa screamed— it sounded more angry than hurt— and began swearing in ways that would’ve gotten a nod of approval from Snoe. She was only a couple of arm lengths away from me. I saw her turn and look down, then, with both hands, she raised this long-handled axe she’d been using to probe with and brought it down hard. I heard the crunch from where I stood, frozen.

That quick, Coach growls and bounds away from where he’d been at my side. (I’m getting tears in my eyes because that was the last time I saw that stupid dog.) His tail barely raised up high enough to be seen in the tall grass, he went straight towards this group emerging from an apartment complex off to our right.

Next, Skip screams, and he is less than five feet in front of me. I see a rotted and ruined pair of hands using the pockets of his jeans as handholds. He lost his balance and fell. Then he screamed again. Much louder. Why do I even bother learning people’s names? All of that took about ten seconds. I know those damn things can’t learn, but this was as coordinated as any attack. It was like the scene with the velociraptors in the high grass in Jurassic Park II or III. I bet if somebody could’ve watched from above, they would’ve seen trails in the grass where what I can only call a pack of legless (sometimes missing good portions of the torso) zombies attacked. And of course, the screams brought reinforcements from all directions. No less than a couple hundred were coming from all sides of the field that we were now in the dead center of!

There comes a time when you shift into a mode of self-preservation. I’d taken a few steps towards Skip without recalling having done so. In the growing light of the pre-dawn sky I could see well enough that he was flat on his face. The thing on top of him had long, dark hair, heavily-matted with filth. It was tearing into the meat just above the left hip. Skip’s pants had been torn away down that left leg; an ugly chunk was missing. I drove my spear through the thing’s head, actually pinning it to Skip’s body. Then I did Skip. As I was pulling clear, a hand came down on my right shoulder. I screamed as I spun. It was Dessa. She blocked any attempt to crack her with the butt of my spear.

“Run or die,” she hissed, and turned my head to the left, right, then she stepped aside and pointed. The hospital was emptying. The ones coming from the surrounding area were being followed. That couple hundred or so was the leading edge. There were thousands!

I ran.

It didn’t matter where to, other that I run away from the hospital.  The other choices were only marginally better. I slung my spear over my shoulder, and with my left arm cradling my belly, I made for a dark, concrete building. I could see other wings radiating from it. Many looked burned, but the center building, the big box, appeared undamaged. As I did my best to move without falling, I had to use the pistol a few times. Other times I was able to simply shove the hungry ghouls aside.

At some point I reached a street. It was that first step that almost killed me. The pavement was still sporting some patches of frozen snow. The patch I stepped on was no bigger than a manhole cover. When I fell, my feet shot forward. My upper body ended up in the outstretched arms of a mewling young boy. Little remained of his stomach. His exposed ribs popped and snapped under my weight. The backpack saved me from being impaled. Unfortunately, a pregnant woman, on her back, toting thirty pounds of gear in her backpack is an awful lot like a flipped over turtle. A small, dead hand was clutching my sleeve while I tried in absolute futility to sit up. I glanced both ways and saw legs. A forest of legs. All belonging to the monsters who were going to rip open my belly and feast on my unborn child before my eyes. Then Jonathan and Eric came from who knows where. They actually had me under the arms and were carrying me, my feet barely skimming the ground. The three of us, along with Jenifer and Shari, are in here. The pounding is from everywhere. It’s like being trapped inside a giant kettle drum. The metal doors on all four sides really add to the depth of sound the meaty corpse-hands are able to produce. There is absolutely no way for us to get out. Simply put, we’re trapped.

This may well become our tomb.

Tuesday, January 13

No change. It is difficult to sleep. The pounding is constant and from all sides. Laid out all the supplies. We’ll run out of food in two weeks if we’re frugal. Not that it matters. We’ll be out of water in a week if we keep ourselves to eight-ounces a day. We have the filtered pitchers, only, no source of water to filter.

At some point, we all got just a bit too cocky. How could we not be carrying more water? Of course, we could have a month’s worth and it wouldn’t matter. I’ve seen places surrounded like this. There is no possible way we can effectively escape. We don’t have the ability to climb twenty or thirty feet of smooth concrete to a window. Whatever way folks gained access to the roof, it’s not possible here and now. I bet there’s a metal ladder bolted to a wall outside that you get to from one of the buildings radiating out from this one.

Oh well. Who cares.

Friday, January 16

I think the others are slipping me some of their food and water. I know I’ve drunk some today, but my bottle never seems to dip below half-empty. If I catch who’s doing it, I’m gonna kick their ass.

Saturday, January 17

Okay, I guess I’ll consider the possibility that we are completely and utterly fucked. We still haven’t been able to look outside. And nobody needs to. The only sleep now comes from complete exhaustion. You collapse wherever until the pounding wakes you once more to this concrete hell. It is Jenifer, Jonathan, Eric, Shari, and me. We’ve moved away from each other because there is nothing to say. And I don’t think any of us relish the idea of just watching each other die.

Monday, January 19

And the last of the water is gone. I haven’t said anything because it doesn’t really matter at this point, but I’ve not felt the baby kick in over twenty-four hours.

Thursday, January 22

Boys! We were saved by two boys no older than sixteen. Antoine and Jamaal Mitchell. Twin boys who never seem to quit smiling. I wish one of them would grow hair on his smooth, bald head or something so I know who I’m talking to. And NO it has nothing to do with them being black because Jonathan has made similar comments.

I should back up a bit. We are no longer trapped inside the gymnasium. We are in a freaking mansion that is surrounded by an eight-foot high wall of brick. There is one big entry-gate—bricked over recently—and one small gate that opens to trails and thickly wooded forest. The Mitchell twins were sons of some Sudanese businessman. Their father’s grave is in the center of a large garden that I imagine is quite beautiful in the spring. They go out there several times a day with their prayer rugs and do whatever it is Muslims do. I must admit that I’m impressed with their religious diligence in the midst of all that has happened. What’s more, they don’t show any signs of wingnutedness like The Genesis Brotherhood folks.

From my balcony, I can see over the several-story hospital below, and all the way to the concrete tomb that is the gymnasium of Cedar Junior High. I can also see the large black swathe that was the field we’d been crossing when things fell apart. There is a large crater in the center where the fuel truck that the Mitchell Twins blew up was parked.

That is how they saved us.

Antoine and Jamaal rigged a tanker and drove it into the field. That is why it took them so long to get to us. It seems that Jamaal was awake that morning and reached the balcony I am sitting on right now in time to see us disappear into the gymnasium.

The boys certainly used their heads. They took advantage of the mostly empty hospital and hauled three van loads of medical supplies—everything from sterile bandages to antibiotics to saline bags—back to their little haven. Once they were satisfied with their haul, they went for the tanker. They had to travel a few miles down Highway 26, pull almost fifty vehicles out of the way while fighting off any zombies that came along, then bring the tanker back. They even apologized for taking so long! They saw our packs and assumed we’d had supplies.

After they parked the tanker, the twins drove over to the horde surrounding us and whooped it up until they were confident that a majority was now on their heels. They had a fuse ready and waited until they could see the doors of the gymnasium before lighting it. Then they circled back through the neighborhood.

When we first heard the pounding and yelling, nobody paid any attention. Then a brick came through one of the windows. We felt a bit silly. Later, Antoine told me that they were okay with risking the possibility of an injury to one of us by falling glass or even the brick if it meant saving us. Also, had we not answered, they would’ve left right after the explosion. I have to say, it was way cooler than anything I’ve seen in the movies.

Friday, January 23

Jamaal and Shari went through the gear that the Mitchell boys brought back from the hospital. Shari was most excited to find a batch of pre-natal vitamins—amidst every sort of anti-depressant, antibiotic, garbage bags of medications and assorted pharmacy stuff. Then there is the belly-sling. It is this stretchy band I can wear that takes the weight of my baby off my back. I’ve been walking around with it on today, and it has been a slice of Heaven.

Antoine and Jamaal have been wonderful hosts. They even invited us to stay, but I explained our plans. I noticed Jonathan and Jenifer didn’t contribute a whole lot to that conversation. I know they’d stay if I agreed. The thing is, they could stay now if they wanted. I’m not the boss of what we do. I simply know what I want to do.

There is one more development that has me itchy. This place has a radio. There is a bank of solar panels up top on the roof. The panels are even mounted on a device that senses the sun and turns with it throughout the day, then resets after sunset. They have enough power to operate the radio and a few knick-knacks (like their iPod and its docking station, what a luxury to have music). They have heard a few dozen transmissions on the AM-band from Las Vegas! The last was ten days ago!

My plan is to get to the warehouse complex and, providing those folks are still there, have this baby. After that, I have a little meeting with The Genesis Brotherhood to attend. Once I’ve dealt with them, I’m going to check out Las Vegas. Antoine was nice enough to provide me with a great series of maps that will help me chart my course. And I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll go alone. I really don’t care if anybody else wants to come.

Saturday, January 24

Today was a good day.

I woke up to wanting a peanut butter sandwich like nothing I’ve ever wanted before. I went down to breakfast, and when I saw the pancakes on a griddle atop the Coleman, I started to cry. Yeah, I know! Crazy-lady alert. Right?

So Jenifer and Shari go into hen mode and rush over to see what’s wrong. I managed to blubber something about wanting my peanut butter sandwich. While those two start hugging me and saying all the standard comfort phrases like “It’s okay, Meredith”, “There, there, Meredith” and “I know, Meredith” I’m only getting worse. Partially because I’m annoyed by their comfort, and partially because I just want a damn peanut butter sandwich. A simple piece of bread slathered with gooey brown stuff, maybe even a second piece of bread slapped on top. Is that too much to ask for?

Then Antoine brought me one. AND a mason-jar of blackberry jam that he and Jamaal made from berries they picked out back on the slope of the hill. I think I used a quarter of the jar! It was the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’d go so far as to say it is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Of course, that was once I quit bawling.

Like I said, today was a good day.

Monday, January 26

I pulled Jonathan and Jenifer aside today. By Shari’s guess, I am eight weeks away from B-day. I want to make it to that complex in enough time so that, even if Sam’s old friends are wiped out or have moved on, I will have time to find a spot to have this baby. That means I leave tomorrow. “Like it or not,” I explained, “I’m sticking to my plan.”

Being in that gymnasium has only served to amplify my feelings about not staying in one place. Jonathan finally asked the million-dollar question:

“Why Vegas?”

Simple. I’ve never been. That might seem silly on the surface considering that the casinos are undoubtedly all closed. Still, they have enough juice to be broadcasting a fairly powerful radio signal. To me, that makes Las Vegas the first of the New Wonders of the World.

I actually have a list of places I want to go see: Yellowstone National Park, The Grand Canyon, and Washington D.C. And now I can.

I told Jenifer and Jonathan that I will be leaving the next day, a couple hours after dinner. The last few days, I have been adjusting my sleeping pattern so that I am ready to travel at night.

All my gear is packed on a wheeled sled that both Jamaal and Antoine rigged for me. And I tested it on the hill out back. That baby is smooth, sturdy and all-terrain capable. I am bringing my spear, a pair of 9 mm pistols (two spare magazines and 200 rounds), semi-auto .22 caliber rifle that supports a ten-round magazine (four spare magazines and 500 rounds), a three-foot machete with a leather hip-pouch, two boxes of MREs (twenty days’ worth), one case of bottled water (20-ounce bottles), along with my basic camping supplies. My sled has a harness and I can pull this load without forcing myself into early labor.

We’ll see what happens.

Tuesday, January 27

At separate times, Jenifer and Jonathan both said they’re coming. Also, Shari found me this morning. She’s tagging along as well. I guess I didn’t actually tell Jonathan or Jenifer to keep their mouths shut. I just figure it was implied when I pulled them aside from everybody and had a private conversation with them. Oh well, it won’t suck to have a nurse with me these final eight weeks or so.

Wednesday, January 28

The world is a weird place. I’m not a big believer in coincidence, but…

All day something has been chewing on my mind. You know that feeling you get when you just know there is something you are supposed to do or someplace you are supposed to be? Well I’ve had that all morning.

I was watching the sunrise as we set up camp for the day in some house with its own tennis court out back. This neighborhood got looted big time. And not all the residents died from zombies. We found a middle-aged woman here who, judging by a couple of pictures still hanging, was elegantly pretty. She’d been tied to a bed. Her death had been…unpleasant.

Anyways, back to today’s nagging feeling. I had a hunch and grabbed Sam’s journal. One year ago today he left his ex-wife’s house for the warehouse after putting down his ex and his daughter. I guess I never really thought about what that must’ve felt like to him. Maybe not as much when he did Erin, but his daughter, Elizabeth. I actually wonder if he really did it. Or, is she still tied to her mom’s bed. Not like the woman here, but in a lot of ways exactly the same. Sure, she wasn’t raped repeatedly, beaten, and abused. But Erin’s corpse was tied down.

That got me thinking. I’ve come across a lot of bodies in all the houses that I’ve been in during the past year. How many bodies, dead or undead, have I seen in beds? What is up with that? Is it some symbol of comfort? When folks started realizing what was happening and put loved ones into bed, tied down, who were they trying to comfort? Themselves? Or the shell of humanity they were trussing up?

Like I said, the world is a weird place.

Thursday, January 29

First full day out. I guess I can admit I was happy to see Jonathan and Jenifer standing there with their bags. Having Shari along is okay. She tends to fuss over me and I don’t much like that. Also, she has me drinking so much damn water, and I already feel like I have to pee twenty-four hours a day.

Today we moved down the center of Highway 26. We found a stretch that was largely uncongested. There were sections that seem to have been bulldozed clear, all the vehicles are off the road and in the ditch. We had to move really slow, and because of the thick cloud cover overhead, our ability to see was severely hampered. I will never get used to the utter darkness of night we now experience. Even living out in the sticks, there was still ambient light. Also, you could see a glow on the horizon where the cities like Pasco sprawled out across the countryside landscape. Now, there is nothing. And on nights like this, with nothing overhead but thick clouds, we have to break out our red-lensed flashlights.

This was also the first night we’ve heard gunfire in a while. It came from our left. There was a series of single shots, a short burst of auto or semi-automatic weapons fire, then silence. There is really no telling how far away it was. Like the darkness, sound carries differently. Or at least it seems to, now that silence is the norm.

Speaking of silence, I noticed that nobody has really said a word since we left—not counting the exception of a handful of times that Shari nagged me about eating these nasty fiber wafers she dredged up from the kitchens of Torquemada and drinking more water. In a way it’s kinda nice. Nobody seems to feel the need to talk just to fill the silence. And once you get used to it, it’s not that uncomfortable.

Friday, January 30

Everybody is mad at me. That is the bad news. The good news is that we are camped inside an honest-to-goodness supermarket. This place is huge. And while there is nothing in the way of food to be scavenged, there is a plethora of supplies still at hand. I’m guessing that the grocery side of the place was blitzed when this whole thing got nasty. God, has it been just over a year since those first cases started showing up? However, the store sits dead center—no pun intended—of the busiest part of the Portland suburb called Beaverton. There are a lot of military vehicles in little knots and bunches around this area. All long abandoned.

So we were moving down the eastbound lane of the highway since the westbound was bumper-to-bumper. The clouds were trying to clear out, and sunrise was just painting the sky. Jenifer knew the area and said that if things weren’t too hairy, there were a lot of supply possibilities in the area.

According to my map, we’ve only travelled a total of eight miles. We’ve probably put at least double that amount of miles under our feet, just not in a straight line. I realize that the first night we had to adjust our route to stay clear of the hordes down below. Which reminds me, the hospital is swarming with them again. We didn’t want a bunch of those things on our tail, so we went up into the woods a bit and circled wide.

But back to last night/early this morning. Part of why we’re moving so slow probably has something to do with my stopping to pee every twenty minutes. Not that I have much modesty left, but I’d gotten into the habit of bringing up the rear so that, as need struck, I could find a spot, go, then catch up. I was in the middle of things when one of the “stumpies”—that’s what we call the zombies without legs—came out from under the truck I was crouched behind. It grabbed my ankle and sent me sprawling onto my face. My instant reaction was to flip over sideways to try and protect my belly. With all the layers I had on, the only injury I suffered, other than my pride, was a pair of skinned knees. That, and the unfortunate fact that I’d just started, so I basically wet all over myself. I brought my spear around and caught the sneaky bastard up alongside his head enough to keep it from chomping my leg. Before I could do anything else, Jonathan was there cleaving the back of its skull with his golf club. So now I had pee and brain-goo on my thighs. Yuck!

Once I had been cleaned up and Shari verified that I hadn’t been nipped, nicked, or damaged in any other way (there was brief concern that the splatter might’ve gotten near my skinned knees, but all the gore was “thankfully” confined to my upper thighs) then the lectures began. I was careless, thoughtless, inconsiderate, and a number of similar adjectives. All because I wanted to pee in peace, and with a teensy bit of privacy. Since then, I’ve had Shari or Jenifer practically holding my hand. When I tried to ease up on my water intake, Nurse Shari all but forced it down my throat.

Once we reached this one area, Jenifer suggested we migrate into town and take a peek. I don’t know why some of the groups of survivors haven’t tried to commandeer a few of these vehicles. I bet Snoe woulda had one up and running in no time. The only thing I’m thinking is that it might be a fuel issue. I’ve seen less and less signs of vehicle movement. I remember hearing that gas can go bad. Plus, the sound brings out the dead for miles. It’s like using a gun inasmuch that the trade-off is not really worth it.

After a look around, we decided to look inside the big store—Fred Meyer’s. (We called it Freddie-Fall-Apart’s when I was little.) There’s been looting, but mostly on the food side of the store.  It was a nice surprise to discover that a lot of stuff is here. I don’t like all the busted windows, but we are up in a manager’s office that actually looks out over the grocery area. Jonathan wants us to take a day or two so he can look around and see what he can scavenge that will be useful.

Other than the occasional loner or odd handful, the place is quiet. Jenifer is intent on getting some music. The couple of days at the Mitchell’s place got her jonesing. Shari is always on the lookout for medical stuff. I just like the chance to be off my feet for a bit. And to be able to pee in private.

Saturday, January 31

Everybody’s been hunkered down. A herd started through early this morning, a couple of hours before sunrise. About a hundred or so drifted into the store through the makeshift barricades that we put up, or in some cases reinforced. But outside, it’s like a stampede of buffalo—just in slow-motion—passing by.

We can’t actually see their numbers, but from our vantage point we can see a sliver of outside, and it has been a parade. You’d think that a year would clean out some of the stench. Well, you’d be wrong.

Evening

The trailing edge seems to have passed. Every once in a while another small group passes by. We had to put down several dozen that were wandering around inside. Tomorrow, we finish sorting through supplies and move out. If the smell rolling in through the front is any indication, I don’t look forward to going out and across that parking lot tomorrow.

Sunday, February 1

We’re either being chased, or followed. I vote on the former. On three different occasions I heard something well behind us as we made our way back up to Sunset Highway (aka Highway 26).

Jonathan explained that we are no longer on the Portland side of the hill in an area that was referred to under the blanket term West Hills. The terrain sort of dips and rises, but the dips are short and shallow, followed by longer, but still gradual rises.

As for leaving our little hideout, the parking lot was a nightmare. We even left right at sunset so we would have some light to see better as we crossed the parking lot and busy intersections full of abandoned military vehicles. There were at least a few hundred stumpies! Jenifer said they reminded her of trap-door spiders. Most of them had found cars or piles of garbage to “hide” under. (Not that I believe they are capable of any sort of cognitive thought.)  Shari said that all the jabbing and poking we did as we crossed the open space littered with the stumpies who emerged with our arrival reminded her of “frog-gigging” which has me wondering where the hell she grew up.

The only truly scary moment came when one of the stumpies managed to move its head at the last second to avoid my spear. The point went through its neck, pinning it to the ground. It let loose with that damned baby-cry and scared me. I lost my grip on my spear and it reached for me. I might’ve screamed. I don’t recall. Jenifer was right there with her Centurion Sword, cleaving the thing’s head in half from crown to craw.

Then the contraction hit.

Next thing I know, it feels like I’ve just been punched in my lower back. I dropped to my knees and managed to choke back most of a yelp. Everybody was there in a flash, which made me feel terribly suffocated and claustrophobic. Shari started asking a bunch of stupid questions while Jonathan and Jenifer continued to dispatch the stumpies that were now closing in on a stationary target.

There really wasn’t any time that we were in danger from the zombies. I was only concerned about not having the baby in the middle of a parking lot that reeked of death. Eventually, the contractions eased. Shari said something about it probably just being Braxton Hicks contractions, and that they were brought on by the stress and blah, blah, blah.

Did I mention that Jonathan, Jenifer, and Shari surprised me with a whole pack (which they divided up to carry in their own) of maternity clothes? My favorite is this really cute set of pink and black coveralls with a dark-pink turtleneck fleece top. It’s cute and cozy! However, the big score was in the undergarments department. I’ll leave it at that.

Monday, February 2

I never believed I could cry so much.

Today we are camped near a large pond. It’s actually been pleasant weather-wise, with lots of sun and temperatures at least in the fifties…if not the low sixties!

We’d stopped at the unburned remains of a heavily torched apartment complex just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. It was super quiet, and we were staying close because there’d been some gunshots heard earlier throughout the day.  That meant people. And that is always a cause for concern.

It was cold, but I was in my new parka and the coveralls and fleece hoodie, so only my nose was super cold. Jenifer and I were reminiscing about our favorite movies and Jonathan had to tell us to keep it down after Jenifer brought up The Notebook. Hey, I don’t care what gender you are, if that movie doesn’t moisten the eyes…you’re a zombie!

Then we heard it. At first it was just an occasional rustle of garbage or leaves. Then we all heard something made of metal clatter on the ground, followed by hurried movement. Jonathan circled back, but after at least an hour, there was still no sign of our stalker.

So, everybody moved in close. We didn’t want to be spread out in case something hit us—undead or otherwise. I guess it was during the time that Jonathan circled back that whatever had been trailing us had moved around and was now in front! I almost tripped over him. Literally.

We found Coach! He was filthy and very hungry. Also he’d been shot. The only silver lining—besides him actually being alive—was that it had been bird shot from relatively long range. Shari was able to pick out the three pellets from his face and four more from his right shoulder.

We made camp early so Shari could clean him up. Jonathan thinks I didn’t see his tears, but it wasn’t that dark. Plus, I heard his sniffles, too! We’re in yet another apartment complex. These are almost pristine, with the exception of the damage that unchecked weather can do. It’s creepy. I mean, I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something so weird here. Looking inside, it’s like this entire place evacuated at once. Several of the units look like dinner time was in full-swing when the exodus took place. Hmmm…

No matter. Coach is resting his head in my lap. He was such a good doggy for Shari. He only whined once when she had to dig around just below his right eye to pull out a pellet. When she squeezed that bump the first time, this nasty greenish-yellow pus squirted out. It smelled so gross. Good Coach, he just whimpered a bit, but he didn’t try to nip Shari or even squirm out of my grip. That’s because he is such a good boy. My foot-warmer is back! Dammit! I’m crying again! Stupid dog!

Wednesday, February 4

I don’t care what Shari says, Braxton Hicks, whatever. I thought the baby was coming today. However, I will quit my bitching and complaining since I will be dining in style in just a couple hours. Maybe it will make all the insanity of today dissolve and float away like embers coming off the fire keeping me warmer than I’ve been since leaving the Mitchell place. Gads! Has it really only been a week? Today feels like a lifetime all by itself. It all started with waking up to Coach snarling and growling, and with what seemed like every follicle on his back standing straight up.

Grabbing my spear, and tapping everybody who had managed to sleep through the growling, I headed to the door. I know we should’ve had a person stand watch, but we were upstairs for one; and for two, there was almost no dead activity in the area, and third…well…what good is having a dog if he doesn’t watch.

I crept through the dusty—but nicely decorated— living room, and to the front door. On my way, I peeked out the curtains. I expected to find a zombie mob, but it was clear. Not even a lone shambler. I peeked out the peep-hole, but it was clear. Still, Coach kept nudging me, and he had his muzzle pressed to the crack at the bottom of the door.

I probably should’ve waited for the others. I probably should’ve paid more attention to Coach. But no-o! I opened the door after taking off the useless chain and twisting the deadbolt. I would’ve half-expected Coach to shove past me and lunge outside. What I didn’t expect was for him to suddenly tuck his tail between his legs, turn, and bolt!

Then, the earless, almost hairless giant dog’s head thrust itself inside. Eyes, so thick with black tracers that you could barely see the white film, rolled up at me. A greyish-black tongue lolled out, and a muzzle of broken teeth made an attempt at snapping on my leg. Instinctively, I kicked out hard and connected just under its jaw. There was a snap and a crunch, but this thing didn’t take even the slightest notice. The door pushed the rest of the way open and revealed the entirety of the horror now intent on killing me.

It had been a big Husky. Its thick fur was missing in many places where it looked to have been rubbed off. It had no bodily injuries so I have to guess that whatever ripped off its ears passed on the infection. I’d heard reports of dogs turning, but not cats. I wrote it off as simple rumor. I knew that livestock didn’t seem to draw the notice of zombies, but I’d seen them follow dogs and cats. I think Sam mentioned something, too, but I’m not sure…and don’t feel like searching.

Anyways, as I backed away and readied my spear, Jenifer and Shari came skidding around the corner from the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Both of them gasped and froze in place. Had things not been so damned scary, what happened next would’ve been hilarious. Jonathan came next and plowed into the pair of slack-jawed idiots. The good thing was that Zomdog turned his head at the disturbance as my three companions tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. That was all I needed. I drove my spear into the side of its head, pinning it to a leather recliner.

Jonathan was gallant enough to drag the body back out. Jenifer was gonna clean the dark trail of filth it left, but I told her not to bother, we weren’t staying. I had to actually coax Coach- the-Fraidy-dog out from under the bed.

The other day, when we found this place, it was agreed that we’d switch to day travel.  While we’ve heard a bit of gunfire on occasion, it’s much less common than when we were moving through the neighborhoods of Portland. None of us feel that The Genesis Brotherhood is a threat. We are outside of their territorial zone as far as we can tell. From what Victor said, they were pre-dominantly working the eastern side of the hill, down into Portland. One more problem is that, while we can move with a nice clear sky and a bit of moonlight, there is no denying that the zombie traffic has picked up again. We’ve had too many close calls lately. The last reason, but sorta important, we didn’t find any batteries for our red-lensed flashlights. We have one more swap out set and need to conserve them for an emergency.

For breakfast, we had some nuts, a can of peaches, and some instant milk. That is the one true advantage to folks who find a place and make some sort of defensible home: food. It can be so easy to take it for granted.

After breakfast, we decided that this place had potential for supplies since it seems to have been evacuated en masse. Jonathan had already checked out some of the closer units—that’s where the canned peaches came from. We paired up; me and Shari, Jenifer and Jonathan. Coach was content lying in a square of sunlight, taking a doggy nap.

There were absolutely no signs of the zombies in any of the closed up apartments. Some of the ones with doors open or windows missing have seen traffic. I just don’t get it. It’s like finding a completely intact dinosaur. This place is an anomaly. We did find a decent amount of non-perishable food here. We picked some things, my prize is a sealed jar of marinated artichoke hearts. Shari’s was a jar of sundried tomatoes.

By noon-ish we were ready to move after a lunch of canned beef barley soup and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter. We decided to cut through these thick woods that ran parallel to the highway. They weren’t too treacherous. They weren’t very long lasting either. When we came out the other side, every single one of us froze in our tracks.

The blackened ruins of a building was the first thing we saw. But it was what lay on the other side. Before us we saw sprawled the largest cemetery I’ve ever seen in my life. This place looks like it’d been napalmed. Very few stones were intact. A large fountain off to our left had the remains of a huge, granite monument. I imagine it used to have the name of this place. The only chunk still standing has the letters “Funer”, and it doesn’t take a genius to glean funeral from it.

The grass is gone. I mean burned to the dirt. Only, I don’t see a single sign of disturbed earth. I don’t recall any reports of dead people rising from the ground. And granted, after what I have seen in the past year, nothing would surprise me. It’s just that from all I know or heard, this started as something infectious and was transmitted from somebody who died from it, then came back and infected somebody else.

Jonathan said he’d heard about an incident where the military mixed it up with a large number of walking dead. They were using area-of-effect weapons like HE rounds and hand grenades. They blew up a bunch of the zombies, but a lot of the soldiers got misted with blood. A bunch turned that night inside their own perimeter. It was things like that, the lack of knowledge, that helped it spread so fast. Couple in the disbelief factor, along with people reluctant to kill friends and loved ones, and you have the recipe for a real apocalypse.

Sorry, I got side-tracked. We moved out into the wide-open ground and were able to actually find a mostly-intact path to follow. It took us up to a ridge where we could see across the highway into a fairly large neighborhood. It also gave us a peek at a body of water on the far side of the cemetery. It wasn’t the pond that got us excited, it was the herd of deer at the water’s edge!

Jonathan saw them first. He raised his hand in the universal signal for stop-moving-and-keep-your-mouth-shut. We froze and followed his finger. All this time watching out for zombies, or possible survivors who may or may not be hostile, I was the last to actually see what he was pointing at.

We huddled and Jonathan pointed out the path he would take. Jenifer would drop down near the highway and follow the charred tree line. Shari and I would stay put with Coach and keep a zombie watch. The most likely problems would come from that big neighborhood across the highway. If they could bag a deer with minimal gunfire, we could work our way back to the apartments we stayed in the past couple of days by using this valley that is shielded from view by the big sloping hill of the cemetery. I think my mouth started watering before those two disappeared from sight.

Shari and I unslung our M1 rifles and I helped her climb up on this four foot high tomb cover that used to have some sort of statue on top. All that remained were a pair of sandaled feet. There had been a lot of trees spaced throughout this cemetery. Now, there were only blackened husks pointing sharply skyward.

Across the highway, I noticed the occasional lone shambler, and even a small cluster or two on the expanse of visibly cracking concrete weaving their way amongst the scattered, mostly abandoned cars. Coach sat obediently at my side for a while. Every so often he would sniff the air and stand. A couple of times he even went out to mark a little territory.

I heard the echoing crack of a rifle. A moment later, deer bounded from some trees and across the highway into a heavily wooded area. Every zombie in sight turned, paused, and began at a slow, awkward walk in the direction of the shot.

I wasn’t too surprised to see several begin emerging from houses. Shari hissed through her teeth. When I asked what, she said a small herd was emerging from the far side of the thick woods across the highway that the deer had vanished into.

Suddenly, Coach started growling. He was looking back the way we’d come from. Coming up the blackened hill out from a cluster of ruined pines and firs were a mob! As soon as they saw us, moans began drifting on the air, but there was an echo. Up from what had to have been a blind spot in the ravine below us was another group! We were caught in a pincer-trap.

I scanned for the best escape route; only, they all of a sudden seemed to be materializing from every direction. Then I heard gunfire from Jonathan and Jenifer’s general direction at almost the same time. Coach was growling and now stood pressed up against my legs as if guarding over me.

“Better start shooting,” Shari barked and brought her rifle to her shoulder, dropping a grossly fat, polyester clad female zombie.

“Help me up!” I yelled. “We can stand back-to-back.”

“Better idea,” Shari jumped down. “We move back towards the trees we came through when we left the apartment. We can lose those things in the woods.”

“What about Jenifer and Jonathan?” I felt a chill in my chest as a series of rapid-fire shots came from their direction.

“They know where to meet us.” Shari nudged me towards the distant woods.

That took us directly towards the larger of the mobs. We began shooting. I swear, every time I fired, I’d see a body jerk, then continue towards us. Now, of all times I couldn’t hit a damn thing.   Glancing over my shoulder, I felt sick. There were hundreds pouring onto the highway from the big neighborhood across the way! I can’t ever recall so many being intent on me personally. I realized Shari was at my hip, and Coach was there, too, but the basic point is that I was standing in the bull’s-eye.

We walked as fast as I could. Then, just as we came up even with the destroyed fountain, the contraction hit and brought me to my knees. I cried out and Shari tripped over my ever expanding ass. Coach took that moment to bolt. I’m certain that is what saved us, since several of the closest zombies turned to follow the barking, snarling dog.

Shari had to gather up her gun which had fallen from her hands and slid a few feet away through the dirt and scorched ground. I was absolutely useless for several seconds. Bless Shari’s heart, she stood over me emptying her weapon into the nearest threats. One got close enough, an old man in his late fifties by my best guess; when it fell, its head was less than an arm’s reach away. I stared into its milky, black tracer-shot eyes, fixated on a rancid piece of meat stuck between a gap in its broken front teeth. How long had that piece been there? Who had it been torn from? Was that person in this group trying to get us?

Finally, the pain was easing and I could stand. The situation hadn’t changed. Those things were everywhere. Coach was darting around the corner of the ruined building ahead of us, leading at least a dozen of those things on a fruitless chase. Somehow I just knew they’d never catch him. I still heard shots—but from only one source—in the direction that Jonathan and Jenifer had gone.

I brought my gun up in time to pop a round through the forehead of a cop that looked like a stereotypical donut-eater. A big, ugly gash had been made in that ample belly. I instinctively glanced at his wide, black belt. It was empty of anything useful. Ironically, my next target was wearing cuffs. Its throat had been ripped open, and none of the fingers remained on either hand. The metal of the cuffs were embedded in the flesh.  Whoever had arrested this guy hadn’t been able, or felt inclined, to lock the cuffs so they wouldn’t tighten further.

At some point, a clearing made itself available and we hurried—I can’t claim to have actually done anything resembling running—through it and into the welcoming gloom of the woods.

Even amidst the trees we could see the occasional zombie lurching and stumbling. We zigged and zagged until coming out the other side. I huffed and puffed up the stairs. Shari came a few seconds later assuring me that none of the zombies had been in sight when we ducked into the same building we’d left just a couple hours earlier.

So we sat. We waited. Me. Shari. Coach. Outside, we saw them stumble past in no particular direction. It was like a hellish snow-globe. All the zombies had been shaken and swirled around. Every so often, we’d hear a gunshot or two. Only, we had no idea who.

Then, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs…in a hurry. It was no zombie. Shari beat me to the door, but only because I’m hideously pregnant. It was Jonathan. I felt my heart skid sideways. I was happy to see him, but Jenifer—

“She’s two buildings over.” Jonathan put his hands on my arms. Maybe he knew I was gonna sorta collapse.

And so here I sit. Waiting for dinner. The building Jenifer went to had most of its roof blown off by something. Anyways, she took the deer there. They gutted and dressed it. Then, Jenifer made a fire pit in a bathroom! No windows! So, while smoke rises and a glow can be seen, zombies—much like dogs according to some—don’t look up! Dinner’s here!

Friday, February 6

Sadly, we’ve left a lot of meat behind. With no way to smoke it or anything of that nature, we just had to leave it to waste. However, for the last couple days, we’ve eaten like pigs! I feel at least twice my normal size.

It took two days for things to settle down outside. We are probably the cause of some hardship for others, and for that, I do feel bad. There has been so much gunfire the past forty-eight hours. Anybody hiding out in this area has been busy. We even had one come up to our door last night. A tall, emaciated looking Asian in a suit that looked three sizes too large.

I try not to think so much about who these things were as people, or how they might’ve died. I mean, you can see the physical damage. And sometimes it is easy to guess. But this guy had his entire bottom lip torn off. The chin was gone, too, just past the jawline. In my mind I see this man leaning down to kiss his wife goodbye after she took that last breath. Then…her eyes open and she bites down–

* * * * *

Today we made it past another ginormous apartment complex. We couldn’t do much in the way of scavenging because it seems we’ve passed into somebody’s territory. We actually had to dodge bullets today.

Jonathan made a white flag after we got pinned down behind a heavily shot up fire truck. He met with a group of four men and two women. They spoke very briefly, and Jonathan said it came down to one simple request: leave.

We did, but only got to the edge of a residential area. Another hospital looms ahead, even larger than the one that almost put the final nail on our coffin. We’ve crested the West Hills and look down into what I’ve named The Valley of Death.

Saturday, February 7

Things don’t look great right now. In some ways, we’re worse off than when we were surrounded and trapped in that gymnasium. I hope Jonathan returns with good news. He left this morning to try and find us a way around.

There are a couple of problems facing us right now. One, we can’t go back. That group of people made it clear that they won’t miss us next time. They were convinced that we were responsible for stirring up the zombies. We didn’t cop to it, but I’m certain they didn’t buy our line about being forced out of our hideout because of the increased activity of the past few days. Two, we can’t go forward without a big risk. There is no place to hide. There is some sort of huge interchange up ahead along with that hospital. Even with our limited visibility due to all the large buildings scattered in our path on both sides of the highway, we can see constant movement. Even at night.

It’s getting late. Shari keeps going all passive-aggressive with comments like, “We didn’t have to leave the Mitchell place.” And, “I don’t know why we are risking our ass to get to a place that might not even be there anymore.” Finally, I told her that she was never asked to come along. That she had sought me and told me she was coming. If she didn’t like it, she could shoulder her pack and haul her ass back the way we came.

Jenifer sat quietly, cleaning and oiling guns the whole time. I guess Jonathan has been showing her how at night while I’ve been sleeping. I thought my equipment always looked nice in the mornings when I’d wake up. I guess I’ve never thought about it. I mean, it’s a gun. You aim it, fire it, reload and repeat as necessary. Of course they need to be cleaned. And now that I think about it, wasn’t Snoe always tinkering with the weapons after we’d make camp? And that army kid, Perry Rose… the Air Force gal, Colleen Kaufman.

There is something deeply upsetting about having the belief that you’ve been self-reliant, and, that if you were spun off all by yourself, you’d be fine. I’ve been under the illusion that I’ve been taking care of myself this whole time. But that’s a big, fat lie! Here I am, Miss Independent. Only, somebody clean my guns, and please risk your ass to bring some canned potatoes when I have a craving. Watch my diet and ensure that I’m getting enough fluids. Scout a route that I can take because the one person insisting we travel has the greatest limitations. Wait! I didn’t ask for any of this. No, Meredith, you didn’t. It was done freely by people who care about you.

I am such a bitch.

Sunday, February 8

No sign of Jonathan. I don’t like this.

Tuesday, February 10

Yay! Jonathan is fine. It’s gonna be risky, but he found us a way. The way he described it, we have a very narrow slice of woods. We still have to weave our way through a nasty neighborhood, but if we can make it to those trees, we can skirt the back side of the hospital!

Unfortunately, he says that things won’t get easier any time soon. He is certain that we will be passing through not only heavily infected areas, but some occupied zones as well. There were some burn piles that he thinks couldn’t be more than a few days old. We’ll try to sneak through, but if we have to negotiate safe passage, we’ve worked out a hand signal. If Jonathan—he wouldn’t entertain the idea of anybody doing the talking but himself—raises the left hand, bug out.

Wednesday, February 11

Jonathan may be “The Negotiator”, but it is Shari that paid our way today. I’m in a three-story parking garage on the second level. This used to be some sort of city bus transit-center. The people living here have been set up for quite a while. There are literally hundreds of cars, trucks, and busses parked in a huge circle around the place which again made me think of Sam’s warehouse complex.

The folks here are very tribal. The interesting thing is that the three-to-one ratio here is in favor of the women! At least half of which are pregnant. Shari has been doing check-ups all evening. We’ve agreed to stay for a few days, and she is helping them compile a list of things that they need for the women.

Here’s the real kicker. They’ve asked Jonathan to offer up his “services” to as many of the ladies as possible the next few days. I guess it is to help keep diversity in the gene pool. They made it clear that it was entirely voluntary. I’m not sure if they got that entire statement out before he agreed.

Coach has even served a purpose. He’s the first living dog folks here have seen since this whole nightmare began. I think his belly has been rubbed raw, and he may have a sprained tail from wagging it so much. Then, there’s me. Pregnant Meredith. I helped scrub vegetables for dinner. Woo-hoo!

Oh, I almost forgot. There is a humongous nursery. That is the big reason their perimeter is so large. The ten greenhouses are all in full use. This group has it together. They have solar power on a huge scale—the entire third tier of the parking garage is an array of panels—and a variety of fruits and vegetables I haven’t seen in over a year. I ate a whole fresh tomato today and had fresh-squeezed orange juice to wash everything down at dinner.

Also, on the third tier is what I guess you would consider the turrets of this castle: four military Hum-Vees parked and facing out. Each one has a mounted .50 cal machinegun secured up top and is manned twenty-four-seven. At night, the watch is equipped with night-vision goggles.

I would guess the numbers here to be over a hundred easy. It’s hard not to ask too many questions and look suspicious. And these people aren’t stupid. As welcoming as they’ve been, nobody in our group is ever wandering around without one of them on hand.

It seems that some of them are familiar with The Genesis Brotherhood. Two of the women Shari saw early on are due any day. They both escaped from their camp. They are apparently well entrenched inside some historical mansion.

Speaking of Shari, she is unconscious about five feet away on a cot. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman snore like that. They actually made her get some rest. She’s been giving check-ups to the women and children all day. I guess that I never realized how lucky I’ve been to always have somebody with some type of medical background on hand.

One other interesting tidbit about this group. They have at least three people that have displayed an immunity to the infection. The saddest is a child no more than three. A little girl named Hope. Besides the terrible scar at the joint of her left elbow, she wears a patch over the left eye socket. Something took a big chunk of her face on that side as well as her eye. She says it is where “mommy gave me a mean kiss.” She has pretty blonde hair in Shirley Temple ringlets, and her one good eye is such a bright blue. And her laugh…it is absolutely precious. Shari said that, health wise, the little girl is fine. From what I’ve seen, Hope is completely adjusted. I do wonder if we’ll be able to bring Coach with us when we leave though. Right now she’s asleep with her arms around the dog’s neck.

Thursday, February 12

Men can be such disgusting animals! Jonathan is walking around like he is the King-Rooster himself. I’ve tried to talk to him five or six times today alone. All he says is that he’ll “get back to me.” I got news. I said it once and I’ll say it again. I have someplace to be and I intend on getting there.

Shari is practically invisible these days unless you make an appointment. Jenifer is either at the greenhouses, teaching Hope to tie her shoes, or off in a corner with a flock of teenage girls whispering and giggling. They won’t even let me get a sentence out of my mouth without leaving.

Okay, I get it, this is a nice set up. It’s got warmth, cleanliness—I forgot to mention the hand-pumped well this place uses for fresh water. You get a real “shower” every other day. They heat water, then, you step into this cubicle and half the water is poured into a bucket with holes punched in it. You lather up, then get the other half of the water to rinse off. And sure, I could easily have my baby here. These folks would probably be thrilled to keep it. That’s not the point.

I’m curious. Okay? There, I said it. I want to meet Tom Langston, Greg Parker, and Monica Campinelli. And this baby deserves the chance to be around people who knew its dad. Is that so terrible and wrong? Maybe they won’t want the baby. In that case, I can come back this way and give it to these folks. Hell, maybe they aren’t even alive anymore. Maybe the whole place was wiped out. But I feel I owe this child at least that much. So, I’ll give the gang a few more days. Then, once more, with or without them, I’m outta here. Contrary to what some folks might believe, this trip hasn’t solely been about me.

Friday, February 13

Witnessed first-hand how this place has lasted. Some nomads came through today. We actually heard them early this morning. It is nothing unusual to hear a gunshot or two echo in the distance every so often. I actually take that as a good sign. It means that there are still people out there surviving.

A few hours before sunrise, a burst of automatic weapons and a handful of explosions woke everybody. This place shifted into a high-alert status with an impressive efficiency. I mean everybody old enough to shoot had a gun. I was given a big set of earmuffs and asked to feed one of the tripod mounted machineguns that I hadn’t even known existed up until now. We were situated behind some sandbags and amongst a double-rowed circle of trees at a corner of the greenhouses.

We listened as the firefight in the distance went on for several minutes. I started noticing some zombies stumbling and dragging themselves past. We all stayed silent. Letting them go only puts more obstacles in the way of would-be raiders.

The first mistake these yahoos made was in being overconfident. Sure, they numbered about fifty, and I must admit, the armor shielding they had fixed on the big three-wheeled choppers and quads was impressive. They just weren’t ready for such intense resistance.

Word came back from a team of scouts—that I never saw leave or return—that there was to be no hesitation. A trip wire was in place that would set off a flare. On that signal, everybody was to open up with everything. It was ruthless and efficient.

It took less than two minutes.

Afterwards, I asked about what allowances were made for the possibility that those folks may have prisoners. The answer I got was to the point: not our problem.

At first, I was a little upset by such a cold statement. But once I got past the bluntness of it, I totally understood. Waiting around these days will get you killed…or worse.

The convoy was picked clean, I even heard a couple single-shots. That would clearly indicate that this group has a “no prisoner” policy. I didn’t ask, but I did wonder; what if there was a recently captured person in that mess? Maybe I just don’t want to know the answer to that. These people have been nothing but accommodating to my little band.

Saturday, February 14

Shari performed an appendectomy today! Now she’s really the Belle of the Ball. They did everything but have a damned parade. Almost like it was planned, a hunting party returned with five deer. I wonder if it was the same herd.

It’s sorta weird how the zombies will chase and eat dogs and cats, but deer, horses, cows, they all seem safe.

Sorry…I just started giggling and couldn’t stop for like five minutes. I pictured the zombie version of Elmer Fudd tip-toeing along. Then he stops and says, “Shhh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I’m hunting peoples. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.” Stupid, right? But it just absolutely cracked me up. I had tears in my eyes and everything.

Jenifer showed up when I was in full-on mirth and asked if I was okay. I did a really poor imitation, made worse by my inability to stop laughing. She just shook her head and said that maybe I should drink more fluids because I was delirious. I think I’m getting stir-crazy.

Why can’t I just settle down? I’ve asked myself that question these past couple days. It’s not safe out there. I don’t know what my problem is. I only know that I can’t even imagine the thought of staying put.

Sunday, February 15

I’ve told everybody that I felt had a need-to-know that I will leave tomorrow. I’ve been packing my stuff. Some of the residents took the trouble to come by with gifts. They even let me have a shower this evening with TWO buckets of hot water. Talk about making a gal feel special.

Shari’s been ducking me all day. Jenifer actually spun around and went the other way when she saw me. And I haven’t seen Jonathan since the day we took out those raiders. As for Coach, well, I just couldn’t do that to Hope.

Monday, February 16

I left by myself. Made it all the way to the torched ruins of what was apparently some sort of shopping complex. I think there was a grocery store, a couple of restaurants. All that remains are piles of rubble and the black smudge of what must’ve been an impressive fire.

Then I reached a large field. This was another curiosity. There were the husks of military vehicles scattered about. Also, this is the first time I’ve encountered what looks to have been large cages. Nothing nice could’ve been happening here. There are lots of weathered and decayed carcasses lying about.

I was poking around when I heard a thud. Spinning around, I see this cloud of soot and dust swirling a few feet from a burned out army jeep. I walk over to investigate. A zombie chil—three, maybe four years old tops—is lying face down with a very neat hole in its head. I start looking everywhere. I hadn’t heard a gunshot.

“You forgot your crossbow!” Jonathan slid over a dirt embankment.

Seems that one of the folks back at the Transit Fortress heard about my love of the crossbow, but was on patrol and missed out on the opportunity to give it to me personally. Jonathan claims he accidently overslept. He says he will see me to my destination, but then he’s going back. Also, Jenifer has a boyfriend. When the hell did that happen? And why can’t anybody tell me anything?

I guess Shari felt really guilty about “abandoning” me. Maybe if she would’ve talked to me she wouldn’t need to feel guilty. I would’ve told her that I completely understand. She’s found a home. She feels wanted. Also, not everybody feels the need to be on the move.

I have to admit, I am very worried about making it to the warehouse. I am getting slower every day. And if I stare at my belly long enough, I swear I can see it grow. I’m just glad I can’t see my ass, because I’ll bet it is experiencing the same fate.

I’d never tell him to his face, but it was nice to see Jonathan.

Wednesday, February 18

We might make it to the warehouse complex tomorrow morning! Of all the crazy things, Jonathan found a pair of Vespa scooters in the house we camped in last night. After some tinkering he got them both to work. Then, he rigged a hook-up for my cart. Since we’ll be sticking to the highway unless a nasty surprise or an emergency arises, we should be able to make good time.

I am actually nervous. I have a feeling in my stomach that I haven’t had since—well, since before all this started. I’m actually writing this by moonlight because I’ve had trouble sleeping, and it’s not because of the baby. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax in any way, shape, or form until I lay eyes on that place.

Thursday, February 19

This place would give the folks back at the Sunset Transit complex a run for their money. It is, in a word, amazing. I’ve met so many people.  And so many folks come up to me and simply smile that I feel very self-conscious about the decision that I have yet to tell them regarding the baby.

It seems they found a way to deal with the wall of undead once surrounding the place. In fact, there weren’t even any stragglers when Jonathan and I arrived. And they have excavated a deep moat that runs all the way around the facility. Couple that with razor wire coils and sharpened rods of what look like rebar planted in the concrete basin at the bottom of the moat. And that is just the outer-most ring of protection. Throw in eight armored machinegun towers that look not only like they can withstand rocket attacks, but like they actually have.

They have stills and produce their own version of ethanol to run their generators. Yes, this place has electricity 24/7! Granted, they’re still very frugal. There is nothing wasted here. This place has a three square acre plot just for corn! There are six satellite “gardens” being worked, plus they converted one warehouse into the biggest greenhouse I’ve ever seen. They haven’t eaten anything processed or “canned” in over six months! They have goats, cows, and even horses! I had a glass of milk today! Oh. My. God.

Everybody here works a regular job. This place even has a jail, although they say it has only been used less than a handful of times. (And only once by a member of the community.) At least that is according to the sheriff and mayor, Tom Langston.

While all of this may sound grand, I see a very large prison. These folks claim a five mile perimeter as their territory. Jonathan and I even saw signs warning people that they were entering “New Jamestown” and that “passing through is permitted, but staying without authorization would be seen as a hostile act.”

The population of New Jamestown is one hundred and eight. Children apparently don’t count until they reach age five. I’ve seen a dozen under that age. There is a school; I met Greg Parker and Crystal Johnson. While there seemed to be some standard stuff on display in the classroom, when I visited, all the students were at one of the ethanol stills. Did I mention that every roof here is lined with solar panels? Oh, and three windmills are under construction.

This all may seem well and good, but I see a push to the “old ways” here that is being sought much faster than anything I’ve witnessed. Out there, it is the Dark Ages. This is like discovering New York City in the middle of the Old West.

It is a lot to process in one day. I’ve given Sam’s journal to Tom. He wanted to make copies. Can you believe it? They can make copies here! He wants to make it available to anybody who would like to read it. He was actually sort of hesitant when he asked…like he was afraid I would say no.

Sam, you may well be the writer of the first “Best Seller” of the new age. Although, technically your book will be given away for free. Still, not bad for a newspaper deliverer and garage band member. I’ve kept this journal hidden. It is mine and I don’t think I want to share. And, of course, I want to keep the original of Sam’s.

Jonathan has made it clear, just as I was determined to reach my destination, he is returning to the other place. He says that he doesn’t feel comfortable here. I can’t blame him. Is it possible that these people are too civilized? Anyhow, I wished him well. He promised to see me in the morning before he actually leaves. I’ll miss him.

Friday, February 20

Jonathan left today. I’ve been given a list of job possibilities. They told me it was no rush, but I got the feeling these folks are watching me closely. Measuring me.

Saturday, February 21

I’ve met Monica Campinelli, finally. She was out with nine others doing a security and supply run. I guess this place has motion sensors in a few key locations. They have cameras that are activated when the motion sensors are triggered. It is how they keep tabs on their farms.

Additionally, they send regularly scheduled teams out to patrol. They have a communications center which is manned any time that they have a person or persons out in the field. Again, this is way too organized. Some may see this as good, but all I see here is power. And power produces envy. There will always be somebody bigger and badder on the horizon. I just can’t shake the uneasy feeling I have.

Back to Monica, she is nice. Tough, but nice. She actually came looking for me. She was holding a copy of Sam’s journal in one hand, a basket of fresh muffins in the other with a little jar of strawberry jam and fresh butter. We sat at a table sipping tea and snacking on muffins, talking about all sorts of stuff.

I told Monica what my intentions are. No, I didn’t tell her anything about The Genesis Brotherhood or the plans I have for them. I told her that I would like for the baby to stay here. I told her that I didn’t want to plant any roots. I also told her that if this place didn’t want the baby, I’d take it to the other place. Monica sat silently the entire time I spewed all of this out.

Before I knew it, I was babbling about what happened at the hands of the Sparrow Falls people—and I use the word ‘people’ loosely. I told her stuff that I don’t think I’ve spilled to anybody about what they did to me. I don’t know what it was. I just started talking to this woman and everything poured out.

After I was done, and it took a while, she gave me this look. It wasn’t condemning, or judgmental, or even slightly disapproving. She told me that everything would be fine and that the baby would be welcome. She even said that I could interview a few potential parents and choose who the baby will be given over to for raising.

I was exhausted when it was all over. Monica told me that Dennis VanDelay will want to give me a check-up tomorrow, and that she would be there for it as well. I also told her that I’d decided on my job choice. Of course my choices were limited. Some limits were probably due to my “condition”, but I bet the rest is because I am new and they have zero reason to trust me with anything involving security.

Tomorrow I go work in the kitchen.

Sunday, February 22

Met Marty Johnson today. He was adopted by Crystal. He hung around in the kitchens after lunch and I could tell he wanted to talk to me. If I hadn’t been sporting the massive pregnancy bulge, I would’ve thought he was checking me out.

He wanted to show me how well he played guitar! I forgot that one of Sam’s early experiences here was teaching the kids to play guitar. It seems that Marty really took to it. He’s very talented. He now teaches others. I think Sam would be very proud.

Tuesday, February 24

Time seems to go so damned slow here! I don’t know if it is the eight hour shift in the kitchen or what, but it makes me want to scream! Have I mentioned that there is no such thing as a weekend?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not lazy. Only, working in a big kitchen is not high on my list of career choices. I’d rather be out on patrol. Hell, I’d even take manning one of the towers. Chopping onions? No thanks.

There is an upside. It’s not all misery here. There is a “movie theater” and a “gym” and even a “dance hall”. All meals are served to the entire community. I see no signs of rationing or controlling portions. Food is not a problem. It is a regular social event three times a day. Nobody seems to have specific people they sit with unless they are in some sort of relationship. There’s even a guy-guy couple and two girl-girl couples!

There is a “church”. It was a conference room that they converted. (I find that to be an amusing phrase). Outside is a schedule. So far there are Baptist, Jewish, and Catholic services. Also there is an “open worship” time and two bible study groups. I guess some folks still believe. With all I’ve seen out there, plus the whole dead getting back up thing, I have a bit of a problem with exactly what my spiritual beliefs are. If God is everything The Bible claims, then I’m sure He’ll understand.

Besides all that, I feel like a beached whale. I want this thing out of me. Dennis says he wants to see me twice a week. He estimates that this baby will be born on or around the first of April. I told him I wanted to punch him in the face, and that he could move that date up to tomorrow and that would be fine with me. Another month of this?

Saturday, February 28

I believe I’ve chosen the couple for the baby. Monica actually came to me with four couples to choose from. The only one I didn’t feel comfortable with on paper was Janie and Lindsay.

They are the youngest of all the couples. Both are in their early twenties. They are the only couple with no child of their own. And it may’ve been my conservative, rural, quasi-Republican upbringing, but a lesbian couple would never be something I would consider as my first choice to raise this baby.

Then, I met Janie and Lindsay.

I don’t know what I expected. I do know that I’d asked Monica to sit in with me because I had no idea what I would ask these two. I am embarrassed to say that I expected one of them to be wearing hiking boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt.

Janie is what you might call drop-dead-gorgeous. She is tall, curvy, sandy-haired with hazel eyes. She was wearing a blue turtleneck sweater and the cutest skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she even wore make-up! She works in one of the armored towers, manning a big-ass machinegun.

Lindsay looks like an Olympic gymnast. She is a tiny thing, at least a foot shorter than Janie! Her blonde hair is kept shoulder length and has eyes so blue I thought she was wearing colored contacts. She is armed security for one of the farm-worker details.

I have no idea when Monica left. The three of us were talking and laughing so much that she slipped out unnoticed at some point. Both women asked me more questions than I asked them! Somewhere along the way I told them I’d decided. They were so happy. Yay! Three women hugging and crying and laughing. I felt…human.

Sunday, March 1

One thing about how things are set up here; there is always a parent at home with the child. Even though this place believes in a seven-day work week, parents are never on the same shift. And if one parent works “outside the fence”, the other is required to work inside.

Janie asked me if I would like to move out of the “dorm” and move in to her and Lindsay’s apartment. Also, they wanted to know if they could attend my check-ups and if I’d allow them to be there at the birth. I’ve said “yes” to all three.

My shift happens to be the same as Janie’s, so we’ll spend a bit more time together. I’ve made sure that Dennis was okay scheduling my appointments when all three of us can be there. I don’t want Lindsay feeling left out.

Tonight, the three of us started talking about a name. Honestly, I’d never even thought about it. I am a terrible person. The choice for a boy’s name was easy: Sam. It just seems right. If it is a girl, she will be named Snoe. I thought it would be difficult to convince them, but we all agreed so easily.

So…baby Sam or Snoe. It’s been a real experience carrying you inside me this whole time. I’ve done my best to make sure that you arrive in this world. I’ve tried to keep you safe and sound. And it’s not that I don’t love you or anything else like that. I simply know that I cannot live behind a fence for the rest of my life. And, I cannot take you out there. I would be condemning you to death. This way, you have a real chance at life. Your mommies will have a copy of not only your dad’s, but also, this journal.

Now, if you don’t mind. Get out of my belly!

Monday, March 2

This morning, I woke before I had to be to work. I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep because I take almost an hour just to get comfortable. That, and I’d had this terrible nightmare about Dominique.

I question if I did the right thing. I know I couldn’t really force her to come with us. But she’s just a child. Her first sexual experience was violent and traumatic. She was confused. And I left her behind. So determined to pursue my own selfish goals, I abandoned a young girl, not even a teen yet, to some unspeakable Hell.

What angers me is the wave of self-doubt. My rational mind tells me she would’ve bolted at the first opportunity. But the Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder says I was the “adult” in the situation. I should’ve gotten her away from there and then taken the time to help her through this trauma. This is just more proof that I have NO BUSINESS being a mother.

If I didn’t before, I MUST go back. I have to find those bastards. I have to save Dominique. None of the things that happened to her in the past few months would’ve ever taken place if we’d left her at her little camp. What business was it of mine to take her from there? Who do I think I am that I know what is best for others? Half the time I don’t even know what is good for myself.

Also, I miss Jenifer. I miss Jonathan. And I even miss that dumb dog.

Tuesday, March 3

Doctor Dennis says everything is going just fine. Janie held my hand. I think it was more for her than for me though. It was sweet.

Wednesday, March 4

Sleeping is starting to become harder to come by. Nothing is comfortable. I feel like a hippo, and if I hear one more person tell me “pregnancy really suits you” or “you’re carrying it so well, you look like you just swallowed a basketball”, I may literally scream. And the next person who touches my stomach without an actual invitation may come back with a bloody stump.

I don’t feel blessed, I feel bloated. I’m not glowing, I’m gassy. I’m not cute-as-a-button, I’m constipated-as-a-cheese-taster. And I’m not expecting, I’m exhausted.

I wore a tee shirt today that had “GO AWAY!” printed on it. They thought I was kidding. Lindsay said that she had just the cure for my tension.

This evening, when I returned from work, she and Janie had managed to not only have an actual bath tub brought to the apartment, but filled it with hot, bubbly water. I TOOK A BUBBLE BATH. Janie came in at the end and worked my hair. After, Lindsay spent over an hour giving me a pedicure. My toenails are pink! (Not my choice of colors, but they were so sweet I couldn’t refuse or complain.)

I now have shaved legs (and underarms), newly trimmed hair, pink finger and toenails, and am tucked into a big, cozy bed with a bowl of hand-churned vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. For the first time since January 20th of last year when I saw my first walking corpse, I feel like a woman. Feminine.

It can’t be as simple as a bath, a pedicure, and a bowl of ice cream. Can it?

I still want this child out of me, but tonight, I feel indescribably calm and at peace. Please let it transfer to a night’s sleep where I actually manage more than an hour-long stretch before I’m awake.

Saturday, March 7

The patrol lost somebody today. A lady named Shannon. Jobs were put on hold so everybody could attend the service. I went just to see everybody in one place and get an idea of the numbers. Maybe it is because I’ve been out on the road so long, but it sure looked like a lot of people. I didn’t really know the woman. Even when I saw a picture, she didn’t look familiar.

That’s when it hit me. Everybody looks so very similar. Not like related or anything. It’s just that haunted, hunted, and tired look. There is a gauntness. I’d been sitting on a chair at the service when the realization came. I’m sure that if anybody was paying attention to me, they’d think me to be perfectly rude.

This is the world my child will know.

Sunday, March 8

Today I watched morning break. The green hills in the distance had pockets of fog trapped in the folds and crevices. It looked like the mountains had steam coming off of them. It was beautiful. I realized that these people, as “free” as they think they are, they’re prisoners. Nobody here is any more alive than those horrid creatures outside the fence. They wake, they work, they eat, they sleep. It’s worse than before this apocalypse, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.

If I survive long enough, maybe I’ll come back here. If it’s still standing, I’ll check in on my child. See if he or she wants to come with me out into the world where you are alive every single minute of each day. If that child reads this, please understand I didn’t abandon you because I don’t care. But I am more convinced than ever that staying here would kill me.

Tuesday, March 10

Thought I was gonna have the baby today. I spent nine hours with Dennis checking me and listening to mine and the baby’s heartbeat. I really had my hopes up

Aaarrrgghhh!

Wednesday, March 11

Hmm. Learn something new every single day. Monica came to me with a job offer. It is a position in the communication center where they monitor the airwaves. The shift would be the same hours, so no change in my schedule.

I accepted.

Tom took me on a little tour this afternoon. The place looks busy and just a bit hectic. Even when nothing is happening, those folks look like they’re doing stuff. They write down everything that is heard. That includes the Las Vegas transmissions.

I’m curious what else they have records of. They have files on “groups of interest” which includes The Genesis Brotherhood, Gypsy Militia, Sunset Transit Fortress, several roving bands, one military outpost which was been dark for five months…and Irony, USA. Things keep getting curiouser and curiouser.

What worries me is that this place stays locked. Two armed guards are posted inside and outside. And there is a door nobody but Tom, Monica, and some other guy I don’t know, go in and out of.

All this on my first day of orientation. If I picked up this much unsettling information in that length of time, what in the hell will I find once I start working there every day? All of this stinks of cloak-and-dagger. Secrets. Isn’t this what got us in this situation to begin with?

Thursday, March 12

I was searched when I left the Comm Center today! What the hell is that about?  I will talk to Monica. It’s not like they stripped me down or anything. It was a lot like a police pat-down. (Yeah, I may have had one or two of those in my younger days.)

I was put at a bank of scanners and told to write down the digital readout numbers anytime it locked onto a frequency, even if no message was heard. The coolest thing that I heard was at noon. Somebody broadcast Hells Bells by AC/DC, Zombie by The Cranberries, and Death on Two Legs by Queen. I guess whomever this mystery Dee-Jay is, they transmit three or four times a week. Once, they broadcast the entire War of the Worlds radio program that Orson Wells did way back when.

This person is my kinda survivor. They may be locked away just like we are here, but they sound free. Nobody has ever heard a voice. Just the songs or whatever.

Friday, March 13

The things you learn by just sitting quietly and staring intently at an LED readout. It seems that this place knew about the folks at the Sunset Transit Center before I arrived; just not where they were located. They usually try to pinpoint groups by listening to their chatter and picking up on locations either by the monitored group naming landmarks, or, by them saying it outright.

Today, I listened to somebody calling himself “Bug”. “Bug” was in contact with “Pepper”. At one point, I heard Bug say he would “circle back on two-one-seven and rally at BHS.” This is a small group with primitive communications equipment. They probably think they are miles ahead of everybody else. The reality is, places like here and Sunset use frequencies that nobody else is on. They change often just in case somebody does find them. The only way this place keeps tabs on Sunset is because of all the scanning gear.

If these folks wanted, they could ruin some of the groups out there. However, the agenda here is to lay low and amass food, supplies, and weapons. Pre-zombie, we would be considered a Superpower. I just wonder how long it will take before they start branching out and absorbing some of the “satellite” nations.

I did ask about The Genesis Brotherhood and was told that they broadcast almost around the clock! Mostly it is fire-and-brimstone preaching. When I heard that some folks here even have meeting’s scheduled around specific preachers’ sermons, I was a bit disturbed. I haven’t spoken to anybody yet about why. I’ve added this to my list of things to discuss with Monica when I get a chance.

Saturday, March 14

Today was lousy. It poured down rain all day. It was windy, which only adds to the misery. The Comm Center was quiet. Partially due to nobody out there doing much talking. But also due to three antennae that were damaged because of the wind. And yep, you guessed it, crews are working on the problem right this minute.

Janie and Lindsay had an actual argument today. Huh, lesbian couples argue just like regular married folks. Who knew? It seems that somebody was feeling unappreciated while somebody else felt like all their hard work was taken for granted, blah, blah, blah. I walked in, heard the tones, saw the body-language and turned right around and went down to watch a movie. I feel better every day about my choice in parents for this baby. Those two are like any couple that I’ve ever known.

Tuesday, March 17

No matter what happens, no matter what I see in my travels out there, I can never get used to the sound of another person dying a terrible, painful, violent death. A small herd—by small I mean only a couple hundred—surprised one of our farming groups. We lost four people today.

I learned a couple of things today. For all the aspects of this place I don’t agree with, there is one very good aspect. These people genuinely seem to care for each other. There is a cloud of sadness over the compound today. Also, I now know how this place remains populated, and the real use for the Comm Center.

My shift was going swell. Bug was out again. He was really excited because he found some onions growing wild. I was wondering just how bad it had gotten for people that onions were being spoken of like gold when the radio-operator tasked with staying in touch with anybody outside called for room silence. He flicked a toggle and put the incoming message on speaker.

Two people immediately started writing furiously, and I was told to be ready with ten radios for a response team. Somebody must have sent for both Tom and Monica during the initial insanity because they came running into the room, Tom looked like he’d been in bed and wasn’t even wearing shoes. I felt more in the way than anything else. That, and helpless. All I could do was listen to the panic, fear, and dying. I was so relieved that it wasn’t Lindsay’s group. Is that wrong?

The first report I heard was that “several walkers are converging from all sides!” That got me thinking back to that attack in the field that almost got me killed and ended with near starvation in a school gymnasium. Is it possible that the zombies are learning? I’ve seen too many of them stuck in seatbelts, or pawing at a window while a big rock sits a few feet away to be totally convinced.

There was a long period where the radio was silent. Then, it got worse. When you are worried about someone, you might think silence is the worst possible thing. Wrong. Somehow, a radio was keyed, and there was the sudden wave of sound from a terrible fight.

Gunfire came in bursts. There were people shouting things like “I need ammo!” “Who just got bit?” “Put her down! Don’t let her suffer!” All of this mixed in with moans, groans, and the eerie cries of the undead. Later, I heard that a lot of the compound rushed outside because they could hear the echo of the distant gunfire. Those folks knew it was our people. Each one wondering if it was their friends, family, or loved one. At least they couldn’t hear the screams. It had been awhile since I’d heard that particular sound. The pure and unbridled shrieking of somebody who is seeing parts of their body torn out and feasted upon. The sound of somebody who, at that moment, wishes for death to hurry so the agony will cease.

Nobody noticed, but during the madness, a contraction hit me, hard. I made it to a chair and worked through it. Suddenly, I felt like it would be terribly inappropriate to express any reaction to the pain, seeing as how a group of people were fighting for their lives and some had already lost that battle. Eventually, they spaced out like they always do, leaving me feeling disappointed and frustrated. Only this time I was able to add guilt to my catalog of emotions because of my self-centeredness while others were, at that very moment, having it much worse.

I made it back to my feet in time to listen as the response team arrived. They put down the rest and suddenly it was quiet. I mean just like that. Silence.

Tom and Monica came to me with a pair of files. It was a log of activity from a couple of roving bands. I was asked to start trying to raise them. I was given very specific instructions as to what I could say. It was also made clear that I was to say nothing outside of the very defined parameters. I would attempt to arrange a meeting at a location from a list provided.

Using their known frequencies, I was able to schedule both meetings. Tom is actually going in person to meet the group scheduled for tomorrow. However, this evening, Monica went into the private room and, as I was going home, a six-person squad was leaving. Putting two-and-two together, our people are putting guns in place in the event this meeting doesn’t go as planned. Didn’t we leave this crap behind? I of all people understand the need to withhold trust. I understand being cautious. But damn, if you are that worried, why even bother trying to bring them in. Has it really come to the point where we need to set-up an ambush team?

Thursday, March 19

Eleven new residents are now part of the Community. I take back all I said about how gaunt, scared, and vacant the folks here look. I couldn’t tell men from women in this group except for facial hair. And the smell! Oh. My. God. The zombies smell better than these people.

I had a friend who travelled overseas. He said that we Americans have no real concept of poverty or suffering. He told me that what he saw made him have a new appreciation for his life and the comfort in which he lived. I think I understand that a little better now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still leaving as soon as I’m able. I simply realize that I have had it much better than probably a lot of survivors out there.

The first few months, before everything really started spoiling, food was not hard to come by. Times have changed that now. Yet, I’ve always managed. I mean, really, I’ve had ice cream for crying out loud. How much suffering have I really endured.

Dennis certified all the newbies as being clean—at least of zombie markings. Right now they are all being treated to warm baths in a few hot tubs. I saw a couple of them actually bursting into tears at the sight of steaming water and clean towels. Talk about making a person feel self-conscious about how fortunate they’ve been.

One of their party is pregnant. There is a certain icky-factor to it though. She has no idea who the father is or if he is one of the group that is still alive. That, and she is fifteen. Or, at least she claims to be. Maybe it’s just me, but that little girl doesn’t look a day over twelve.

Something else that isn’t sitting right. The other three women in this group are not currently pregnant. But I overheard Dennis telling Monica that at least two “show signs” of having been so recently. Only, there aren’t any babies.

Friday, March 20

The second group was brought in today. They only had four people in their little band. All were male, one was a boy no older than seven. It was almost comical seeing the little guy packing a pair of .22 caliber pistols on his hips. They didn’t look too rugged. In fact, while they were happy to be here, they certainly didn’t look overwhelmed by the surroundings.

One of them is a real-life doctor. I think Dennis was happier than any other resident. Today was cloudy, rainy, and a bit cold. I don’t believe anybody noticed.

Tuesday, March 24

I no longer trust my body. It seems that every single day I think I’m going into labor. Doctor Gene Cameriski has checked me out and says I can have the baby any day. I told him to tell the baby that. He promptly placed a rolled up piece of paper against my stomach and, using it like a megaphone, said “Hey! Baby! You can come out any day!”

I thought Janie was going to pass a lung she laughed so hard. Dennis looked nervous at first, like he thought I was gonna bite Doctor Gene’s head off. Do I really come off like that? I mean, am I that grouchy, cranky, mean, and bitchy?

I went with Lindsay to a movie today. She worked her normal shift, but got off early because the field workers filled the truck faster than expected. (We have a lot of squash and potatoes now.) Janie said that it would be nice if Lindsay and I got to do some bonding. So, voila! A movie. Today was some French film called Amelie. I’d never seen an actual foreign film until today. It was pretty good.

Wednesday, March 25

A fight broke out today. My first thought was that it was probably the newcomers. I couldn’t have been more wrong. First off, it was a couple of females. For another, one of them was Crystal Johnson. The rumor is that it was about Crystal sending an unruly student home.

I’ve said it before, but this place is becoming too much like the society we once knew. What’s next? Parents fighting at a little league game? Road rage on the jogging path? This place is striving so hard to be civilized, it’s bringing everything along without trying to weed out the bad stuff. And I don’t think they even notice.

Thursday, March 26

Very proud of myself today. Thought I was in labor again. But, as always, it was just another biological practical joke.

Doctor Gene came by the living quarters today and gave me an exam. I won’t deny that having a man poking around down there in my bedroom is a bit weird. He did say that the baby is in position. Once again I heard the dreaded words, “Any day now, Meredith.”

Monday, March 30

I was sent home today. The consensus is that they would rather me not go through another stressful event this close to delivery. Their reason? The Sunset Fortress underwent an attack today that lasted over three hours. I was doing fine until I heard Jenifer’s voice.

“They’ve got flamethrowers over here!” she screamed. I heard orders being given to “Take out the flamethrowers! Take out—” Then there were screams. Terrible screams. I couldn’t tell if they belonged to a man or woman. The battle continued, and I started to cry at some point. Then, while trying to stop, I hyperventilated. The poor people in the Comm Center were in mid-crisis when the pregnant lady passes out and slides out of her chair onto the floor.

I’m not very popular right now with my co-workers. On the positive side, while Doctor Gene was checking me and listening to heartbeats, all that doctor stuff, I hear this voice, “Tell Jonathan to come get his stupid dog!” Jenifer was okay! And Jonathan! And Coach! At least I didn’t have to wonder. That might’ve driven me over the edge.

Now…if only this baby would GET THE HELL OUT OF ME!

Wednesday, April 1

Only forty-eight hours into this employment exile and I’m ready to go insane. If one more person asks me if I’m okay, I may kill them. Don’t get me wrong, I was no fan of the automated routine this place subscribes to, I’m just sick of doing abso-friggin’-lutely nothing.

Please, God, if you’re out there, and you’re listening, get this baby out of me. Oh yeah! And make him or her healthy.

Amen.

Saturday, April 4

It’s dark. It’s late. But something feels strange.

Sunday, April 5

Note from Janie: At 7:55 this morning Snoe Elana Gainey was born. Labor lasted seventeen hours. Doctors Dennis VanDelay and Gene Cameriski were assisted by Monica Campinelli. Snoe was seven pounds, four ounces, bald as a cue ball, and possessed a healthy set of lungs along with her mother’s temper.

Lindsay Wells held the cord while Janie Wells (me!) cut it. Both mother and daughter are doing fine! Rules were ‘violated’ and we transmitted our first outgoing message to another community. The people of the Sunset Fortress sent their best wishes!

Monday, April 6

Note to self: Those little pains that I thought were contractions? Ha! There was nothing about that experience that I care to ever repeat. That said, Snoe is absolutely precious. Her namesake would approve.

Janie and Lindsay approached me late last night, and I could tell they were both nervous. I told them to just spit it out. I knew by their hesitation that it was Snoe-related. Breast-feeding. This place has a fairly interesting, if not archaic program. Wet-nurses. Yep, women whose sole function it is to breast-feed babies.

I thought it over. It makes sense actually. There certainly isn’t a surplus of formula to be had. I agreed to feed Snoe for the first week or so. They already have a lady selected. They wanted to know if I’d like to meet her. I thought it over and I decided that I would, but only because I can see how much it means to those two.

All three of us have been given ten days off from work to have time with the baby. Two of “us” are thrilled. One of us just wants to get on her feet and gear up for a trip outside the fence. Is it weird to miss killing zombies? I’m gonna vote yes, but accept it as who I am now.

Tuesday, April 7

I took a long walk today. Just hung to the perimeter and walked. I carried Snoe in a contraption that was sorta like a sling. She seemed to like it. A few times I felt a slight tug in my heart, like maybe I should stay. Maybe this life isn’t so bad. Then my brain would wake up. Also, I had to stop periodically to feed the baby. Maybe something is wrong with me, but I don’t much care for it. I’d be one of those mothers that people tsk-tsk’d because I would have been a bottle feeder if there was a choice.

She is an absolute doll–-when she isn’t screaming. Also, I’d like to correct an early report that Snoe is bald. She has fine, wispy hair that—at least to my eyes—shows a touch of red. I bet she grows up to be a redhead or a strawberry-blonde.

I did face some hurt feelings when I got back from my walk. Janie and Lindsay were both hurt that, not only did I NOT tell them what I was doing today, but I didn’t invite either or both of them. At first I was ready to give them a little piece of my mind; then I remembered that Snoe is their daughter, technically.

Wednesday, April 8

WE went for a walk today. After two hours, the gals were ready to pack it in. From there on, they walked with me in shifts. I don’t think that those two realize what it takes to survive out there.

As for Snoe, she loves it. Sometimes, I glance down and see her just staring up at me, her tiny face peeking out of the tightly wrapped swaddling blanket. I don’t care what anybody thinks or says, that child is studying me, like she is trying to remember every detail.

Thursday, April 9

Today I left Snoe with Janie and Lindsay. I thought they were both gonna start crying. Seems that they wanted some quality time with her, but didn’t want to say anything. I guess they were worried that I’d be mad.

Today I started jogging. Short intervals. Ten minutes at a time followed by brisk walking. My mommy parts still feel like somebody hit them with a bush-axe. Doctor Gene pulled me up at one point and told me “The zombies aren’t all gonna vanish, Meredith. Try to ease into things a bit.” Uh, what does he think I’ve been doing?

My request to go out on a search, scavenge, and scouting run was denied! Something about how I might end up a liability if things get tight. These people have no idea who they’re talking to. They’ve lived their past year or more behind a fence. I’ve been out there!

One major change since Snoe’s birth here: this place now stays in regular contact with the folks at Sunset. There is talk of a possible merge! While some see that as great, I see it as further reason to be out of here soon.

Saturday, April 11

I got a bunch of strange looks today. I did a walk-jog-run combo carrying a backpack loaded with thirty pounds. These people really do not understand why I want to leave.

One of the newcomers joined me at one point and asked why I would willingly go back out there. I tried my best to explain how living behind a fence and a barricade isn’t living. That there is a difference between living and existing. He didn’t understand. I just don’t like living in a cage, no matter how gilded it may be.

Monday, April 13

Today I sat down with Tom, Monica, Dennis, and Doctor Gene. Tomorrow is as good a day as any to leave. I asked them what I would be “allowed” to take. They said I had carte blanche to gear up any way I’d like. And of course I would always be welcome back. They even asked if I wanted a radio. I told them “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I really liked my wheeled, harnessed cart. So today, I loaded up with a case of water that’s been filtered through a purifier. Also I took a nifty water-bottle that has a filter built in and about a hundred little disc-cartridges to swap out as needed (they claim to be good for up to three months). I have an assortment of food. My big luxury is a jar of peanut butter. Then there is my weapons load, 10-gauge shotgun with a hundred shells, twin military-issue .45 caliber handguns and five hundred rounds, plus four spare magazines, a .22 caliber Remington rifle, 1000 rounds, a sweet 18-inch blade that I can wear on my back, a crossbow (yay!) with fifty bolts for it, and last, but not least, a special set of gloves. They are lined with a fine mesh inside, but come with an attachment that goes over the knuckles that has a four inch spike. It is padded enough so as not to bust up the hand. How cool is that?

Also, I have some spare clothes, some heavy stuff for bad weather, two sets of leather arm and leg guards with the mesh lining and studs, and a cap that has an extension that wraps around the neck. I got a Kevlar vest, it’s bulky, but I love it. Then there is the standard camping load out. I’m set.

This evening I will spend time with Janie, Lindsay, and Snoe. I know the girls will be excited to have the baby to themselves. Tonight we will just hang out. I’ll leave in the morning with Lindsay. I can hitch a ride to the plot that her team works and start out from there. I need to get this to Monica so she can make a copy of it. I asked if it could be given to Snoe when she’s old enough.

Tuesday, April 14

Staying tonight in an old barn. It is kinda cold and drafty, but I love it! I’m sitting in a loft only accessible by a half-ladder that somebody cut the bottom off of so that you have to climb up on a sawhorse then jump to catch the bottom rung. I got up, tested the planked floor, then pulled my gear up.

Right now I am sitting in the open doorway, looking out at the Coastal Range, watching the sun set in a beautiful display of reds, pinks, oranges, and purples. In the field that stretches out before me I see a trio of zombies. They are veering away from me, towards some distant trees. Weird…but they were the first mobile ones I’ve seen all day. Of course, this is this boonies. There isn’t another house for another couple miles in either direction.

Doctor Gene would be happy. He told me I needed to take things a bit slower. First day out and I didn’t need to kill anything. I walked maybe a dozen miles. I didn’t run or even have to climb until I got inside this barn. I think I’ll go to sleep watching the stars.

Wednesday, April 15

Another year and I forgot to do my taxes. Damn! Oh well, all is not lost. I learned a very valuable lesson today. Be careful when you wake up.

I had to work a lot harder than if I’d been more aware and a little less programmed. I woke to the sound of Snoe crying. I probably called out three or four times, “Janie! You gonna get that?” The last couple days she and Lindsay had insisted that they get up with the baby. (The nurse always leaves plenty for overnights.)

Finally I sat up, just a bit annoyed at how Janie was so obviously not taking care of things as she should. Then, I noticed where I was. That evil sound drifted up to me. (Did I mention that I get all leaky when I hear a baby cry? I sure hope those wells dry up soon!) I looked down and saw a shadowy form wandering in and out of the empty stalls below. Then I heard a low moan drifting on the morning breeze. I scrambled to that open door that had allowed me such a beautiful view last night. Four more shadowy figures were pawing at the wooden double-doors trying to get in. A crash had me scurrying back to the ladder going down. Five more were coming through the wide open entrance on the opposite end, and now I could see more of them down below. There had to be at least three pinballing off each other in the stall just to my left, and another couple in the one just to my right. Beyond that, I couldn’t see.

Great. I sighed and sat back to wait for a little sunlight to kill by, as long as it doesn’t get too much more crowded, I should be able to handle it. And there couldn’t possibly be enough of those things nearby to be that much of a threat. Could there? So, I sat and hoped that a herd didn’t show up in the meantime.

By the time the sun rose enough for me to see worth a damn, there were a total of twenty-three down below. Some inside and some outside the barn. Their single-mindedness never ceases to amaze me. The group outside, clawing and gnawing on the wall, were still there going at it. Those were the easy kills. I took top-shots with my trusty crossbow. The problem came later when I went out to retrieve my bolts. Two had to be dug out of the body cavity and one had to be liberated from the leg! Very gross.

Once I dealt with the easy targets, it was a matter of lining up my shots on the ones inside the barn. Thinking back, I was a little hasty. I was so anxious to take them out that I never thought until after that they were coming right to me. I could’ve let them cluster down below and taken them out the same way I’d done the others outside.

Once I finished that task, retrieved my bolts, and cleaned them, I set out again. I’d already had breakfast in the terminally long time it seemed to take for the sun to come up, so I was eager to start walking. I noticed how “soft” I’d become. The harness straps felt like they were sawing into my shoulders, my legs felt as dead as that stack of meat I’d left behind at the barn, and then there was some residual pain in the mommy parts region that did not so much hinder as annoy. Oh…and I’m still leaky.

I’ve found a very interesting place to sleep tonight. I’m in the attic of a non-descript house. I have a perfect view of a small airfield. The airfield looks like it was a hastily thrown together project by the military. There are several dozen military vehicles inside the fenced perimeter. A lot of them look like they’ve been shot up, in many cases with rockets or something like that.

Oh boy! My first little adventure! First thing tomorrow of course. I won’t risk a run inside at night. Oh yeah, did I mention that a small, single-engine Cessna-type plane landed just after dark? At least one person is alive in there.

Thursday, April 16

Jeff Young and Rodney Glenn are a pair of Special Forces soldiers. They are the only two survivors of a sixty-man unit that came in seven months ago. They’d moved up from Salem. Before that, they’d been up in Washington State at Fort Lewis. When things disintegrated, a couple of battalions of Army Rangers fought it out amongst themselves! No wonder this country fell apart so damned quick, when those responsible for our safety turn out to be just as bass-ackward as the lunatics that have been running wild out here, it doesn’t bode well.

These two did have some interesting news. They’ve been flying out, usually early morning or at dusk, making circular patterns to see what sort of survivability exists. They know of a dozen sites like Sam’s compound and Sunset. Then there are other smaller pockets (they guess close to a hundred!) that show what they deem considerable activity.

They’ve considered trying to link up with one of the larger compounds, feeling that they could offer enough upside that they would be welcome. I told them that, while I can’t speak for either group, both places I’d been recently would probably be tickled pink. I asked them about all the vehicles scattered around inside the fence. Most of them are what they termed “broke-dick” or FUBAR. In addition to that, so much of the road system is unusable, and a lot of the gas out there is bad.

They’ve told me that they would fly me over The Genesis Brotherhood compound. They know right where it is, and say that those wackos have even taken shots at them whenever they’ve flown over. When I gave them a shortened version of my own knowledge, they both offered to come along! Tomorrow, I ride in an airplane!

Friday, April 17

That was crazy, amazing, and just plain (no pun intended) fun! We took off about two hours before sunrise. They put me in the front seat with Jeff, and Rodney sat in back. They pointed out a few sights on the way, but I’ve seen The Genesis Brotherhood compound. We used a video camera with that green night-vision stuff. Took some great footage that they will be helping me dissect today.

Saw Sunset, and they even took me over the compound where Snoe is. We were back on the ground just as the pre-dawn light began to paint the eastern horizon. That made me think of Irony. I haven’t told these guys about it. I don’t think I will. Those folks have done well staying hidden and under the proverbial radar.

The next couple of days will be about preparation. This is kinda cool. I’m getting ready for a mission with some real-life Army Rangers. This is the ‘adventure’ I was craving. I feel alive again. Maybe I should’ve gone into the military when I graduated. Only, then I’d probably be dead, because so much of the military and Civil Defense Public Works—police, fire, and medical personnel—died in the first days because nobody knew or could believe what was happening.

Jeff is gonna show me how to properly maintain my weapons. He said that I needed serious work on my blade sharpening skills, and that he would show me how to strip my weapons more efficiently, also how to keep my crossbow in better condition. He told me that if I didn’t take better care of it, it would probably not last me the year. I thought I’d been doing okay with my basic knowledge. But since these two make fighting and killing a life choice, I plan on using this to my advantage.

Saturday, April 18

Today we spent the whole time looking at that video. I don’t know if it is just because we were high up and things look smaller, but that place doesn’t look so tough. Although there were a couple dozen shapes moving around down there. No idea to tell if they were men or women. Also, it was so early, and there was still that much activity. They are either early risers, or there are a whole bunch of those crazies living there.

The next few days will be about gathering up supplies. I get the feeling that Jeff and Rodney are ready to be done with this place. Maybe I’ve found a couple of kindred spirits. I could certainly do worse than a pair of Rangers.

We’re coming for you, boys. You’d best get yourselves right with the God you claim to serve.

Tuesday, April 21

Wow! What a day. We’re at Sunset. It’s great to see a few faces. Of course they radioed The Compound and told them that I was safe. I imagine they also let it be known about my two new friends.

Right now, Jeff and Rodney are like sailors on shore leave. The women here have a way of making the guys feel welcome, I’ll give ‘em that. Jonathan greeted me with a smile and a hug. Then he ruined it by saying something about how much more “appealing to the eye” I was now that I wasn’t pregnant. That was a little piggish of him, but I guess it can’t be helped. He is a male after all. Jenifer was all smiles. I think she even missed me. Shari continues to avoid me. I’m not exactly sure why, but she just doesn’t seem to like me very much. Whatever.

There were a few faces missing. I guess that skirmish we listened to on the radio took its toll. The saddest is the loss of that little girl, Hope. Imagine surviving something so horrible as a zombie attack, only to die by a stray bullet. It seems that the worst part was that it took two days to find her. She’d crawled under some crates and boxes. They found her by smell. I had no idea that the group of raiders had managed to gain access to the parking garage.

After talking with Jenifer, I get the feeling that there is a handful of people here that believe it was an inside job. The raiders seemed to know too well where to attack. Perhaps humanity won’t be happy until it has completely erased itself.

There is one more interesting development. It seems that the raiders had a dog. A female Rottweiler. The community held a vote and named her Cheyenne. Coach has a girlfriend!

We managed to arrive just ahead of a nasty rainstorm. It was pouring buckets. The okay has been given, and we will stay until it passes. There just isn’t any sense in going out in that mess and being completely miserable. There will be plenty of time for that.

Wednesday, April 22

It’s down to a drizzle. We will leave tomorrow most likely. I was worried that Jeff and Rodney might be so happy that they’d want to stay. Jeff actively sought me out today to confirm we were still ‘go’ for our mission. I think I managed to hide my relief.

Another surprise came at dinner, Jenifer and Jonathan are coming! Both swear they will return to Sunset once the mission is over. Both insist they have no interest in Las Vegas or any other crazy schemes cooking inside my head. What’s more, three others will be joining us: two women and one man. The consensus here is that the world will be a much better place if The Genesis Brotherhood is wiped out.

Thursday, April 23

It took almost no time to get our hands dirty again. We were on the road early this morning before the sky was barely tinged with light. It was decided that each of us pair up; so I was with Jeff, Jenifer teamed with Jonathan, Rodney teamed up with Darla Jones, a nineteen-year-old skater chick with a dozen facial piercings and at least two dozen tattoos, her hair is blonde, but she says it used to be forest-green and dark-blue, which I bet really made her wide, blue eyes stand out. Kenny Wilhelm, a forty-year-old fireplug of a man with a meticulously shaved head—that he keeps clean with a huge knife he wears on his hip—matched up with Shandra Hilton, a constantly smiling, African-American woman who is taller than anybody else in the group at six and a half feet tall, as well as being whip thin at a hundred and seventy pounds.

We spaced ourselves out using hisses and arm signals to communicate. Nothing fancy, just basic stuff. Being spread out like we were was actually a nice way to move. You only had to worry about the person right beside you.

Two hours in, we got the signal to stop from Jonathan and Jenifer. Everybody froze, and Jeff did a quick check of his weapons, so I copied. An overpass up ahead seemed the likely location for trouble by the way Jonathan and Jenifer had pointed before disappearing from sight.

After ten minutes I caught a flash just to the south of us.  It looked like light reflecting off of metal. No sooner had I spotted movement when gunfire erupted. Not from us, but whoever was up on that overpass. My hands instinctively tightened on my trusty hunting rifle, but Jeff tapped me and shook his head. When the shooting stopped, we waited, making sure it was clear. That was when a few zombies decided to crawl up to the highway from the surrounding neighborhood.

I don’t know who saw the first one, but all of us got busy in a hurry. Jeff and I had been positioned in the rear and found ourselves surrounded. I laid my rifle on the hood of a car with one of those poor bastards still strapped into the front seat. It just stared at me with dead eyes as I brought my spear into play.

It really did go easier than I was used to. I was jamming the business end to one, then setting up for the next. I glanced over at Jeff who was only a couple of strides away from me facing in the opposite direction.  It was something to see…watching him wield a very sturdy long sword with lethal efficiency. While it was going on, we did hear a couple more shots fired from the south of us in the direction we’d seen those other people go.

Our first test went well in my opinion. Tonight we are in an apartment complex that suffered from a nasty fire. Jeff and Rodney did a recon walk-through just to be sure there weren’t others wandering the expansive grounds. They are pretty sure they know what caused the fire. One entire four-unit building had been a meth lab.

Friday, April 24

That sucked. Just about dinner time, Jonathan came hurrying to where everybody was getting comfortable. He’d heard a noise that sounded like crying. Of course we all thought he meant that eerie baby-cry sound that some of the zombies make.

Everybody grabbed a sword, axe, or spear, and headed out. Since we all wear handguns these days like it is Tombstone or OK Corral, weapons are never a problem, and sometimes you can actually have too much. We paired up and let Jonathan and Jenifer take point. Only a few units from the one we’d been camped, we started hearing sounds. There was definitely crying, but it wasn’t zombie sounds. This sounded muffled…and belonged to a girl.

Out of the blue, Jenifer took off at a sprint. That settled it for everybody else. We all took off after her. Running through the dark ruins of an abandoned apartment complex during a zombie apocalypse is not something I recommend.

I heard what can best be described as a scream of rage from ahead and around a corner. My flashlight was bobbing—as was everybody else’s—and I really couldn’t see a damned thing. Somebody behind me cried out, and I heard a thud, then the clatter of metal skittering across pavement. Not a thing I could do for whoever it was. Jenifer was just ahead; I heard her swearing and screaming threats, most of them unintelligible.

My flashlight found Jonathan first, he was on his face with one of those things wrapped around his ankles. I could hear Jenifer in trouble, but Jonathan was closer, and I could see him. I veered left, coming up with my spear raised. I didn’t even think as I kicked what used to be a teenaged boy in the head, knocking it away from where it had been trying to gnaw through the ankle of Jonathan’s boot. I drove my spear down, plunging it through what remained of a mostly skinless face.

I didn’t have any time to spare for Jonathan, because I could hear Jenifer going totally insane. I heard other skirmishes nearby, but all I wanted to do was get to Jenifer. I rounded this corner and ran face first into a big, dark plastic tarp. That totally freaked me out and had me busy trying to tear it away while keeping from getting wrapped up in it. Something on the other side barreled into me and knocked me to the ground.  Worse still, something heavy landed on top of me. I felt something sharp jab me in the shoulder, and I barely rolled out of the way as something buried itself in the ground where my head used to be. Whatever it was on top of me—separated only by a plastic tarp—shifted, and I bucked my hips and tossed my head back the other direction. I guessed right, and a wet swish-thud sounded next to my left ear. I was certain it was a living person on top of me after my bucking sent it over my head and I heard a grunt of pain. Before I could take advantage of the situation, somebody stomped on my chest. That was the bad part. The good part is that they cleaved the person who’d been attacking me.

I got out from under the tarp to discover Darla standing over a boy who couldn’t be more than sixteen. She’d buried a foot-long blade in the kid’s neck. She hadn’t quite chopped off his head, and he was still convulsing and thrashing about. Darla didn’t even blink as she put a booted foot on the boy’s shoulder and yanked her blade free. I think I said “thanks” before she turned and dashed off towards Jenifer. I followed.

I still don’t truly believe what we found. Chained and gagged, each one on a five-foot lead that was attached to an iron manacle on one ankle, were a dozen women and girls. The youngest is about Dominique’s or Jenifer’s age. Somewhere between twelve and fifteen. The oldest is twenty-six. Most are in varying stages of pregnancy.

Five males, including the sixteen-year-old that Darla almost decapitated, had been holding them prisoner. Sadly, the worst part isn’t that they were regularly—and by the looks, roughly—raping these women. They were using them as baby factories.

For a source of meat.

Yeah. These women were kept pregnant so they could give birth. The children were raised for varying lengths of time until demand called for it.  Judging by some of the skulls we found being used as decorative tops for walking sticks they let some of those children get several months if not a year old. Then, they were slaughtered.

The most recent victim was laying on a legless table-top. It had been split open; arms, legs, and head removed. It was a newborn. We could tell because the young girl who’d had him was dead a few feet away. The umbilical cord still hanging from between her legs. They’d strung the girl up by the wrists. No idea if it was before, during, or after she’d given birth.

The other females won’t talk, so we don’t know more than we’ve been able to piece together from what we’ve seen. None of the males survived.

Rodney and Kenny left for Sunset. They will be coming back with a van or something. These females will be transported back. We’ll just wait here. It’s not the best plan, but it’ll have to do. We cleared out two second-floor apartments and herded everybody inside. A couple had to be carried.

Jeff and Darla went out on a scavenging run and brought back some food and water. These people didn’t have much. That was not a surprise, but it was tough going through their camp, seeing things in the light of day didn’t help. Oh, and that thing that my attacker tried to kill me with? Sharpened femur.

Jenifer hasn’t said a word. I can’t get her to clean up. She’s got blood…and other stuff…splattered all over herself. She’s just sitting in a corner staring at the wretched-looking females all clustered together in the opposite corner. I’m actually a tiny bit scared to even say anything to her, or so much as approach her. I’m not even sure exactly what she saw, other than the obvious horror of cannibalism and rape, to set her off like what happened. She was a crazed lunatic. I can’t really describe it other than when I finally arrived with Darla, three men were dead. One of them missing his head. She was hacking at the last man standing. HACKING! She had an axe in her hand going all “Lizzy Borden” on this guy. She didn’t care how he cried, begged, or pleaded.

I’m not sure I was cool with Darla grabbing me and keeping me back either. She basically kept watch and let Jenifer wear herself out on that last guy. I haven’t spoken to Darla yet about it. I will say that I’m less concerned on how people will handle themselves when we reach The Genesis Brotherhood’s complex.

Every time you think you’ve found the bottom of humanity’s barrel, there’s a new layer of scum revealed! Yay! So we’ll sit here and stay low. We’ll wait for our team members to return. I for one, need the day or two this will probably take. I feel like I was put in a burlap bag up to my neck and beaten with a baseball bat. Also, I seem to be having a bit of a ‘girl’ problem. Doesn’t that just put the cherry on the sundae.

On the plus side, we didn’t lose anybody. There were a few bruises and scrapes, but the zombie threat was only minimal. This was all about the menace of living, breathing types. Jonathan and Rodney checked my injuries. That femur-spear has left me with a pretty nasty purple and black bruise on my right shoulder where it connects. I’m told I was lucky. It doesn’t take much to break a collarbone. Or, if it would have actually punctured me…it could have been particularly nasty. Not to mention that my little mission would be over before it even began.

So…I’m gonna find a little spot in a dark corner and sleep. I can’t wait to see how my body feels tomorrow. I miss Tylenol. I used to be the type who always said no to being medicated, but I really hurt. A lot.

Saturday, April 25

I hope everything went okay. Rodney isn’t back yet, and nobody can get these women to eat, drink, or talk. Add in that Jenifer slipped out at some point and came back late this afternoon, and my stress level is just a bit amped. Of course, Jenifer won’t say a word as to what she did or where she went. At least she came back clean.

Sunday, April 26

Rodney and Kenny arrived early this morning. We loaded those women up and moved out. There were three women from Sunset in this big van. It was crowded, but nobody is enforcing the seatbelt law.

When they left, I asked why they didn’t bring a bigger rig, Kenny said that the next biggest was a full-length school bus. They didn’t believe it would be able to navigate a few of the more congested obstacles.

Whatever.  They’re out of the picture now, and we were able to move out. I couldn’t put this place behind me quick enough. I got a really bad case of the willies.

I don’t know what exactly Jenifer saw or heard. I know what I saw, and it bothered me. I remember that whole incident with Scott and Sasha that Perry hadn’t let me see. I read about it in Sam’s journal and remember being upset. Only, I think I was more upset that Perry’d felt I needed protecting. What I saw has me shook and I can’t ignore it. I’ve tried to brush it off the past couple of days. It hasn’t worked. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, even if only to blink, I see that mutilated newborn’s corpse. I see that girl hanging by the wrists with an umbilical cord dangling between her legs.

I know I can’t unsee something, but I wish my mind would do some mental magic and block that image from my memory. And I can’t help but wonder, what did Jenifer see? How much worse could it have been? Of course, maybe I am just being a girl about things. I glance at Jeff and Rodney every so often and see nothing. They’re entirely focused on the next step.

You know how I know I’m slipping? I know that a couple of us—Jonathan among them—had a tousle with a zombie that night. I never thought to check anybody out. Shandra did. What’s more? She checked me while I was sleeping!

Tonight, we are just past that huge cemetery. We’re actually staying in the same complex we stayed in when it was just Jenifer, Jonathan, Shari, Coach, and me. No deer this time though. Too bad.

Monday, April 27

The left side of my face feels like it was run over by a truck. We’re still in the same place as yesterday. It is raining hard outside and the wind shakes the windows. I’ve honestly never heard anything like it.

I woke up first and had a quick chat with Kenny who was on watch. We were using the apartment across the hall as the bathroom; so, after some pleasantries, I went to take care of a few things. My plumbing has been a concern the past few days since “the incident” and I was anxious for any signs of improvement.

The apartment wasn’t a concern as far as using it as a bathroom. I mean it’s not like zombies sneak upstairs and open doors. We’d swept it. Empty. I had my spear and the pistol on my hip strictly out of habit. I wasn’t thinking about them.

I went in, closed the door, set my spear against the wall next to the door, and went into the bathroom. I undid my webbed belt and sat my gun on the counter. It was still pretty dark and I couldn’t really see. Not to be gross, but I needed to see what was going on. The easiest way seemed to be just slip off my pants and panties and go to a window in the bedroom across the hall for a look. So that’s what I did.

I never saw the guy. He grabbed me by the hair from behind and slammed me face first into the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. I tasted blood, but that was the least of my problems. Things were getting fuzzy on the edges and I could hear this guy mumbling all sorts of horrible things about what he wanted to do to me. I gathered myself and tried to break loose. That’s when he slammed my face on the wooden chest again. A metal hinge busted me open good just above my left eye. I’m certain I lost consciousness for a moment, because the next thing I recall was feeling something trying to shove itself inside me.

I felt a tearing, and the pain woke me up completely. Gripping the sides of the cedar chest I was bent over, I jerked hard to the left with my hips and kicked back with my feet. The idiot still had his pants around his ankles and fell. He let loose with a satisfying yelp. I think I sprained his poor wee-wee. I tried to stand, but that made me woozy. Grabbing the wall, I staggered a bit as I made my way across the hall into the bathroom.

I’m certain this perverted animal simply thought he’d hit the jackpot. There’s no way he suspected I was armed and in the company of friends. As I drew the gun from its holster and turned towards the cursing, angry man who was vowing to “make me pay” in all sorts of horrid ways, I heard Kenny open the front door and call my name. My attacker stepped into the doorway across the hall. I could see a perfect black silhouette. I pulled the trigger. Four times.

Of course Kenny came running. I think he was more embarrassed than I was when he burst in to discover me half-naked. At that moment, I truly did not care. I walked over to my would-be rapist, shoving Kenny away to reach him. He wasn’t dead yet, and even in the gloom I could see his face. Blood was bubbling from his mouth and nose. Good, I thought, he was drowning on his own blood. I made sure to look him in the eyes until he let that last breath go in a gurgle.

By then, everybody was there. The women had clustered around me. The men were standing back. There were whispered conversations, but I didn’t listen. My eyes drifted down between his legs, he’d only started to pull up his pants, and when I shot him, they’d fallen back down to mid-thigh. I stared at my blood smeared on him. But I didn’t cry. I shut off the pain. All of it.

Eventually they got me to return to our apartment. Jenifer, Darla, and Shandra took me into one of the two bedrooms. None of them is a nurse, but they insisted on looking me over. I allowed it, laying back, closing my eyes and rejoicing that I didn’t see the chopped-up infant or its poor mother. Instead, I saw my attacker full of pain, and his fear of the death that was taking him from this world.

The guys did a check. Fortunately, my shooting didn’t seem to draw much attention. They had to take out a few of the nearby zombies that were poking around. Really minor if I believe what they say. Whatever the case, the consensus was that a nasty storm was rolling in and we’d do better waiting it out right here. So, that’s exactly what we are doing.

Tuesday, April 28

The rain is dying down, but the wind doesn’t want to let up. People are starting to piss me off, and I hurt. Everywhere.

I get it. I’ve suffered a “traumatic event”, but with the whole “end-of-the-world” thing happening, and with what I’ve been through already, I just can’t dwell on it. Besides, I’m not the one with a ventilated lung lying dead under a black bed sheet. Oh, and who in the hell amongst normal people has black bed sheets? If you were into the whole Goth thing, fine. But normal people?

I had to argue with everybody to actually stand my watch shift. When I said I’d be willing to fight if that’s what it took to prove I was okay, they let me alone. So, right now, I’m sitting in a chair by the sliding-glass door that opens up on a wooden porch. I can see the lot below, the building across the way. Once in a while, something shambles past. But nothing has given any indication that our location has been discovered.

Shamble. What a great word. I don’t think living people can really pull it off. The whole shambling thing that is. That reminds me of a friend I had…before. He used to say that you couldn’t really frolic unless you were in a meadow. He was a funny, weird guy. I’ll bet he’s good at shambling now.

Wednesday, April 29

Finally! We’re back on the move! I didn’t think I could stay in that musty, smelly apartment one more day. Tonight, we’re sleeping in a beautiful five-bedroom tri-level. The day was uneventful except for a huge explosion south of us. It happened about an hour ago. We’re only a few hours past midday, but the vote was to get out of sight for a while.

Jeff wanted to go investigate with a partner or by himself, but got voted down. First reason; we can’t spare him. Second reason; we absolutely can’t spare him. He’s sulking now and it’s kinda cute. Big, tough Army Ranger pouting like a spoiled child. I mean, when I do it…well…it’s me. But when a big guy like Jeff does it, it’s just too funny.

Thursday, April 30

We’ve reached an overpass that signs call, “SW Zoo Rd.” Tonight we had to camp in some thick woods on the south side of Highway 26. The plan is for Jeff, Rodney, and I to scout up into the area across the highway tomorrow. What we saw today has everybody just a little quiet.

It seems The Genesis Brotherhood has been busy. There are crosses erected down the center of Highway 26. Fifty of them by our count. Three contained women, the rest, men and a few boys. These people were crucified Passion of the Christ-style. We actually had to look to be able to tell that three of them were women.

Each of these crosses is about ten yards from the next one. At the bases are mobs of undead. The only deviation from the Jesus-style crucifixion is the small ledge for the feet. They’re nailed to it, but this lets them stand, ensuring a much more prolonged and painful death. That ledge is about a foot or so out of reach of all the zombies gathered at each base.

None of those people are dead yet! I voted that we kill each one and put them out of their misery, but I was vetoed. The noise was only one factor. That these poor souls may be decoys is a common suspicion amongst my fellow travelers. To add to the bizarreness, each one has a “crime” posted above his or her head. Some are easy to decipher: Drunkard, Pornographer, Thief. Then there are the others: Witch, Blasphemer…and my favorite—Seditious Spirit.

Friday, May 1

The zoo was a nightmare. It had nothing to do with the few dozen zombies we had to put down. It was the animals.

There is no question that the zombies had absolutely zero interest in these creatures. Instead, it is a wasteland of starved carcasses. There is an indication that some animals turned on each other. Nowhere is that more apparent than the chimpanzee exhibit. There was only one chimp, emaciated and dead, in the huge cage. However, there are bones and skulls littering the ground. The dark stains everywhere tell a horrific story. The zoo had small plaques with pictures and names of eighteen chimpanzees. After seeing this, we were really glad there were only three gorillas. The entire primate center is absolutely revolting. The level of carnage is heart-breaking.

The elephants were a sad sight, but it was the bear exhibits that we saw the most pathetic thing in this nightmarish place. I have no idea how many polar bears this place had. Only one remained. There was something about its paws. They were black with old, dried blood. A closer look, and it was Rodney who noticed the scarring in the cement wall. That last remaining polar bear had tried to climb out. It looks like he broke off his claws in the process. Like I said, this place is a nightmare.

We searched and found something of use. Cases and cases of bottled water. That is like finding gold, and no matter where you are fortunate enough to run across it, you always feel good about it. Whoever had looted this place obviously hit the food vendors. What they ignored was the souvenir shop. I had a hard time resisting the headband with the elephant ears. Well…I didn’t completely resist. I tried them on. I don’t care what Jeff and Rodney say, they were cute.

Saturday, May 2

More signs of The Genesis Brotherhood. Well…more like sounds. They are building a case for crazy. Try as I might, I just can’t reconcile any of their antics or atrocities. Call them what you want.

We moved in and through what had once been Washington Park. There are rose bushes everywhere. I remember now that Portland called itself “The Rose City” and they obviously took it seriously. I bet this place was absolutely gorgeous back when it was cared for. Although, there is something to be said about the wildness it possesses now.

From here, we can see down into the remains of the city and in the distance there is a beautiful mountain, resplendent with its snow-capped peak, all spread out and waiting to be featured in a postcard. There is an outdoor amphitheater here. That is where our latest discovery resides.

A concrete stage sits in the bowl. On each side is yet another set of crosses. Both have zombies twitching and writhing on them. Atop each cross is a PA-speaker blaring a sermon. The entire area is caged in, and there are literally hundreds of zombies inside those bars. Some of them look relatively fresh. None of them are females. They’re all just standing there, facing those speakers like they’re actually listening to the sermon—a very angry sounding one by the way—like they understand. Or care.

We stayed in some of the readily available brush and just watched. All day. We saw no sign of a living person. When the sun finally set, we headed back and updated everybody. The next phase of our plan is to advance into the huge park. There are plenty of woods and trails. We’ll move up into the woods, set up our new camp, and then repeat this cycle; scout in a little deeper and close in on our target. Sooner or later we’ll come in contact with these bastards.

Sunday, May 3

“Mom always told me there’d be days like these.” I don’t care how old or cliché that phrase is. It’s true. Today fits the bill only in that my mom used to say that “sometimes you’re better off just staying under the covers and hoping tomorrow is better.”

I caught a glimpse of Dominique today.

We had climbed up this hill and found a natural stream. We were above it and had a ridgeline to sorta follow. That stream just meandered below in the low vee-cut that it sliced through. We decided to follow it because it might be a potential water source for The Genesis Brotherhood.

We’d gone about a mile when we heard voices. Creeping forward on our bellies, we got around this one dog-leg, and sure enough, there is a small, three- or four-foot waterfall. At its base is a pool that empties at one end to feed the stream we’d been following.

There were seven females—ages from young teens to maybe twenty—working around the pool, washing clothes. All of them were visibly pregnant. Four men were standing guard with various guns in hand. Overseeing this work-crew was Dominique, also visibly pregnant.

She has a rather interesting job. She inspects everybody’s work. While she waits for somebody to bring her something, she stands on a sturdy footlocker and reads from a bible out loud. We watched for a couple of hours, and it became evident that some of the women were listening very intently, even going so far as to call out an occasional “Amen!” or “Praise Jesus!” as punctuation. Others were not as exuberant. One kept crying. More than once, Dominique would stop reading and go to her. The first time, I thought she would yell or strike the girl who looked to be close to Dominique’s age—twelve. Instead, she would kneel beside her and whisper things in her ear. Once, she pulled her to her feet and hugged her. To say that I am puzzled is a big understatement.

The hardest part is trying to figure out just exactly what in the hell happened to that little girl. Sure, I didn’t know her. But this seems more than a little bit crazy. She is undoubtedly one-hundred percent on their side. She is one of them.

We waited until they left, we didn’t flinch. We just watched. I imagine Jeff and Rodney were looking for weaknesses to exploit. I spent the entire time getting a grip on the reality that, like it or not, I may have to take Dominique out.

Monday, May 4

Today, we moved further up the hill. We have found their perimeter. The Genesis Brotherhood have been busy. They’ve dug trenches, strung fence—barbed and razor wire—probably all the way around their compound: Pittock Mansion.

We watched armed patrols walking the fence line. We even saw one in action. A zombie wandered up. Of course, it was stopped at the fence. They’re so uncoordinated they can’t even navigate an obstacle that basic. Not that it didn’t try. This one was thrashing around, yanking and tugging, paying no heed as clothing and flesh tore and ripped in the struggle.

A two-man patrol eventually strolled up. There was no alarm or urgency. One of them walked up and buried a big knife in the side of its head. Then they said something on a radio. About five minutes later, a female about thirty years old arrived with an escort. She was in coveralls, boots, and gloves. She freed the body, then dragged it to a nearby pit and rolled it in. Just that simple.

We changed vantage points a few times, and saw pretty much the same thing. I tried to discern faces, but couldn’t get close enough. What did give us hope, we stayed as late as possible, was the fact that they have light towers set up. The evening shift showed no signs of having night-vision goggles or anything of that nature.

We slipped back to camp late. The general consensus is that these jerks are a bit too over-confident. It will by no means be easy, but there are some chinks in the armor to take advantage of.

Tuesday, May 5

Luck comes in all forms. We rose early to move our camp just a bit closer. There was some real excitement building over the fact that we would be doing something very soon.

Credit Shandra with hearing it first. The sound of an engine! It was hard to tell where from at first, but everybody simply froze and concentrated. It was behind us on one of the winding roads that twist through this expansive park.

We dropped the gear, except for an assortment of weapons, and took off—perhaps a bit hastily—through the woods. We spotted the source, a flat-bed truck, creeping along. In the back were four men. The cab had the driver and one passenger; both men. They had to be Genesis members.

Because of the way the road winds through these hills, we were able to set up on both sides of the road without being seen. Unfortunately, I was the only one with a crossbow. My job was to take out the driver.

I was nervous, anxious, excited, hell I felt like I had to pee. It was crazy. I knew I’d only get one shot at the driver. If I missed, this could get ugly fast. When that truck came around the corner, I’m just certain that had I actually had any fluid in my bladder, I would’ve peed my pants.

From my vantage point, I’d be firing a little bit up, but the angle wasn’t too bad. I could see the guy, one hand on the wheel, one arm resting in the window, talking to the guy next to him. I’d only be about ten yards away. Even better, the guys in the back, none of them were holding weapons. Some had them over their shoulder, others were simply leaning over the wooden planks that were running along the flat-bed. It looked like nothing more than the sort of truck you’d see hauling produce from a small, local farm.

The truck rolled up and I aimed. Giving a slight lead, I fired. I have to admit, I have really gotten proficient at headshots. That guy never knew what hit him. A little less angle and I would’ve hit the passenger as well. The truck lurched and veered our way. The only problem with that was that, while it was fairly gradual for a bit, the gradient steepens in a hurry. The guys in the back went stumbling and falling, doing a lot of yelling in the process. It got worse when the truck began rolling down the hill. It came at an angle, and as soon as it hit the steep part, it rolled. That tossed bodies everywhere.

We rushed in, catching them completely by surprise. Two from the back were already dead, the other two from the back were hurt bad and quickly killed. It was not as easy for the other guy in the cab. He was banged up, but really not hurt too bad. His arm was busted, painful looking, but not life-threatening.

Jeff and Rodney trussed him up and we took him to the zoo. They disappeared inside the primate exhibit for a while. I know he was gagged, but that didn’t prevent the sounds of pain from wafting out on the night breeze. They finally came out, both…messy.

Here’s what we know. There are around fifty men, if we can believe the words from a religious nut-job.

No, I’m not saying every religious person is a nut-job. But if you think David Koresh or Jim Jones had some valid points, or that the folks in that Heaven’s Gate cult were just a bit misunderstood…you are a nut-job. I don’t profess to understand God, and all this hasn’t cleared anything up, but I can’t believe The Genesis Brotherhood is what he had in mind.

Anyways, the other piece of intel was that there are another sixty-plus females and a dozen children. Something about that doesn’t settle. The mansion is big, but it doesn’t look that big.

I asked Rodney what they did, if they killed the guy. I knew the answer, but something inside me needed to actually hear it.

“Jeff snapped his neck,” Rodney said like he made statements like that all of the time.

Tomorrow, we go back for a look and see if the anthill is buzzing.

Wednesday, May 6

Jeff says that, by getting inside the enemy’s head, we can cause them to make mistakes, tip their hand. Already it seems to be working. However, that guy they questioned was a liar. There are more than fifty men in The Genesis Brotherhood.

Another of those trucks drove by this morning…heading into the compound. They brought in a handful of women from what I could see. If we’d have gotten up and moved out ten minutes earlier, we’d have nailed them. Unfortunately, all we could do was let them pass. This truck looked just like the other. The big difference was that the four guys in back had their weapons at the ready. So at least we have a good idea what that other truck was about. I asked why this truck came in from a different direction. Jeff says that could be on purpose to keep people from knowing their patterns. That would mean we simply got lucky with the other truck.

By the time we got up in position to be able and see the mansion, it was very busy. There were a lot of people out there, men, women, and children. We may have to readjust our plan of attack. Rodney says we may have to take the Red Dawn approach. Whatever that means.

We all went to different locations to get a better idea of what is going on in that place. Jenifer apparently saw Dominique today for the first time since we left her. I have no idea what she’s thinking because she still hasn’t said hardly a thing since The Ordeal. The only reason I even know that she saw Dominique is because Jonathan told me about a moment where Jenifer went sorta stiff, he was about to ask her what was wrong when Jenifer brought her rifle up to her shoulder. He had to ease her off of it. He asked her what the hell was wrong, but she clammed up. He looked around to try and figure it out, all he saw was a young girl with dark hair leading the new arrivals inside the mansion through a ground hatch that appeared to open up into a sub-level or basement. After a few questions, I was certain it’d been Dominique they’d seen.

Thursday, May 7

Foot patrols were out all day. Jonathan and Rodney had been on a night surveillance watch of the mansion and came into camp in a hurry, waking everybody. We are deeper in the arboretum now. I’m starting to get impatient. Sure, I realize we can’t just go barrel in on this place. We’d get wasted. But I still think we should be doing something.

We’ve been hunkered down almost all day. We heard a few sporadic bursts of gunfire, but nothing major. The last few hours it has been absolutely silent.

Friday, May 8

Screams. All day at different points. Screams.

Sunday, May 10

His name is Scott Colson. I have no idea if he’ll survive, but he’s all part of yesterday’s hell. Nobody is going to walk away from this unchanged.

We decided it was time to get proactive (finally!). The plan was for us to split into our teams. If an opportunity presented itself, we were to try and take out some Genesis members. Each team would be expected to meet up at the zoo by sunset. Under no circumstances were any teams to stay out overnight. Not showing up would be the indication that you’d been caught or captured.

Jeff and I decided we’d circle down and sweep through the amphitheater. This would allow us to come in from the absolute rear of the mansion. We hadn’t gotten a really good look at that side yet and it seemed as good a plan as any.

As we approached, the normal noises of the penned-in zombies—which still creeps me out and I don’t care how much I’m exposed to those noises—had something else mixed in. We moved through some trees and brush, actually going under the back of the bowl on this narrow trail. When we’d reached what we guessed to be about the middle, we climbed the deceptively steep hill. When we reached the top, we peered over and down into the open-air theater.

There was no doubt that the four people freshly crucified were still alive. They were all on the precipice of unconsciousness, but each was still moaning and groaning in pain, two were only boys, early teens at the very oldest, one was a woman, one was a man in his late thirties.  (The two boys and the woman had been hung up inside the big pen and were surrounded by zombies.)

The initial urge was to rush down there and help the one person we could actually help. But, we had to just stay put. The very real possibility that this was a trap existed. So, most of our day was spent watching people suffer. When we made our move, we had to hurry because of the whole “be back by sunset” thing. Even carrying this seriously wounded man back to the meeting spot, we were the first ones back.

I can’t, in good conscience, write this entry without saying one thing. The three individuals inside that corral begged and pleaded for us to help them. That was, of course, impossible. However, once we were clear, Jeff went up on a ridge that gave him a clear view. Three quick shots put each one of those people out of their misery. Being heard is no longer a concern.

When we returned, we made Scott as comfortable as possible (he was aware enough to give us his name during one of his very brief instances of consciousness). Then, we waited.

The others arrived, each looking discouraged and tired. Scott was actually greeted with acceptance instead of sorrow, pity, or anguish. I would soon hear why.

They spent the day watching two women who’d “dared defy The Genesis Brotherhood” by fighting off the men who’d “selected them for breeding”, be given over to public punishment. This festive event started with every-body being summoned to the expansive lawn. (Fifty men is a gross underestimate by the way.)  There, the two women were brought out and stripped naked. Their supposed crimes were read, then the punishment was carried out. The women were staked to a platform face down. By staked, I mean iron spikes were driven through their wrists. The legs however, were secured by leather straps so that they were spread-eagled. A half-circle device is mounted on the platform at about hip-level so that their lower half is up and accessible.

Each woman is then summoned forward by name and handed a belt. They must then go up and lash each of the bound women once across the back or buttocks (We now know there are currently at least sixty-three women and girls housed at the mansion.)  Once that is done, the men line up. They draw lots to determine which woman they get and the order they will proceed in. Then, the women are repeatedly raped. There was a debate—although not very spirited—as to the age of one of the women. There is a consensus that she might have been sixteen or so. She did not survive the ordeal. Both women were left on the platform, presumably as a reminder.

The only thing we gained today was a minimal headcount of the women as well as getting a possible headcount of seventy-one men. That and rescuing one person who may or may not survive. We have no way to replenish his blood loss. We can’t do anything beyond bandaging his horrible injuries. And, we barely have enough medical supplies to do that more than once or twice. We hadn’t counted on treating such serious injuries in the field. Actually, and perhaps this is the first time I’ve admitted this to myself, I don’t think we put a lot of hope in returning from this mission.

I once dated a guy who was a big World War II buff. Because of that, I have a bunch of useless information in my head. I took stock of our supplies and it reminded me of something he once told me. It seems that, towards the end of the war, the Nazis were running out of money. They still placed a heavy demand on their U-Boat fleet. Only, when they loaded them out for a run, they started cutting back on food and only giving them enough for a one-way trip. I started looking through what we brought. We could’ve actually brought a lot more gear. And food has been tight. We will need to scavenge within a few days. That water find is the only reason we aren’t down to using the filter pitchers. Crap!

Monday, May 11

We have a plan. We attack tomorrow.

Sunday, May 17

I have no idea if I will survive…how much longer. When did I get this watch? Takes a lickin’–

Monday, May 18

Screams. More screams. Am I the only one left? Where am I? This room doesn’t look familiar. I see it’s 17:11. I know I should be able to tell what time that is…but my brain feels fuzzy.

Tuesday, May 19

Guns. I hear shooting. How long have these tubes and needles been in my hand? Somebody has me on an IV.

Wednesday, May 20

My mouth tastes minty. Did somebody brush my teeth? And who keeps putting my journal on the table beside my bed with a new date at the top of the page? Tried twice to sit up, but way too dizzy. Also, I’m clean. I mean my body has been washed. That’s creepy and weird.

Why won’t anybody ever come in while I’m awake. How come nobody is sitting beside my bed when I wake up? I’d feel a lot better if I knew what the hell is going on. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep. Only, as soon as I close my eyes, even if it is only to rest a moment or stop the room from spinning, I usually fall asleep in seconds.

Thursday, May 21

I’m at the Mitchell place. Jamaal was sitting beside the bed when I woke up and Eric Grayfeather was standing in the doorway. Also, Shari and Doctor Gene are here. That’s weird. Doctor Gene says he just got here last night. Shari’s been here four days. Eric hates it when I call him Nurse Grayfeather.

I’m trying to remember what happened. Doctor Gene says it may come in bits and pieces, all at once, or never. I had to have four bullets taken out of me!

I asked about the others and was told that now wasn’t the time. I got angry and Doctor Gene threatened to give me a shot to put me back to sleep if I didn’t behave. Now I call him Mean Doctor Gene.

I’m super hungry, which Mean Doctor Gene and Scary Nurse Shari both said were positive signs. They brought me some mashed up fruit and veggies that reminded me of baby food. Two women I’ve never seen before brought in my food. They were giving me the Golden Calf treatment, being all nice and sweet and teary-eyed. Then Scary Nurse Shari shoo’d them away. I bet I could’ve gotten them to tell me who else in my group is here.

I’m afraid to stop writing because every time I do, I fall asleep. This is the longest I think I’ve managed to stay awake in what seems like forever, but I realize it has only been a couple of weeks. I wish I could remember what in the hell happened. I want to know how the people who were with me are doing. Somebody besides me had to survive or else I wouldn’t be here. Right? And what’s with the cow-eyed females who brought me my mush? I can only assume, provided we had any success, that they are women from the mansion. Unless Antoine, Jamaal, and Eric have brought in some strays.

Damn it! Getting sleepy.

Saturday, May 23

Heaven help me. I remember. I’m going to try and put it all down. It needs to be recorded, if nothing else, to commemorate those who didn’t survive.

Jeff and Rodney had a brilliant plan. We would go down to the amphitheater and open the cage. All it would take was a couple of people to lead those god-forsaken things up to the mansion. The drawback of that duty was that you would be out of the action for a while because, while that was being done, the other three teams would be taking down the sentry patrols.

There had been some heated discussion. The female prisoners would be put in danger. Rodney called it “casualties of war” which pissed Shandra off to no end. I reminded her about Dominique. I conceded that some of these women were undoubtedly prisoners against their will. But others had been brain-washed. Kenny mentioned something called Stockholm Syndrome, but I told him that none of that mattered. As long as The Genesis Brotherhood existed, women were in jeopardy. For every woman who would probably die, how many were we saving from crucifixion or the horrible display they’d witnessed. He shut up after that, and even Shandra quieted down.

I was actually glad that Jenifer and Jonathan drew the lot that made them responsible for opening that pen and leading that horde to the mansion. I don’t know if Kenny and Shandra would’ve done it. I suspect Rodney rigged it, but I don’t know how.

We then did what we could to make Scott comfortable. We placed water within reach and tried to ensure he was warm. The conversation arose about leaving him with a weapon, but nobody wanted to part with one and, since he remained unconscious, it was voted and decided that we’d done the best we could, and if anybody survived, they’d come back for him. If not, it was the nature of the new world.

We gathered together before everybody set out on their missions. Shandra asked if she could say a prayer over the group. It seemed rather petty to refuse something that wouldn’t harm me. For a moment, it made me think of how things had once been. People really had become so self-centered and spoiled. All the lawsuits about banning prayer, or saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Was it really that hard to sit or stand quietly? Did it require a lawsuit? All the nonsense about infringing on other people’s rights. So Shandra prayed. I didn’t really listen, I’m not all that into it, but it seemed to make her feel better. I do remember being polite enough to mumble “Amen” with everybody when she finished.

We set off in the dark. That rush of adrenaline had my stomach doing flips, and that feeling of constantly having to pee hitting me was worse than when I was pregnant. Jeff and I would come in from the rear, so we walked with Jenifer and Jonathan to their spot. I’d forgotten about the other three people we’d left crucified. The moon was bright and the sky was clear. I remember hearing Jenifer still weeping when we split from them and began our trek up the hill that would bring us to the rear or the mansion.

The rest of the trip was quiet. We reached our destination and Jeff checked his watch. I remember it well. The soft blue-green glow seemed so bright. I also know where the watch on my wrist came from now. We had twenty minutes or so to wait before we moved. There had been a whole synchronizing of watches deal before we’d left. I sat there, checking, re-checking, and re-checking again all my weapons. The crossbow would be used once, maybe twice, then it would be my Colts, my knives, and my spear. Rifles were deemed useless, but Jeff, Rodney, Jonathan, and Jenifer all had shotguns.

Twice, as we sat hunkered down in the brush, sentries passed. The second ones were right on time for us. After they passed, Jeff snuck up and cut the barbed wire. As he did, I tied reflective streamers to the posts; this would indicate to Jenifer and Jonathan where to lead the horde. Once that was done, we ducked down and waited for the next patrol. Jeff patted me on the shoulder when we spotted them, then vanished.

I lined up my shot and fired my crossbow, then re-loaded, watching only long enough to see Jeff pop up and snap the neck of the other sentry before he had a chance to make a sound. I still don’t know where he’d hidden himself, I only know that, all of a sudden, there he was. I jogged into the open lawn and scurried to some hedges. I glanced back once to see where Jeff was. The bodies were already out of sight, and so was he.

I was on my own. My job was to enter that basement area, leaving the doors open behind me. It was padlocked on the outside. This was a good sign and part of our Best-Case-Scenario portion of the plan. The thought being that, if they were locked in down here, these women might not all be converts. We would be able to actually rescue some.

I cut the lock as quietly as possible and pulled open the door. The smell of body odor was nauseating. I turned on my red-lensed flashlight and crept down the stairs. Yes, Virginia, women do snore. What I saw brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. The women were bound, hand and foot, stripped naked, and left on the hard, concrete floor with a sheet or maybe a thin blanket thrown over them. I could also make out several actual beds against the wall. All empty. There was another smell under all that body odor. The musky, but stale smell of sex.

A quick head count gave me a total of twenty-seven female bodies. That left over half unaccounted for. My beam of red-tinted light stopped on one set of eyes that were open wide and staring at me. I figured I’d start there. Hurrying over, I pulled the gag down while telling her not to speak yet. I explained I was here to rescue her if she wanted. Tears in her eyes, she nodded vigorously. Good, I thought. I explained a little of what was happening, and asked if she thought the others in this room felt the same about leaving. More enthusiastic nodding. I told her that I wanted her to help me free the others, and then I would lead them to safety.

I knew we had to work fast and, as more ladies were freed, it added to the helping hands. This was going smoothly, I remember waiting for something to go wrong. But when the last one had been unbound, I led them back to the stairs that would take us up to the open air and out of that nasty cellar. I told them to join hands because I didn’t want to lose anybody, and up we went.

All of us had to blink our eyes and squint a bit against the lights that were on close to the mansion. The object was to get out of this tiny circle of illumination as fast as possible. It became quickly apparent that our pace would be anything but hasty. I was moving at barely a brisk walking pace.

I could see the dark outline of the trees and bushes that surrounded the property and knew that the fence was close. After what seemed an eternity, I caught a glimpse of the reflector tape we’d secured to the fencing to let us know where the hole was. We had slipped into the shadows, finally back in the blessed cover of darkness when a gunshot rang out. I heard a cry, spinning around. My eyes hadn’t adjusted yet, so I couldn’t really see who’d fallen. I only knew that it was one of mine, and the time for stealth was over. “Run!” I yelled, and began shoving bodies past me, working my way back down the line of women.

I reached the end of the line, but five more were coming, trying to help their fallen friend. As sad as it was, there just wasn’t time and I rushed up and told them so. One began to argue, and I announced loud enough for all of them to hear that I had no problem leaving stragglers behind to save the greater number, then turned and ran back to the front of the line. That’s when gunfire erupted from the upper windows of the mansion. I could feel the ground around me being torn up. I also heard screams.

I yelled, trying to be heard above the sudden cacophony, and told any who could hear to follow me. I found the trail and grabbed the first woman to reach me. I told her to stay on this trail no matter what, and turn right when she reached the train tracks. “Go through the tunnel and into the zoo,” I said. I instructed them to avoid any zombies as best they could and grab anything they could find as a weapon if it presented itself. They needed to find the primate exhibit and hide in there, somebody would be along to find them as soon as possible. If not, there was a map to Sunset Fortress hidden in the empty orangutan exhibit inside the tire swing. If nobody showed up by morning, they should run for it. That was all I had time for, I could hear guns blazing back at the mansion. There was more work to do.

I ran back, passing more than a couple of bodies on my way. The shooting had shifted focus to the front of the mansion. That would be Kenny, Shandra, Rodney, and Darla. I’d just reached the fence when Jenifer and Jonathan arrived. “Move!” Jonathan said, pushing me through the gap. I remember hearing them. I’d been so focused on the firefight at the mansion, that it actually surprised me when those moans registered in my conscious. And then the smell hit. A moment later, the leading edge of a wall of undead poured out of the woods. I couldn’t really see any details, or, maybe my mind simply won’t let me bring that scrap of memory out.

The three of us ran, leading the horde through the fence. Of course they congested quickly, and it spread them out further, but that was okay. The plan was working; we’d brought a few hundred expendable soldiers to the fight. If the folks out front could keep things busy, we could bring these pieces into play.

We stayed close to the fence, avoiding the light. After feeling like we’d put enough space between us and the zombies, we stopped and unslung our small knapsacks. If Jeff did his job, phase two would happen any moment.

We each had a set of night-vision goggles. They were precious and had been saved for the attack because we’d needed to conserve their power. There was a small explosion, and then, darkness. It was all falling into a nice, neat, orderly series of events. I remember feeling almost giddy. So many much simpler plans had fallen apart in the last year. This was a major operation, and it was happening with all of our “Best-Case Scenario” possibilities.

Staying low, we started forward again, each of us tasked with an area of the mansion to watch. Surely they wouldn’t just abandon the rear of the mansion just because all the action was now in front. I saw the first flash from the top left window. Something whistled past my face and I dropped. I should’ve returned fire, but reflex was to seek cover.

Jenifer was beside me, saying my name, then...she cried out and fell. Thinking I was shot and turning to help me earned her a bullet in the back. The memory is hazy here, but I remember getting to my knees, aiming into that black rectangle and firing off three or four rounds from my pistol, then rolling Jenifer onto her back. She cried out, and I could see a dark splotch at her left shoulder.

Jonathan and I pulled her to her feet and moved towards the mansion. I saw some flashes through the windows. There was a shootout happening inside. That wasn’t part of the plan. Nothing had been said about going into the main part of that huge place. My mission to the basement had been the only excursion inside, and that had been based on observation. We were confident that none of The Genesis Brotherhood stayed down there. Jenifer shrugged us off, insisting she could walk.  She carried a Beretta in her right hand.

Twice, Jonathan broke off to double-back and take out a few of the closer zombies. We were leading them to the mansion. Only, we had to stay under cover as much as possible, using trees and bushes as we closed the distance to the back doors. Avoiding bullets, luring zombies. It was madness.

We were halfway there when two different doors burst open. One was up a small flight of stairs. Somebody stepped out and fired a flare up in the air. All of us pulled our goggles off, the backyard was now bathed in a blue-white light. Then a second flare was fired. Jenifer and I saw her at the same time. Dominique was on that small landing with three other women and two men. We barely got behind the base of a marble statue as the automatic weapons’ fire opened up. We saw several of the zombies dance and jerk as bullets tore into their bodies with no real effect. A few took head shots, toppling back into the horde, but not enough for it to matter.

We waited for a lull and came out firing a quick volley. I saw one person fall. Then they opened up on us again. A few of the zombies were closing in, and we had no choice but to reload and then take them out. Trying to stand and use a hand-to-hand weapon would earn us a bullet in the back.

I can’t believe we’d forgotten about the creepers. Jonathan was on the right, closest to the fence. His scream caught both me and Jenifer by surprise. One of those damned things had come under the fence. Who knows if it’d been in the cage or simply drawn by the noise. I remember the look on Jonathan’s face. The pain was there, but it was the sadness that broke my heart. He yanked his arm away, and even in the shadows, I could see dark liquid dripping from the tip of his elbow.

Two more flares lit up the sky and I could see the creeper lying beside Jonathan. He’d smashed its head with his handgun. Jenifer was babbling that he still might be okay. It wasn’t certain that he’d been infected.

“But it’s likely,” was all he said. Then he got up. The group on the porch had ceased their barrage for a moment. Jonathan took the offensive. Before Jenifer or I could say a word, he stepped out and took off for the mansion, firing from both hands.

Jenifer jumped up, and before I knew it, I was on her heels chasing after Jonathan. It was stupid. They opened up on the big man. We saw a couple of them go down, and a couple more ducked back in that door they’d come out of. Still, an M-16 is death. Several are overkill. I’d never thought the term “cut in half” was real when referring to guns. But that’s exactly what they did to Jonathan.

I grabbed Jenifer, she’d stopped cold in her tracks, my survival instinct had re-awakened. The fence was several yards to our left, but there were a couple of trees close by to use as cover for a moment. Jenifer wanted to struggle, but I’d not really paid attention and grabbed her left arm...the side she’d been shot. That sorta prompted her to follow me.

We got behind cover, the ground erupting right where my feet’d been just seconds before. I don’t know who was holding who, both of us sobbing. Then I heard her voice. It was nails on the chalkboard.

“Mer-e-dith!” she sing-songed. There was a twisted and maniacal glee in her voice. How could a twelve-year-old girl morph into this angry, evil child I was hearing?

“Did I kill your latest lover?” she called. “Poor Meredith. Can’t keep a man alive, can you?”

“What the hell is your problem?” Jenifer pulled away from me and screamed. “Meredith risked her life to save you, and this is how you act!”

“Jenifer,” Dominique laughed. “Are you still mad at me because the boys liked me better?”

“Liked?” Jenifer yelled. “They raped us! Are you that crazy? Or that stupid?”

“Only the first time,” Dominique giggled.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This delusional little girl had no idea. How off-center did somebody have to be to confuse love with rape? I struggled in my mind for a moment with the idea of killing Dominique. Jonathan’s death wiped the struggle away.  Taking a deep breath, I ducked low—a trick Jeff and Rodney taught me—and came around, firing where I remembered seeing that group. I only got off four shots, one of which hit before I had to duck back to avoid a new burst of automatic weapons’ fire.

We were out of time at this location. The zombies were on us again and we had to move. I told Jenifer I would try to give her enough cover and join her in a moment. Dominique was still taunting and ranting. I ignored most of it, but one thing jumped out of one of her statements.

“...and if the undead would’ve gotten the two of you in that building the day after you left me all by myself, then none of your new friends would be dying today—”

“Bitch,” I swore and came around firing. This time I had two pistols in my hands. It was enough to make them scatter good. Jenifer ran for it, and, when my weapons emptied, I followed. I knew I wasn’t in direct danger from the zombies yet, and as I neared the fence, I considered my choices: carefully go under or through the fence like Jenifer; or go over it. I had a good running start. Gauging my chances, I saw the post in the flicker of the latest round of flares that were being fired every minute it seemed. I would plant my hands and vault. Everything worked until I felt something punch me in the back—really hard.

The impact pushed me over and my hands lost their purchase. My controlled vault became an awkward, flying sprawl. The next explosion of pain was my left leg. I don’t remember hitting the ground. I don’t remember the other two bullets catching me in mid-air. One blew off my pinky on my left hand, the other went through the meat next to the base of my neck. Doctor Gene says that one would’ve been lethal a centimeter left and up.

I don’t know who saved me. I haven’t seen anybody from our team. Nobody will tell me a thing because Mean Doctor Gene doesn’t want me upset. Doesn’t he realize that the not knowing part is what will have me upset until I get answers. I know somebody saved me. Was it one of my group? Did Jenifer make it, too? They hit me, did she catch some of that lead, too?

I WANT ANSWERS!

Sunday, May 24

I saw Jeff this morning! It was so good to know for certain that somebody else made it out. He came in a wheelchair pushed by some girl I’ve never seen before who scurried out like she was afraid I’d attack her. I mean serious gun shy stuff.

Jeff rolled up beside me and his first words were, “Still got my watch?” I waved my wrist and told him he could have it back the day he could physically take it. Then we laughed until both of us had to stop because of the pain.

He said he’d been sworn to secrecy by Doctor Gene not to say anything, but that he’d been kept in the dark, too. He only knows of one other person in our group that made it and that supposedly we were both going to be told tonight. That’s what I’m waiting for now. I’m writing...stopping every time I hear footsteps at the door.

There was something else I could see in Jeff’s eyes. Something he’s not telling me. I have no idea what it is, but I can tell. Jeff has always been an eye-contact kinda guy. You know, the one who locks gazes and doesn’t blink or flinch. After a while, you start to feel like a bug under a microscope. Well...he looked at his lap a lot in the thirty or so minutes he was in my room.

I did find out a few things.  After we split, Jeff made it into the mansion through a window on the ground floor. He found a room full of children and four women who were taking care of them. He rescued seven of the nineteen children. He’d had to kill each of the women. One of them doused her body with kerosene and lit herself on fire. Apparently she’d doused several children as well.

That’s something I’ve never understood about these so-called Christians. And trust me, I got nothing against people who go to church and do the whole “Praise Jesus!” thing. It’s these fringe types. The ones who don’t believe that they can exist without building a private compound away from society. The ones who would rather burn their world to the ground and give cyanide-laced beverages to children. That’s not Christian...that’s crazy. Contrary to some beliefs, the two are not one in the same.

Voices! Footsteps!

Monday, May 25

Jenifer, Rodney, and Shandra are here! Rodney is almost scratch-free. Shandra is worse than Rodney only in that she has a sprained ankle. Jenifer is in bad shape. We all were allowed in to see her, but through a tent of some sort. Basically she’s in a bubble. She’s burned badly. Doctor Gene says almost fifty-percent of her body.

Most of the power in the Mitchell house is being used to keep things running that help Jenifer. She is in a room (Doctor Gene had some fancy name for it) where the air is constantly being blown out. It’s as germ-free as they can manage, but she is at a huge risk for infection for a while.

Here’s what I know:

She pulled me into the woods after I was shot. Jeff showed up to find her trying to bandage me and plug all the holes. For no training he’d been surprised at how well she’d done. (I think Snoe taught her some tricks way back when.)  He took over and let Jenifer tell him everything that had happened. The whole time they were talking and bandaging me up, the mansion was starting to really catch. Flames were visible on the upper levels.

They were ready to move me when a five-person team came running at them. Jenifer and Jeff opened fire. These people hadn’t been running at them as much as away from the mansion. They dropped three in a hurry. The other two split and ran. Jenifer screamed a name. (I asked Jeff if it was Dominique.  He was pretty sure it was.) She took off, sliding under the fence and running after the girl. Jeff didn’t want to abandon me, but he didn’t want to just let Jenifer go alone. He decided he had to get me out of there. He saw her disappear into the burning house after who we are now pretty certain was Dominique.

Shandra picked it up from there. She and Kenny were leading or carrying the children that Jeff had rescued down a trail. They were staying low because the zombies from all over were being drawn to this new beacon. Between the screams, gunfire, and flames, every zombie for miles would be converging on the mansion.

Kenny was carrying a little girl no more than two or three. Shandra had an infant in her small backpack that she’d slung in front. It was a little awkward, but doable. They got down to a service road and ran into a cluster of zombies. Up to this point, the children had been quiet. Kenny motioned for everybody to head into a thick bush across the road. They could almost slide down the hill the rest of the way to where the train tracks were located.

Then the women I’d freed showed up. The zombies were in the middle of the two groups. Shandra said that, while you couldn’t make out details clearly, the moon was bright and provided more than enough light in this little strip. Being on the road, there was no canopy of trees. One of the women screamed. Then, the children began to cry.

Things got a bit hazy after that. Zombies were coming at both groups. Shandra quickly decided that the women were on their own and ushered the children through the brush and sorta bundled them close and got them scooting down the hill. Kenny reached the bottom, shoved the little girl he was holding in his arms to Shandra, and took off back up the hill to the screams.

There are eleven women here thanks to him. The way they describe it, they were surrounded by several dozen zombies with no way out. Some had picked up branches, but most of them had been too deeply gripped with shock to react in any way other than to stumble blindly through the woods and away from the mansion.

Kenny burst from the trees screaming some sort of battle-cry. He plowed into the undead horde swinging an axe in one hand, and firing point-blank with his pistol in the other. He opened a small gap that a few of the less-terrified women slipped through. The last anybody saw of him, he was leaning over one downed, crying woman, firing up at a handful of zombies closing in. One woman swore she saw him shove the barrel of the pistol in his mouth as two of those things were tearing chunks out of him.

Shandra led the children into the tunnel and arrived to find Scott Colson sitting up. Rodney was the last to talk. He and Darla had come in from the front of the place. Together, they were efficiently dispatching the security patrols. Rodney began with the vehicles, stuffing rags into every gas tank.  Darla’d likely heard all the commotion (probably us) kick up and decided to try and create a diversion. She climbed into one of the trucks and started it. Rodney turned in time to see her race past, headed right for the big house. A few yards before impact, she dove clear. Rodney said she did everything right. She hit the ground rolling, popped to her feet with a big “thumbs-up” gesture, running back towards him. Whoever was up in that window was a hell of a shot because she knew to zig-and-zag with no pattern. The bullet entered the back of her skull and blew out most of the left side of her face. He said she still had a huge grin plastered on what was left of her face—even in death. She never knew what hit her.

By then, every window of the mansion seemed to be bristling with guns. He saw flashes inside, and was lighting his second truck-bomb, when flames whooshed out one window on the right side of the mansion. He lit the other three and ran for it. He looked back to admire his work when a dark haired girl burst out the front door. He said he felt a sick feeling in his stomach. That girl was going to run right into the cluster of trucks he knew was going to blow up any second. Knowing you were responsible for collateral damage was worse if you physically witnessed it. But instead of running straight for the driveway and the quickest way out, the girl turned and bolted along the front of the house, disappearing down its left side.

Then, Jenifer emerged. He said he could tell she’d been shot. A large, dark bloom was easily visible in the light of the small fire started by Darla’s truck. Jumping up, Rodney yelled a warning. Jenifer must’ve misunderstood because she ran towards him. Then the first truck exploded.

When he got to her, he thought she was dead at first. She was lying where the blast had thrown her, still burning. All of her hair was gone. He’d wrapped her in his coat and carried her. Twice he’d had to literally shoulder past zombies. He met up with Jeff, each of them carrying a bundled up female on the edge of death. Together, they reached the mouth of the tunnel when a half-dozen men and women came running down the tracks from the direction of the amphitheater. During the brief shootout, Jeff took one bullet in the thigh, it lodged in the femur. Somehow, he still carried me the rest of the way. Doctor Gene says he shouldn’t have been able to support his own weight, much less carry me.

Jamaal and Antoine say that the mansion is gone. Burned to the ground. Zombies are everywhere. A lot of them are new. There is no way to tell how many of The Genesis Brotherhood survived. Also, it seems likely that Dominique got away. The women we rescued were all questioned about any knowledge of a fallback location. None of them know a thing.

Figures.

Friday, May 29

While I’ve been laying here on my back, occasionally being allowed to go out of my room for a short walk or a trip to sit in the room with Jenifer, Rodney has been busy. He went on a one-man recon mission. This morning he returned.

I HATE being down like this. He spent the last three days at the mansion, or, better yet, the ruins of the mansion. He came back with news: Dominique is alive, and so are at least fifteen other members of The Genesis Brotherhood. He wouldn’t engage them when he saw them because there were simply too many.

According to Rodney, they came in early yesterday morning. Since there was a lot of residual zombie traffic, they came in with heavy firepower in the back of a freakin’ armored-car...van...whatever; those things that used to pull up and collect all the money. A trio of two-man teams came out quick with .50 cals mounted on tripods and mowed down anything moving. That was probably the real reason Rodney left them alone.

Afterwards, they sifted through things, salvaging anything they could. One thing happened that was weird or peculiar.  Although, when dealing with lunatics, I don’t know if anything they do can be considered weird for them. One of their numbers got bit. They were spread out, rummaging—five women and ten men split in two-to-one groups—when it happened. The guy screamed. He came out with a bodiless head clamped onto his hand. More than likely a result from their machinegun razing of everything. If the brain isn’t damaged, a head is a zombie-landmine.

The group converged on this man, and after dealing with the head, turned on the guy. But they didn’t kill him. They trussed him up nice, then built a cross. Yep, you guessed it, they crucified the guy. When they left, he was still screaming for them to please kill him. I’m so proud of Rodney...he left that bastard to turn and rot.

These folks aren’t too far away. The Genesis Brotherhood are now licking their wounds in a very nice house on the Portland side of the West Hills. According to Rodney, this was a house worth seven figures back in the day. It juts out of the hill on metal supports. It’s beautiful, all glass on one side so that whoever used to call it home could look down on the twinkling lights of the city at night or gaze out at Mount Hood by day. It has a brick fence around the front that is a huge arc around an overgrown, but still beautiful garden. There is a big gate that would open inward back when there was electricity.

We’ve talked at length, Rodney and I. He is fairly certain he knows where to acquire some C-4 and even some dynamite as an added bonus. He will leave in a couple days. He told me exactly where he is going. We aren’t saying a word, and I won’t say anything if asked. We both have the feeling that everybody is a little upset with all the killing lately. It’s one thing to kill zombies, but we’re engaged in an active war with living, breathing people. Strange how these feelings get twisted up for some folks. Personally, I have no problem with this. The Genesis Brotherhood needs to die.

Monday, June 1

Last night Jenifer woke up. It was only for a little while, maybe ten minutes, but Doctor Gene said she seems to be improving. I’m just really sad that I missed out. I would’ve loved to see her with her eyes open for a change.

I found out today that everybody here has been more involved in mine, Jeff’s, and Jenifer’s recovery than I could’ve guessed. It seems that every single person here donated blood, that includes the women who we rescued. The children that are old enough have been helping Antoine and Jamaal in the garden.

Rodney left early this morning. He slipped into my room to say goodbye. He is also the first person who told me about Jenifer waking up. (Credit where it’s due, Jamaal came in shortly after Rodney left and told me, too.)

A funny thing happened today. Jeff came in to see me, he’s walking with help from a cane and a full leg-cast, and he wanted to know if I still had plans for a trip south. I said I did. Then he asked if I was in a hurry. I told him I didn’t think Vegas was gonna go anywhere. He said he didn’t think he’d be at a hundred percent until next spring.

I guess I won’t be traveling alone.

Tuesday, June 2

I woke up to a true surprise. Jenifer is awake! She’s weak, and can barely speak above a whisper, but I got to give her juice from a sippy cup. She says she can’t remember a thing. Not just of the battle, but of like a week before.

I sat with her all day. It was the third visit by Doctor Gene that made me ask where Shari was. It seems she left a few days ago with a group that returned to Sunset. They took all the very young children with them. Not even a “goodbye” or “hope ya get better soon” from her. I wonder what I did to make her dislike me so much. Oh well, screw her.

I’ve got this super-comfy recliner to sit in, so I’m gonna sorta be Jenifer’s roomie. Doctor Gene gave it a nod, then announced I start physical therapy tomorrow. Hmmm. It sounded kinda ominous. I’ve been moving about on my own, so I don’t know what the big deal is.

Also, I was more than a little surprised to discover that a route from here to Sunset has been cleared. Partially highway, partially back road, but there is now an open avenue for a vehicle to move between here and Sunset. I guess they use some intricate decoys to minimize zombie traffic and cut down on herds. There are five “start-points” where fueled vehicles wait. This also keeps the zombies from finding one single location and surrounding it.

They actually send a team out to create a distraction. Then, whoever is gonna ride loads up and goes. The next location is obviously The Complex. However, as far out as that is—I’d imagine it to be easily over thirty miles—that should take longer. Still, it’s a start. God help us! Civilization is trying to rise from the ashes.

Wednesday, June 3

Met with my physical terrorist today. It seems that one of the women we rescued tortured people for a living in the olden days. Her name is Paula Greer and I hate her guts. This whole thing—my being in physical therapy—is her idea.

She did some things to me that I’m fairly certain would’ve pissed off Amnesty International. Every time I told her “No more!” she’d say “One more!” Then, when I learned that trick and started crying earlier, she switched it to “Two more!” It was like she had ESP or something.

She says I suffered pretty intense deep-muscle damage. Also, if I don’t do something now, I may have limited mobility for the rest of my life. She smiles too big and I swear to God if she pats me on the butt one more time and says “Thatta girl!” I’m gonna shoot her.

However, Jeff got to play after me. What a big sissy. All that moaning and yelping. I thought Army Rangers were absolute bad-asses. He made more noise than I did when I had Baby Snoe.

Tonight, we were given permission to open Jenifer’s bedroom window. The warm night breeze smelled like candy. It was so sweet and clean. I know Jenifer enjoyed it. She lay there with her eyes closed, just breathing deep through her nose.

I stay with her as much as I can, but Doctor Gene makes me leave when they clean her and change her bandages. Of course, everybody can hear her crying, so I don’t much want to be in there for that anyways. Man can that girl curse!

Thursday, June 4

Somebody fought their way into the hospital down below. I felt sorry for them. All that work, and we already got all the good stuff those many weeks back. Antoine, Jamaal, and Eric (who has been strangely distant since my recovery) went down to see what’s what. It doesn’t look like whoever it was made it out alive. There was a lot of fresh, tacky blood. It’s kinda sad.

Friday, June 5

Antoine made Jenifer’s day today. He brought in a box on a hand-trolley. Then he put up a curtain and wouldn’t let anybody see. An hour later, the strains of Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley started up. The curtain was pulled aside to reveal a CD-Jukebox. It is full with five hundred discs. When I left for my daily physical terrorist appointment, she had it on Random, and was laying back with the closest thing to a smile on her face that I’ve seen in ages.

That got me thinking. I realized I haven’t seen her smile since the incident. She’s been sulky, broody, and downright bitchy. Now she’s lying there, fighting for her life.

The highlight of my day was laying on a table with hot towels wrapped around my body, listening to Jeff snivel like a great big baby. I’ve sorta been expecting Rodney to stroll in anytime now. I hate not knowing. It is rough just being here, but to know somebody is out there doing something...it makes my teeth itch! I know I’m in no shape, and honestly, I am in a bit of pain. The therapy, whether I want to admit it or not, is helping. But while I’m being honest, I wouldn’t last a day out there.

I managed to catch a glimpse of Eric today. Shortly after the jukebox was turned on he strolled by the open doorway. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be certain he was actively avoiding me. I thought we got along well, so I don’t know what to make of this. Shari…now Eric.  Am I that much of a complete bitch that nobody can stand being with me? I mean, Jonathan had made it clear he was going back to Sunset, and Jenifer was done after The Genesis Brotherhood mission also. So what gives? Who knows? Maybe all this laying around is makin’ me crazy and a wee bit paranoid. Well, I won’t rush my recovery, but I will be leaving this place ASAP.

Sunday, June 7

Took a walk outside today. It was warm, sunny, and peaceful; other than one lone shambling zombie that decided to buck the trend and climb the steep hill to reach us. Antoine took one of the women we rescued outside the fence to take it out. I guess they’re trying to expose these women to the act of killing on a slow and limited basis. That’s great unless we get swarmed. I’m not sure any of these gals would be more than in the way.

I put some extra pressure on my injured leg while I walked. At one point, when I sat my own cane down, I shifted all my weight to my bad leg. It felt like somebody was giving me a charlie-horse.

My biggest deal is getting used to half of my pinky being gone. It feels so odd, especially when I close my hand and make a fist. Also, when I turn my head or look up, it really hurts. Not just a little bit. I’m talking it feels like the hole tears open further. Doctor Gene has this gauze actually packed into the hole which has been slowly reducing in amount. It still hurts, and I’ve looked at it in a mirror.

Nasty.

Monday, June 8

Rodney is back. He says that The Genesis Brotherhood is still in that house. He says that they only send out small three-person teams for supplies. Also, every day they slip out and get up on the wall to take out any zombies gathered out front. After dispatching them, they bring them around one side or the other—outside the wall—and toss the bodies down the steep hill. The bottom is all woods, so the corpses can’t really be seen. They are busily fortifying this place, slowly setting obstacles farther and farther out on the three sides they need to defend from zombies.

He found the explosives he went out for. In a rather clever move, he’s hidden the materials in the same woods down below the house where the zombies are being tossed. He says they don’t seem terribly intent on setting watches.

So, to make all this happen, he needs at least two people to go with him to run wire and set charges. When the house comes down, three people will be responsible for going in and making certain that not one single member of that group remains.

There is no doubt that the three will be me, him, and Jeff. The only concern is that if we wait too long...

Tuesday, June 9

Jenifer seems to be getting worse, not better. Doctor Gene says there is a serious concern with infection. They are doing all they can, but she has suffered so much injury. Somebody is with her every minute of the day now.

A new person has joined our physical-terrorism regime: Scott Colson. We now know a bit more about him. He was captured with a group of eight others who were unlucky enough to be moving through Washington Park. They were on their way to the coast. His story gets sadder. That was his family inside the pen. His wife and two sons.

It seems that when they were captured, not only did they fight The Genesis Brotherhood and refuse to join, they managed to kill two members. They had been locked in a room and one of the guards decided to help himself to Scott’s wife, making him and his two sons watch. The other guard was so engrossed he didn’t notice that Scott had freed himself. He snapped the onlooker’s neck and was on the other before the guy knew what was happening. Once freed, they’d tried to make a run for it. They got out the window; a sniper from the roof put a bullet in one of his boys’ back. Of course, Scott and his wife, Linda, couldn’t just keep going. They’d turned and ran back.

Scott is in a wheelchair. He kept a blanket over his legs, so I never saw his feet. But, if they’re anything like his hands, I don’t know if they will ever work right again. Both his hands are mangled and deformed. The spikes driven through the wrists have done some nasty damage. He is trying to get his fingers to work. Right now they can only bend all together. He’s got no individual movement. I didn’t stay for his therapy. As soon as Doctor Gene unwrapped one hand and I saw the ugly black and green discoloration from some of the nastiest bruises anyone short of Jesus has ever had, I knew it was time to go. However, I think I’ll like this guy. As I was leaving, he called my name, when I turned, he waved.

And peeked through the hole just below the heel of his hand with a big grin on his face.

Saturday, June 13

I’ve been bedside with Jenifer for two days. Paula has excused me from my PT. I’m not moving from this spot unless she gets better or doesn’t. I refuse to say the word because I won’t give it any more power than it already has.

Doctor Gene has stopped the pain medication. His reason may seem callous, but nobody can argue it. He feels she won’t survive much longer no matter what treatment she receives. Pain medication is a very finite resource, and using the amount Jenifer needed—when each day is now one day longer than she was expected to live—can’t be justified. It doesn’t seem to matter; she still hasn’t so much as twitched. I know people have come and gone, but I don’t remember faces, even the familiar ones. It’s days like today that make me wish that the bullet in my own neck would’ve been a centimeter up and over.

Monday, June 15

Nothing has changed. Jenifer clings to life, and forgive me, but I can’t keep sitting on my hands. Rodney came this morning with Eric. Seems Jeff wasn’t up to it, but Eric offered.  I do not get that guy. We can’t let them have any more time to prepare. There’s no telling what they might do. So, tonight, we go. If I don’t return, and if Jenifer survives, I’d like her to have this. Please know I didn’t abandon you. I simply did what I felt had to be done. Sure, there are likely worse groups than The Genesis Brotherhood, but those people are in my backyard. They’re crazy, and a danger to people here at the Mitchell place, the folks at Sunset, and Snoe at The Compound.

Thursday, June 18

Seeing that place gave me a cold feeling in my stomach. Rodney told Eric and I everything we needed to do. He directed us as we climbed around in those beams. I won’t lie, it hurt. My leg throbbed, my neck burned, all of it made worse by the fact that I palmed my pain meds that day.

We were able to have everything in place in just a couple hours. Rodney wanted to make certain that we inflicted maximum damage. Twice we had to stop because of noise up above. Once, I swear I heard Dominique’s shrill laughter. I don’t exactly know when it happened, but at some point, I’d stopped seeing Dominique as a confused little girl. What I saw instead was an evil, selfish, hateful monster. A rabid animal that needed to be put down before it was able to cause any more damage or hurt anybody else.

Once everything was ready, Rodney had us all move up the steep hill, but well to the left. We knew that we’d have very little time after the blast to handle our business. The rule was to shoot anything that moved. One of the charges was actually placed by Rodney at the base of the brick wall on the right side of the property. He said there were only a dozen or so zombies stumbling around, but removing the fence would further reduce any chance a survivor might make it out alive.

The explosion was epic. Any thoughts we had of needing to “deal with potential survivors” was pointless. Not to mention we couldn’t get close enough because of the flames. Afterwards, when I asked Rodney what the hell, he admitted the funniest thing in the world. He and Jeff were in fact attached to the Army Rangers…as supply clerks! He had no idea how much explosives to use.

In a horror movie, there is always that ridiculous double-ending. No matter what is done to the particular beastie, it always lunges at the hero or heroine one more time. The bad guy never quite dies that first time. I have no worries of such nonsense. The sliver of wall that didn’t crash down the hill in a ball of flame collapsed shortly after the big explosion. The dust was still rising from the collapse.

We only hung around for a few minutes. Long enough to know that nothing would be walking away from that blast. Dominique and The Genesis Brother-hood are gone. For good. We moved away and had to fight out of a couple of very minor jams. The zombies were coming like a bunch of farmhands to a dinner-bell. We stayed low and moved as fast as we could.

Eventually we found—of all things—a tree house. Not some slapped together sheets of plywood. This was obviously for some rich children whose parents had too much money to waste. This tree house was bigger than my first apartment, or at least seemed that way. We hid out and stayed an extra day for my sake. After the adrenaline subsided I was feeling quite a lot of pain. During my nap, Rodney was an absolute angel. He came up with a bottle of oxycodone. No self-respecting rich person would be without a mini-pharmacy in their bathroom. He didn’t have to look any further than the house next to this one before he found this little vial of heaven. Meredith likey!

Also, in between naps, Eric sat beside me. He told me he was glad I wasn’t The Bringer of Death. My look must’ve said everything because he quickly explained. It seems he’d come to believe that I had some sort of curse hanging over me. I’m not up on all the Native American spirituality, but he was convinced that being near me was a ticket to The Great Spirit. That is utterly ridiculous.

I guess I’m now considered okay. Like I care. Well... maybe I do...a little.

This morning, we returned to the Mitchell place. Doctor Gene gave me a royal chewing out. Then, Paula got her pound of flesh. They were so busy bitching me out that it was Jeff who told me that Jenifer seems to be stabilizing. Whatever problem she was having, she seems to have overpowered.

I went in to see her, ignoring Doctor Gene and Paul-the- Physical-Terrorist still standing there with mouths open and stupid expressions on their faces. She still looks horrible. But not as horrible. Paula came in a little while later and told me I’d be expected back in therapy tomorrow.

Whatever.

Wednesday, July 1

I’ve been released from Paula’s clutches. She wasn’t sorry to see me graduate her little boot camp. Jeff and Scott are progressing, but both will be seeing a lot more of her before being bestowed her seal of approval. Two days ago, Jenifer moved her arm. Everything is leveling out.

A group from Sunset arrived today, they had a couple of gifts: puppies. One for me and one for Jenifer. Seems Coach has been a busy boy with Cheyenne. They wanted to talk to me about working with a team to clear the section of Highway 26 from Sunset out to The Complex. The opinion is that if the highway can be cleared, and a series of outposts created, then the corridor would be a start towards reclaiming the land.

Personally, I think they’re crazy. Moving a bunch of cars out of the way isn’t gonna make the world a safe and better place. Still, I can’t go to Vegas yet, Jeff’s not ready. We’ll be moving next spring. We talk about it almost every day, so I guess I can do this until then. Besides, Sam can’t possibly travel yet. That’s what I named my puppy, Sam. He’s a tiny savage and I love him.

So, next week, Rodney, Eric, and I will be heading out with Shandra. We’re going to find one or two of those king-sized dump-trucks and turn it into a war machine. Shandra knows where a quarry is about ten miles from here. She says there should be no problem finding what we want.

Antoine has promised to keep tabs on the Las Vegas radio signal. There hasn’t been any noise from there in over three weeks. Who knows, maybe they got wiped out. Maybe I’ll go down there and it won’t be any different than here. At least I’ll know I tried to find something. Plus, I’ve never seen Vegas. Rodney asked what I’ll do if we get there and find nothing. I told him I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone National Park.

I’m thinking of putting the pen and paper away. What am I keeping track of all this for? Who knows. Sometimes I think I keep track of what’s happening out of habit. I guess I’ll see when we start clearing that twenty-seven mile stretch of highway in a few days. But for now, I’ve got a puppy tugging on my sock.

a preview of Zomblog III

coming August 2011

Friday, January 1

Happy New Year.

Two years ago, Samuel Todd started a blog.  He had no idea the world was about to die. Within a month, the dead were walking the earth. Seven months later, he was dead and I was pregnant.

In the past two years, the world has changed dramatically.  Humanity holds out…mostly in small pockets of survivors who cling to each other in desperation and try valiantly to create something resembling something we all knew.  Others have taken advantage of the lack of authority figures.  Wreaking death and chaos wherever they go.  These people prey on those deemed weaker. In many cases, that means women and children.

Make no mistake, nobody is innocent anymore.  In this world, you kill to survive and you do it without hesitation…or you die.  A few months into this whole drama, somebody told me that the estimated ratio between the living and the living dead had exceeded 13000:1.  I’m sure that number is much bigger now.

The walking dead show no sign of just falling down.  There was hope that, when food became scarce, they would just wither away.  They haven’t.  What has gone away is almost any source of fuel, transportation, power—electric, battery or otherwise—and ammunition.  Like the Romans, Vikings, and Knights of the Round Table, we battle hand to hand.  In that sense, we have devolved.

The walking dead travel in singles and small groups, but they’ve also coagulated into larger groups that sometimes number in the thousands called herds or mobs.  If they get on the trail of something (usually one of us) they pursue with a mindless determination. That is a blessing and a curse.  You can ditch them if you’re clever, but if they trap you somewhere…suicide is the quickest and easiest way out. They don’t tend to leave once they have you trapped.  Zombies do not feel frustration.

A few more things about the undead.  They must suffer massive brain trauma to be put down. Their bite is the normal way for them to pass on the infection.  Although, like any other blood-borne illness, open wounds and contaminated blood are a bad deal.  The good news is that this contamination is not one hundred percent.  There have been cases where individuals have survived an attack and have not turned.  Nobody knows how or why, and medical science has gone the way of central air-conditioning.  Even after all this time, their stench gives them away.  They’re slower moving than the rising tide, and have been known to make an unsettling sound that is likened to a baby cry.  They don’t freeze or become immobile in the winter, at least not in any of the winters I’ve experienced.  I couldn’t tell you about places like Alaska or Siberian.

A few months ago I set down my journal.  The journal I took over when Sam died.  Honestly, I didn’t expect to pick it back up.  However, I’ve found a therapeutic outlet in my life to be blatantly missing once I stopped writing.  I’ve found I needed the catharsis of putting pen to paper.

I will not bore you with the mundane events of the past months.  Actually, I’ve spent most of it recovering from a wicked ass-kicking after going heads-up with a cult of lunatics that happened to include a young girl who, at one time, traveled with me.  I’ve been living in a mansion-turned-fortress for the past few months.  Had I been writing in my journal it would have read mostly something like this:  Woke up, stupid dog peed on the floor again, watched a group leave on a supply run again, couldn’t help…again.

Get the picture?

However, I’ve been getting better.  I’ve rehabbed until I’m as close to a hundred percent as I can be.  As I’ve gotten healthier, my desire to get out in the mix again has grown.  I don’t do well being confined.  It’s one of those things you never learn about yourself until an extreme event occurs.  Like, would you return the bag of money that fell out of an armored truck?  Would you rush into that burning building to save a helpless stranger?  Or could you stay monogamous and happily married?

I’ve decided to strike out for Las Vegas as soon as I feel the weather will allow me.   Until it was deemed a waste, and the radio here was shut off—when wind and solar become your only source of power, you are forced to prioritize—we used to pick up an occasional message from somebody who claimed to be in Las Vegas.  What’s more, they claim to have electric power.  I need to see for myself.

I’m not sure if I’ll travel alone or not.  I haven’t mentioned it to anyone in a while.  Maybe they think I’ve learned my lesson.   Maybe they think I will learn to be happy with this new life. I think I understand how Lewis and Clark, Christopher Columbus and Neil Armstrong felt.  Sitting here…not knowing isn’t an option.

My name is Meredith Gainey,  and my New Year’s resolution is to see Las Vegas for myself.

Zomblog: The Final Entry

Dedication

To all my friends who have never stopped believing in me and supporting me…even when I didn’t really deserve it.

Introduction by Lisa Conger

In books sometimes there is a character that just jumps out at you and grabs your attention. For Zomblog that character is Meredith Gainey with her very white skin and fine red hair. Meredith had a good life before the dead started to rise.

She owned her own fitness studio and was an athletic looking girl.  She had a boyfriend who was an EMT and knew how to treat her right. She even had a sister, brother, mom and dad. She was happy and content with her life until that all ended one day.

She awoke to a world where the dead walk and men took what they wanted when they wanted it. What the Sheriff wanted was her; he raped and tortured her like she was his property. However, being the strong minded person she is, she would not let that last forever. She was able to escape by slitting a man’s throat while he raped her.

This lead to the cold and calculated way she had decided to live her life from then on. She realized that in life you can only rely on yourself because if you rely on someone else they could get you killed. This is why it did not affect her to put a bullet into her lover Sam’s head when he joined the ranks of the undead. This is also why it was so easy for her to decide to give up her baby, Snoe.

Meredith is a complex person who knows what she wants, and that is to kill the zombie menace and to rid the earth of sick people like the Sheriff, who was sworn into office saying he would protect people…but when the world went to hell, decided to use women as his own personal plaything.

Now begins another chapter in Meredith’s story, enjoy!

Lisa Conger

Friday, January 1

Happy New Year.

Two years ago, Samuel Todd started a blog. He had no idea the world was about to die. Within a month, the dead were walking the earth. Seven months later, he was dead and I was pregnant.

In the past two years, the world has changed dramatically. Humanity holds out…mostly in small pockets of survivors who cling to each other in desperation and try valiantly to create something resembling something we all knew. Others have taken advantage of the lack of authority figures, wreaking death and chaos wherever they go. These people prey on those deemed weaker. In many cases, that means women and children.

Make no mistake, nobody is innocent anymore. In this world, you kill to survive and you do it without hesitation…or you die. A few months into this whole drama, somebody told me that the estimated ratio between the living and the living dead had exceeded 13000:1. I’m sure that number is much bigger now.

The walking dead show no signs of just falling down. There was hope that, when food became scarce, they would just wither away. They haven’t. What has gone away is almost any source of fuel, transportation, power—electric, battery or otherwise—and ammunition. Like the Romans, Vikings, and Knights of the Round Table, we battle hand-to-hand. In that sense, we have devolved.

The walking dead travel in singles and small groups, but they’ve also coagulated into larger groups that sometimes number in the thousands called herds or mobs. If they get on the trail of something (usually one of us) they pursue with a mindless determination. That is a blessing and a curse. You can ditch them if you’re clever, but if they trap you somewhere…suicide is the quickest and easiest way out. They don’t tend to leave once they have you trapped. Zombies do not feel frustration.

A few more things about the undead; they must suffer massive brain trauma to be put down. Their bite is the normal way for them to pass on the infection. Although, like any other blood-borne illness, open wounds and contaminated blood are bad deals. The good news is that this contamination is not one hundred percent. There have been cases where individuals have survived an attack and not turned. Nobody knows how or why, and medical science has gone the way of central air conditioning. Even after all this time, their stench gives them away. They’re slower moving than the rising tide and have been known to make an unsettling sound that is likened to a baby cry. They don’t freeze or become immobile in the winter, at least not in any of the winters I’ve experienced. I couldn’t tell you about places like Alaska or Siberian.

A few months ago I set down my journal. The journal I took over when Sam died. Honestly, I didn’t expect to pick it back up. However, I’ve found a therapeutic outlet in my life to be blatantly missing once I stopped writing. I’ve found I needed the catharsis of putting pen to paper.

I will not bore you with the mundane events of the past months. Actually, I’ve spent most of it recovering from a wicked ass-kicking after going heads-up with a cult of lunatics that happened to include a young girl who, at one time, traveled with me. I’ve been living in a mansion-turned-fortress for the past few months. Had I been writing in my journal it would have read mostly something like this:  Woke up, stupid dog peed on the floor again, watched a group leave on a supply run again, couldn’t help…again.

Get the picture?

However, I’ve been getting better. I’ve rehabbed until I’m as close to a hundred percent as I can be. As I’ve gotten healthier, my desire to get out in the mix again has grown. I don’t do well being confined. It’s one of those things you never learn about yourself until an extreme event occurs. Like, would you return the bag of money that fell out of an armored truck?  Would you rush into that burning building to save a helpless stranger?  Or could you stay monogamous and happily married?

I’ve decided to strike out for Las Vegas as soon as I feel the weather will allow me.  Until it was deemed a waste, and the radio here was shut off—when wind and solar become your only source of power, you are forced to prioritize—we used to pick up an occasional message from somebody who claimed to be in Las Vegas. What’s more, they claim to have electric power. I need to see for myself.

I’m not sure if I’ll travel alone or not. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone in a while. Maybe they think I’ve learned my lesson.  Maybe they think I will learn to be happy with this new life. I think I understand how Lewis and Clark, Christopher Columbus and Neil Armstrong felt. Sitting here…not knowing isn’t an option.

My name is Meredith Gainey, and my New Year’s resolution is to see Las Vegas for myself.

Saturday, January 2

This morning I took my dog for a walk…well…he isn’t quite a dog yet, but he’s too freakin’ big to be called a puppy anymore. His gigantic feet keep getting in the way of his legs, and I have never in my life seen a dog trip as often as this one.

However, Sam’s a good dog. He already knows to growl any time one of those walking meat bags gets close. Eric Grayfeather takes him out on patrol sometimes. I think he does it to piss me off. He knows how bad I want to be out there, so he takes Sam. Then, when everybody gets back, I get to hear all the neat things my dog did while I sit here on my ass.

That reminds me…the road (Highway 26) is now drivable from here to The Warehouse Complex. I am able to make trips to there or The Sunset Fortress. (Hey, they picked the names; not me.) It allows me to go see Baby Snoe whenever a patrol or convoy heads in that direction. I don’t go very often because I wouldn’t want the baby to become too attached to me. Also, I think it makes Janie and Lindsay, her adoptive mommies, very nervous.

The road clearing detail turned out to only be phase one. The two big communities—as well as the few dozen folks who live in the walls of the Mitchell mansion—are serious. They are using the plethora of abandoned vehicles to reinforce the barriers they create and continually expand. Both sides of the highway are walled off with them. It does keep the zombie traffic to a minimum while giving The Corridor (another of their catchy names), which is what they now call Highway 26 along this stretch, a very art deco sort of look. I bet some freaky artist back in the Before did a painting like this and idiots stood around some art studio reading all sorts of meaning into it.

And my contribution to all this hoopla?  I was “allowed” to sit in an armored bank truck and be ready to drive if the work detail needed to make a hasty retreat. Woo-freaking-hoo!

In other news…Jenifer is recovering, but the scarring is severe. She was really upset when she discovered that she could only grow hair back on one side of her head (and that is patchy at best). Eventually she decided to adopt the clean-shaven look. Also, she is completely blind in her left eye. It—the eyeball—is all shriveled like a raisin in the socket and looks hideous. She wears an eye patch most of the time, but sometimes she either forgets…or enjoys freaking people out when they see her. I think it is more the latter. She moved to The Sunset Fortress a few weeks ago.

I talked my plans for leaving this place over with Jeff and Rodney earlier today. I made certain that they understood that I have not dismissed that idea. They both have women now!  When did that happen? To their credit, neither tried to talk me out of it. I have set my date for departure at February 1st.

Oh…I got my medical clearance form Dr. Gene and Dr. Dennis last night. Of course, I immediately signed up for the next team leaving on a run. I will venture out on the 9th! It will serve two purposes: I will get to see how my dog operates ‘in the field’ during this excursion, and—more importantly—I will be finding out a few things about myself. I never realized what a toll it took on me just simply being out there. Even when you are in down time…there is no actual break. You must always be alert for trouble.

Every time I think about my upcoming Vegas run, I get butterflies in my stomach. I am about a dozen different types of nervous now. I chalk most of it up to being just a teensy bit stir crazy. This is the longest I’ve stayed put since all this began a couple years back. God! Has it been that long? I started to believe that the injuries I suffered in the fight with The Genesis Brotherhood might force me to become sedentary. However, I am a resilient girl. So there, World! Take that.

Sunday, January 3

Spent the day in the wooded hills behind the mansion. It’s taken me all damned evening to defrost. It was windy, and freezing rain fell most of the time I was out. Sam and I were soaked by the time we came in. I loved it! The only thing that would’ve made it better is if we’d killed a zombie or ten.

Monday, January 4

Jeff and Rodney came to see me this morning. They came with a rather interesting proposal. I guess Jeff has been doing some research. He found an old phone book and tracked down Erin…Sam’s ex-wife. They showed me on a map approximately where it would be.

Since I am leaving on a run anyways, and there are no restrictions as to where we can and can’t go, the decision has been made to hit Samuel Todd’s ex-wife’s old residence and the surrounding neighborhood. It would be quite a luxury if we could find any of his old things like photos and such. I could make a nice package for Baby Snoe.

Here is a weird note; they have had nine births at The Sunset Fortress (that survived). Three were boys, of those three, two were named Sam. Of the six girls, three—that’s half!—were named Meredith. Word came to me in a letter from Jenifer. (She also wished me luck with my trip, though I’m not sure if she meant my upcoming run or the impending Vegas journey. She didn’t specify.)  I guess news travels fast. Nothing like it was just before the Gates of Hell opened, but lots quicker than the Pony Express.

Did I mention that there are nightly runs made between the two main complexes and the mansion?  What a difference two years makes.

Wednesday, January 6

Doctor Dennis gave me a check-up today. I got the feeling that he doesn’t approve of my plans to leave. In fact, I got the distinct impression that he believed I would be sticking around …having babies! Well, isn’t that a bit Genesis Brotherhoody.

It made me wonder. I know that there were people who listened to the broadcasts that those crazy people put out there on the airwaves. Did some of that madness stick to several of the listeners?  Are there people at either of the complexes or here at the mansion that bought into that crap?

I do have to give this to all the survivors…they are trying very hard to bring back the Old Ways. Does the phrase “Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it,” mean anything to these folks?

Thursday, January 7

The team is set.

Jeff, Rodney, Eric Grayfeather, Tina Capps—at twenty-five years old, her meth days have her looking fifty…and not a healthy Susan Sarandon fifty—and I will leave with the midnight transport. We will be dropped off at the 170th Street exit on The Corridor. As much as I am sick to death of rest, I will try my best to get as much as possible in the next twenty-four hours. I seem to remember that you don’t get much out there in the wilderness of a dead world.

Saturday, January 9

First night out.

I am sitting on the very same couch that Sam sat on when he held his daughter Beth after she had been bitten by her own mother, Sam’s ex-wife Erin. Tina is acting like we’re in a damn church. Hmmm…I know I probably shouldn’t say ‘damn’ and ‘church’ in the same sentence, but sheesh!

It is normal to speak in hushed tones or whispers out in the wilderness because of the fact that noise brings trouble. Zombies are very Pavlovian insomuch that they are very responsive to sound. Yet, this gal Tina is walking around the house and won’t speak above a barely audible whisper. I don’t know why, but it is annoying the crap out of me. She’s read a copy of his journal (which became mine and still is by the way). I lived with the man, sorta. She is acting like we are in the Vatican…and I am sprawled on the Holy Couch flipping through a photo album.

It was really bad when we went upstairs to the bedroom. To Sam’s credit, he put them both—Erin and Beth—to rest just like he said…er…wrote. They both had pillowcases over their heads. I imagine that might’ve made it easier, but I can’t imagine what he must’ve felt using a baseball bat on his loved ones so early on in the zombie rising. Sure, as time has passed, those tasks have gotten easier. If it is a total stranger, it is practically perfunctory. Only, when it is somebody you know or care about…even now it can be rough in the best of circumstances.

This house has very little in the way of salvageable or scavengeable goods. This photo album and a couple others are about it. It seems odd looking at Sam’s face again. I’d all but forgotten what he looked like to be honest. What really hit me were the pictures of his daughter Elizabeth. She and Baby Snoe could be twins.

Tomorrow we move through this neighborhood in an indirect way back towards The Corridor. Tonight, however, we sleep in this place. I’m trying to understand how people can see it as some sort of shrine, but honestly, it is just another empty house that used to belong to somebody who eventually turned into one of the walking dead. It is just a house containing long-since-dead corpses that have dried up and barely stink at all anymore.

I will say that I am amazed at how little zombie traffic we encountered on the way here. Also, Eric has done a wonderful job training my goofy dog. Sam—the dog to be clear—is exceptional at sniffing out creepers. Creepers are what we call the ones missing lower extremities. They like to hide in tall grass and under cars. That makes me wonder if they possess some sort of rudimentary reasoning skill. Anyways, Sam made sure we were never surprised.

Tomorrow afternoon we will venture out and do the modern day version of shopping. One final note…I went out to the backyard and put down that female zombie that was still hanging from the fence. That was one of the ones that initially convinced Sam that really bad things were happening.

Sunday, January 10

It just can’t be this easy. Each of us has a backpack and one of those nifty all-terrain carts that can be hitched to your backpack—each fitted with a quick-release just in case a fight kicks off—that we use to maximize what we can return to base with.

We haven’t seen anything larger than a group of seven. They were wandering down a street with no real apparent purpose. We didn’t even have to take them out. They were heading the other direction down a cross street.

At this rate, we’ll be at The Corridor by tomorrow. Once we reach our spot, we hang a banner that will let any passing vehicle cruising The Corridor know that there is a team ready for pick up. I was more than a little surprised when I discovered that they were using my symbol; the one I devised with Jenifer and Dominique.

I’m not trying to come off as too weird, but I have this dread that, now that we’ve found Erin’s residence, there will be a push to locate Sam’s. Worse still, I fear that they will turn it into something like a holy relic and attempt to deify the man. Already, his (our) book is given to every survivor on The Corridor. It isn’t required reading…yet. I can just see a hundred or so years down the road when he has been turned into a statue, every school that starts up in this area is named for him, and my little pattern is turned into some sort of holy symbol with all these deep meanings. Honestly, all I tried to do was create a design that was easy to recreate, but distinct enough to recognize.

Geez! Somebody is thinking highly of herself tonight. Right? I don’t know…maybe. Or maybe I am just being weird.

Monday, January 11

Finally!  Some real action. Sam is such a good doggy. Eric, Sam, and I were poking around a small twenty-unit apartment complex. We were coming up pretty big with canned food and even some cleaning supplies. The Warehouse has been great about sharing the wealth, but all manufactured resources are now very finite. You can never have enough toothpaste.

I found a one bedroom place that obviously belonged to one of those role-playing geek-types. It seems he had a real passion for collecting a variety of actual medieval weaponry. That is why I now have a pair of curved blades sheathed on my hips. (Eric called them scimitars.) I also have a spiked-headed mace dangling from a strap on my shoulder.

I was sitting on a rumpled bed prying open the black case that ended up revealing the scimitars. The lock wasn’t very impressive, but it still took some jimmying. I guess that is why I didn’t see the zombie walk through the front door that we’d left wide open. Eric was in the bathroom pulling stuff out of a cabinet under the sink, so he didn’t see or hear it pass him as it trudged down the hallway.

Then Sam growled.

I’ve gotten sloppy during all these days behind the relative safety of the walls of the Mitchell mansion or inside the confines of an armored truck. I know Sam must’ve reacted sooner, but I was in serious tunnel-vision mode as I pried open that black case.

I looked up as the middle-aged man stumbled through the door. Sam was already at its feet, tugging on the hem of heavily frayed dress slacks. He growled louder and let loose with a single, sharp bark. I had the mace sitting on the bed beside me, so I grabbed it and brought it down hard with an overhead swing that also scraped away a bunch of that popcorn stuff that most apartments have coating the ceiling.

Every zombie can tell a little story if you look close enough. This guy knew he was turning and tried to kill himself. His mouth is a misshapen mess. Most of his teeth are shattered, and the tongue—what is left of it—is black and crispy looking. There is a nasty hole in the back of the throat that you can see through. This poor guy tried to eat a bullet and didn’t put enough angle on the barrel of the pistol he used. He shoved that thing straight back and pulled the trigger. “How do I know it was a pistol?” you might ask. It is still dangling from his twisted and broken hand. Two years of God-knows-what has rendered the weapon useless just like most other firearms and ammo these days.

Back to what happened…

I brought that mace down hard on the top of the thing’s head and it shattered like an overripe melon at a Gallagher show…and stunk worse than rotten eggs. This was my first field kill since taking on The Genesis Brotherhood. It felt invigorating.

Say what you want, and judge if you like, but THIS is where I belong. Out in the world…killing zombies. After it was over, Sam looked up at me as if to say, “Hey, lady, you better pay better attention if you want to live.”  Is it natural for a dog to have what appears to be a look of disgust?  I scratched those soft ears and gave him a treat from the pouch that Eric told me to carry for just such occasions.

Searching the rest of the apartments, Sam’s hackles rose at the doors of five of them. We went in ready for a fight. I got to try out all of my new toys. Whoever that geek was, he kept his weapons in excellent condition. Those scimitar blades were sharp enough to shave with.

We hung the banner an hour ago. Now we wait. When a vehicle passes and sees it, whoever is driving will wait five minutes. If we don’t make it to the road in that time, we have to do it over again.

Tuesday, January 12

Back at the Mitchell’s place.

I packaged up the stuff I found for Baby Snoe. Yes, I did consider making the trip to The Warehouse myself one last time, but decided against it in the end. I suck at goodbyes. It may be the cowardly thing, but I asked Jeff to deliver it for me.

I thought about just sending it with a supply run, but the way people seem to totally weird out over anything to do with the journal, I thought those photo albums might send them into a fervor. I looked things over one last time, added a copy of my journal and her dad’s, and called it good. This one is coming with me to Vegas. Personally, I doubt she will ever see any of this stuff. I don’t give humanity, no matter how organized they try to be, a chance in hell of surviving this ordeal.

Oh! How could I forget? Eric gave me a lovely sketch done in pencil. It was of me. I have no idea how or when he had time to do it, but it was creepy good. I put that in the box, too. Now, if she makes it that long, Baby Snoe will have an idea what her mommy looked like. And having both of our journals, hopefully she will feel just a little bit better about how things worked out.

Now it is time to give Sam a bath. I am pretty sure he rolled in dead people guts at some point. There is no way he will be allowed into the house smelling the way he does.

I got my first mission out of the way! It might’ve been a bit of a cake walk, and I think it was planned that way on purpose because I was coming along. At least I did it. I’d like to make one more before I head out. I think I will go check the sign-up sheets after I bathe Smelly Dog.

Wednesday, January 13

A light snow is falling. Even wearing four layers of clothing, I’m still cold. Being out in this is gonna take some getting used to. I am reminded of this one time when my best friend Katy and I decided that, during the third season of Survivor, we would live off of rice and rough it with the cast. It was only thirty-nine days…we knew we could do it. By day four we were sitting shame-faced in Mickey Dees.

I went outside today and cleared an area, made a small fire, and tried to get in sync with Mother Nature. I am now sitting inside in a rocking chair with a thick comforter over my legs and Sam curled at me feet. I’ve turned into an absolute sissy-girl.

Friday, January 15

I just had the strangest talk.

Eric Grayfeather came into my room after breakfast. He stared at me with those big, dark eyes of his for a few moments (which began to feel like an eternity). Finally, he asked if it was true that I was leaving for Las Vegas soon. I told him it was.

We spent an hour talking. He said that if I equip properly, Highway 26 through Mount Hood and all the way to Madras would be an ideal first leg. I told him I wasn’t interested in becoming a Meredith Popsicle, nor did I want to try and recreate some sort of Donner Party adventure considering Sam was currently my only guaranteed company.

He explained that I could use the snow and weather to my advantage. Also, it would be less likely that I would encounter other living people that way. Since dealing with zombies has never been a problem for me and most of my problems have stemmed from encounters with the living…he had a point.

I listened and found myself starting to agree. Cities are still war zones: Living versus Dead; Living versus Living…et cetera. Eric helped me make a pretty impressive list of essentials. The good thing is that almost everything that I need is available here or at one of the other compounds.

As he was walking out my door, he stopped. Again I got that long, silent stare. Finally, he said, “I will go with you to Las Vegas.”  Then, just like that, he left!

That guy is so weird. Don’t get me wrong; it’ll be nice to make this journey with somebody alongside, but he is probably the last person I would’ve picked for company.

Saturday, January 16

The Warehouse sent a bus today. One of the scavenger teams came back early this morning to the mansion on foot. They had a small group of survivors along with them. Of the eighteen, two are ZIPs: Zombie Immune Persons. (I have no idea when we started attaching catchy acronyms to things again, nor do I care.)  One of the ZIPs is a little boy no older than six. I tried to imagine what it must be like for a third of your life to be a citizen of this hellish apocalypse. He’s seen things in real life that parents of the Old World would’ve called a shrink about if he’d been caught watching on television.

I was chosen to help examine all the females. (There are five.)  It was not the most exciting day, but I did hear something interesting. There have been a flood of survivors heading east. Word is that the government has secured Rhode Island; actually, Aquidneck, wherever that is. I have no idea if that is true. I quickly realized that I didn’t care. So this Aquidneck is cleared of zombies…has power…medical facilities. Big deal. Of course nobody who ever left for this place has come back to confirm the validity of the rumor. Anyways, who wants to live in Newport?

True or not, I imagine that whatever supposed government is in place, it’s not for me. Also, it might as well be on the moon. Crossing the city of Portland is a daunting enough task. An entire continent?  Not likely.

Sunday, January 17

Doctor Gene came to see me today and asked why I was so intent on leaving. He wanted to know what I hoped to find out there. The first part was easy to answer: stir-crazy. The second part was a little more difficult. There is something inside me that wants to get out there and just see things. It isn’t just Vegas…it is everything.

The Grand Canyon.

Yellowstone National Park.

The World’s Biggest Ball of String.

Still, I’ve always wanted to see Vegas. I used to watch shows about it. I loved the online poker. It intrigued me to no end. I can’t explain it in any way that sounds rational. After the zombie outbreak, it was easy to forget about that city. That was until the radio message. Who knows? If that message would’ve never come that night, I’d be on my way someplace else with no better explanation. However, for over a year that place has been in my head like a Siren’s song. I’ve been accused of being stubborn and bull-headed. Not once have I tried to deny it.

Tuesday, January 19

A small herd found our little retreat today. It happened early this morning several hours before sunrise. (Not that there was much of one with all the heavy, gray clouds that have been dumping snow on us all damn day.)

Sam’s growls are what woke me even before Randy stuck his head inside my room and told me to suit up. In fact, by the time he did, I was pulling on my boots and inspecting my gloves for any rips.

I climbed up on the platform built along the inside of the wall. It allows you to see over the wall and lets you hold a steady position while you jab an approaching zombie in the head. Easy-peazy-one-two-threezy! Only…to do that for over three hours really makes you think your arms might fall off. I don’t understand how the zombies aren’t simply frozen!

Right now, with the threat dealt with, my shoulders feel like they have a billion knots in them. My arms feel like overcooked noodles, and I have cramps because my period started at some point during the battle. Yay!

Wednesday, January 20

It actually feels like the weather is trying to conspire against me. Not a day has been above the low teens for three days now. There is also an additional two feet of snow on the ground. For those of you who didn’t grow up in the Portland area…that is unheard of.

Eric came in from the drag-and-burn detail a little while ago to express his doubts as to our projected date of departure. Am I the only person who, once she sets her sights on something, can’t let it go? I am feeling that supercharged mix of adrenaline and anticipation as I wait for my target date.

Sure, February was kinda arbitrary; and these days, what is the difference between the first and the twenty-first? I’ll tell you what the difference is: I set a date and that is when I told myself that I was leaving. That may be one of the problems with writing this stuff down…I always have my own words staring back at me.

Friday, January 22

Spent the day outside the fence with Sam.

Everybody is kinda pissed at me right now. Okay!  So I kinda forgot to tell anybody I was leaving. Last time I checked, I was an adult.

***

Now that I have cooled off mentally and warmed up physically, I made my apologies. I get it. We tell people we are leaving so that they don’t worry. It isn’t about being beholden to others…it is simply courtesy.

That said…it was so much FUN!  Sam and I slipped out to the neighborhood next to the school we got trapped in back when I was pregnant. I shuddered just a little when I walked past that gymnasium where I almost died.

I should back up a bit. Last night, Eric came in with a crossbow for me. It is rigged with a spool of nylon line that is a Wham video Day-Glo green. It is similar to fishing line. All I have to do is attach it to the bolt I am about to fire. Once I shoot, I can actually pull the bolt back. That is handy in so many ways. If I am low on ammo and there are zombies…I can reuse my ammo. It is like a video game power.

“MEREDITH HAS UNLIMITED AMMO.” You use your own video game voice there. I always hear the voice from Mortal Kombat.

So, once I got down to that neighborhood, I actually had to search for a target. The first test went well. Sam growled and I just went in the direction he was pointing. Initially, I didn’t see anything, and then this ponytailed, middle-aged yuppie guy came struggling through the bushes. I tagged it on the third shot (my aim is a little rusty). I kept reeling in my shot, reloading, and firing. Once I scored the hit, I had to actually use my hands to tug the bolt free.

Here’s what I don’t get. Pulling the bolt back, the head seemed to come apart like wet papier-mâché. It wasn’t like the bolt had to line up and come back through the hole it made going in. I had to give a few hefty yanks, but eventually I had my bolt back. I kept thinking that the line would snap from my pulling so hard. After a dozen or so firm yanks, the skull sorta split, and my bolt came free. So…why don’t these things just rot and fall over?  I’m no Bill Nye, hell, the only reason I passed my high school science class is because the teacher made a pass at me. I was failing at the time. We made a deal. I got a “C” and he got to stay out of prison and off the six o’ clock news. (He got busted two years later in the back of his car with a member of the girl’s JV basketball team, so all I did is postpone the inevitable.)

Huh…got off track there for a second. My question was: How come those things aren’t all just puddles of rot by now?  It’s not like they have a plentiful food source any longer. It just doesn’t make sense. But I guess neither does the whole ‘dead getting up and eating the living’ thing. Am I right?

After my first field test of the weapon and retrieval line, I started wading out deeper into the surrounding areas. Eventually, I found what I was looking for. Nine of those things were shuffling through a small park. I got their attention with a little whistle. The moan they cut loose with might be the same as it always has been, but the muffled quality of a snow-covered world made it extra creepy.

I climbed on top of one of those big wooden play structures. Once I found a spot, I made Sam sit and stay inside this reeking plastic bubble with lens-shaped oval windows. Then I stood on the platform attached to the rusted monkey bars. I was almost concerned that I was too close. Their fingertips—or what was left of them in most cases—brushed the bottom lip of the platform. I fired down into their heads from above. The ground actually helped here. There was a bit of a slope, and these things fell away. That kept the others from using the downed bodies to get a better swipe at me.

Getting the bolt free was work, but doable. The nasty part was cleaning them off between each use. It is time consuming, but in a world where consumables have stopped being mass-produced, you need to adapt. Next time out I will try it from the roof of a building.

Saturday, January 23

Started gathering things for the trip. Eric has ski attachments for the harness carts. It will make moving through the snow a lot easier. We have some awesome sub-zero outdoor equipment. As a test, tonight we’re making a snow shelter and sleeping outside. I’m actually giddy. Eric seemed less enthused, but he never shows any emotion, and certainly not excitement. He always looks so solemn. At least I won’t have to worry about him talking my ear off when we are out in the wilderness.

Monday, January 25

The sleeping bags work great!  I also learned how to make a really ghetto version of an igloo. Sam seemed to enjoy climbing down into the foot of my sleeping bag. I was actually worried about that; the whole part of how to keep my dog safe and warm that is. Between the awesome sleeping bag and my dog, I was quite toasty.

Thursday, January 28

Just returned from The Sunset Fortress. They threw some sort of crazy party. There was quite a bit of homemade hooch being sampled and traded.

Yes. I was a naughty girl. No. I don’t remember his name. Yes. I used protection. Jeez! I’m giving myself the third degree. All I will say is that he was quite enthusiastic. Only had to redirect him once. What is it about when things get a teensy bit nasty…men always go for the ass?

Friday, January 29

The weather conspiracy seems to be fading. It has rained all day. Not enough to wash away all the snow, but enough to diminish it so that we don’t have to trudge through knee-deep drifts. That will wear you out quick.

In case you are wondering, Eric and I don’t ski. And I don’t have the patience to learn. It would probably come in handy, but we voted and it was unanimous. Besides, I would feel like my mobility was seriously hampered if I was on skis. When zombies pop up, you need to be flexible. A novice skier would be the equivalent of a free zombie buffet.

Sure, I’ve seen those movies where the action hero has a shootout with the bad guys while he is on skis, careening down a pine-freckled mountain. I’ve seen lots of things in movies. However, I’ve watched enough episodes of Myth Busters to know that a lot of it is a bunch of hooey.

I loaded my harness cart today. I have an assortment of weapons, plenty of food (not looking forward to eating MREs again), filtration canteens, and an impressive amount of gear to help me stave of freezing to death.

Everybody here at the Mitchell place has made a point to stop in and say goodbye, give well-wishes, all that stuff. I would’ve liked to have seen Jenifer one last time before leaving. She is at The Warehouse for some reason. I did look for her at Sunset before the drinking kicked into high gear and had been a shade disappointed. Maybe she’s no good at saying goodbye either. I will miss her.

I’m not trying to sound fatalistic, but I do not believe that I will never see this place again. Sure…that’s where the ominous music plays…the foreshadowing of my eventual fate. Blah, blah, blah. Actually, it is that I don’t plan on coming back. This is the start of the next phase of my adventure. There is a whole big world out there that I haven’t seen. Getting Vegas out of the way sorta kicks off my checklist.

Sunday, January 31

This will be my last night in a bed for a while. I hope I can sleep, I’m so excited!  This is really going to happen. Tomorrow morning I will put on my gear, check everything out, and Eric will join me and Sam at the gate.

I don’t have any idea what I will find out there. I only know that I will be out there. I understand the idea of safety…but with an entire world out there, how can anybody simply hide behind the walls and live in one tiny space?

Monday, February 1

Made it all the way to the outskirts of Portland on the first day! Of course, most of the day was spent crossing the West Hills. We can see Mount Hood against a perfect frame of blue sky. It is crystal clear…and FREEZING!

We stopped midday in the neighborhood that I hid in with Lynn when I first passed through this way and our group got separated. Lynn’s is just one of the many faces that haunt my nightmares. I can’t really recall the face of any zombie I’ve killed—and there have been hundreds, if not thousands—but I can clearly see Lynn’s. To put that in clearer perspective, I’ve once again all but forgotten what Sam’s—Baby Snoe’s dad, not my dog’s—face looks like. But when I close my eyes, Lynn is there. Killing her haunts me worse than anything else I’ve seen or done.

***

Got a little morose for a moment there. That’s one of the problems with solitude and aloneness (I don’t know if that’s really a word, but I like it). Left to your thoughts, it is easy for some of the worst to demand center stage in your mental theater.

Travelling with Eric Grayfeather is exactly how I imagined: quiet. Sometimes I actually forget that I am with another person. He rarely walks within twenty yards of me. Then, out of the blue, he will grab my arm and point something out to me. Half of the time I don’t know what I am supposed to be looking at because he doesn’t say anything. Like, one time, he did that grab-the-arm-and-point thing. So I am trying my hardest to see something. Then, this deer bounded out of some bushes. I don’t know how in the hell he saw it before it came out of those bushes…but it was the biggest deer I’ve seen in my life. A few zombies popped up along the way, but nothing that even registered as interesting. Killing them has a tendency to be about as normal as swatting mosquitoes. You learn to ignore the ones that are far off and only administer death to those who may be buzzing in for a drink. Then, if they bite you, it is all you can think about. See? Zombies are just like mosquitoes.

Moving back through the city and out of the relatively well-patrolled area I’ve called home for the past several months, I heard something I haven’t heard in a long time. In fact it was conspicuous in its absence…gunfire. Yep, folks are still out here in pockets of who-knows-how-many. Some still have good ammo to use in their fight to live just one more day.

Funny. If humanity as a whole were a dog or horse or something, we’d say put it out of its misery. There is something to be said about either our ability to survive (like the cockroach), or our refusal to accept death as an alternative.

Tuesday, February 2

THAT was more like it!

We crossed the bridge today. I came close to actually considering my chances with the ice cold water of the Willamette River (which has chunks of ice the size of cars floating in it).

We got up early because Eric said he wanted to cross the bridge before sunrise. So, after I was done cursing at him, we packed up and got moving. Sam didn’t seem to mind and was bounding along like we were going to the park. He sniffed and peed on everything.

As we moved up the on-ramp, my happy puppy suddenly switched into Growly Dog. All the hair on his back was standing up, and he stepped back to be right at my side. I already knew from my previous crossing of the bridge that some of those things were trapped inside their vehicles. I thought that was what Sam had started growling at. (Apparently someplace where it is okay to end a sentence with a preposition.)

Silly Meredith.

We were actually on the bridge just as the eastern horizon was turning a lovely shade of pink. The appearance of a few bobbing shadows had me drawing my scimitars. (Did I mention that I’d taken time practicing using them in both hands simultaneously?  I’m still a bit awkward, but steadily improving.)  Eric drew this really sweet looking saber he found at a museum. Just like that, we were ready.

He moved to the left side of the bridge and I took the right. Fighting close has its uses at times, but outside like this, it is often better to have some space between yourself and your companions. Sam stayed glued to my side—good doggy!—and I readied myself for the fight. I counted an even dozen coming just for little old me. Eric looked like he would be facing double that.

The first one closed to within range, a black kid in what looked to have been his early teens. He was wearing a Portland basketball jersey with the number twenty-two. My blade caught him in the temple. Ah yes…the stinging buzz…how I’ve missed it so. I snapped my wrist back to keep the blade from catching in the skull as the zombie dropped at my feet.

Ducking beneath the outstretched arms of the next one, I popped up and simultaneously brought my blade under the chin of one zombie and straight up into the brain while kicking back at the one I’d ducked, sending it over the rail and to the river below.

It took me a few seconds to realize that Sam was facing back the way we’d come. He was hunched over and snarling something fierce. I glanced, and had to do a double-take. They were rail-to-rail, and coming for us. So much for them being scattered to the Four Winds after two years. I gave a warning whistle to Eric and he responded with an acknowledging hoot; Eric can’t whistle.

I transformed into a dervish. That was a mistake. I have not been out in a while and forgot that, in situations like the one we were facing, you need to remain methodical and even. Not only did I have to spend energy on hitting a zombie for a second or even third time because I wasn’t aiming, but I wore down from the constancy of the fight.

The ground became so slick that I started having difficulty with my footing. Then there was the creeper that I totally missed. It grabbed my left wrist—the little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old when she’d been pulled apart—and yanked me off balance as I was trying to recover from one of the times when I’d slipped. I drove one of my blades into the top of her skull and rolled away as two more zombies sorta belly flopped right where I’d just been sprawled.

Getting to my knees, I felt something grab my left hand. My scimitar clattered to the pavement and I screamed as I felt teeth grinding down on my bones. Thank God for the mesh lining in the gloves. I made eye contact with Eric, and even from this far across the bridge, I could see the concern clearly etched in his face. I shook my head and went back to fighting. I started by punching the zombie gnashing on my hand square in the nose. Next, I shoved my other blade into his face. It fell…taking my glove with it. I absolutely did not have the time to retrieve it.

I was now surrounded.

That was when I considered the rail. By now, Sam was going berserk. He was growling, nipping, and tugging at the hems of these things that had me surrounded. I quickly realized that if I jumped, my chance of survival was zero. It wasn’t just how high up we were, but that combined with the ice chunks made for a bad situation. I sought the thinnest point in their little line, and burst through the shrinking circle of undead. I still get the heebie-jeebies thinking about all those dead hands brushing my skin.

Ewww!

When I popped out the other side, I discovered Sam bounding around in a tizzy. He was giving this lady bus driver a real problem. I planted my blade in the back of her skull on the way past. Eric had fared much better. A pile of corpses were strewn about him.

We jogged the rest of the way across the bridge and decided to zig through a ruined neighborhood where we found an empty two-story house that looked exactly like every other house we passed. I have no explanation or logic behind our choice, it was simply luck. We totally scored!

We didn’t have to touch any of our supplies and I am stuffed. It will almost suck to leave this place tomorrow. I just polished off two cans of mandarin oranges, a jar of sundried tomatoes in olive oil, and a tin of smoked oysters. Right now I am snacking on some magnificently stale Grandma’s oatmeal cookies. (Don’t knock wax packaging.)

It only gets better. I found a Sony Discman portable CD player. Right now I am curled up in a wicker Papasan chair with overstuffed cushions. Sam is in my lap under the blankies, and I am listening to Mozart. The disc says this is Requiem, which I realize is somewhat ironic giving the state of things. Eric said it was creepy, but I think it is beautiful. I found a package of a dozen batteries that work, but I will use this sparingly. It is an absolute treasure. There was a cd wallet with a few dozen discs in it. I plan on finding a way to bring this with me.

We really did take a lot of things for granted in the Old World. So much was readily available that it didn’t require thought…just want. And now, music like this might be gone forever. This is what I meant about living. The simple act of finding this and hearing the music brought real tears to my eyes.

Eric is in the next room snoring. Every time I change the discs or there is a break between tracks on the cd, I hear him. Is there a more abrasive sound than snoring in this world?  I think not. I’ll even take wailing zombies over that sound.

It is almost dark outside. From my seat, I can look out the window to the street below. The dead stroll by like there is a twenty-four hour block party happening. Sometimes, one comes up to this house in particular. It paws at the door or scratches at the boards covering the windows, and then it wanders off. I think I’ll stop writing for a bit and just enjoy this little luxury.

Friday, February 5

Someplace close there is a freakin’ war goin’ on!  We’ve taken refuge in—of all things—a trailer park beside the highway. From here we can see an apartment complex across the way. Five of the three-story units are ablaze. Occasionally I can see shadowy forms dashing one way or the other. Also, we keep seeing bright flashes arc through the sky. (I think it is Molotov cocktails.)

Obviously this place has been picked clean. The trailer we are hiding in is nothing more than a shell. Even the wiring is gone. Sam doesn’t like it at all.

The best thing about what is going on out there right now is that the zombies are drawn to all the activity on the other side of the highway. I haven’t heard any sounds to indicate that either side has firearms. It is actually sort of creepy. Sometimes there is screaming. I can remember a time when I might’ve felt the need to go over there and get involved…pick a side. Not anymore.

Saturday, February 6

Highway 26 is also called Mount Hood Highway. We are out of the more densely populated areas and now camped in a farmhouse. The sign we passed, and eventually decided to turn down, said this is ‘SE Stone Rd.’ It intersected the highway and seemed as good of a place as any to turn off and look for our nightly lodgings.

There has been a herd through here recently. You can tell it is recent because the swathe of destruction isn’t all mucky and full of puddles from this morning’s rain shower. (Actually, that was Eric’s observation, but once I looked and gave it some thought, it was kind of obvious.)  The rain came early, but it has been sunny all day. Well, at least until about five minutes ago. Now all the trenches made by an undead army on the move are filling with water.

The field out back has about a twenty-yard-wide ‘path’ trampled through it. I wonder what started them this way. The reason I am curious is that, whatever used to grow in that field, it’s now a head-high jungle. I’ve seen a few herds, and they always take the path of least resistance. The main body usually sticks to the road and the overspill will flow into the adjacent yards or fields. This group turned off the road and went into the field…like it was in pursuit of something or somebody.

Of course we checked it out up close. Not even a straggler in sight. There were the usual bits and pieces. Sam wouldn’t step a foot in the area. Eric had a moment of unusual mirthfulness. We were poking around and he came up to me with an arm!  After I gave an embarrassing shriek—and he stopped laughing—he held out the arm to me and insisted that I look. I did, but was obviously missing something.

“The watch,” he said, holding the arm up for closer inspection. I looked and shrugged. “It’s a Montblanc,” Eric snickered as he pointed to the grime-smeared timepiece.

I still didn’t get what the dickens he was trying to say.

“This watch was worth more than I made in a year…and I had a decent job.”  He chuckled, and then tossed the arm into the tall growth.

I watched it sail, proud that I refused to make a comment about how time flies. As we resumed our search for a place to sleep, I began to wonder. What was wrong with our society that a man—it was definitely a man’s arm—could wear a watch that cost more than what a “normal” person made in a year?  I mean, I get the whole “haves” and “have nots” thing. It is a fact of life…even today. I have seen groups come in with people on the verge of starvation, teeth falling out, skin laced with lesions. Meanwhile, those living along the corridor are eating three meals a day and holding parties complete with alcoholic beverages.

Perhaps we are unredeemable.

Sunday, February 7

Haven’t gone far today. The night brought in some more nasty weather. Everything is coated with about a quarter inch of ice. It looks beautiful, but it is all but impossible to move around in. And as for fighting zombies in it?  That’s just asking for trouble.

I spent this afternoon cleaning and sharpening weapons. There wasn’t much to glean from this place, but it was kinda interesting flipping through photo albums. I played a little game, giving each picture a story and some dialog. Eric was a curiously attentive audience. Sam, on the other hand, could’ve cared less. All that mattered to him was the occasional scratch behind the ears.

Monday, February 8

Outside, the sounds of Mother Nature kicking ass can be heard. Branches and all sorts of hanging and dangly things are popping, snapping, and breaking. We’ve been lucky, this old house is holding up fine. There weren’t any trees in the yard that could prove a hazard. That had nothing to do with our choice when we picked it, but it gives us something to actually be aware of next time.

We are keeping a fire blazing around the clock. It is FUH-REE-ZIN outside!

Tuesday, February 9

Somebody died late last night. Sam woke me with his growls. Eric and I were up and armed in a flash before either of us realized what was going on. Peeking out of the tarp-covered window (we do that to hide the light from our fire) we couldn’t see anything in the absolute darkness of a dead world. Then we heard it: The Scream.

I won’t ever get used to that sound. A human being makes a very distinct shriek when they are being ripped open, torn apart, and feasted upon. I am sure I don’t have to tell you. If you’re reading this, you’ve survived long enough to have heard it a hundred, if not a thousand, times. It is like no other sound in the world.

The good news is that the weather seems to be clearing up again. We are hoping to move on tomorrow. Good thing…I’m getting a little stir crazy. If I try to sharpen my blades again, or re-organize my cart, I think Eric will smack me.

Wednesday, February 10

We’re spending the night in a little colony. We met one of their scouting parties early this morning. This group is surprisingly well-supplied, armed, and organized for as out in the open as they seem to live.

Oh…did I mention that the oldest person in this group is seventeen?

This place used to be some sort of small Christian school back in the day. All of the children here—and I only use the term technically as they all seem quite grown up—were at a “lock in” at the church to support a drug-free life or something. They were all praying or whatever people did at those sorts of things. However, one of the “bad” kids had managed to sneak in a radio. He heard the first big news report and told the others. Of course they didn’t believe him. When morning came and the bus driver didn’t show up to take the kids home, they started trying to reach their parents. The youth group leader was the first to reach somebody. That person said the same thing that any of the children who actually managed to get through to somebody heard: STAY PUT!  We’ll come for you as soon as we can.

Nobody ever came.

Well, at least not anybody still living. They saw their first zombie that day. Fear was their biggest ally. Several of the children witnessed the youth group leader ripped apart…then, moments later, get back up. It’s an old story by now, isn’t it?  Some of the parents tried to get to them, but that didn’t go well either. They spent the next several days hiding in one of the bathrooms after they’d barricaded the doors with everything they could find.

Somehow, they’ve managed. I guess they normally kill adults on sight these days. (They had a very bad experience that none of them will go into detail on. I can only guess.)  It seems that me being a female, plus the cute puppy factor that Sam rocks so effortlessly, they decided to take a chance. Chalk one up for the big goofy dog.

These kids have their stuff together. We ate steaming hot venison stew and some very coarse bread. But I am so impressed. They have wood stoves and an underground room for cold storage. There is a hand-pumped well (they boil all their water just to be safe) and even a well-stocked safe room. To their credit, they wouldn’t let us see it after one of the little ones blurted out its existence. Who can blame them?

They have an array of long spears up on the roof just in case the building gets surrounded. They have hundreds of arrows for the dozens of bows just sitting around everywhere. Also, there is a field out back. A structure sits right in the middle. It looks like a giant sawhorse, only the crossbeam is about ten feet off the ground. It’s at least twenty feet long. Currently there are five corpses hanging from it. Each has a sign around the neck. Three say “pedophile” one says “murderer” and the last says “thief”.

Like I said, these kids don’t play around. They certainly don’t need anything from us. My guess is that they will be fine long after Eric and I (along with Sam-the-Wonder-dog) have gone on our way. Some of the girls are very timid, even around me, but many reminded me of what I remember reading about Amazon warriors. Nobody stays still here very long either. I’ve noticed a constant state of energy that is kinda tiring to be around. Also, it has made it impossible to get a real head count of how many are here. I think the number is close to thirty.

We made it clear that we will be moving on come morning. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice being here for this brief stay. It made me miss Jenifer just a bit. I hope she is doing okay.

Thursday, February 11

Didn’t go far today. We are in a giant U-Pull-It yard. The metal fence has collapsed in a bunch of spots, but Eric insisted that we stop here. He says that this place is a “goldmine” of potential supplies. The good news is that the zombies don’t seem all that interested in wandering around in here. If this were the movies, they’d be lurking in every shadow. However, without any snacky-snacks holed up in here trying to survive, they’ve got no reason.

***

Eric has me hiding in the cab of an eighteen-wheeler. Now I know what he was all excited about. The kids apparently don’t know much about how to test for a viable alternator. He found, tested, and removed a dozen. Then, he jogged off into the darkness after telling me to stay put and that he would be back by sunset. Sam is snoozing in the back of the cab while I sit here waiting.

I can’t really bitch…I mean he’s doing a very selfless thing. I just wish he would’ve clued me in instead of wandering around this place for an hour with all its blind spots. I don’t care if he did have Sam beside him as an alarm…I hated not knowing what the hell was up.

Oh well.

Part of me wants to do a little exploring of my own, but I’m not that foolish. It feels weird just sitting around doing nothing. I have no idea why I couldn’t tag along. I mean, Eric doesn’t strike me as a glory hound. I don’t believe that he did this for some sort of special recognition…I just…

Crap!  I just started my period.

Friday, February 12

Catching a break in the weather today. It is sunny and, while I wouldn’t call it warm, it is tolerable. That is one of the beauties of the Pacific Northwest. If you don’t like the weather…wait five minutes.

Eric got back last night just after sunset. So, of course, I gave him a little old fashioned Meredith ass chewing. (Yay hormones!)  Then we ate dinner and turned in. On the plus, he tried to make things up to me by whipping up some of his yummy venison stew.

We had a long stretch of open road to travel. However, the signs are giving us ominous messages like: Sandy 12mi.

Around midafternoon, we stumbled upon the Sandy School for the Blind. I saw the campus through the trees. Initially I thought it was a small college. Since it was getting late and the last sign warned that we would reach Sandy in three miles, the school seemed like a good place to camp for the night.

It was a nightmare!

I can’t imagine the horror that the students here must’ve felt. Oh…and blindness does have a cure: zombieism. There was no difference in how the walking dead from that school pursued us versus any other zombie I’ve encountered since this ordeal began.

We slipped through the trees, coming in to the…campus? ...from the rear. We didn’t even know it was a school for the blind at first. That discovery came when we circled the place to get a better look. The remnants of the sign out front revealed this place’s identity. Perhaps that is why we thought we could slip in and see if there was anything worth taking. An institutional cafeteria is always worth a peek.

We didn’t have to break in. The main doors in front are gone. Perhaps that should’ve been the first warning. The halls were littered with garbage, the walls smeared with what had to be blood. There were even some places where the ceiling was splattered.

The echo of the moans and groans of the undead quickly had Sam’s hackles up and our weapons drawn. I went with my scimitars; Eric chose a long-handled hatchet. Finding the school’s cafeteria wasn’t a problem. It was what we discovered inside that changed everything.

Neither of us thought much about how many guide dogs there might be. Nor did we know that this place had its own guide dog training facility. My conservative guess puts the dog population here at about a hundred. They were in clusters, just sprawled on each other. All of them were horribly torn and mangled. Some missing a leg…or two…or more.

I can’t get that image out of my head. It looked like several of the students had come here; many with their dogs, but there were so many that there has to be more to the story. It looks like the dogs were infected first. There weren’t any students in the cafeteria…zombie or otherwise. The floor was littered with parts. Oh!  There were a few heads. That will give you the willies I’m tellin’ ya. Some were on their sides; a few had a neck stub to rest on. Still, when those eyes roll your way…  Eww!  Amongst the body parts were lots of cleanly stripped bones.

Good thing for us that zombified dogs are no faster than their human counterparts. We sealed the door, closing it with an audible click that sounded like a gunshot to me.

Then, we ran. We continued along Highway 26, and it was late afternoon when we found a quaint little church beside the road. We had to dispatch a few of the inhabitants before we could close the place up and seal it for the night.

I just have the feeling that tomorrow is gonna be a bitch.

Saturday, February 13

This brings back memories.

Eric, Sam, and I are hiding out in a multiplex. We are only a stone’s throw away from a hospital-turned-fortress. The people there have figured a way to get in and out without being seen by the zombies. They have erected an impressive barricade around the parking lot using school busses, city busses, fire engines, and RVs. Then there is the wall of cars parked bumper-to-bumper. After that—as if there was a need for more—there are coils of razor wire like the type you see atop the fences of prisons.

The folks at the hospital weren’t outwardly hostile, but they weren’t friendly either. When we spotted what I imagine were their sentries on the roof, I waved. They didn’t. At least they didn’t try to attack us or anything like that. However, they sure as hell didn’t roll out the welcome mat.

We kept moving and came to a part of the highway that was so congested we had no choice but to cut through a parking lot of a strip mall. We didn’t see the mob until they were right on top of us. I guess they had the shopping center surrounded. We had to cut through some trees to get off the highway. It was literally as simple as choosing the wrong side of the road. Had we gone to the other side, I think we slip by those bastards without them seeing us.

So…here’s where things went wrong.

We emerged through the trees and Sam immediately starts growling. The worst part about being in an area with so many of the undead is the pervasiveness of the stench. It is so overpowering that it loses its ability to be a warning of sorts because you are flooded with the smell. Walking past cars with zombies trapped inside…just…they were freaking everywhere. Oh, and about the cars; the windows were so coated with filth that you couldn’t see inside any of the sealed up ones unless you were directly in front of or behind the vehicle. Of course the cars with the windows down were a real treat. Every single one we passed seemed to have one of those bastards strapped inside. It would get to moaning as we crept by…like a new aged car alarm.

Anyways, Sam growls and about a hundred heads turn. The problem now is that we are pulling our harnessed carts. While great for all sorts of terrain, they suck when you are trying to do something fast. Eric and I collided with each other…and I fell. It was straight out of a Three Stooges routine. To add to the slapstick humor of the moment, I fell in a big, squishy mud puddle.

By the time I got up, Eric was engaged with three of those things. I fumbled around and managed to scoop up one of my scimitars just as the first one reached me. Since it is impossible to backpedal in the harness, I hit the quick-release and tossed the harness into the cart. Eric was already disappearing back through the trees we’d just come through. We both know that in situations like this, it is every man or woman for themselves. No hard feelings.

By the time I emerged back and beside the highway, Eric was weaving through a gap in the vehicles. He disappeared behind a black pick-up truck. Sam was standing in that gap staring at me. When I almost reached him, he bolted away again. He stopped at every opening between cars and waited for me to almost catch up before taking off again. I don’t know if he was actually following Eric, or just leading me away from the oncoming horde of zombies.

We emerged about a half mile up the road. Some of the zombies managed to stay on my tail, which flustered the hell out of me. I was forced to push the cart by now, and my body was drenched with sweat.

I know that you might be wondering how I couldn’t elude the slow moving undead out in the open. First, there were all the cars. You try getting a cart to twist and turn in a space where I can barley fit it, much less turn it. I had to turn when there was room…that meant long bursts of straight ahead.

When I got to the other side of the highway, I saw Eric climbing through a ticket window of a huge theater. He had already killed off a few zombies, unloaded his cart, broke his cart down, and shoved it through the box office window. Then, Eric went through the hole. He was nice enough to help me once I finally made it to him.

We didn’t have any way to block the wall of glass doors at the entrance—some of which were already broken—so we made a hasty retreat in to one of the pitch black theaters. We had to pull out one of our flashlights with the red lenses in order to see anything as we hurried down the aisle. We were gonna duck out back and keep running, but when we managed to force the exit door open, we found ourselves in a long—perhaps thirty feet or so—corridor. We decided that it was as good of a buffer as we were likely to find. We wedged the entry door to this particular theater shut and have decided to wait things out a while in here.

We know that there are survivors in the area. That means that it is likely that any of the zombies that have been drawn by us will eventually be drawn away by other distractions. Seriously, zombies have the memory of a goldfish…at best.

The hornet’s nest we have kicked around these parts will die down. In the few hours we have been here, the pounding and other noises that go along with a zombie horde have dwindled significantly. Twice I have gone out to that corridor and listened at the doors at either end. It is silent. While I can’t be totally sure, I am fairly certain those doors lead outside. Probably open out to a side or rear parking lot.

Well…I’ve had enough of Eric’s dirty looks as I run down the batteries on one of our flashlights. I will stop writing for now.

Sunday, February 14

I thought we might be screwed, but we finally got out of Sandy. Well…the main part of it anyways. We are now shacked up in this really posh house outside of town. It sits at the edge of a gigantic farm. Hard to tell what used to grow here, the military took a position on this land complete with what look like holding pens and massive trench burial sites. There are lots of blackened bones scattered around from the burning piles. (It takes a lot of heat to burn a body down to just ash. Bonfires wouldn’t be enough to do the trick.)

We are up on this hill that offers a perfect view of the highway. A forest flanks us on three sides. As nice as this place is, it has been absolutely gutted. It is worse than a Who house after the Grinch picked it clean on Christmas Eve night.

We are in the rear of the place with a nice fire going in the sunken tub of what used to be the master bedroom. Eric nailed a few fluffy, white bunnies for us to eat.

I can’t recall being so tired in a long time. We’ve been ducking and dodging for the past thirty or so hours. It is a blessing to be able to lay back and relax. Plus, I doubt we’ll be moving from this spot any time soon. It’s snowing again…hard.

It has been a while since I’ve seen so many of those things scattered around and lurking at every corner. Between the singles, roamers, and the always dangerous creepers under seemingly every vehicle…I’ve probably put down over two hundred of them in the past day and a half.

I kept hearing the voice of Doctor Who—the dreamy David Tennant version—saying, “Run!” We even had to ditch our carts for a while and go back for them. I was really glad mine didn’t get stolen by some passing survivor, and there seem to be a peculiarly high number around these parts. We just got so tangled up with fighting and evading, we had no choice.

At one point, we were hiding out in an overgrown cemetery. I’m not sure, but I believe that there are still people out there who think that the dead will claw their way from the grave. Those people have never read Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain. Mouths are sewn shut, organs are removed—including the brain—and the body is pumped full of chemicals. I get that zombies are not normal…Wait. Let me rephrase that. Zombies didn’t used to be normal.

Nowadays, we are the anomaly.

Early this morning or late last night—can’t tell which—we made it back to where we’d ditched our carts. We hitched up feeling pretty safe, but made sure to lead the ones we gathered just in that short time back to the movie house. We used the woods to get to this place once we spotted it to keep any zombies off our trail.

We were moving along the single-lane road that runs parallel to the highway when the first great big snowflakes began to fall. These didn’t drift gracefully. Nope, they plummeted to earth.

The best thing about this place as opposed to a lot of the houses in the area is that it has all its doors and windows intact. So, now, a million dollar home is nothing more than a flop house for a pair of vagrants and a dog.

Monday, February 15

Wow!  There’s at least three feet of snow on the ground outside. We are so totally stuck. There is absolutely no way that we can leave. It snowed all night and has been coming down steady all day. We can hang here for a while, I guess. I know that we will have to deal with snow in the mountains, but we ain’t there yet. I won’t ever say this out loud in front of Eric, but perhaps we should’ve waited one more month before heading out.

I can’t help it; I wanted to get out of that confined, mundane, prison-like environment. I felt as if I were dying a slow death. I can’t explain it anymore beyond that. At least Eric hasn’t said anything. I don’t believe it matters to him one way or the other. I have to say it again; I couldn’t be making this trip with a better person.

Friday, February 20

The storm has passed and we’ve had a sunny day to enjoy…at least from inside. It is freezing out there. Still, there is this square of sunlight coming through a window that is blissful. Oh, and Eric bagged a deer. He called it a spike; I call it yummy. We have feasted the past two days.

From our position overlooking the highway, we haven’t seen much movement of any kind—zombie or otherwise. And have I mentioned the glare? It never once crossed my mind until Eric handed me these dark goggles. He thought it was amusing that I would even consider going up into the mountains with no eye protection. To my credit, I didn’t stick my tongue out at him until after his back was turned.

Wednesday, February 24

It was nice to be on the move again. Because of the downpour of rain the past two days, much of the snow has been washed away. There are still some mounds here and there, but the road is fairly deserted and easy to travel along.

So, about these mounds or “snow drifts” that are scattered about; some of them contain nasty surprises. I’d all but forgotten that zombie that I’d seen fall in the street and eventually stop trying to stand again on the slick ice. It’d frozen in place then gotten covered with snow. Today we learned quick to avoid anything that even remotely resembles a lump, bulge, or drift.

We were passing this gigantic truck stop just after sunrise. There were dozens of rigs with names that would mean nothing to the next generation. We’d decided to poke around since we’d spotted a Pepsi and a Lays truck. There were a few roamers that we could see, and we considered skipping past, but Eric wanted a Pepsi.

I didn’t see too many of those things to handle and decided that it couldn’t hurt. I wasn’t going to deny my travel buddy something that seemed so simple. It was when we stepped up to the rear of the trailer with the big, open cargo doors that we almost suffered a terrible loss. Eric went to kick the ice-crusted pile of snow that was kinda in the way. He didn’t expect to discover a solid center. The look on his face would’ve been funny when he tripped, if not for the zombie.

A big hand with fingers like kielbasa sausages burst from the mound and wrapped around his ankle. If that big old trucker—or what was left of him—still had any of his lower jaw left, there would’ve been a remarkably different outcome to that encounter. The top teeth scraped Eric’s pant leg, but didn’t get through to skin or anything like that.

I drove one of my scimitars into the side of its head and kicked it away. After catching our breath, we returned to the task we’d initially embarked on. Swinging the cargo doors the rest of the way open proved to be a huge disappointment. The roof was nothing but brown stalactites from where the Pepsi bottles had burst and sprayed the ceiling.

We did find a few twenty-ouncers that hadn’t exploded, but it was an unsatisfactory haul. We also salvaged some sour cream and onion chips. After our snack break, we sat there not talking about that mound incident.

We got back on the road and passed a roadside diner that was nothing but a charred husk, but right after this dog-leg turn, we happened upon a school building. It was tiny, not even a cafeteria, and situated in a perfect place. We had a great view back the way we came for a good distance, along with a wide open look ahead.

I don’t believe in fate, luck, or divine providence. That said, we could’ve easily kept on going and pulled up at a place a mile or two up the road. I do think that we were both still a little spooked by that snowdrift incident at the rear of the Pepsi truck. Whatever the reason, we chose this place to stop for the night.

They came from the north. It started about an hour ago. Sam’s growling alerted us. Lit up by the setting sun, we can see them by the hundreds…maybe thousands: a horde.

Thursday, February 25

Got up early this morning to see the damage.

The field that they cut across was enormous. The horde emptied into the clearing across the highway. There were four houses spaced out in this area. All of them would’ve made ideal spots to stop for the night. Only one is still standing.

From what we can tell, they stomped straight through. However, when they reached the south end of the clearing, it narrows and eventually gives back over to the forest. It was probably like water hitting a barricade. There was a thin row of trees on the east “wall” of the clearing. That’s right, I said “was.”  Perhaps it was because the ground was so wet, but several of those pines were toppled like a bulldozer had gotten to them.

We didn’t stick around long. The trees and terrain acted as a diffuser and scattered the horde. Several pockets of them are sorta hanging out like they got lost or something. The one remaining house that is still standing is surrounded ten deep. A few houses up the road a ways have a handful swirling about. I hope there isn’t anybody trapped in any of them; not that we could do anything for them if there were.

Then, there are some houses not in the path that the horde took. These are simply on the other side of the road. Not a single zombie is in the vicinity. This is a perfect example of their single-mindedness.

The road here has a slight roll to it as we get closer to the big mountain. We crested a ridge on this particularly long, straight stretch. That is where we discovered ‘SE Paha Loop Drive.’  We followed it into the trees and discovered an old bed and breakfast. Thankfully, it was long since empty.

Friday, February 26

Made good distance today. Wow!  It gets noticeably colder the moment that the sun ducks behind the horizon. I’m talking face-numbing, toe-stinging, don’t-want-to-pee-because-your-hoo hoo-freezes cold!

Eric says that we are lucky. The weather, by his reckoning, is rather mild for this time of year. I told him…well…never mind what I told him. The lack of zombie problems have been replaced by an eternity of pine trees coated with white, sparkling snow. It looked so pretty in pictures. Make no mistake…this sucks!

We found a place to stay. The sign beside the highway said ‘SE Weber Rd.’ A little ways in, we found a house. My guess is that either neighbors or family—perhaps running from the city—brought the horrors here. At least five of the eleven people here were small children. I say “at least” because I am quite certain that there were infants here. There just isn’t anything left of them to find to prove their existence.

In one of the photos on the wall, there is a picture of a woman holding an infant. It is one of those artistic skin-on-skin black and whites with soft diffused borders. I put my blade into the woman personally. She was even wearing the same diamond necklace from the picture.

We cleaned out the house and dragged the bodies out back. Eric says we’ll probably have to stay here a few days. His spider-senses say that there is another storm coming. We aren’t too worried about the zeds right now. That means a big roaring fire in the fireplace and even a few oil lamps! Absolute luxury!

Eric slipped out for a couple of hours and came back with a deer over his shoulders already stripped. I guess two years of not being hunted has made them plentiful. Zombies have no interest in them. Either that or they are too slow—the zombies, not the deer—to catch them.

Monday, March 1

Here’s a great idea. Trek through the mountains at the apex of winter. Meredith Gainey…you are a DUMBASS!

Wednesday, March 3

When exactly is spring? I don’t actually recall. But if I see one more snowflake, I’m gonna scream.

***

AARRRRGGHHHHH!!!!!

Saturday, March 6

Rain!  Sweet, blessed enemy of the snow! Come and wash your frozen brethren from my sight. Oh…and I’m getting REALLY bored with venison. (All I hear is my mother’s voice saying, “Meredith Gainey…eat your dinner!  There are people in China going hungry.”  I never understood that logic.)

Sunday, March 7

Spent the day outside. We walked (hiked) out to the highway. The snow is washing away. Eric says we should be able to resume our trek in a day or two if this keeps up. I think there is less than a foot of the stuff still on the ground.

Oh yeah, Eric says we will probably have to deal with this sort of erratic weather for the next month at least.

Monday, March 8

Holy Crap!

Okay, remember the whole thing about dogs turning? (But not cats, that is still so weird.) Well, wolves are related to dogs. AND, if you leave rotting meat outside—for instance, rotting zombie corpses—wolves will come back and pick over the remains.

We woke in the dark of night, the fire down to glowing embers, to something wrong. At first I thought it was the cold that woke me. Then I realized I wasn’t the slightest bit cold. And Sam was growling. I reached for Eric, but no surprise, he was already awake.

There was a scratching at the door. Zombie-wolves have a yowl that you only need to hear once to remember forever. It made my hair stand up on my arms (and legs…no, I haven’t shaved in a while. What’s it to ya?). Also, I peed just a little.

We got up and put on all our gear: lined gloves, goggles, leather coat, and modified welder’s leathers over our denim. What can I say? We’ve gotten a little bit lazy having been so long without seeing a single soul…living or undead. The house has kept us toasty with the huge fireplace and two woodstoves going twenty-four/seven.

Weapons ready, we had to wait another hour for dawn. What? Did you really think that we would venture out to fight zombie-wolves in the dark?  As soon as it was light enough, we snuck out a side window after making a bunch of noise at the front door to lure them to one spot.

I am thankful that those things are no more agile or limber than their human counterparts. The fight was…different. Actually, if anything, those zombie-wolves were even clumsier than humans. They staggered and stumbled a lot. Perhaps it is because of the four-legged thing.

The scariest thing is that you couldn’t tell that the wolves had turned until you got a good look at their eyes. Since they’d eaten contaminated flesh, there were no injuries to give them away. Their eyes, however, are even creepier than a human’s. It is just so sinister looking.

We dispatched them quickly, but it seems to have really bothered Eric. I’ve seen him take out a lot of zombies of the two-legged variety without wincing (even the little ones, which most folks are VERY squeamish about). In fact, I’d say he is the only person I’ve met who, like me, is very dethatched when it comes to taking down zombies. But this—the wolves really appear to have upset him.

Tuesday, March 9

Finally! We are back on the move. Only, if you trade one house you’ve cleared for another that you haven’t, is it really a good thing? The best thing about this place is the river practically right outside the back door. I have no idea which one it is, and when I asked Eric, he said, “Pick a name and that is what it shall be.” Personally, I think he is still moping about the wolves.

At first I didn’t know what the hell Eric was doing when he just turned off the highway and we started walking along this branch-strewn road that was quickly being supplanted by the forest. I could hear the trickling of a nearby stream as we walked deeper into the gloom.

Maybe he knew this place existed. I’ve been nosing around while he went out to hunt some sort of furry critter. I mostly flipped through dusty photo albums. I guess I thought that I would miraculously find a picture with him in it. No such luck.

Still, this place is nice. We had to take out a lady today who looked as if she’d dressed for an extravagant dinner party. Well…if you take out the fact that she was missing an arm and a chunk of her throat big enough to cause her head to tilt. She was in the bathroom. From the looks of things, her husband came home as one of them. He got her in the hallway.

Of course the blood has long since dried, but there are smears and stains on the walls leading away from a huge stain on the hardwood floor in the living room. A well-gnawed bone that is probably her missing arm—part of it at least—was there (stuck to the floor by the congealed and dried blood). It was only part, which made me wonder where the rest is, and where her hand might be.

I took down the husband while Eric, followed by Sam, took out the wife. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, there is a huge portrait over the fireplace that definitely pegs these two as our couple. We put both bodies in the bathtub and covered them with a sheet. Now they are at rest together forever.

There is a loft here. That is where the master bedroom is. Also, there is a pair of smaller bedrooms on the main floor. One of them had its windows broken by a fallen branch. I wanted to put the bodies in that room, but Eric said it might bring more wolves. He said they—the living variety— could jump through those windows without a problem. Good enough for me.

Wednesday, March 10

Heavy rains and wind today. We are staying put. No sense rushing out to be in such miserable weather. I thought we heard screams last night.

Staying alert.

Friday, March 12

Back on the move. It’s clear, but very cold again. This weather is freakin’ bi-polar. At least the home we are crashing in tonight was empty when we arrived.

No sights or sounds since that noise that we are both certain was a human scream the other night. Not a single wandering zombie up here. I can see where this area made for a great location to run to when this whole thing started. The only drawbacks are the weather—which could be as lethal…if not more so than zombies—and lack of readily available food. I do not know how I would be doing if I’d made this journey alone. Not that I’m not a capable person, I most certainly am. It’s just that if you go into a slump, you starve. And the larger the group—had I travelled with several people instead of only Eric—the bigger the supply issue becomes.

Being a duo, this is monumentally easier. In fact, we have more than we need. We end up wasting a lot of food. I feel only a little guilty about that.

Last night, I was watching the rain come down as the shadows of night were swallowing up the surrounding landscape. I thought long and hard about what I expect to find in Las Vegas. Here’s the kicker: I couldn’t come up with a single thing. At least not one that holds up to scrutiny. This is all about being selfish. I’ve been let loose in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory and plan on seeing everything. I realize that my goals aren’t very lofty at this point, but Europe might as well be another planet. This is just the first step. I mean it could’ve just as easily been Disneyland.

But that would’ve been silly.

Saturday, March 13

We found a small inn…and a lot of dead people. Not zombies, but honest-to-goodness dead folks. There is a church across the road with a dozen more bodies hanging from nooses. Most are frozen solid, but one is merely cold. This place is giving off seriously creepy vibes.

Checking out the inn (that is fun to say out loud); it looks like most of the people were beaten to death. Heads were crushed, but Eric got all CSI and pointed out the shattered arms on every single body. These people were trying to fend off an attacker or attackers. Looking even closer—which meant scraping off dried blood or pouring a little water on the body—we found no bite marks or scratches.

The most heartbreaking scene involved a woman who was still clutching the hand of a little girl no older than eight or nine. The rest of the arm and the body it was attached to were several feet away in a mangled heap. Axes were used here as well as blunt weaponry.

Of course we couldn’t stay at the inn. We decided on the church across the way instead. I don’t understand. Not one thing here makes sense. Hangings. Brutal mass slayings. WTF!

Eric and I will sleep in shifts tonight. We intend to be on the road as soon as we’ve both gotten a few hours of shuteye.

Tuesday, March 16

I can’t believe I ever considered making this trip alone. Thank God for Eric. I doubt I would be alive right now if not for him. This is like the mountain version of Deliverance.

I guess there are little pockets of locals out here; and they don’t take kindly to strangers. These folks are no joke. They know this area well, are outdoor types—most are decked out in layers of furs—and remind me of the pictures that I saw in high school history books. You might remember the ones I’m talking about; the ones that are all grainy, black and white, showing the trappers and gold diggers from the olden days. We ran into the first one when we were leaving the church a few days ago. Literally ran in to him.

We were harnessed up and making for the highway. A noise from the direction of the inn started us jogging. (Seriously, I cannot convey how creepy the vibe in that area was.) This guy stumbled out of some trees, crashing into Eric and knocking him over. Thinking it was a zombie, I hit my quick-release buckle and came in with my scimitars flashing. Well, it was kinda dark so they weren’t really flashing, but you get my point. I connected solid with a body shot intended to distract the zombie and keep it from biting Eric. Then the zombie screamed. Too late, I recognized the stink coming off this thing to be of the booze, urine, shit, and vomit variety.

Eric shoved the body aside, wrenching his own knife from the eye socket and sending a spray of blood that turned the snow black in the pre-dawn gloom. I asked him if he was hurt and he said no. We got moving in a hurry, Sam leading the way as he trotted along like nothing was wrong and we hadn’t just killed a living person. Sam is well trained to sniff out zombies, to be alert for their presence. He would be absolutely useless for the next few days. Living people don’t come up on his radar.

We decided to duck into the trees and travel parallel to the road as much as we could. No sooner had we vanished into the pines when some sort of gang passed by on the highway. They were carrying torches…and something else. At first I thought it was a deer hanging from the pole hoisted between two of the group. I can’t even say men because they are so bundled that it was impossible to tell. Then the light from a nearby torch flickered just right and I could see the naked human body bound to it. Whatever it was, there were too many for Eric and I, so we retreated further into the woods.

That is where we discovered ‘Camp Despair.’  Mostly comprised of tents, but with a few log cabins; that place was like an old pioneer outpost. It is walled off by ten-foot high poles made from the abundance of pine trees. We didn’t go in. Eric climbed a tree and scouted it out. He reported twenty men, women, and children inside the walls. There is a huge fire pit in the center of camp. Also, there is a pair of huge stakes with a zombie chained to each one. We moved on, but our level of awareness is probably back up to where it belongs.

We had no choice but to put our sub-zero gear to the real test. We found a dense copse of trees and made camp. No fire tonight. As the sun sets, I can hear the wolves howling. At least I know that they are living. Sam doesn’t care for it at all.

Wednesday, March 17

Met a small group of locals. On. Accident.

We’d broke camp and were moving along, just off the highway. By the way, big chunks of pavement are buckled or missing as the weather and lack of any department of transportation to tend it have let the road fall into a state of serious disrepair. Anyways, we were moving along when Eric gave me the signal to freeze. Ironic since I was already teeth-chattering cold.

I don’t know if I am just oblivious or what. However, these people stepped out of the trees—skinny ones not nearly big enough to hide behind in my opinion. They all had axes, blades, and hammers dangling from their furry outfits—many from places that I never considered hanging a weapon.

The woman was scraggly looking with at least half of her teeth missing. One of the men was gigantic. I’m talking Tom Langston big, and that man was the largest person I’d ever seen in my life. The third man looked like the kinda guy who’ve had to register with the local police and isn’t allowed within five hundred yards of a school or playground. Hey…what can I say?  I’m a big fan of first impressions.

Of course I was wrong on about every level. The woman, Lisa, was just as sweet as she could be. The two men rescued her from a nasty little gang. Her missing teeth were the result of multiple punches to the face (along with her captors’ lack of concern for the hygiene of their victims).

Ryan, the human mountain, worked with the elderly. He held out with a dozen senior citizens at a nursing home for eight whole months! Once each of the elderly folks under his care and protection had died a natural death, he moved on. That’s when he found Benjamin.

Benjamin Cruikshank, DDS, had to fight and kill his own wife after she turned. He also had to put down all five—yikes!  five!—daughters. Not at once, mind you. That might’ve been somewhat merciful. No. He had to do it over a period of eight months. Benjamin is amazingly sweet, but timid. He had nothing but compliments for me and Eric on our dental care. He even gave Sam a check-up and suggested that we get something hard for him to gnaw on.

They told us that they were headed north to Canada and perhaps even on to Alaska. They are originally from Santa Fe. They also remarked that this area is very Old West in its atmosphere. There are a few tribes—or communes if you prefer—scattered about. There are trading posts as well. The thing about the trading posts is that there are gangs or groups of thugs who lurk in the area and rob folks after they’ve made their purchase or trade. If you go back shortly thereafter, the stolen goods are back on display for sale.

I guess the Mount Hood resort, Timberline Lodge, is like a huge community; sorta the New York City of the area. Lisa, Ryan, and Benjamin stayed there for the past three months. According to them, there are jobs, an entire economy. Gads! What is it with everybody? Why is everybody so intent on bringing back the old ways? Oh well…not my problem.

We shared a lunch with them and got back on the move after awkward hugs and goodbyes. It was nice visiting with strangers. It was nice being around somebody who didn’t want to kill you or cause you harm.

Thursday, March 18

It was actually freakishly warm today. Eric says at least fifty degrees! Felt tropical. We found the community of Welches. It looks like a town from the Old West. Actually, it goes by the name of ‘Fort Bingham’ now, but the old signs still say ‘Welches’.

They’ve adopted the walled fort look here as well. And they have horses! Great big shaggy ones. The largest structure inside the walls is a church. We met Matt Bingham—he didn’t laugh or even smile when I said, “Hey, did you know they named a fort after you?”—and we’re treated like foreigners entering a country. A man asked our names, purpose, and how long we intended to stay.

At first, we were going to press on, but Eric suddenly announced that we would be staying for two days!  I tried to keep my chin from bouncing off the ground, especially considering how muddy it is. We had to pay five cans of food as well as the last of the meat we had wrapped up on Eric’s cart.

Personally I thought it was a bit steep; especially since we were given one room in a trailer that has been partitioned into three very Spartan rooms. I can’t say anything for the other two, but I’m guessing they looked like the one we were given.

I had kept Sam beside me after a half dozen offers from people interested in buying him. And they weren’t looking for a pet. I will let Eric do whatever it is that he’s so keen on here, but we leave within two days or I tell him to catch up to me on the road.

Friday, March 19

A travel-wagon rolled in today. It wasn’t exactly like the old pioneer Prairie Schooners…but fairly close. Just imagine the wagon mounted on shocks with tires that were almost as tall as me. What bothered me was that it was hauled by a team of twelve…men. And it didn’t look like they were doing it happily. I don’t care…I’m leaving tomorrow. No matter what.

Saturday, March 20

So, I guess Eric saw somebody he knows. He called the man “a native brother” or something like that. I feel only a little bad in hurrying him out of here. However, when I asked why he didn’t ask his friend to join us, he told me that they have different journeys to take. I asked what he meant, but that was apparently the end of the conversation.

Tonight, we’re in perhaps the strangest commune I’ve encountered:  All women. Nothing fancy here to differentiate it from Fort Bingham. Same walled-in motif. There has been no effort to change the name from Zigzag…but then, why would you want to?

Not only have they converted a small school into living quarters, but the nearby campground has a fence as well, and evidence of cultivated fields. The health here seems above average. And…make no mistake; these women will put the smack down on you in a heartbeat.

There are dogs here. Huskies and a pair of Great Danes. Sam didn’t care for it at all. Our ‘fee’ for spending the night was feeding the dogs and cleaning the kennel. Also, we had to help haul water from the river. I didn’t mind a bit. None of the creepy vibe here. I don’t know how, but these women are handling their business.

This is Girl Power!

Monday, March 22

Whether it is the sheer remoteness of this place or the weather—it is snowing again—I don’t know, but I haven’t seen any zombies for a few days. We’ve left Zigzag, even though we were invited to stay another day or two to see what the weather was going to do. We’re actually camped beside this river or creek—whatever the hell you want to call it—with a decent fire going.

Sam is great for the possibility of any zombies that may approach. Eric and I take turns on watch. The only bummer is that Eric says there are no signs of deer in the area. He thinks they know that they have all of Mount Hood National Forest to wander about. The tiny communities of men (or women) are invasive enough to keep the deer away. He says that there is actually more population and human activity here now than before the zombies. (Before…it was passers-through, not entire settlements.) Towns of twenty or fifty are now villages of over a hundred.

One thing…we did meet the sheriffs or whatever they call themselves. A troop of five men and women from the various settlements that travel on a circuit and administer what passes for justice in these parts. Their “pay” is free room and board as well as certain ‘social’ amenities. I wonder if the two women in the group are given the same opportunities in other communities.

They were surprisingly only moderately interested in us. I gave them only the briefest outline of my and Eric’s plans. In fact, I didn’t even mention Las Vegas. I simply admitted to heading south. It is beautiful out here. And after a few days around people, it is nice to be out in the wilderness…alone.

Friday, March 26

Cold, tired, and angry does not make for a pleasant Meredith to be around. I’m currently hiding out in the woods near Rhododendron. Funny how each of these communities is only a few miles apart, but none of them is remotely the same.

We actually had no intention of staying in ‘Camp Archie’, the name hanging above the large entry gate. Our only reason for even stepping foot inside was because we knew it would be a few days before we’d likely see any other such outposts. The next would be Government Camp. We thought we might check the shops; see if there were any supplies.

Just a note, we’ve passed a few independent traders’ huts, all outside of the various communities we’ve visited, and it was easy to spot the vultures. They’re worse than carnival barkers the way they try to lure you to their shops.

So we stopped at Camp Archie and…well, it’s my fault. I was the one who saw the sign that announced: BAR. Eric wasn’t all that interested, but I whined and pouted about how nice it would be to have a drink or two.

The two goons wouldn’t leave me alone or take no for an answer. I didn’t ask for him to save me. It’s not like I can’t deal. When the fight broke out, I was all of a sudden fighting off three bimbos who were accusing me of putting the moves on their men. AS IF!  Eric went down under a bum’s rush of yahoos and that was the last I saw of him. Being thrown out—through is more correct, but hey—a window is what probably saved me from being “arrested” by the locals.

Sam was barking and I had had enough of getting my ass kicked. I lucked out with the main gate being open and bolted. I’m fortunate that nobody was actually chasing me and managed to grab my cart. I strolled out with Sam as four men on horses were coming in. I had to beeline for the woods. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave Eric; it’s just that when things get chaotic, you have to clear yourself before you can do anything for anybody else. It does nobody any good if we both get nabbed.

I’m waiting for that sheriff’s group to make an appearance. The only thing that I know for sure is they took Eric to one of the buildings. All I can guess is that it is their version of jail. That means living out in the woods, staying hidden from the comers and goers. I have been able to keep supplied with water from a nearby stream…but I’ve relied solely on our supplies for food.

Sam is helpful inasmuch that I don’t worry about zombies creeping up on me. However, I do have to stay vigilant for the living. This was just not supposed to happen. We only wanted to have a drink and then resume our trip.

Saturday, March 27

The law patrol arrived yesterday afternoon. Wow…this place is freaky. The only thing missing was a pair of mirrored sunglasses and the potbellied cop saying, “Y’all’s in a mess a trouble.” They weren’t at all interested in anything resembling the truth.

I shudder to think of how this could’ve played out if I hadn’t thought things through with my normal suspicious mind. I opted to stash my cart and even left all my weapons except for a machete and a spiked-tipped pole.

Our so-called fine for disturbing the peace was Eric’s cart with everything on it and permanent barring of entry into Camp Archie. They didn’t take any of Eric’s weapons, but still, it was a total shakedown. If I ever come back this way, I just might burn this dump to the ground. Oh…and the yokels that jumped us? The equivalent of community service. The goons were sentenced to “two weeks on the gate.” Awesome, we get out stuff taken, and they have to open and close the entry gates to the camp.

So, I am waiting for Eric. He’s been allowed to use the public shower. Staying in the holding cell is truly quite nasty. I could actually smell him when they brought him into the makeshift courtroom.

***

I take it back. We got a hefty fine, but they didn’t let the Joe-Bobs off the hook after all. Two weeks “on the gate” is a literal punishment. I thought those guys were just hamming it up for our benefit when the verdict was read and the sentence pronounced.

We left—a little less burdened—as soon as Eric was clean and dressed. He still reeked. His clothes are filthy. On the way out, we saw the three troublemakers locked in the stockade atop the fence. A sign is above them: Assault and Public Nuisance. Wow…maybe they’ll bring back witch trials, too.

As I sit beside the fire watching Eric scrub his clothes in the creek, I’m even more aware than before how crazy we are as a species. Our sentence seemed harsh. But those guys basically got a death sentence. I mean, I wanted them punished, but if the exposure doesn’t kill them, any sort of zombie attack could be very bad. I didn’t see any means of protection in place for them. If anything, they’re bait. Yeah, they were jerks, but being a jerk wasn’t reason for the death penalty last I checked. Could you imagine if that’d been the case back in the olden days?

Sunday March 28

Finally…something I can understand. Sam’s growls woke me just before sunrise. A creeper was dragging itself from the thick undergrowth. This one had been dead for a while. I couldn’t determine if it’d been male or female. Clumps of hair remain in a few patches on the skull, but most was gone. The nose had been torn off, one eye was missing, and it was practically flayed from dragging itself along the ground. It really looked like little more than a creeping slab of rotten meat.

I didn’t think anything about it as I woke up, grabbed my poker and ended it. The thing was not even remotely threatening. Then it hit me like a fist in the gut.

Eric!

He was on watch. Or…he was supposed to be on watch. I started looking everywhere. Then I found him. He was leaned against a big tree. Thank goodness he’s geared up. The big lug had fallen asleep. I guess he was more tired than he realized.

I’ve actually moved the fire closer and covered him up. He needs his sleep and I can’t afford him to slip like that once we get out of the mountains and return to an environment where zombies are plentiful. Of course when he wakes up, I will chew his ass. He should’ve told me. And he does me no good if he is so exhausted that he can’t stand his watch. I wonder if he slept at all while he was incarcerated. I shudder to think that I might’ve actually had it better than him while I was hiding out in the woods…bitching and complaining about how tired, cold, and angry I was. Hmm. Maybe I’ll make a tasty midday meal of canned beets, beef stew, and fruit cocktail for him.

Thursday, April 1

We are scheduled to leave Government Camp tomorrow. I say “scheduled” because the weather has turned once more and decided to get in its last jabs before spring. This past week we have seen just how overmatched we are by Mother Nature. I guess—according to the signs and the burning in my lungs— that we are at over four thousand feet. And if you think that making this hike on foot allows you to acclimate…you are so very, very wrong.

As the route got just a bit steeper and we climbed steadily upwards, the world seemed to change. It was as if there were an imaginary line where the snow begins and gets deep fast. Here at Government Camp there is a two hundred and thirty-six inch base! Yes! Of snow!

So, we earned a pair of snowshoes during our stay. At the bottom of the mountain there is an outpost that is run by settlers where we can turn them in for trade before continuing on our journey. Yeah, when I said “earned,” I meant we earned the means to rent them.

The cart works well on runners by the way. Good thing, too. This was one hell of a field test. So, tomorrow, when the caravan scheduled to leave here to go down the south side of the mountain departs, we will be going with it. I don’t like the idea of travelling with a group, but that is how they do things here and I don’t get a vote.

We’ve been told that the trip takes five days. When we reach the bottom and arrive at Government Base, we will be required to go through an exam. The military is long gone, but it seems that the civilians decided to maintain the protocol. I guess it helps them keep folks from bringing the infection up or down the hill. Plus, the Native Americans won’t allow anybody to travel through their territory without appropriate medical approval.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that the Natives have exercised total sovereignty over the Warm Springs Reservation land?  Well they have. I guess there is some sort of government liaison or detachment of officials that set up at the base of where Highway 26 begins to climb up Mount Hood. They tried to fall back into Warm Springs when a zombie horde came, but the tribal council of Kah-Nee-Tah denied them access unless they agreed to certain terms. The OIC wouldn’t even listen to what the emissary had to say. That OIC and his detachment went the way of Custer.

The local civilians were far more reasonable. Now it seems that the Warm Springs Indian Reservation is now called Confederated Kah-Nee-Tah. They have a much stricter immigration policy than the United States ever imagined; even from the farthest right wing. I think it is something about not trusting the White Devil.

Once more I will be grateful that Eric is with me. Otherwise, I would be forced to go all the way around their land. It seems that, while they do business with those on the border, they absolutely will not allow non-Natives to pass through their land unescorted.

How do I know all this?  Eric has spoken with the liaison here at Government Camp. It seems that there is an embassy system in place. Eric is very excited by it all. I guess he hasn’t seen many of his “people” since this nightmare began. It never occurred to me what that might feel like. I mean, Eric is slightly darker complexioned. He looks like he is rocking a decent tan…even in the winter. But…how do I say this? He looks …normal. That isn’t the right word. But he isn’t Black or Hispanic. I guess I really never saw him as anything but…Eric.

Sure, he has a cool last name, but I don’t go around saying, “Hey, Grayfeather!  What’s up?”  He is simply Eric. Perhaps, in a couple of days, I’ll get a taste of how he’s felt this whole time. I am going into his people’s land. I’ll be the only “white man” around.

Friday, April 2

I feel like ‘Polly Pioneer’ as I travel with this caravan. The word is that we probably won’t see any zombies for at least the first two days. The eighteen mile journey to Government Base will take four days provided that there are no problems.

Saturday, April 3

White!  Everything is white. I don’t care if I never see another snowflake again. I used to love watching snow drift down from the sky. I am SO over that.

Sunday, April 4

Rain. Blessed and glorious rain!

Monday, April 5

A few of the escorts had to take out the odd lone shambler from time to time, but it’s official, we’ve relegated zombies to the Old World equivalent of the rat. We hate them. We kill them. We no longer fear them.

Tuesday, April 6

We are in Government Base. Well…‘in’ is a relative term. We are in the medieval lockdown ward. Each of us has been examined for bites (or signs of healed bites as there is apparently great medical interest in those showing immunity).

Now we must endure four days of isolation. It sucks, but them’s the rules. Sam was even taken to a secure kennel. I signed a form saying that if he proved clean, I would permit him to be exposed to a female in heat should the situation arise. Hey, just because I’m living the life of a nun when it comes to sex doesn’t mean Sammy has to.

Saturday, April 10

I picked up my journal several times, but never had anything to say. I thought I might wax poetic or go all philosophical…get into the whole retrospective thing.

Nope.

I slept. Ate. Slept some more.

Today I am free to wander the base. Eric is busy making whatever diplomatic arrangements need to be made so that I can travel the Confederation Territory. Can you believe that there is a sign warning: “All non-Native persons trespassing on Confederated Territory will be considered an enemy of the Peoples of the Kah-Nee-Tah tribe and its affiliates and will be shot on sight.”

Whatever.

Oh, and it seems that several other Northwestern tribes are in on this. I know zilch about Native American history—half the time I slip up and call them Indians…nobody says anything, but I sense the disdain—much less the politics. I guess several of these tribes have had problems with the local tribe, blah, blah, blah. Tribes are doing this all over the country.

I heard rumor—actually Eric did and relayed it to me—that the entire state of Oklahoma is being claimed. Tribes from all over are sending delegates to arrange for something like a walled nation. They are talking about fencing off the entire state!  I don’t know if it’s true, but he sure seemed to believe it. I did ask him what would/did happen to any survivors of the non-Native variety that might be there. He very calmly said they were probably escorted to the border…or killed if they resisted.

Like I said, I don’t know much about history, but I know enough to recall our government really screwed them at every turn. I guess they are enjoying some get back now. I don’t think I blame them.

Wednesday, April 14

Today we arrived in Warm Springs. The local tribe—Eric calls them “Springers”—is very hospitable. Granted, I am under approved escort at all times. Still, I expected there to be cold looks, or even a challenge here and there. Everybody I’ve met has been amazingly polite.

Eric says that there are tribes from all over the Pacific Northwest congregated here. Also, some of the delegates, or whatever they call themselves, from the Oklahoma region are present. So it is true; the Native American population is withdrawing to Oklahoma and sealing it off. I don’t see how they can hope to accomplish such a thing, but it ain’t my problem. As for if it is possible…who would have believed in actual zombies overwhelming society except for the fringe types who read that crap?

The best part is that we’re out of the cold and snow. It is really nice here and there is so much food. Eric seems to be really happy. If I didn’t need his escort out of this place, I’d consider slipping away and leaving him here amongst his people.

Thursday, April 15

We’re on the move again.

A security detail took us by horseback all the way to what they consider to be the border. We are about five miles north of the city of Madras, Oregon.

Eric really stocked us up with food. We shouldn’t need to worry for quite a while in that regard. I could tell he was torn about leaving. It’s the most emotion I’ve seen from him…ever. We are camped just inside the reservation. There are regular patrols along the fence on horseback. I have to admit that I’m super impressed that they have erected a fence all the way around their territory. It must’ve been quite an undertaking.

Tomorrow…The Wilderness.

Friday, April 16

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Sam and I are in an overhead crawlspace of some Mom & Pop sporting goods store. I don’t know exactly where Eric is. One day away from his people and I practically get him killed.

If I ever see him again, I’m gonna have some serious butt kissing to do. That, and about a gazillion “I’m sorry, Eric, please don’t hate me!” mantras to start on.

Saturday, April 17

It was too dark to write anymore yesterday, so I had to quit. In case you’re wondering…I’m still hiding in the same spot. I did crawl down once to look for water. I had to scramble my ass right back. Did I mention that there are THOUSANDS of those things milling about? Oh…and that it is totally my fault.

Here is where yours truly screwed the pooch. (Eric says that a lot and I’ve sorta adopted the phrase.)

We were moving down into Madras late Friday afternoon. Most of the city is toasted. It looks like there were some nasty battles here. Many of the buildings were torched, bombed, or bullet-ridden. All the way around this one field was a fence constructed of that corrugated metal. We couldn’t see over the wall, but we didn’t have to in order to know what was inside.

From what we could tell, there were a few roamers scattered about. It was quickly obvious that we wouldn’t be doing much scavenging around here. While it was possible that we might find a few odds and ends, this town was wrecked.

Eric suggested that we push through and make camp on the south side of town. We had at least a two day journey to Prineville—the next real town on our map. I’d been a bit cooped up the past couple of weeks and wanted to have a look. I knew there wasn’t likely to be anything here worth the trouble. Then…I saw the armored RV with the heavy machinegun mounted on top.

I had flashbacks of the trip from Irony to Portland with my All-Girl Army. It’d been one hell of a Road Warrior-esque adventure. Sure, it ended badly, but there were some moments. I wanted to check the vehicle out. I could tell that Eric wasn’t excited about the idea, but he apparently decided to let the crazy white woman have her fun.

I recall walking up the hill to the abandoned RV. The closer we got, the more obvious that it was unlikely that we’d find anything. For some reason, my brain refused to process that bit of information. All the signs were right in front of my face: hundreds of bullet holes, the rusty machinegun, the long-since-dried gore on the inside obscuring the ability to look in the windows that remained intact.

I opened the door and the smell that rolled out was almost a physical presence. Sam actually skittered away and refused to come any closer than about thirty feet. I pulled out my mask and climbed in. There were a dozen dead soldiers (at least a dozen) strewn about the spacious interior. I could tell they’d fallen back to the rear of the RV where an equal number of zombies lay in a pile signaling the site of the last stand.

I was curiously drawn to the scene; trying for some reason to decipher how it all went down. I was also checking the bodies for weapons. It was becoming clear that they had used up everything in this final skirmish. The guns were empty, slides open and locked. Many had been converted to bludgeons—the grips caked with gunk and strands of hair.

From all the useless electronic gear, it was clear that this place was some sort of rolling command post. I moved forward to check the driver’s area. The angle that we were parked, it made things a little more difficult than you might think. The driver’s and front passenger’s seat were occupied. Both looked like they’d chosen to eat a bullet rather than change. Each had multiple bites on their arms.

It was here that I’d found what might’ve been my validation for this little diversion. While they were firmly gripped in dead hands, both pistols looked like all they needed was a little spit and polish…and some oiling. On the driver’s belt was a pouch holding a pair of magazines, and at his feet, a box of bullets for the Colt .45s.

I had to tilt the steering wheel up to get at the pouch, and was prying/tearing the pistol from stiff fingers when I heard it: a baby’s cry. It was from close by. I looked up, and that’s when I noticed the head of the person in the passenger’s seat turned my way.

The mouth was a mess. Eating a bullet will do that. However, if not done correctly, all that is accomplished is that the would-be suicide comes back as a zombie with just another nasty wound. The bullet exited, taking most of the right ear…and that’s it.

He…it…was reaching for me with filthy hands. One had a pistol dangling from it. I still shudder to think of what might’ve happened had I chosen to loot that body first.

Anyways, I reacted fairly normal to the sudden surprise. I screamed—not cool at all—and I threw myself backwards from the threat. It really doesn’t matter if it couldn’t have reached me from where it was strapped.

I guess I hit the emergency brake. At first, nothing happened. And had I not been throwing myself around like an idiot to get away from something that couldn’t actually hurt me, not to mention the fact that I was now certain the corpse in the driver’s seat was also a zombie, things probably turn out different.

The vehicle began to move. I finally got loose and tumbled to the floor. My head smacked a damn toolbox or something and made all the pretty lights flash in my brain. By the time I was aware that Eric was dragging me, we were moving at a pretty good clip.

He drag-pulled me to the side entrance and dove out of the moving vehicle with me in his arms. I was getting to my feet—about to yell at Eric for trying to kill us by jumping out of a moving RV—when I heard the crash. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw the RV jutting from that big metal fence.

For a moment, I wondered why it had come to a stop. After all, it had been moving fast as it careened down that steep slope. What happened next was like watching dominoes fall. Section by section, the fence began to topple. All those zombies that had been inside burst forth like pus from a boil being squeezed on your gross Aunt Maddy’s back.

I was ready to run when I realized that Eric was still on the ground. He was making funny noises from having the wind knocked out of him. We had plenty of space between us and the approaching mob, but it was taking Eric way too long to get to his feet. Finally, after an eternity, he was up. By now, Sam was bounding towards us, obviously anxious to get the blazes out of here.

I helped Eric get up, but he wasn’t moving that well at all. We rounded a corner and some of the roamers had come to investigate. And still Eric wasn’t moving well. He kept making these gasping attempts to get air in his lungs. It sounded like he was a giant frog.

Sam could’ve taken off, but I guess Eric trained him well because he stayed right beside us. Sure, he growled and woofed, but he never ran. Then we reached the intersection where I was faced with the choice of fight or flee. I let go of Eric—who melted to the ground like a candle tossed into a kiln—and rushed to take out the leading zombies.

One of them actually made me pause. They say that everybody in the world has a twin. I am certain that I found Calista Flockhart…or her twin. This skinny little waif couldn’t withstand a serious breeze. I have no idea what the zombie that bit her must’ve thought when it bit into that scrawny arm and chipped a tooth on the bone.

By the time I’d taken down all three, I’d migrated about a half of a block up the street. Fighting is not a stationary event. When I turned back, Eric was moving up the street in the opposite direction. Sam had stayed put, but was crouched down and backing in my general direction.

“Go!” Eric croaked. “We’ll split up here and try to meet up as soon as we can!’

Then I saw what had spurred his recovery and sent him weaving up the street. The horde was on us. I recall seeing the wall of debris and dirty water moving down that road. I remember Indonesia when that awful tsunami hit several years back. Well, if you can remember that image…just swap it with zombies. I noticed how some in the leading edge fell and vanished under the army of churning feet that would not be slowed.

I whistled for Sam and ran. I didn’t even bother to kill the zombies I passed as I sprinted by. And in no time…I was absolutely lost.

I finally decided on this place. A ransacked sporting goods store. It had a second floor which was good. But even better was this crawlspace. I’m sitting in this air duct by a vent that I’ve bent some of the slats on so I can look down to the street below. I can see them. This town is now crawling with all the zombies that had been put in that pen. It’s like the beginning all over again.

It’s strange…gunshots are a rarity. But I’ve heard some. Oh…which reminds me; in all that madness, I dropped the gun I’d found when I started all of this. This means that I not only endangered myself and Eric, but anybody that had been using this area...for nothing.

Who knows, maybe there is somebody in this town, Madras, sitting someplace with a journal or diary. They are probably cursing me right this very moment. Me. Meredith Gainey. The woman who unleashed an entire town population’s worth of zombies because she was careless.

And now…my canteen is almost empty. I’ve been sharing my water with Sam and must find more soon. If I don’t catch a break in the near future, I’ll lower Sam down. He could probably find water in no time. No sense in making him die of thirst just because I am. Also, and this is selfish, but his running off might clear the area for a minute.

Sunday, April 18

Weird.

I woke this morning to loud music being blared someplace nearby. I’m no classical music genius, but I know enough to be certain that it was Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik  Da. Da-da. Da-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh. Dee. Dee-dee. Dee-dee-dee-de-dee-dee. Bum. Bum. Bum-bu-bum-badda bum.

So that has been in my head ALL DAY!  Don’t get me wrong. I love music. Buy you know what it’s like to get a song stuck in your head? And I even used my old standard. The song I use to get those songs out of my head: the theme from The Brady Bunch. Nope. Now I’m singing The Brady Bunch Theme to the tune of the Mozart song.

Aaargh!

Monday, April 19

I put Sam on the floor. For a while he just stared up at the hole in the ceiling waiting for me to join him. I think thirst got the better of him. He ran off. It’s been just a few hours and he hasn’t come back. I watched him emerge onto the road. When the zombies in the area noticed, he bolted.

Good doggy. But I’ll miss the company.

Tuesday April 20

I’m thirsty.

Water is officially all gone. I forget. How long can a person go without liquids?

Cripes!  This is the school gymnasium all over again. Only, I’m not pregnant.

There’s something to be thankful for. I did hear barking a while ago. I don’t think it was Sam. He almost never barks.

Wednesday, April 21

Dizzy. Don’t feel good. Where the hell is the rain everybody used to identify the Pacific Northwest with?

I’m sorry.

Saturday, April 24

Have I mentioned what a good dog Sam is?  I totally owe my life to that goofy dog.

We are a couple of miles outside of Madras now. Me. Eric. And that stupid, wonderful dog!

I guess he just wandered around until he found Eric. Then, he led him straight to me. I feel like such a doofus. Those zombies I saw wandering the streets?  Yeah, well there weren’t more than two dozen out there. They were all just rambling in and out of the shops along this street.

Leave it to me not to pay attention that there was a fenced dead end to this street about two buildings past the one I was in. Zombies would wander in…and then circle back. Yes, the town is crawling with the undead, but not in any condensed way. They’ve spread out all over Madras.

After a bit of water, Eric helped me down and we slipped out under the cover of night. It seems a bit cowardly in retrospect. I mean, I can’t pretend I didn’t hear multiple sources of noise from living, breathing people. I haven’t said anything yet to Eric. He seems the exact same as he always does.

Whatever.

Tonight, I’m going to sleep in this empty house and try not to concentrate on the fact that I almost cost us everything while Eric re-packs the harness cart that he was smart enough to go back for and stock with a few cans he scavenged while waiting patiently to find the crazy white girl.

Saturday April 25

We found one of those shiny silver trailers on an overgrown lot all by itself today. It was just sitting there. There wasn’t anything special about it. Not one single, solitary thing.

So…I have no idea how Eric knew.

Inside was a mummified family. A father. A mother. Two children: both girls. Each had a bullet hole in the head. The father obviously went last. He was still holding the small caliber pistol in his hand. (I didn’t get close enough to take a look.) Eric made me wait outside. He didn’t actually go in either. He stood in the open door and got a good look…to confirm his theory, I guess.

Then, he asked me to go wait at the highway. I didn’t even think of arguing or asking questions. I could tell there was something going on here. He seemed to look around in the bushes for a little while, plucking up different plants. Once he had what he wanted, he set them on the top step and lit them on fire.

I’ve never actually heard a real-live Indian…Native American song…you know what I mean. Anyways, I’ve never heard one chant or sing. I didn’t understand one single syllable. But I’ve never heard anything that made me feel so sad—and you’re dealing with a girl who cried for six months after seeing Titanic every time that Celine Dion song would come on the radio.

Eric knelt in the dirt and raised his hands to the sky and just started. He went on for twenty minutes at least. I had to kill four roamers that came wandering out of the high brush that dominates the landscape here. I guess he just trusted that I’d take care of it. But part of me thinks he would’ve done the same thing if were all alone. He hasn’t spoken since.

Monday April 26

Great. Prineville is a wreck. But…we are learning that multiplexes are great places to camp out. Even more specific, the bathrooms. We have a fire going in the sink. It isn’t a roaring blaze, but it allows us to see and prepare food; so it’s all good.

This little complex we are using has a few other bonuses. There is a small emergency clinic and a few restaurants. Of course the restaurants were mostly busts, but we found a few things. As for the clinics, it’s funny. Obviously the place has been looted, but by people looking for drugs. We scored a few bottles of iodine, hydrogen peroxide, and even a couple of bottles of isopropyl alcohol. Not to mention bandages and other useful first aid knick knacks.

Just up from here is a huge park. It shows signs of having hastily built fencing. But I was interested in the three burned out husks of what were obviously military helicopters. There are a lot of dried out corpses littering the ground. It’s clear that birds and other things have picked them fairly clean. I shudder to think of how bad this nightmare would be if birds turned into zombies. But…would they be able to fly? I don’t know if they’d have the ability to keep themselves airborne. Still…yucky!

Tuesday, April 27

Thankfully there is plenty of brush to use as a screen. We didn’t feel like scavenging in Prineville. Too crowded. We’re back on the desolate and empty road. We’re on some back road that cuts through absolutely nowhere and nothing. Zombies probably won’t be a problem…but boredom might prove to be fatal.

Wednesday, April 28

The good thing about being in the middle of nowhere is the chance to get your head straight. I finally spoke with Eric about Madras. I told him how sorry I was, and about how I would try hard not to do such stupid things.

Eric’s response?

“Meredith, it would not be good for you to change your nature. It is what makes you all that you are.” Then he told me some story about a frog giving a scorpion a ride on its back across a stream. The scorpion ends up stinging the frog, killing them both. Ooo-kaaay. So…am I the scorpion?

Sheesh!

Thursday, April 29

Hiding in a leaky barn. It opened up today. I mean the sky just started dumping and there’s been thunder and lightning almost non-stop. So…we’re cold, wet, and miserable. But Eric shouldn’t mind…he’s a frog. Right?

Sunday, May 2

We’ve been forced to travel at night the past couple of days. That sounds funny…but anyways…

A fairly large band of people have apparently laid claim to this area. We found the first signs of them when we set out after that wicked storm.

A man was strung up by his feet from a road sign. He’d turned and was squirming, but what was upsetting was the child, no more than five, sitting on the ground. The somewhat fresh blood caking her mouth, coupled with the smallish bites on the man’s arms…and face…told the gruesome story.

The child had been a zombie for quite a while. That added another layer of “what the fuck?” to the scene. It must’ve been done during the storm, because we should’ve heard the screams. That is how recent this was. Also, the ground was a pretty obvious giveaway. There was a lot of foot activity in the mud around the sign. The good news is that it looks as if the mystery group headed west. We are going east.

Yay!

Monday, May 3

I thought I knew what desolation was. Nope!  My God, there is NOTHING out here.

Tuesday, May 4

We’re hiding in a drainage pipe while a sandstorm howls out on this flat, godforsaken stretch of the world. I’d been noticing long sections of the highway that looked like they had been washed away or something. Now I know…it’s simply covered with inches or feet of blown dirt and sand. Oregon has an actual desert. Who knew?

Wednesday, May 5

Woo-hoo! Cinco de Mayo. All we’re missing is the chips, salsa, tequila, and one of those big hats to dance around. Lord knows we’ve got plenty of hot sun beating down on us, making us go through our water waaay faster than normal.

We saw a little action today. A creeper. It literally burst out of this mound of sand. It was like a desert version of when zombies get covered with ice and snow. It was so dried out that we couldn’t tell if it’d been male or female…but that wasn’t the problem.

I drove my spear through its head, but it looked like it was still moving. My concern was that, for some reason, destroying the brain didn’t cut it anymore. Then this cluster of scorpions came scurrying out of its hollowed out abdomen.

I’m trying super-hard not to giggle as I write this, because then Eric will know that I am writing how he screamed and ran…faster and higher-pitched than I did. It was probably reckless, but we hauled butt down the highway.

Also, we’ve seen signs of other survivors today. A campfire was still smoldering, and there were a few empty cans at one spot beside a stretch where you could actually differentiate between the road and the flat, barren, brown landscape.

We couldn’t really find an honest-to-goodness shelter for the night, so we’re sleeping under the stars. I’m taking first shift. Eric insists that he heard an engine at one point. I didn’t hear anything, and Sam’s ears didn’t as much as twitch. I guess it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely.

Vehicles are little more than dinosaurs. Most folks abandon them because they’d bring zombies from miles away. Plus, it’s not like there’s any reason to be in a hurry these days.

Thursday, May 6

We’ve walked down this empty stretch of road for what seems to be forever.

It was almost midday when Eric pulled me up. In the distance, the sun was reflecting off of something. The closer we got, we began to notice other details like the chest-high fence. What we initially mistook as a small car wreck proved to be more of a makeshift barricade.

Here, in the middle of the Oregon high desert, there exists a small community. I wouldn’t put their numbers above fifty. They have a creek that runs through and everything. It seems that all their needs are provided for. We were briefly questioned and asked our intentions. Nobody tried to insist on anything. Not even a body inspection. Then I noticed all the dogs. There are dozens—five to every human at least—just wandering free.

We dropped in to check out their trading post and I picked up a set of military-issue boots that fit perfectly. The price was steep—three cans of food and a pair of thick, wool socks—but since I’m on the move, I’ll probably have no problem replacing what I traded away.

Of course, I could have found a pair of boots. It was more about the interaction with the lady that runs the shop. Oh…and naturally…Eric got absolute nothing.

As we headed out, a sign caught my eye: Joe’s Diner.

It wasn’t much to look at. The sign was basically scrawled on the ripped off hood of a car in very faded, white paint. The ‘restaurant’ was one of those silver, bullet-shaped trailers with one side cut off and a plastic tarp extended over some rickety card tables and rusty lawn chairs. There was a counter where the woman took the order and gave them to a cook behind a window.

It was when we got up to the counter that things started to not look quite right. The waitress was missing most of her teeth. Her skin was…sickly is the best description I could give you. She had sores and huge bruises all over that you could actually see through her pinkish threadbare blouse. Her hair was thin and wispy, completely gone in patches.

She gave me a dirty look when we made eye contact. I can’t blame her, I’m pretty certain that my revulsion was clearly visible on my face. As for Eric, not even a twitch around the corners of his eyes.

I’d already decided that it was a mistake and we wouldn’t be eating here. Still, the post-apocalyptic ‘Flo’ placed a laminated sheet in front of us. Written on it were the two choices that this place had:  Snake Soup and Judge’s Stew.

As the waitress-from-hell was getting us our complimentary glass of water—just as the sheet promised at the bottom in writing in what looked like the only thing that didn’t get changed daily—I took a look at the other patrons. They all seemed far too interested in Sam. I noticed one gaunt man in particular. He stuck out because of all the folds of skin hanging around his torso. Currently the guy looked to weigh no more than one hundred fifty pounds tops. However, he must have easily weighed over three hundred pounds before. (I think I now know why Jared from Subway never did bathing suit ads.)  Somebody who loses that much fat that quickly doesn’t lose the stretched out skin.

When I turned back, our water was being set before us. I tried to ignore the beige hue. Then Eric asked the sixty-thousand-dollar question.

“What is Judge’s Stew?”

“Trial two days ago for a pair of fellas that got a bit too rough with one of Madam Judy’s working girls. Judge found them guilty and sentenced them to hangin’.”

“You mean…?” I tried to ask, but couldn’t say the words.

“Can’t be wastin’ perfectly good meat these days, little Missy,” she croaked.

Okay. I probably come off a bit snooty with a statement like “she croaked.” So, I’ll leave it to you. Did you ever know a chain-smoker? I’m talking lighting the next one with the one still dangling from their lips. That kind of chain-smoker. Okay. So the chain-smoker’s voice would sound as smooth as Sinatra if compared to this waitress.

Still think I’m being a bitch?

Now, you’d think that’d been enough. You’d think that Eric would have taken my glare, raised eyebrows, and not so subtle tilt of my head towards the road out front that would take us away from this roadside circle of Dante’s Inferno.

Nope. The big dummy ordered the Snake Soup. Personally, I think he did it on purpose to screw with me.

Saturday, May 8

Her name is Tricia Maio (pronounced like mayo short for mayonnaise). She used to be a dancer. Judging by her body, I bet she made a fortune off of desperate, middle-aged men. Seriously, I’m very hetero, but she made my tummy tingle. Oh…and Eric? Not so much as a batted eyelash.

Anyways, we met Tricia at a ransacked old gas station sitting off the well-covered-by-sand highway. There was an intact off ramp that we decided was as good as any to search for the possibility of camping out for the night. Imagine our surprise when we peeked through the busted out front windows to discover a naked lady hanging her clothes over a small fire concealed behind the checkout counter.

She’d been in a nasty fight with a small pack of zombies earlier in the day. She’d washed the worst of the gore from her clothes in an old, yellow, plastic mop bucket that she’d found in a closet.

When I’d asked about the water, she told me that there was a small spring just out back that drains into a pond that has two large concrete pipes at the lowest end. She’s pretty certain that they lead to a nearby reservoir a few miles away.

I lent her some of my clothes so that she wouldn’t have to stand around naked in front of strangers. I’m not sure who I was trying to make feel better. Still, that led to the obvious question.

“Where the hell is the rest of your stuff?”

She said that a small herd of a couple hundred zombies caught her off guard. She was camped out in some random apartments. She had to leave her backpack and could only bring what she could carry in the pockets of her heavy field jacket. She escaped by climbing up on the roof—which couldn’t have been that easy considering that she had to use a piece of metal pipe to bust a hole through it when she climbed into the overhead crawl space. By getting most of the zombies down to one end, she was able to run to the other and jump.

She eluded most of them, but then ended up having to fend off a fair amount. Hence being such a mess and needing to clean up.

I asked her where she was heading. She said that some travelers heading south told her about a safe zone on Mount Hood. I filled her in on the details, including the situation regarding the Warm Springs Reservation. I also hinted where we were headed.

Tricia is coming from Utah and didn’t have any info about Nevada. I asked about Utah, mostly just curious to hear if it was as bad as every other place I’ve been. I never considered how a heavily religious region might react and respond to an event like this. She said that the zombies were almost less of a concern when compared to some of the zealot extremists. Oddly, the main body of the Mormons wasn’t a problem. It was the offshoots that continued to lurk in the shadows. It seems that there is a very male-centric core that views women as subjects, servants, and vessels to carry their offspring.

Some sort of Holy War erupted and a lot of people were killed by the lunatic fringe. I guess, right up to the end, the elders of the central body were condemning the extremists…all the way up to the point when an eighteen-wheeled car bomb was rolled into their main cathedral in downtown Salt Lake City.

Sunday, May 9

Tricia was gone when we woke.

My clothes were neatly folded and sitting on the counter. I think she did Eric last night when I was sleeping. He seems to be in a strangely cheerful mood.

Whatever.

Monday, May 10

We should be reaching Burns, Oregon soon. Eric says that we might be able to replenish supplies there. The population was scarce and spread out. There really wasn’t that much to Burns before. At least that’s what Eric says.

Eric explains that we need to be on guard. Burns being so rural, there is a high probability that some of the yokels may have survived. Towns like Burns had a heavy gun-to-person ratio. I remember the carnage on the streets of some of the small towns we’ve been through.

We haven’t seen a zombie all day. And in some respects, that actually seems kinda creepy. A lack of undead can mean a lot of things. Not all of them are good.

Tuesday, May 11

At the best of times, children were something I was always thankful for NOT having to deal with. I mean, it was always nice to visit friends or family with rug rats of their own…and leave when they got tiresome. (My personal best being about two hours.)  If they cried and wouldn’t stop…hand them to mommy. Dirty diaper?…point, hold my nose, and leave the room. See?  Simple.

And yeah, I’m aware I’ve given birth to a child. However, I knew myself well enough to know it was a bad match. I am not a good candidate for parenthood. I am saying all this so that I can also clarify that I’ve never wished harm on children. (Also, in case you are wondering, yes, I do still think about my daughter. I still feel like I made the right choice of parents. I gave her to a good couple, and The Warehouse is probably the safest place I know.)

So why am I blathering on about all this? Well, it has been a rough day. We were moving along, Sam trotting ahead marking every shrub, clump of grass, or abandoned vehicle we passed. Then we heard the scream. It was coming from beyond a ridge off to our right.

Needless to say, we ran to find out what the hell was going on. We had to keep Sam back. Eric held him by the scruff of his neck while I moved ahead to check out the situation. You might criticize us for taking too long to respond to an obvious emergency, but rushing blindly into anything these days will just get everybody killed.

I was in no way prepared for what I saw.

Five girls—ages fifteen to (maybe) twenty—were up on an abandoned RV. It was that kind that isn’t much bigger than a pick-up truck. Dangling from the rear was a man. Naked. About a dozen creepers were flailing and squirming, trying their best to get ahold of the man. I could see that one of his arms was dripping blood. It was obvious that he’d been snacked on already.

As for the girls, the taunts and jeers coming from their mouths were…heinous comes to mind. They were actually laughing while they jerked on the ropes that they had tied to each of the man’s ankles. The curious and bizarre thing about the scene was that the girls were each wearing nothing more than their bra and panties.

I slipped back down the hill and relayed things to Eric. He seemed to puzzle over it for a minute, and then said, “Not our problem.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As I argued my point, I heard another scream. This one was much longer and louder than the first. It ended in a sudden and liquid-sounding yelp. Then…there was the distinct cacophony of rabid cheering.

Eric seemed to be much more concerned about leaving. Since I really had no idea what was happening, it was very difficult for me to agree to leave. However, I was still self-conscious about the trouble I’d gotten us into a few days ago by nosing around. Therefore…against my character, I agreed without an argument.

We were almost to the road when we heard a voice. A girl was calling for us to wait up. When I turned around, I was only mildly surprised to see a girl in her bra and panties running after us. She looked even more surprised at me when I turned to face her. I guess with all the gear on—leathers, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes—I could be mistaken for a guy.

The story—as they told it—is that these girls are escapees from some compound in the area. They’ve been at ‘war’ with the men of this compound for about five weeks. They use one of their own as bait. Apparently the men are stupid enough to keep falling for it. She didn’t even hide her glare at Eric as she talked.

I didn’t feel like spending my day talking to this girl, but I needed to ask: What’s the situation in Burns?  She looked at me like I’d just fallen off the moon.

“Walled up, locked down and they don’t allow in strangers.”

She elaborated by saying that if you weren’t born in, or a resident of, Burns for a year or more before the dead started walking, you received the same mercy that they showed the zombies…none. They keep mounted patrols, most of which give you a warning that you aren’t welcome before they open fire.

The “wall” that they’ve built encloses about three times the area that was formerly known as Burns, Oregon. They are most protective of the river just south of town, and have towers that allow their watches to see for a few miles in every direction. They mostly worry about zombies and don’t seem to mind folks filling water containers as long as they are downstream.

We’re about two days or so from Burns. There will be a small airfield when we come out of the pass that opens up on the farmland community surrounding this city-fortress. We are supposed to keep heading south along SR-205…a highway that will take us to a big lake. From there, we can head east again until we hook up with OR-78/Steens Highway. Eventually, that will dump us onto US-95, which will take us to Nevada.

I realize that we had to wait to cross the Mount Hood section of our journey because, as it was, the weather made for a tough trip. I think that crossing Nevada during the summer may actually be worse. Finding a car wouldn’t be tough. Finding one that would work—one that the gasoline hasn’t gone bad—would be practically impossible. What we need are bicycles. Good ones.

Even if we have to push the bikes for parts of the trip when we hit hills, we would move so much quicker when we rode over long stretches of the flat desert terrain ahead. If we don’t find bikes, we may not survive the summer. It’s almost funny; the walking dead are less of a concern than Mother Nature.

Eric was a good boy and didn’t let it slip as to where we are headed. However, I think that the girl had inkling. After all, she not only told us how to get around Burns, she also told us when and where to get back on the highway headed south to Vegas.

Once our little chat ended, she turned on her heel and strutted off. For somebody so young, she was awfully comfortable with her body. At that age, I didn’t let my boyfriend slip his hand under my shirt if the light was on. I guess we are reverting to our more raw natures…the way we were before society had its way with our moral compass.

I think it is different in many ways this time, though. Women who have survived this long are probably a strong bunch. We won’t be second-class citizens this time. And, judging by those girls we left behind today, men had better watch themselves.

It’s definitely a New World Order.

Wednesday, May 12

Rain.

No…wait…scratch that. The skies have opened up in a waterfall-like torrent. There is not one single part of me that is dry. We are sitting in this abandoned car to avoid the worst of it. Well, at least as best we can. I say that because one of the windows on the passenger side of the car is gone and most of the rubber seals on the rest have frozen and melted so many times, to the point that there is no watertight integrity here. Water pours in from every seam, crease, and crack. Still, this is better than being outside.

I’m sitting in the middle of the front seat, Eric is in the back. Sam is curled up beside me. He was shivering in that way doggies do when they are cold and wet. I have him wrapped up in one of my sweatshirts. Now he only shivers in little fits every few minutes.

We have all our empty containers outside collecting water. That is one true blessing from all this. I’ve watched three lone shamblers and one mini-herd of twenty or so go past. I got a little worried about the herd, but they were in the other lane and never even made a move our direction. All of them were headed away from Burns.

During the brief conversation I managed to coax from Eric today, I laid out my plan for a bicycle. He nodded and asked me why I waited so long to make that call. I gave it some thought…then told him to shut up.

Okay, Meredith…why did you wait so long?

Thursday, May 13

The road is probably not going to be here much longer. We’ve passed entire sections that are buried or washed away. It keeps getting worse.

We came out into this large opening, a valley that cuts between the hills on either side of the highway. The remnants of large, circular farm plots can still be seen.

Then there is this charred husk of a fighter jet that is jutting from deep in the fields on the south. I wanted to go check it out, but once again Eric was against it. Sam sorta backed Eric in a way. He kept sniffing towards the chest-high growth that has laid claim to the area and growling with real purpose. It could’ve been the wind…or not…but there was a lot of rustling in the grass or whatever it is that makes up that mini-jungle along the southern border of the highway.

Tonight we are camped on a rocky outcropping that looks down into the valley. As the sun sets, the bowl fills with shadows which quickly become an inky blackness. Sure enough, every once in a while Sam’s ears will perk up. Sometimes, I think I can hear them, too. Just as the citizens of Burns have staked their claim, so too have the undead…in this valley.

Friday, May 14

The sounds of distant gunfire woke us today. Not from the valley below…or Burns to the east. This came from the hills above us. Eric told me to stay put. When I woke, he was already awake and strapping on his gear.

I tried to protest, but he told me that I needed to listen to him “just this once.”  He said that Sam and I should find a spot on the next ridge where we could keep a good eye on the highway in both directions. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions. Then, just like that, he was gone into the darkness. I don’t know if it is a Native American thing or what, but he vanished from sight before he even hit the shadows.

Since he’s been gone, I’ve moved like he asked. I can’t really see into the valley/jungle below, but I don’t think that Eric was all that concerned about zombies. I am keeping my eyes on the highway like Eric said…and I haven’t seen a thing.

Something feels very wrong. I don’t know exactly what, but there is a definite wrongness. Sam feels it, too. But it isn’t from the road below. There is something in the hills. I may not trust myself sometimes, but my dog?

Saturday, May 15

Screams.

Lots and lots of screams.

It is impossible to tell if it is male or female. It has been going on all day long. I hate it. Oh, and Sam doesn’t like it either. He’s actually been hiding between my legs most of the day. And when I stand up, he presses against me.

Funny thing about however many zombies are in that little valley below. They don’t seem inclined to roam. They don’t venture out of the tall grass. I see a lot of movement, but I’ve seen very few actual zombies wandering these parts.

Monday, May 17

I’m in a mostly burned out motel near what can only have been an airfield. I can see the town of Burns, or, more aptly put, I can see the wall. It is a mix of cars, trucks, concrete, and razor wire.

Leave it to rural America, but this town has their shit together. There is no place to approach without crossing a few hundred yards of open, scorched ground. I can see a huge trench that I can only assume circles the entire town. There are towers every quarter mile or so. They’re only ten feet high—the barricade is maybe five—and each is manned. It all makes sense, I guess. Zombies aren’t known to be climbers. Also, there are bridge-like catwalks that span the trench. It is genius. They control where the zombies cross. Then they use hand-held weapons to dispose with the ones that reach the barricade. All of this is speculation, but it makes perfect sense if you actually see their setup.

I’ve seen horse patrols come and go. One even rode out this way. They came close enough so that I could see them clearly as they waved. They know I’m here, and made it a point to let me know that they know. Whoever they were, they pointed to town, and then looked back at the window I was peeking from while trying not to expose myself. They made a big production out of shaking their heads “no.”  The message is clear: I am not welcome here.

As for Eric, he is sleeping in a nest of our gear on a filthy bed that you don’t need to shine a black light on in order to see just how vile it is. He came back late Sunday night. He was covered in blood; none of it was his. He refused to talk about whatever was going on in the hills. It begs the question: With all we’ve seen these past couple of years, what could be so bad that he won’t even talk about it?

When he got back, he simply told me to grab our gear. We started walking in the dark; something that we never do. Eric says it is foolish to take such a risk like traveling in the dark. That holds true even on a clear night with a bright moon. Funny how things change.

I’ve traveled with people who prefer night and those who prefer day. It is all pretty much the same to me. However, I did come close to breaking my ankles when we moved down out of the hills. Also, the ruined roads are no treat either.

When we spotted the airfield and this place beside it, we found one of the few rooms with intact windows and a door. Eric didn’t even bother to clean up. He curled up into a ball and crashed.

Sam won’t go near him. I couldn’t help myself; I checked his body very thoroughly for bites or scratches. He looked clean, although it was hard to be certain with all that blood. As you might have guessed, I won’t be sleeping. I will be watching Eric. Every hour or so, I peel his eyelids up and look for black tracers.

So far, so good.

Tuesday, May 18

Eric is awake. He still won’t talk about what went on up in those hills, but at least he went outside and cleaned up. We were blessed with rain again today. Nothing like the other day; just a nice steady downpour for a while. When it blew over early this afternoon, there was a beautiful rainbow that was brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. It made me understand where that old “pot of gold” myth started. We could see where the rainbow ended in the fields south of us. The ground looked like it was glowing.

Sometime in the night, a delegation from Burns left us a note on the door. It is seriously creepy that neither of us heard a thing—more so with Eric than with me. The note was simple:

We hope you enjoyed your stay.

Checkout time is tomorrow morning.

I guess we’re leaving tomorrow morning.

Thursday, May 20

I’d almost forgotten how scary situations can be when those things get you in their sights. Slow doesn’t mean a damned thing when there are a couple hundred.

Eric and I were cutting through some fields on the route that girl suggested. The sun was high overhead and it was getting too hot for traveling. We were engrossed in one of the first real conversations that we’d had since he came back. Well, actually we were arguing. That’s why we didn’t see them.

I was insistent on doing all our moving early in the morning and finding someplace out of the sun during the worst part of the day. Eric was insisting that it didn’t matter if we sweated out the day in some dreary shelter or dark cave…hot was hot. It was clear that he did not want to travel at night.

Then we heard the first one let loose with that baby cry. I have no idea if Sam was trying to warn us or not, but when that thing cried, he tore away from us and charged the approaching herd of zombies. Of course those stupid walking strips of jerky started falling all over each other trying to get at the noisy, bouncing dog. It was like watching a twisted version of the Keystone Kops.

We both knew that there was no way we could take on that many. If your weapon gets stuck once, you’re through. The biggest problem besides there being so many was that there wasn’t any place to run. We were out in the middle of nowhere amidst gullies, arroyos, and gently rolling—for the most part—hills. Oh…and did I mention that it was hot.

We started at an easy jog. Every hill that we put between us and them gave us a moment or two to catch our breath and alter our course, taking us further and further from the main body. It took almost the entire day to swing wide enough, but we eventually managed to give them the slip. Sam was blessedly quiet while we ran.

It didn’t seem like we would ever actually shake them. By the time the sun was at our back, I began to think that we might not escape this one intact. Then we found what I’m pretty sure was a wheat field. It had grown into something else. All those vines and plants that I would call weeds were in a battle to reclaim the land. The actual rows were hard to find, but we were able to weasel our way through.

When we found the great big John Deere, Eric came up with a brilliant plan. So now we’re sitting in this huge storage section. We even have a bed of decomposing stalks to rest on. It smells like rotten leaves, and there are a lot of bugs, but it is better than being eaten by zombies. We’ve heard them pass by for the last couple of hours and the sun will be setting soon.

The smell ain’t the greatest, but I’ve smelled worse. I’m not exactly sure where we are, and we won’t know until tomorrow if our little plan worked. The hope is that when we peek over the lip of this long, metal bin…the coast will be clear. We’ll resume heading east until we rejoin the highway. Our gas station map says that we shouldn’t run into much more than pencil-dot towns until we cross into Nevada.

Hard to say what we will find in the small towns, but I’m actually a little tingly when I think about reaching Winnemucca. Not only will it represent the best chance at scavenging, it should provide a challenge…some real fighting. What the hell is wrong with me?

Sunday, May 23

Nothing. That is all there is to see for miles in every direction. To the south, I can see the uneven horizon of a distant mountain range. The landscape will funnel us to the remnants of the highway…eventually. But for now, there is just nothing here.

To the southwest we’ve seen tendrils of smoke from multiple small fires. Eric is convinced that there is a small community over there; probably on the shores of Malheur Lake.

There are a surprising number of streams and creeks to be found. I don’t know what exactly I expected, but after miles of high desert, this is like a whole other world. We’ve discovered an abundance of edible plants, and even rabbits. Lots of rabbits. Either the zombies aren’t interested, or they just can’t catch them.

Monday, May 24

Thunder. Lightning. Rain.

Tuesday, May 25

The reddish-brown clay or dirt, or whatever the hell you call the crap that is so dominant around these parts, is sticking to everything. Every hour or so, we have to stop in order to scrape the stuff off the tires of our carts and the soles of our boots. It would be a disaster if we have to move with any sort of urgency. We are finding that more and more of the highway is gone.

Also, we ran across something that made us stop for the day: a military caravan. Tanks, Jeeps, troop transports, the whole ball of wax are here. There isn’t a sign of a living soul having been through here in…ever. Even though we don’t expect to find anything too exciting—that is still functional—we will search everything thoroughly in the morning. Tonight, I’m sleeping in an honest-to-goodness tank. Alone. You never realize how much you miss your privacy until you never have any.

Wednesday, May 26

Swapped out into some nicer boots. I’m fairly certain he won’t miss them. More and more I am finding that I have lowered my standards on what is acceptable. For instance, the young man whom I discovered inside a tank with his brains blown out from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the face; it wasn’t until just now that I gave a thought to the fact that I peeled his boots off his feet. Or that they are now snuggly fitting on my own.

Tonight we’re in a tiny one stoplight town called Lawen. There is nothing to see. However, there was a bottle of disinfectant on the shelf of this little market. After ransacking a few residences—mostly trailers—I also happened across some ultra-thick socks. Eric hit the real jackpot, though. He found a never-been-opened three-pack of tightie-whities. In his size!

Thursday, May 27

All day long we had a lone shambler on our tail. We’ve been walking along Highway 78 all this time, and today we settled into a groove along this stretch of empty, void-of-any-life, washed out road. At some point, I glanced over my shoulder and saw it. It was just a dark shape moving through the shimmering waves of heat rising off the ground on the horizon. I mentioned it to Eric and, in typical fashion, he shrugged and continued walking.

About midday, I asked him if we should double-back and kill it. He explained that it didn’t seem to be drawing a crowd, so what was the problem. I didn’t really have an answer. We found an abandoned farm house on the edge of a cluster of circular crops and made camp. Just before sunset, the zombie staggered up to the porch. It was a woman. You could hear the skin crackle as she moved, and there were nests of insects moving about inside her ripped open and long-since-dried abdomen. A couple of splintered ribs poked through the parchment that was her skin. Also, I’d say she’s taken a few dozen bullets; one that shattered her lower jaw.

I ended her existence by planting my axe in her forehead. Afterwards, Eric and I sat down for a bitter—but strangely good—dandelion salad with a dash of apple vinegar and a pair of roasted rabbits.

Is this really all there is? I am beginning to wonder why I’m doing this. Don’t get me wrong, I do not doubt my choices, nor will I be going out and tossing myself into a ravenous herd of zombies any time soon. I am simply trying to figure out what possessed me to do this. And to take that question one step further; why did Eric join me?

What do I really hope to find in Vegas? And let’s say that the lights are on. Will I settle down and call it home? Why would I think I will be any happier there than at The Compound, Sunset Fortress…or Irony, USA for that matter?

All I’m truly doing is roaming a dead world. What would all the shrinks—who seemed to have a label for everything back in the pre-apocalyptic world—say about me? Was I always like this? Or, did the situation mold me into who I am now. I mean, I’ve met some wonderful people, and I’ve met some monsters disguised as human beings. Did this event bring out the “real” person lurking inside each of us? Did it break us all in some way, and this is the Phoenix that rose from the individual ashes?

I can hear the low, distant rumble of thunder. The smell of rain is floating on the night breeze. A chill is in the air just like any other night in the desert and I’m sensing…something.

There is that wrongness out there in the darkness again. When I close my eyes, I can feel it closing in. Not just on me. On everybody.

Saturday, May 29

We didn’t travel far these past couple of days. We found a small town. Unfortunately it has been mostly burned to the ground. However, there were a few places to rummage through.

We looked for bikes, but didn’t find anything worth a damn. It looks like survivors were here and tried to make a stand. Something went wrong at the small airfield. That’s where the fire seems to have started.

One thing I’ve learned in all of this is to trust my instincts. I feel like we’re being watched. I’ve been keeping my eye on Eric, but he doesn’t seem concerned, cautious, or anything out of the ordinary. As for Sam, other than hiking his leg every ten seconds, nothing. Seriously, who or what can possibly pee that much.

Sunday, May 30

Something is definitely watching us. Eric finally said, “I can feel something piercing my skin like tiny needles.”

Well thanks for finally joining the party. Sam still appears clueless and continues his cycle of sniff and pee…sniff and pee.

There is a lake to the west of us—on our right as we are now headed directly south—and clusters of those circular crops so prevalent in this region. I think there is a cluster of survivors set up off in that direction. Campfires have a very distinct look. These were pretty big. That means that whoever they are, they aren’t scared of revealing their location.

But back to whatever is following us. Obviously it isn’t a zombie. Zombies don’t stalk their prey. They just stumble out and hope for the best. Not that zombies feel hope…who knows what I mean.

Something is out there. It is hiding in the shadows as darkness spreads its blanket over the world again. And whatever it is, I would swear that I feel its misery…pain…anger.

Monday, May 31

His name is Cody. He turned sixteen yesterday. It took most of the afternoon to get those two pieces of information from him. Not that he actually told us. We learned it when we finally got the book pried from his hands.

Cody was carrying one of those baby books that new parents buy and fill in diligently for about the first three months. He was also carrying a wicked looking blade and the mother of all slingshots. (Eric tried it out and put one of those little steel balls that Cody has in a pouch hanging from his belt through a car door.)

Cody has been bitten. More than once. He is missing two fingers on his left hand—which he seems to favor nonetheless—and his right cheek and lower lip are mostly scar tissue. It is safe to assume that he is immune.

We didn’t find him so much as he found Sam. Or…Sam got close enough for the boy to grab hold. When I heard the yelp from a nearby gulley, I took off expecting to see my dog being turned into zombie chow. What I saw initially seemed to confirm my fears. I was bringing up my crossbow when Eric touched my arm and made me stop.

The filthy creature wasn’t trying to eat my dog. Instead, he was hugging him and scratching the exposed belly. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell that it was a boy. His face was so caked in dirt that I didn’t see the soft, downy hair on his chin.

The boy paid absolutely no attention to either me or Eric. He just sat in the dust, holding Sam and petting him while making these strange cooing sounds. Eric whispered that I should keep an eye on him while he nabbed us a meal.

An hour later, we had a pair of rabbits on the spit over an open fire. The filthy mess eyed us like he expected us to turn into zombies at any moment. He didn’t warm up to me or Eric when we offered food. However, once he had a full stomach, it wasn’t long before his eyes began to droop.

As soon as they closed, Eric pounced. It was actually a fairly even fight. That kid managed to open up a nasty gash on Eric’s forehead with his bony little knuckles. Once he was secured, Eric toted the trussed and angry boy to a nearby stream for a bath.

While that little war raged—causing Sam no end of grief; I haven’t seen the dog that agitated, ever—I flipped through the book that was bundled up in plastic garbage bags. What I saw was almost enough to make me cry.

There was a family photo on the first page, titled “Our New Family” in carefully hand-etched calligraphy. The mother, Marie according to the caption, was clutching the tightly bundled infant in her arms with a smile that only new mothers are capable of. Standing behind her, with his hands resting on her shoulder and waist, is the father, Chad.

There are a dozen or so other photos, but it is something about that first one that is so heartbreakingly sad. I actually began to feel guilty flipping through the pages of this young man’s life. I made certain to replace it exactly as I found it.

Once Eric finished cleaning Cody up, the boy curled into the fetal position and went to sleep. That’s when Eric told me about the rest of the bodily injuries. Apparently, along with his lower lip, Cody is missing most of his tongue.

I’m not sure about what will happen now. We haven’t asked him to join us, and I’m not sure he will want to even if we did.

One more thing; that feeling of disquiet I’ve had? It isn’t gone. Whatever has been gnawing at my nerves…it isn’t this boy.

Tuesday, June 1

At Eric’s insistence, we got up this morning, ate a light breakfast, left some for the boy, and then started on our way. Stupid Sam didn’t want to leave Cody behind and I actually had to use his leash. The road curled slightly in an eastern direction and took us into a gouged out valley.

A twisting creek is winding along beside us as we go. In a few spots it has cut away the ever-deteriorating highway. However, it would seem that there are plenty of fish. We were cooking a lunch of trout over a small campfire when Cody strolled up and nonchalantly sat down across from Eric and me.

Naturally, Sam padded over and plopped down beside the boy. We ate in silence and then resumed our journey until we came upon a half-collapsed roadside motel.

Up ahead, the mountains look ominous. I think I understand the mindset of ancient civilizations better. Those mountains look so dark and forbidding. And with the clouds stacked up against them, there is a feeling of mystery. The world is silent save for an occasional flash in those distant clouds followed by the low, sonorous rumble of thunder.

Friday, June 4

I’ll say this much…Cody can handle his business in a fight.

The steady climb into the Steens Mountains was much more arduous than I remember Mount Hood being. We were moving slow, and my calves felt like rubber bands that had been stretched to the point of nearly snapping by midday. And that was on the first day.

It was on the second day that the squeaking rumble woke us about an hour before sunrise. We were well off of the road, camped up on a large, flat ledge that gave us a good view of the pass below in both directions. In the direction we were moving, there was a curve in the road about a mile off. It was from around that corner that we saw the strangely modified truck come rolling along.

It was one of those big ones with two rear axles and chrome sideboards running along the elongated bed. The cab had been transformed into a cage like one of those cars in the old county fair Zipper rides. Inside was a man. A big, fat, bald man with the hairiest body I have ever seen on a human. He had a handlebar mustache that sported curlicues at the ends like a cartoon villain that went great with the two-pronged goatee he was sporting.

A long, metal bar extended from where the engine used to be. Chained to each crossbar that had been welded to it were a mixture of two living humans and fourteen zombies. The living folks were in front to urge the zombies forward in a twisted parody of carrot-and-the-stick. The driver was using some sort of elaborate braking lever to keep the vehicle from trundling out of control down the hill.

When Cody took off down the rocky embankment, I might’ve briefly considered leaving him to his own fate. No, I didn’t like what I was seeing, but in my defense, I’d just woke up and my legs were killing me. My calves actually feel like somebody is flaying them right now. Then Sam bounded off after the boy and I wasn’t left with any other choice.

There was some sort of narrow slit in the side of the cage where the driver sat. I’ll never know how Cody did it, but he fired a shot from his wrist rocket that found that small opening. I don’t know where he hit the driver, only that he did. That was bad news for the two living souls in front of the long metal pole. The manual brake must need to be held down, because after a pained gurgle, the truck began to pick up speed. It built quite a head of steam before it veered into the solid rock that bordered one side of where the road should be.

We were so fixated on the spectacle that, by the time any of us recognized the sound, five three-wheeled choppers came around the bend and were bearing down on us. We had no choice but to fight. Any thoughts to the contrary evaporated with the boom of a double-barreled shotgun that reverberated through the entire carved out pass.

Eric went down like a sack of rocks. Things were a little blurry after that. I had enough time to fire my crossbow once, then draw an axe and hurl it. Cody, on the other hand, managed three shots with his wrist rocket before any of the riders were able to locate us and fire another round. I moved in on those he’d injured with my blades drawn to make sure nobody got back up.

As for Eric…he’s fine. Mostly. His chest is badly bruised from the rubber balls. I guess those guys prefer to take their victims alive.

We are fairly certain that their camp is not far away. I have no desire to search for it.

As for Cody, I chewed his ass good for charging into a fight like an idiot. He didn’t look all that chastised when I was finished. Eric was silent through the whole thing. Whether out of pain or something else, I have no idea.

Here is my problem: Why did I bitch out that kid for something I would’ve done myself not more than a year ago? The only real difference being that I would’ve done it in a way that tried to save those poor souls chained in the front of that truck.

We’ll camp for a few days before moving on. We found a really sturdy old National Forest Visitor’s Center. It was on a mostly overgrown access road that led into the tall pines. The dust in here is thick enough that it is obvious nobody has been here for a long time. That makes this the ideal place to rest up while Eric recovers. He wouldn’t have asked, but his pain is obvious.

Saturday, June 5

Holy crap!  Bears!

Today we watched a large, brownish bear sit in the shade of the trees while its cubs played in the open, sun lit field. Seeing a grizzly (Eric said it was a young, female grizzly) in the wild is a big difference from seeing one in the zoo.

I am told it is a big deal. Not that I would know, but I guess it has been generations since grizzlies walked wild in these parts.

Sam was a handful. That stupid dog wanted to go outside and check out the visitors. Eventually I got him corralled in a closet where I left him until our visitors wandered off to do whatever it is that bears do in the woods. Today was the first time that my dog was completely out of control. Sam hates bears more than zombies…good to know.

We did find a few things around here that we could use: kerosene, two bottles of hydrogen peroxide, some fishing gear, and a rugged looking radio that came with a pair of nine-volt batteries that tested good in their little display pack battery tester.

Of course we didn’t pick up any signals, but it will be nice to have and make periodic checks with; especially when we get closer to Vegas. (I know that I need to see it for myself and it doesn’t matter if anybody is still alive there or not.) I also like that we can see if there is anybody else out there transmitting. I picked up that initial Vegas signal from northeastern Oregon with a clunky old normal radio. Perhaps we’ll find other places to see after Vegas with this baby.

I say “we” but I do not count on anybody making these trips with me. One post-apocalyptic walkabout is probably all Eric has in his tank.

Wednesday, June 9

I should learn to trust my intuition. After all, it has kept me alive this long. Now, I’m alone in the middle of nowhere and basically stripped of all but the most basic and meager supplies. I have two filtration canteens, my crossbow with seventeen bolts, my spike-tipped walking stick, a long knife, machete, and an empty backpack; empty save for the journals.

Oh yeah…and my dog.

The day after the bears, Eric and Cody were down at the creek trying out the new fishing gear. I was impatient to resume our trip, but didn’t feel right asking Eric to travel yet. He was obviously still in a great deal of discomfort. Also, he and Cody were bonding. To be perfectly honest, I think that I was a teensy bit jealous of them. I’ve known Eric for quite some time, but we’ve never been what I’d call close. As for Cody, well, we’d just met him, but it was clear that he preferred Sam’s or Eric’s company over mine.

I decided to take advantage of their absence to enjoy a little ‘me’ time. Guys are so funny about that sort of thing. They think that they have the market cornered. Back in the Old Days, men would be surprised to know how often we ladies had to finish the job they started after they rolled over and went to sleep.

Anyways, I was just finishing up and debating on whether or not I would mosey down to the creek to see if I could embarrass the boys by taking a bath. (If I am being totally honest, I think I was suffering from the lack of attention…and horniness. I don’t think that I would’ve ever considered sex with Eric, but it would’ve been nice to know if I could at least raise his eyebrows.)

That’s when I heard the scream.

Coming from Eric made it all the more terrifying. To my credit, I buckled on my gear and grabbed my crossbow. I know better than to rush into a fight without my stuff. Plus, most of what I carried was still hanging on belts or straps attached to my clothes. When I threw open the door and stepped outside, I knew that there was nothing that I could do.

A wall of undead was pouring through the trees. It was a massive horde. There had to literally be thousands. It took me several seconds of standing there like an idiot to fully process what I was seeing. Here. In the middle of nowhere. The biggest herd I’d ever seen with my own two eyes. I say that because, from where I stood, they stretched on in either direction for as far as I could see.

Sam’s barking is probably what saved me in the end. My faithful companion was sprinting across the field. Turning my head to the left, I saw one of the advance stragglers step around the corner of the building. She’d been a big girl in real life. Not fat…I mean WNBA big. She was well over six feet tall.

The screams had already ceased. I doubted that there would be enough left of Eric or Cody to come back considering the size of this pack. I would never learn how this herd came up on Eric and caught him by surprise. Then it dawned on me…I hadn’t heard a sound. Not a moan, groan, or baby cry.

My walking stick was actually leaning by the doorway out on the porch. I grabbed it and jabbed it through the freakishly tall female zombie’s chin and up into her head where it burst out through the top of the skull. I let the body fall off the porch and free up my walking stick.

I grabbed the canteens and the backpack from just inside the door. I knew that there was no time to pack anything. Going inside would likely seal my fate. I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t run. So, that’s what I did. I ran. Just like Rose and the Doctor…Sam and I ran.

We made our way back to the wide swathe where Highway 78 used to be—it is so washed out through here that it really looks like nothing more than a very wide trail. All that day I kept up a fast walk or slow jog. Sam trotted alongside me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like everything was just fine and dandy.

We passed cars and trucks. Some empty. Some not. But we never stopped. Every time I looked over my shoulder, I saw them. At some point, I actually stopped looking. But as the shadows of the early evening began to grow long, and a chilly breeze began drying the sweat that still clung to my body, I looked to find…nothing. It was as if it had all been an illusion.

That was when I realized that the area around me was changing. The trees were gone. Just before it got dark, I passed a sign that said something about lava fields.

We actually backtracked and found a place to camp for the night where we still had trees to hide amongst. Sometime in the middle of the night, that herd must’ve stumbled upon the camp or base of the guys that we had it out with the other day. The sounds of distant gunfire and those awful screams came. It sorta reminded me of microwave popcorn. It started slow, and then there was a flurry, then a few aftershocks of noise…then silence.

My desire to continue on was hampered by the fact that I was exhausted. I didn’t feel I would be able to push through a day under the sun if I didn’t get some rest. Also, Sam didn’t look like he could go on much more. His head had drooped at some point and he was barely getting his feet off the ground by the time that we stopped. The last factor was that we would be out of water soon. I didn’t want to miss even the tiniest creek.

The rest of the night, I slipped in and out of sleep. I woke to a pale sky without even the slightest wisp of a cloud. There wouldn’t be any relief from the sun. And it was already showing signs of getting warm. The only good news that day was the lack of any signs or sounds of zombies…or survivors from that camp or compound that got overrun.

Thursday, June 10

Being completely on my own seems weird. I can’t actually remember being alone like this since this whole thing started. Sure, there have been moments; periods of time when I was all by myself. But right now, for the first time, I am totally alone.

I woke this morning and crawled out of the bushes that I’d chosen to hide in while I slept…and discovered that Sam is gone. I’ve called him. I’ve looked around.

Nothing.

I am in the middle of nowhere.

Alone.

I haven’t moved from this spot in the hopes that my stupid dog will come back. I can’t stay for long because I have less than a quarter of a canteen left as of right now and haven’t found any water. I won’t die of thirst. I can backtrack if need be in order to refill at one of those mountain streams.

Tomorrow, I will press on and give myself a full day to find more water. But today…today…I’m just gonna sit here.

And cry.

Saturday, June 12

No dog. No zombies. Nothing. Although I am nestled in on this rock that has a clump of scrubby looking bushes sticking out from the—wall?  No, that isn’t right, but it will have to do. I am above a creek that is tiny enough to step over. Oh yeah, and I’m roasting a pair of rabbits that I nailed with my crossbow.

I got all my tears out yesterday. I don’t think that all of them were for my dog. Even as quiet as he was, I miss having Eric around. He was something special.

Sunday, June 13

Reached a three-way intersection this morning. The military will never make sense to me. They had a large presence here. There is a giant, fenced perimeter with about a hundred zombies milling behind the ten foot high barricade. All of them are wearing the remnants of their uniforms.

I saw a few things in there that looked very tempting. But there is no realistic way that I could’ve gone in and made it out alive. If I were the heroine in an action film—I’m looking at you Mila Jojovich—I’d have gotten in with no problems.

Anyways, south of that junction I came across an old graveyard. The stone wall around it was still intact, so that is where I am camped for the night. Of all things, there is a burned out restaurant in front.

Sometimes you stumble upon something that makes you scratch your head. “Hey, waitress, could we get a window seat?  We are here to visit grandma’s grave and might as well do that over the meatloaf special.”

South. My trail leads me directly south. I know that if I keep heading that way, eventually I will reach Vegas. The only thing that sucks—besides the million other normal things associated with everyday life—is that when I grabbed my backpack and ran, I lost that nifty radio. Also, the gas station maps with our route highlighted were in Eric’s bag. My one consolation is that both Sam’s journal and mine were in my pack. I believe I would’ve risked going back if I’d left them behind. I just wish I’d had a little food and that radio in my pack.

Thinking back, I realize just how sloppy I have gotten. I’d been relying on Eric. I won’t make that mistake again. Always be ready to run. That is Rule Number One when you are out in the wilderness. My backpack should always be stocked so that if I have to grab it and run, I’ll have all I need for a few days at least.

Monday, June 14

My only happiness in a while came today. I was actually kicking this rock and not doing anything more than convincing myself to keep putting one foot in front of another. Then my rock went under this RV. It wasn’t anything fancy. In fact, it looked far worse than could be accounted for with simple neglect, age, and weathering. This vehicle looked bad.

There were brown stains all over the side door—old blood obviously. A body that had dried out to almost nothing but the skeleton was still in the driver’s seat. A wash of icky stuff was spayed all over the inside of the window from where the guy had eaten a bullet.

I had to go in and take a look just in case there was something in there worth taking. Mostly I was hoping for food. I set down my pack and decided that my long knife would be my best weapon in such close quarters. I’d climbed up on the front bumper for a look inside, but just because I didn’t see anything didn’t mean it was safe.

I pulled open the side door and was greeted by an old death smell. Not the nasty rot or zombie funk, just the bitter stench of old death. Nothing tumbled out or anything, so I went inside.

This RV used to belong to a group of guys about my age—mid-twenties. They were a band. A folded up banner revealed a wordy if not intriguing name: James Dean Kindle and the Eastern Oregon Playboys. Guitar cases, keyboards, drums, and a variety of instruments that I could not identify were strewn about. The photos that I found in a scrapbook show the four of them performing. I only found two bodies. One of them was locked in the bathroom with an empty bottle of booze and a bunch of pill containers. That couldn’t have been pleasant.

There is a lot of blood, long since dried and turned into a series of dark stains. Also, I found a hand with a bite out of it that had been chopped off and thrown in the sink. Poor bastard.

As for food, I found a jar of rancid peanut butter, a lump of moldy cheese—at least I think it was cheese—and two tins of smoked sardines. I ate the fish and drank lukewarm water from my canteen while I enjoyed my real find: an iPod. It has all kinds of artists that I have never heard of before.

Alexa Wiley…Laura Gibson…and of course JDK and the Eastern Oregon Playboys.

The battery only lasted a little over an hour. Surprisingly, there was enough juice in the auxiliary battery of the RV for a full recharge. But it was neat listening to music. I probably would have never heard any of these people in the Old World. And the sad part is just how good they are. It almost seems like a crime that talentless, over-processed hacks like Britney and that Simpson girl got airplay while folks like this languished in anonymity.

Then there were the pictures. You could tell that these boys had fun performing and playing music. And you could’ve walked right past them in the grocery store and not known how talented they were.

I’m keeping the iPod in hopes of finding more opportunities to charge it. It would be nice to listen to them again. I didn’t travel far today. But it’s not like I have a schedule to keep.

Tuesday, June 15

I woke up this morning to a loner pawing at the side of the RV. Imagine my surprise when I threw open the side door—after taking a look out of all the windows to ensure it was just the one—and came face-to-face with the owner of the hand I’d found in the sink.

As hard as it is to believe, one of the Playboys…or maybe JDK, hell, I don’t know…was standing there. He was barely recognizable from the pictures I’d seen yesterday. Funny thing is that I didn’t recognize his face so much as the remnants of the tattered shirt he was wearing. It was the same one I’d seen on the tall, skinny guitar player in several of the photos. I almost felt…something. Maybe like I was doing this thing a favor by ending its miserable undead existence when I stuck the knife in its temple. It was my way of saying, “Thanks for the music.”

Then I did something very much not like me. As I sit beside this stream and watch the sun set, I still don’t know why. I dragged the body inside the RV with the other two and torched the thing. I punctured the gas tank and used a flare from the emergency roadside kit I found under the passenger’s seat.

I can still see the dark smudge in the sky.

Thursday, June 17

People.

I’ve come across a tent city built along what I assume was once an airstrip. There is literally nothing remarkable about this place. No fences, no barricades, nothing.

The people here are friendly enough. I had a fantastic meal of rabbit stew and flat bread. They have gardens scattered about with a variety of things growing. They even have homemade soap! This nice lady gave me some—and encouraged me to “enjoy” it right away. I had a bath down at the stream that runs through just south of camp.

They are a very religious group. But not religious in the crazy Genesis Brotherhood way…or any of the other wacky fringe types. These folks are actually very nice. They even invited me to church and didn’t flip out when I paused long enough for them to see that I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect.

I can hear them over in the tent right now. They’re singing and sound legitimately happy. I catch snatches of the preacher’s sermon. He isn’t yelling or telling everybody how much they need to change. Actually, it sounds like he is just reading the bible.

There is a little girl here. I’ve seen her two or three times. Just glimpses really. She is immune. One of her arms is scar tissue from elbow to wrist. She has a long, blonde braid and sparkly eyes. Each time that I see her, she is laughing.

These people are frighteningly normal.

Saturday, June 19

Back on the road. Don’t get me wrong, the people were great, and it was nice to have conversations with somebody other than myself for a change. Not to mention the luxury of not having to worry about food, or becoming food if you nap too soundly. It just felt…crowded.

Crazy. Right?  Here I am, trying to reach a city like Las Vegas that might be secure enough to have electrical power, and I’m all buggy about a few dozen people living in a tent city.

Honestly, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing anymore. Even worse, those folks told me that I am two or three days from the border town of McDermitt. It is thick with zombies, but reportedly has a good amount of scavengeable goods. Whole stores are intact. Imagine…aisles of canned goods…hygiene products. (That is good, because I’m due for a visit from Aunt Irma any day now, and what little I had in feminine products were left behind at the forestry center where Eric died.) There might even be some firepower to be had.

I asked why it is that nobody has made a run on the place if it is so well stocked. It seems that the good people of McDermitt did the same thing as the folks at Burns. Only, the infection was already inside the walls. People have tried, but it never ends well. I guess you know where I am headed.

Tuesday, June 22

It has been a long, boring climb into these mountains. The good news is how cool it has been temperature-wise. I’ve been lucky. The bad part has been how cold the nights are. I had to sleep out in the open last night because I couldn’t find a vehicle or shack of any sort.

Tonight, I am safe and sound in a firewatcher’s tower. It doesn’t have any windows, but it is off of the ground. There are telltale signs that other survivors have stayed here. The ground is littered with empty cans with labels faded into unreadability. Also, there is an arm. Well…that’s not entirely accurate. There are the skeletal remains of an arm; complete with missing pinky which was obviously bitten off.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single thing to drink. I had to bring my water from about two miles away. It wasn’t terrible, but it is inconvenient. I imagine that is why nobody stayed here permanently.

The best find—besides this sturdy, secure tower—is all the blackberries. I used an empty plastic jug that I found and washed it out to gather a bunch. I easily ate more than I picked, which is why it took so long to eventually come up with a full jug to snack on when I start hiking again.

There is a lot of wildlife in the area. Just sitting here snacking on blackberries, I’ve seen a pair of wolves, a deer, an elk (at least I think it was an elk), and a REALLY big bird that I think was an eagle. Oh…and bugs. Lots and lots of bugs.

Tonight, I shall dine like a queen. The deer I mentioned?  Yeah…it is dressed and a haunch is currently roasting over my fire. I dragged all the icky stuff down by the stream I mentioned that is a couple miles away in hopes that it will keep any wandering beasties far from my camp.

Wednesday, June 23

Wow!  Last night, from up in the tower, I spotted over a dozen other fires scattered throughout these hills. A few were in clusters. This is perhaps the largest signs of life I have encountered since being in Portland. Of course, in Portland, you heard more than saw other people.

I guess it makes sense. The zombie presence is minimal if not non-existent. There is an obvious abundance of wild game and fuel in the form of the wood. I imagine that farming is possible. Plus, there are lots of edible plants if you know what to look for (like Eric did). I wish I’d paid better attention when he came to me with all those leaves and roots.

I’ll move on tomorrow.

Thursday, June 24

I am camped out in a completely looted, vile-smelling farmhouse. I had to backtrack here to camp for the night and get some good sleep. The walled town is only a few miles down the road. I want to get there just before sunrise to ensure the most time possible for exploring.

I’ll get as much rest tonight as possible, but I have seen a few roaming stragglers. Just on my return trip to this place I had to put down a pair of zombies. They were holding hands! That’s the first time that I’ve seen something like that. My original thought as I was approaching was that perhaps they were stuck that way. I checked…the fingers were actually laced.

Weird.

Saturday, June 26

Zombies are only a part of the problem. I’m in the high school locker room catching my breath from yesterday. And it wasn’t a zombie that almost did me in. Somebody has managed to exist here amidst at least a few hundred of the undead. What’s worse, they’ve set up booby-traps using the zombies! Or at least parts of them.

I found the first such trap right after scaling the northern wall. I was near a building that I was fairly certain used to be a bank. All the windows were painted black, but the doors were gone. I peeked in and a pair of dead hands snagged me by my hair. A creeper was suspended upside-down just above the main doorway. When I stepped inside, I triggered a release mechanism that dropped the thing right on top of me.

To make things more entertaining in this little slice of Hell, I think at least half the zombies are wearing helmets. Somebody has way too much time on their hands.

Since then, I’ve walked around blind corners to find a dozen still-animated heads suspended from wires, more creepers—many obviously made that way intentionally—than I have ever seen before in one place at one time. There are also regular traps designed to maim or kill. Even the rooftops have been rigged in places.

My shoulders are sore from all the killing I did today. And while I haven’t seen this mystery person, I know that he or she is out there somewhere…watching me. Two of the traps that I triggered intentionally have been reset.

Okay, I get it. This is “your” turf. But aren’t you being just a bit greedy? There is enough here for several people to live off of for another year or so easily. Using that time, gardens could be planted; the hills are teeming with animals that would keep an abundance of meat on the table.

Oh well, this isn’t my problem. I just want to load up with enough essentials to last a while and be on my way. I’ll try to do this without going heads-up with the resident of this dead town. I’ve gathered a few things; womanly things, a sleeping bag, a stone and steel for blade sharpening,

Today I wandered the halls of this school. I half-expected the person to be hiding out here. The building is well-barricaded with a reinforced fence that goes all the way around. There is a courtyard with a barbecue pit that had warm, smoldering coals in it.

Tomorrow, the plan is to grab a few things; perhaps fishing gear and some canned goods from one of the grocery stores. Instant coffee wouldn’t suck, either. Now there’s a sentence that I never thought I’d utter.

One last thing…I will get a map of Nevada. I’d love an atlas, but I’ll settle for one of those foldy things. As long as the resident or residents of this place leave me be, I will be gone tomorrow.

Sunday, June 27

I met the Keeper of McDermitt. He’s not at all what I expected. His name is Michael DeNoma, and his story is…

I can’t explain it. He and I have an indirect tie. He was in the prison in Pendleton where Sam and the others stayed briefly after their capture. I was floored when that bomb dropped. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I was leaving. It was around noon when I had my things on a line and had thrown the end over the wall when I heard a quiet voice tell me to “be careful, there’s a few roaming around outside today.”  I almost broke my neck, it whipped around so fast.

When I laid eyes on him, I almost laughed. This was no action hero or Road Warrior wanna-be. What I saw was an incredibly overweight young man with crazy orange hair and the scraggliest wildman beard—also orange—that I’ve ever seen in my life.

His more-than-ample belly sagged over the folded down waist of his jean shorts. His skin was ghostly white except for his glorious farmer’s tan.

When I didn’t speak right away, he brought up the sword he carried in his left hand. His expression switched to that of concern, like perhaps he thought that I would attack him. One thing that I learned over the next few hours was that this guy could never sit down at a poker table and hope to win.

I thanked him for the warning and turned to go. That’s when he called out.

“Wait.”

Just a single word, but there was so much in it; pleading, longing, loneliness, sorrow. All the worst feelings that a person can feel existed in that single word. So…I turned back to face him.

After a brief exchange, we decided to go back to the high school. We started talking while he pulled out his secret stash of junk food. (At least it explained the obesity.) He showed me how a lot of the stuff still hadn’t even reached the expiration date. Ah, the marvels of science.

We ate, drinking a bottle of Dr. Pepper that had a funky aftertaste, and talked. Actually, he did most of the talking. That’s when I discovered that he’d been in prison. When the inmates took over, he was one of the “freaks” who survived. When the opportunity came and people were given the option to stay or go, he left. He wanted to save his mother. He didn’t.

After that, he travelled. Sometimes alone and sometimes with others. He heard the Las Vegas broadcast one night and started heading that way. When he reached McDermitt, he expected the same reaction he’d gotten in Burns. That’s when he heard the screams coming from within the walls. He cursed his poor physical fitness because, by the time he was over the wall, the screaming had stopped. It only took him a moment to discover the source…a crowd of those things hunched over a body pulling out strands of insides and ripping off hunks of meat.

Something in that moment broke him. He didn’t have the nerve to simply offer himself over to the mob, but he made up his mind that he was done with running. He searched every residence and business for survivors. After three weeks, he was certain that he was alone.

Everything fell into a routine after that. He called it his daily cat-and-mouse game. The booby-traps came after that first winter. Three men showed up and just started to ransack the place. He didn’t have the nerve to confront them, but they broke into the town’s iconic White Horse Inn. They drank too much, too fast. The former citizens took care of the problem from there.

He went to work the next day rigging traps. He was often surprised at what he came up with. Everything evolved to what it is now from that day.

I’ll leave in the morning. I asked Michael if he wanted to come along. He said no. His only reason was that he just didn’t see the point. Did it matter if he died on the road, or in this dead town?  At least here he would be relatively comfortable and never worry about food. I guess he doesn’t expect to outlive his resources. Looking at him, I’d say that is a good guess, but he has defied the odds so far.

Monday, June 28

Back on the road.

As I head south, the left side of this sometimes invisible highway is dotted with more than the occasional body hanging from the big power line structures. Many of them are still moving. However, several of the bodies finally succumbed to the strain. There are piles of bodies, and even the assorted head or two, strewn about. It’s gross.

There are signs written in a strange language along the way. It took me most of the day to remember where I’d seen that type of writing before. It’s the Natives. I saw the same sort of stuff when I was at Warm Springs with Eric.

I stopped around midday at some ransacked, old casino. You might say that I hit the jackpot. It had shade! The sun is blazing. I’ve drank a lot of water. Since I’m alone, I will be changing my travel times from morning to late afternoon and early morning. The heat is just too brutal for travel.

Thursday, July 1

Cody survived! And my stupid dog is back. My stupid, wonderful dog.

From what I gather, (Cody scribbled this down for me on a few scraps of paper) he escaped because of the actions of Eric. The big idiot sacrificed himself so that this young man could have a chance. Cody was able to run, and followed the stream until he lost his footing on a slippery, flat rock. His ankle made a loud popping sound that he could hear above the noises of the water, moaning zombies, and Eric’s screams.

He tried to stand, but couldn’t. All he could do was drag himself with his hands—the one missing two fingers sure didn’t help—down the stream. Twice, he went over small waterfalls. Both times were incredibly painful; the second time, Cody lost consciousness. He has no idea how he didn’t drown or end up eaten.

By that night, his foot was almost black and swollen so bad that he had to cut off his shoe. He couldn’t walk, and kept hearing zombies groaning, crying, and crashing through the brush. He managed to climb up in a tree where he stayed for two days.

Then he got sick. He doesn’t remember much over those next couple of days. The next thing he does remember is Sam curled up beside him. That explains where my dog went, but I don’t know whether to be proud of him…or jealous.

When he recovered, Cody said he started off in search of me, and it was Sam who led him in the correct direction. Sam walked and Cody followed because he didn’t have anything better to do and he liked having a dog around. Talk about making a girl feel special.

He didn’t enter McDermitt. Sam skirted it and wandered around most of the day until he picked up my trail again.

So…here we are…one big, happy family.

Friday, July 2

Reached the empty—for the most part, but I will get to that in a minute—and surprisingly intact town of Orovada. This place was worth a day long stop. Had I known we were so close, I would have pushed through yesterday. I guess I don’t even think about it anymore, but remember all those signs that used to tell you how far to the next town?  Most of those are gone. For whatever reason, they are basically extinct.

This place couldn’t have been home to very many people before. There are a couple of small schools and a lot of farm equipment. Also, a family of five.

Yes, today we met Jack Billings, his wife Candela, and their children, Enzo, Monica, and Lupe. They were not only friendly, and insisted that we stay for a few days and refresh ourselves, they requested that Sam be allowed to hook up with a pair of his bitches that are due to go into heat any day now. Jack said he was starting to get concerned about the gene pool of his dogs. (If there are less than fifty running around this town, I’ll pitch a tent and call it home.)

Everywhere you look, dogs of all shapes and sizes are sprawled in the shade. Looking around, it didn’t take me long to come up with a million questions. But I settled on two.

How in the hell are you surviving out here in the middle of nowhere? Take your pick, zombies or raiders, you should be easy pickings.

Jack showed me an impressive array of booby-traps, but that still didn’t really assure me of anything. He explained that the Santa Rosa Mountains on the east acted as one buffer, the inhospitable and empty terrain was helpful, but the military presence in Winnemucca to the south was likely the biggest factor.

I was so caught off guard by that statement that I didn’t remember to ask my second question for a few minutes. To his credit, Jack just sat at the table with his hands folded neatly in front while I processed this news. Eventually I asked the second question, but only because I still needed a moment to deal with the answer of the first.

How do you keep all of these dogs fed?  He told me something about plentiful game and that the dogs helped ensure that nothing ever went to waste. He mentioned some process with bone meal, but I wasn’t hearing much of what he said.

Once he finished, I was prepared to dive in and find out about this military presence in Winnemucca. Before I could, he asked me where I was headed. I figured his honesty deserved mine.

Las Vegas.

He said that he figured as much. Then he went on to tell me that most of the military in Winnemucca escaped from Vegas about eight months ago. My ears perked up at the use of the word ‘escape’. What I heard has me more curious than ever before.

The power was, in fact, on in Vegas. Another faction of our military is still there. It seems that two units falling back from California—one from Sacramento and one from Los Angeles—both retreated to Las Vegas. The one from Sacramento went through Reno where they initially planned to stay but were forced to retreat again.  It was during that retreat that they ended up meeting the other unit.

Both were led by colonels who were activated by the National Guard in the first week of the outbreak. It didn’t take long for a pissing contest to start. The Sacramento group’s colonel was technically senior. However, the Los Angeles group had already secured Vegas to a certain point and had power running from the hydro-electric dam nearby. They’d established a secure perimeter and were actively expanding it. At some point, the pissing contest erupted into a fire fight. Several soldiers from both sides ran for it when one of the main walls was blown.

They quickly decided that none of them cared a lick about whose colonel was senior. They all stripped off their rank insignias and headed north. Cutting through the Nellis Air Force Range, they cleaned out every depot and kept going. Somebody suggested Winnemucca because it was fairly remote and had a water resource. It didn’t hurt that there was an ample amount of farm land and a fair distance between there and Vegas.

By the time they arrived, most of the locals were gone, or dead, or deadish. They did find some survivors, and over the past several months have been securing the town.

Of course that begged the new question. Why were he and his family here?

There had been survivors trickling in to Winnemucca on a surprisingly regular basis. At one of the meetings held for all of the citizens, the idea of trying to start settling the surrounding areas came up. Nobody even considered Orovada, but Candela, Jack’s wife, is from here. Good reason as any I guess.

The idea sounds okay, but there is a part of me that can’t believe that this will end successfully. There are simply too many of the walking dead and not enough of the walking living. Compounding the problem, not all of those still alive are what can be considered ‘good’. I give humanity a decade at the most.

My God. Is that why I, for all intents and purposes, abandoned my daughter? Did I do that because I know in my heart that she’s doomed? What does that say about me as a person?  Am I really the heartless bitch that so many people believe me to be? (Hush! That was rhetorical.)

Saturday, July 10

Today was bittersweet. I left Jack and his family in Orovada. I also left Cody. He wanted to stay. He wants to help the Billings family. Also, I think he has a bit of a crush on the thirteen-year-old, Monica. I can’t blame him.

The good thing is that my trusty dog Sam came with me. He didn’t even seem to look back as we hit the road. I gave Cody a hug, but I don’t know why. I didn’t feel any particular attachment to him. I think I may be losing my ability to care about anybody. After all, none of them are permanent fixtures in my life.

My Life.

What will it amount to? I’ve all but conceded that life is hopeless. The undead show no signs of falling over. I took out a couple in the past week that could’ve been around since this nightmare became real. They didn’t smell much worse than some of the folk I’ve travelled with when we were forced to go for days and weeks without cleaning up. They were a little dried out, but still completely mobile. The ancient Egyptians couldn’t preserve bodies this well! I may not know much about science—specifically Biology—but I do know that these things should have decomposed months ago into puddles of unmoving goo, or dried up like a corncob left in the sun. Simply put: they should not be!

Yet, there they are. I left one about a mile back in the middle of the washed out highway that I have been walking on all day. I couldn’t tell if it was a little girl or a little boy. I also couldn’t tell you how many bullet holes were in the body. I can say that most of its permanent teeth were broken and that it still had several baby teeth when it died. I know this because of how empty the mouth was. Funny, the things we observe now.

Sunday, July 11

I slept in a giant earthmover last night. I found it to be strangely comfortable. I watched a summer storm pass through, enjoying the lightshow while I played my iPod (thanks for the charge up, Jack). Laura Gibson goes well with thunder and lightning.

I was thinking back to when all the girls and I left Irony in search of our own adventure. Did we really stop at an adult bookstore to load up on vibrators and such?  While I’m on the subject, I’ve been ‘tending my own needs’ for quite some time now. When I get to Winnemucca, I may have to get just a bit slutty.

Why do guys think that they have the market cornered on sexual urges…or playing with themselves for that matter? Fellas, let me tell you something, women love sex. And if more of you did it right, you’d be more aware of that little fact.

Monday, July 12

Well, I’m in Winnemucca. It’s pretty much like Jack said. The outer-perimeter security is highly impressive. They’ve got fences and moats and towers (oh my!). There are a lot of civilians mixed in with all of the soldiers and everybody seems to be working and doing their share.

The best thing that this place has going for it besides the people is the wind and solar power setup. They don’t use it for trivial things like lights. In fact, all the fixtures and such have been removed. What the power is used for is keeping the wells pumping. Everybody gets a warm, five-minute shower every other day. Also, some of the juice is used to keep the electrical fence hot. The biggest draw on the power comes from the five greenhouses (a dozen more are under construction) that keep these people well fed and something about a factory, but I didn’t really pay attention.

This place has a police force, a fire department, and what has to be a first…a college. It’s broken into six specialized trade schools. There is medicine, agriculture, construction, and military/security. The other two are a streamlined K-12 setup. They’re segregated. Boys at one, girls at the other.

When I arrived, I was taken to a quarantine room and given a full visual look over, then a physical that included all of the standard bodily fluids, pokes, and prods. I can’t say I was treated roughly, but there certainly weren’t any kind words or smiles.

I’ve been interviewed three times; twice on video and once on audio recording. There were various questions, but I noticed a core group that was repeated just using different words. If nothing else, this place is very thorough

When I made it clear that I do not plan on staying, nobody tried to convince me otherwise. I was told that I am welcome to stay for however long I wish, but must sign up for the work pool each day. The good news is that if I work for five days, I get a two day weekend. I was strangely impressed by that.

This place has actual entertainment. In fact, when I first came through the final security checkpoint I could see a softball game taking place off in one of the open fields. I’ve been told that there is a library, a movie bar—apparently there are several booths with big screen televisions and you can check out a movie.

Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am watching everything with a suspicious eye to the point where I refused to let them isolate me from my dog. I told the nice soldier that we were a package deal. If one of us were infected, both were. Some gruff-sounding sergeant told the guy escorting me that it was okay. So, I’ve been present for all of Sam’s checkups as well. Tomorrow I will be allowed out. I was even given a work detail.

Sanitation…hmmm…

Tuesday, July 13

Today I swept floors, hauled trash to a burn site, sorted trash that could be sent to the compost yard, mowed lawns with a push mower, and hung clothes to dry. I met a lot of people, but couldn’t tell you the names of most. There was one girl, Ronni. She is sixteen, and perhaps even more of a hard ass than I am.

I guess she was swept up with the army unit that bugged out from Sacramento and tried to hold Reno. She is the only survivor in her family and had the unpleasant task of putting down her mom, sister, brother, an aunt, and two nieces one by one over the past year. I noticed that she didn’t mention a dad, but when she was flipping through pictures, I did notice two with a man in them. There was no mistaking the eyes.

Anyways, when they handed out work details this evening for tomorrow, I was kinda happy to discover that she and I will be working together at the greenhouse construction site.

Other than that…this place is frighteningly normal. Maybe I was too pessimistic. Maybe we can survive…the unconquerable human spirit and all that.

Wednesday, July 14

I talked to my supervisor today. I can actually “buy” a quality mountain bike and a rugged little trailer. There is no restriction on me. I can leave any time I choose. I’m also welcome to stay as long as I like. If I live here a year, I get to move from my hotel room to one of the private residences. It’s all very structured here.

This evening, I was visited by Betty Childs, the governor. Winnemucca has a governor. And get this, none of the military are eligible. She called it a “conflict of interest” and something about avoiding a police state. They really have it going on here.

Betty’s visit wasn’t strictly social, though she did say that she made it a point to stop in on every new arrival to the community. Her main reason was that she’d read Sam’s journal and wanted to have a copy made for the library. I was happy to oblige. She also wanted to talk to me about my intended trip to Vegas.

I totally forgot about that being in there. I knew it was in mine, but I don’t remember every single thing I wrote or when.

Here’s the deal: Betty didn’t ask me any specifics about my plan. She simply said that if I didn’t like what I saw there, that a team of her people was in Indian Springs and that they would want to meet with me. She didn’t tell me how I could find them or anything. Just that there were some folks there. I wasn’t really able to ask her too many questions, and she was very good at leading me away from subjects that she didn’t want to discuss. She repeated a few times how much she enjoyed Sam’s journal and that I must’ve been through “quite an experience.”

People are already on a waiting list to read one of the five copies they made. I think it’s just because the book is new.

Other than that, I’ve been given my work detail for tomorrow: food processing. I’m a little bummed that Ronni wasn’t on the same list. She was assigned to foraging. She leaves with an armed escort team for one of the nearby towns and will be gone for two days. When she gets back, she gets four days off instead of the usual two. I guess that you have to be nominated to make one of those runs by a member of the military unit after you complete a series of courses that they offer at the military/security school.

Thursday, July 15

Pringles were made here. Who knew?

Today I learned that interesting tidbit of trivia and was able to work in the converted facility that now processes the non-meat food for the community.

The Pringles factory has been modified and set up to handle more than just potatoes.  Also, it is the major draw on electrical power. It houses a considerable amount of food reserves. This place has it all figured out.

Sunday, July 18

Hung out with Ronni today. After talking with the folks, I decided to stay put until August. That will give me time to earn enough in credits—bonuses that can be used for luxuries—to get my bike. Also, July is the hottest month of the year, and in these parts…that’s really saying something.

Today we went down to the park and watched a double-header at the softball field. The agricultural school beat the military team both times. They served frozen fruit-juice Popsicles, popcorn, and as an added treat, water with ice cubes!

The kicker was some bootleg vodka made on one of the potato farms. Alcohol isn’t forbidden, but it is discouraged. Apparently the same holds true for pot. I caught a few whiffs of it today at the park, and nobody was trying to hide it. I guess there are bigger problems in the world now. The police here walk foot patrols all the time. I’ve seen one arrest so far; the crime…the person was skipping work. The sentence? Two weeks on ditch digging with no bonus credits and no weekends off. (Ronni said that that is the standard penalty.)

Today I also met somebody who is, how shall I put this, interesting.

In between the two games of the double-header, I went to get us another round of ice waters. When I came back, there was a woman in her late thirties sitting on my blanket and talking to Ronni. Her name is Chelsea Jones. I hate her.

She was trying to ‘recruit’ Ronni for a job. Winnemucca has a brothel. At sixteen, apparently Ronni is of legal ‘working’ age.

At last! I found the dark, seedy underbelly of the New Civilization. I was only moderately surprised to discover that if she was medically certified as a virgin, her ‘first customer’ is chosen through what amounts to be nothing more than a perverse auction. The ‘benefit’ is that Ronni would receive all of the bonus credits in the transaction. However, she would have to sign a one year contract to work the brothel.

I’m certainly not the morality police, but I found the whole thing to be obscene. I was able to keep my mouth shut because it was none of my business and Ronni was doing fine on her own telling Miss Jones how she wasn’t interested.

The woman made her real mistake when he asked me if I’d ever considered working in the world’s oldest profession. I made it very clear that if she ever spoke to me again she would find out how such a “tiny thing” like me has managed to survive on her own for so long.

To her credit, Miss Jones left without another word. I imagine she has been told no by meaner bitches than me. Still, the whole bidding on someone’s virginity gives me the creeps.

After all of that, do I sound like a hypocrite when I say that I hooked up with one of the guys on the winning softball team later and had a nasty little roll in the sack after the post game barbeque? And I don’t mind saying that I was extremely unladylike. However, I do feel much better.

Friday, July 23

Governor Betty and a few of the soldiers came to see me today. I guess I’d be foolish and naïve to think that everything was roses and puppy dogs. They asked me if I still intend to leave. I said that I would be rolling out of town—literally—on August 4th. (Hey, I will have earned my weekend by then, may as well use it.)

I’ve been asked to stop in Fernley, a small town south of here. They want me to deliver a little package. In exchange, I’ll be getting some spare parts for my bicycle as well as some additional supplies. I didn’t originally plan on taking the interstate, feeling that it might be a bit too crowded and busy with all manner of undesirables—living and dead—but I guess it really doesn’t matter. Plus, this will make having a bicycle more worthwhile.

Saturday, July 24

Today I worked with Ronni in one of the produce fields. We talked a lot about her and her life. I felt comfortable enough asking her about Miss Jones and that situation. I guess she asks every woman in town, but to her credit, she does in fact take no for an answer.

I asked her if she was interested in maybe coming with me. We built a nice beginning to a friendship. I guess I wasn’t too surprised when she said no. She wants to stay right here. She explained that, while she didn’t hold any ‘concrete’ hope that he may find her; she feels that staying in one place gives her the best chance of meeting up with her dad. Her feelings are that if she remains in one place, at least there is some chance.

I guess anything is possible. Like the old saying goes, “Stranger things have happened.” We did agree to hang out together for my last week here. So there’s that.

Monday, July 26

Hung out at the river today. There is a particular spot that is open. They’ve taken every precaution. There is a heavy-duty grate at each end of this one mile stretch to ensure no zombie bits come floating along. The story is that they learned the hard way last summer when a head came along and clamped on some poor swimmer’s foot.

The big excitement of the day was the arrival of a five-person group. They’re all in quarantine now. I expected Ronni to show some interest, and I finally had to ask if she planned to enquire if her dad may be amongst the survivors. She said that she used to ask every time. A list of names gets posted now and she checks it at the first of every month.

“Hoping and expecting are two different things,” she said, then rolled over to even out her tan.

Tuesday, July 27

A team of soldiers rolled out today. One of the scouting patrols located a herd off to the west. I guess the plan is to either lure them away, or do whatever it takes to eliminate them. Rumor has it that this herd numbers in the thousands. Nobody seems even the slightest bit concerned. In my opinion, that is a real problem. Any time you start to take things for granted or become too complacent, you get your ass kicked.

Far be it from me to tell these people anything about how to act. Still, in this world, all you need to do is screw up once for it to bring everything to an ugly halt.

Today, I worked at one of the clinics. I was basically a janitor, but it felt strange seeing people come in with bumps and   bruises and funny rashes. When did those start mattering again?

Wednesday, July 28

Heard distant rumbles off and on today. Sounded like thunder, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky in any direction. It is ungodly hot outside…and inside. Air conditioning doesn’t fall under the ‘necessity’ category. I don’t know why. I’m sweating in places I’ve never sweated and my shower day isn’t until tomorrow. I will go to the stream in a little while, but it isn’t the same.

Thursday, July 29

My bicycle and the little trailer were delivered today! They really did me up nicely. It has mirrors and an awesome headlight that runs off of power generated while I pedal. Even more awesome, there is a small power converter kit and a rechargeable setup for my iPod. I can be fully charged at the end of a day’s ride. Not only that, but I can jack into it and have music while I ride if I so choose.

I don’t know if that is such a good idea out in zombie country, but it’s nice to know that I can if I want to. This did give me another glimpse at how complacent they may be living in this place.

When Betty got ready to leave, she seemed to linger for a moment like she had something to say, but couldn’t broach the subject. Maybe it was just me being paranoid. I’ve been living good for a while…that’s usually an indication that a storm is a-brewin’ on the horizon.

Maybe I’m just itching to be back out in the wild again. However, I must admit that there’s a certain allure to plentiful food and water along with an honest-to-goodness bed to sleep in. I’m sure I’ll go through withdrawals the first few days.

Saturday, July 31

I haven’t seen Ronni for the past couple of days. I’ve stopped by her place and there isn’t an answer. I’ve asked around but nobody seems to be able to help. You’d think that it would be easy to find somebody when there are less than two thousand ‘somebodies’ to choose from.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to do the whole goodbye thing. That doesn’t make it suck any less.  I even went to Miss Jones’ place on the off chance. I felt terrible for even considering it.

My last work day was spent at the daycare facility. I held, fed, burped and changed babies today. It made me think of my daughter, Snoe. I think there was a motive behind them putting me in nursery on my last day.

One underlying theme here that I’ve managed to stay out of is the wariness and even dislike of the Vegas people. There is a palpable ‘us vs. them’ sentiment in existence. I’ve seen the good image here at Winnemucca so that when I get to Vegas, I won’t say or do anything to put these people in danger. Oh…and as an added measure, “look at all our babies.”  Surely I wouldn’t do anything to put those precious cherubs in more danger.

Of course, that could just be me and my natural paranoid nature at work.

Monday, August 2

Ronni wasn’t hiding. She’s been working quarantine detail the last few days. A dozen new arrivals came and one had to be put down. That wasn’t a big deal, but there were five immunes in the group.

Five!

This group was from Kansas. There’s news from the east that at least a half-dozen cities on the East Coast vanished in a series of mushroom clouds. Also, the amount of damage from the various nuclear power plants that didn’t fare well after their human care takers stopped coming to work has made, at a minimum, the eastern third of this country uninhabitable…at least by the living. According to these people, the Gulf of Mexico burned for almost the first year after the zombie outbreak. The arc of land from Tallahassee to Houston is all scorched earth. The oil rigs and refineries…gone. And if you believe these folks, the Mississippi burned in places for several months. Supposedly.

The patrol returned this afternoon and reported that the horde had been neutralized. They didn’t suffer a single casualty, but they still have to submit to quarantine.

Ronni gave me a bundle as a going away present. She said I couldn’t open it until I made camp the first night. She’s a sweet child, and I’ll miss her. We hung out at the river for a while, then watched a softball game and sipped ice water. I guess the playoffs have started.

After she left, I went down to Miss Jones’ place. Did I fail to mention that she doesn’t just employ women? Hey…I had a few credits left on my ledger.

It wasn’t terrible.

Tuesday, August 3

Didn’t take long.

I got to the burned out remains of Imlay when I ran into my first zombie. Actually, it was more like a handful…five children.

I’ve gotten good at dehumanizing, but one of them made me pause. There was something about the way she hung back from the rest, like she was studying how I took out her ‘friends’.

Sam was really helpful, he bounced around keeping them turning and twisting while I moved in with my spear. I’m still trying to decide if the whole ordeal is shaping itself in my mind according to what I think I saw.

When I moved in on that last girl, it took me three tries to plunge my spike-tipped spear into her face. I swear she dodged me twice. The place looks pretty picked over. Vehicles are stripped bare, siding torn off, even windows have been removed. Not broken, I’m talking carefully taken out. Not one of the buildings that remain—many have been burned down—have a window or a door. The stores have been gutted; even the shelving has been taken.

I did notice something interesting: mounted security cameras. Three that I spotted without making it obvious. I’m willing to bet that they are being monitored by the folks at Winnemucca. Maybe they just didn’t see any reason to tell me. However, if my guess is correct, then that would mean that they have some sort of security center.

Good ‘ol paranoia. Where would I be without you? Seriously though, why would they tell me? I was a passer-through. And if I didn’t know what I was looking for, I might have never noticed them. Had it not been for my little encounter, I absolutely would have passed right on by without ever noticing. When you think about it, this would be one highly possible direction that a coordinated attack would come from.

I veered off to spend the night camped beside this big-ass reservoir. The water is cold and clean. My filtration canteens are filled (I have ten now—one that I carry and nine in the cart) I didn’t even need my tent. There was some sort of forestry department shack. I brought everything in for the night, and now I’m sitting in the doorway listening to some distant wolves or something howl as the moon fills the sky with a yellow glow. I’ll stomp out my campfire in a bit, but for now, I just want to enjoy this moment and the candy bar Ronni managed to find and send with me.

Wednesday, August 4

I’ll have to backtrack to Imlay tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll be tipping off whoever is monitoring those cameras.

I’m in Lovelock, and tonight I’m spending my evening on the sixth floor of the hospital. It was easy, and I will go down in the morning and finish off any of the roamers that might still be calling this place home.

I still can’t get over how creepy it is to be walking around in a small town completely void of any living beings. While there are zombies present, they are so spread out that it almost seems too easy.

I was wary at first. As the day wore on, I began to wonder why in the hell there isn’t anybody living here. It is smack dab in the middle of some very farmable-looking land.

The most gruesome discovery was the derailed passenger train at the south end of town. A few of the cars are nothing more than tombs for a bunch of living dead. One car in particular was on its side, one end has another car practically jammed into it. The other end is wedged up against a concrete stanchion. Inside are at least fifty undead, some bent into obscene shapes, awaiting anyone foolish enough to think their deformities make them any less dangerous.

But back to my reason for riding back to Imlay. I will put my handwritten sign in front of one of their cameras…and hope that it is the Winnemucca folks that are monitoring them.

The hospital I am in is a treasure trove. Obviously it was no place to be at one time, there are bits of pieces of bodies every-where. The walls are smeared. Still, there are lockers and cabinets and storage rooms full of useful stuff.

While there are still zombies in this town, it is certainly worth the effort for the hospital stuff alone. I’ve noticed that most of the grocery stores and such look well-looted, but that could have happened way back when all of this started.

I’ve come to one other conclusion. For whatever reason, this town had entire neighborhoods put to the torch. There are sections that are burned to the ground, but it is done almost surgically like there were people on hand to ensure that the fire didn’t jump to a house or building that wasn’t specifically targeted.

It seems odd, sleeping in a town this size. I’ve probably checked the floor at least a dozen times, and each one of the emergency doors that lead to the stairwell at least a hundred. It seems secure.

The only thing I don’t like about this floor is that it housed the maternity ward. The nursery is a mess. The dark smears and stains are so bad; this place must have been really busy at the end. The only saving grace—if you can call it that—is that the zombie swarm was big enough to ensure that there weren’t any ‘reminders’ left behind. Not enough to come back anyway. I’m not sure if I could have stomached putting down a whole nursery full of baby zombies.

It’s bad enough seeing the curled over pink and blue cards announcing that such-and-such had a boy or girl. I couldn’t help but read those cards. The last one was born January 11th at 3:07 AM. Her name was Rosalita Mendez.

Thursday, August 5,

There and back again. I did something a little bit careless. Something I never would have considered a year ago. I’m worried that I may be losing my edge.

I rode back to Imlay…without my trailer of supplies. I figured Sam and I could cruise and make much better time without it. The ride there wasn’t much of a problem. I placed my sign after jumping around and waving in hopes that I gained their attention, and then I turned around and headed back.

Lovelock was strangely busy when I rolled into town. Sam started growling as soon as we peeled off of Interstate 80 and coasted onto Frontage Road—according to the signs still hanging.

Almost immediately I had to stop my bike as a trio of these migrant-worker looking zombies stepped out into the street from a hotel that appeared like it might have been expensive in another lifetime. It got worse when a pack of zomdogs limped out from the dark, gaping hole that was once the hotel’s main entrance.

Sam really hates zomdogs. I don’t know if it is because he can tell that they used to be dogs like him and it freaks him out, or what. Whatever the case, he went from prowling and growling to whimpering and backing up beside me.

I moved slow and had my spear in hand after I put three of the five dogs down with my crossbow. As I waded in, I found myself itching for a fight. It seemed to be exactly what I needed. Moments later, the intersection was littered with bodies.

The dust up did draw some attention, so I decided to jog away and lead the mindless mini-mob in the opposite direction of my ultimate destination which was the hospital. It took a bit longer than what I would have liked, and I ended up with two empty canteens, which, in this heat, can be very bad for your health.

By the time I got up here to my top floor, I was feeling more than a little light-headed and had a thundering headache. Did I forget to mention that it is at least a hundred degrees, I’m wearing a leather coat, gloves with a fine mesh lining, boots, shin-guards, and a riot helmet with a modified face shield designed to minimize the hindrance of my peripheral vision?

When I’m on open roads with long, flat, empty stretches of nothing, I can strip down to my sports bra and bicycle shorts. However, the moment I spot any former civilization zones, or even the slightest congested section of what’s left of the road, it is automatic that I suit up. Heat is no excuse.

Right now I’m watching the shadows claim the town as the sun sets. Also, I’m stark naked. Hey…who’s gonna see me?  Good thing, too. My legs and pits are sporting three full days of not being clean shaven. And to think…there used to be a time when I wouldn’t leave the house without my most intimate parts being perfectly manicured. Now I look like I’m straight out of a vintage Seventies Playboy centerfold.

Friday, August 6

This valley that Interstate 80 cuts through is a mess. Between the landslides and damage from unchecked winters that have wedged the asphalt apart, I spent most of the day on foot. The bike is a huge hindrance right now.

Just before making camp, I heard that hair-raising baby cry sound. The poor bastard was geared up with an awesome backpack, but the weight, coupled with the left leg not only being chewed up, but broken in several spots to the point that I don’t know how it didn’t just fall off, kept this zombie as helpless as a flipped over turtle.

After I put it out of its misery, I was thrilled to find an awesome stash of foil-packaged, dehydrated meals. He also had a small caliber pistol, but that was beyond repair.

I briefly considered veering off and following the train tracks. But if I encountered some long, dark tunnel…there’s just no way in hell.

Saturday, August 7

I imagined that this is Winnemucca looked like a year or so ago. The perimeter fence is mostly in place, the town itself is clean, but more undead straggle in than the living types.

There’s a fire that’s been burning for three weeks if I am to believe the person that escorted me and Sam into quarantine. It seems that the undead from Reno keep trickling in

There is a huge difference in the folks from Fernley and the ones I left behind in Winnemucca.

God.

This is a religious settlement. They have services three times a day, every day. I was given a bible in quarantine. I said it wasn’t necessary, but the young man who escorted me to my cell said “one never knows when God will reveal himself.”

He wasn’t Genesis Brotherhood crazy, and he didn’t try to preach or force anything on me—although he would not take the bible back, apparently it is my own personal copy…my name is even written in it—he just seems…religious. I do not have any idea how to explain it. It is like he is…happy. That is an emotion that I haven’t seen or felt in a long, long time. Even on the best day you still have that niggling feeling in the back of your mind that something is wrong. That is the new normal. Only, this guy seemed different.

Sunday, August 8

I was brought out to meet the town elders—Fernley’s version of government, I guess—and be grilled on what I was delivering to Betty from the folks from Winnemucca. Maybe I should have peeked, but I figured that the envelope was sealed for a reason. Primarily as a way to say, “Meredith, this is none of your beeswax, keep your nose out of it!”

Something was said about returning a girl to her family. See? Start civilizing things and people start losing sight of the real problems. I go back to my prior estimate of humanity not surviving another decade.

I told two dozen different people that I had no idea what was written on the note, it wasn’t my business, and no, I will not take a message back. I made it clear that my ass is heading out of town at daybreak.

For a little bit I was worried that I might have to fight my way out. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. I was, however, made to camp in this little park. No room indoors for Meredith.

All that being said, I will make this observation: I don’t give these people six months. They don’t have the farmland that the Winnemucca settlement has. From what little I’ve seen, there are too many people making decisions. Remember how impotent our congress had become? Well, these folks didn’t pay attention. Also, their security is crap. I don’t know if it can just be credited to this place being a newer settlement, but I personally saw three roamers—one that I put down—inside the perimeter. I’m near the center of town.

Did I mention that I am sleeping up on top of a concrete building that once acted as the public restrooms in the city park? Oh yeah, this place has got problems.

Monday, August 9

I could not get out of that place soon enough. It was just too damn bizarre. I am happy to be able to pedal my bicycle once again. However, I will have to be very careful. It seems as if the undead are really drawn to the human buffet that is Fernley.

I never knew Nevada was so mountainous. I guess I always pictured it a lot like New Mexico and Arizona. There is certainly plenty of desert, but there are also plenty of snow-capped mountains. The good side of this is all of the little streams and creeks that I keep running across.

Tonight I am camped out inside an RV that went off the road and ended up on its side. There was a well-preserved but very dead woman in the front passenger seat. She died from a nasty head injury. It looks like…well…her forehead is smashed flat at an angle that I would be willing to bet matches the dash of the RV. Of course she didn’t turn because she died a normal death. I wonder where the driver went? There is no sign of a struggle, and no blood except a little bit around the dead woman’s nose and ears. Did I mention that the woman is little more than a dried husk?  I made no attempt to move her because I am certain that she would only crumble in my hands. Besides, I’m sleeping in the back.

Thursday, August 12

Vegas is still my destination, but it is officially on hold. I guess it was just a matter of time before I encountered some really bad people again. I am currently hiding out in a movie theater—what is it with me and theaters—waiting for it to get dark outside. Once it does, I’m gonna bring some serious pain down on the gang of sickos that slither around in this infested hole of a town.

If I die…you can bet I will be bringing a lot of them with me. I won’t be carrying anything tonight except for my weapons. So if you are reading this and the rest of the pages are blank, then that means that I am dead. And if you see a zombie decked out in leather, bristling with weapons, with a ‘Mean People Suck’ sweatshirt underneath, please shoot me in the head.

The first sign that something was wrong came a mile out of the town proper. It was the sign: Entering Fallon…the town that God forgot. That last little bit was spray-painted on in red. Dangling from the sign was an armless, legless, female zombie with the word “whore” carved into her torso. When I got closer, it was obvious that she couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen. She mewled and gurgled at me until I put my spear into her head.

As I crept into town, I had to put the leash on Sam because there were too many zombies around. It only took me about twenty minutes to realize that they were all female. I reached a city park that had reinforced fencing, and found more zombies—also all female—standing in clusters.

I was under a school bus trying to make sense of everything when a large cart being drawn by eight women, all naked and alive, came rolling down the street. They were escorted by at least two dozen men in everything from leathers to what looked like a baseball catcher’s gear. The ones bringing up the rear were pulling along four boys from age eight to somewhere in the early teens. Once there, they manhandled them into a chute that emptied into the park/zombie pen. What they did next solidified my decision to stay and fight. They opened the cart, and then they began tossing bundles from one person to the next like you would sandbags to hold back a river. The last man at the end of the human conveyer tossed the bundle over the fence. These babies’ cries were real.

A couple of the boys put up a really good fight, but it only served as a source of entertainment for the gang of men. One of the boys tried desperately to keep the swaddled infants away from the tearing jaws of death. Another managed to break free, climb the fence, and make it all the way to the sobbing females who had been leading the carts. He grabbed one and hugged her before being yanked away again and forced into the chute once more.

I was curious how come there wasn’t more zombie traffic, and finally spotted the RVs pulled or pushed in place at the head of the three possible entry points to this street. The few that were in the area had been herded into some of the buildings lining the streets.

Back to the park scene. When the other end of that chute opened, the boys were forced into the park by the men with what looked like from here to be cattle prods. After that, it really didn’t take long. The zombies are so numerous that there isn’t enough left to come back. Sure, some of the boys lasted longer, running.  But it was really a forgone conclusion, and none of them had a chance of escape.

The women were forced to watch. Some were even unharnessed and dragged to the fence for a closer look. During one particularly nasty moment, one of them was held down and brutally raped next to the fence where a young boy—apparently her son—was torn apart and feasted upon just inches away; the only thing separating them being that thin fence that may as well have been a mile-wide chasm.

Thinking back, I’m surprised I didn’t cry. I believe that I was simply too horrified and shocked. I have no idea how we have come to this. I shudder to think of what went on in the minds of people that I walked by every day in the Old World. Considering what happened to me at the hands of my town’s sheriff before I escaped and found Sam and his group that day…

Who were these men before? School teachers? Cops? Cashiers at the local grocery store?

The thing is, I’ve met good people, too. Decent folks who help the weak and care for others. But the bad…the evil…it seems to be amplified to a level that I could have never imagined human beings capable of, and it  just rips out my heart.

Eventually, a few of the men went to one of the RV sealed ends of one of the streets and disappeared. Obviously their job was to lead away any of the zombies that had gathered. The women were hitched up to their harnesses again and away they went. Two men stayed behind for a few minutes to open the doors of all the buildings along the streets again to allow the undead captives to resume roaming free.

I wonder if the reason that the zombies stick around is because of this feeding event that I witnessed. Several hundred converged on the park once the men left, pressing against the fence where their zombie sisters stumbled about covered in fresh blood and gore. It actually allowed me an opportunity to escape from the area without incident.

I spent the next couple of hours trying to find that cart. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard in a town with so few living. It turned out to be like finding a needle in a haystack. Fortunately, late in the afternoon, I found what I was looking for.

They had doubled back and taken a big circle to return to what is obviously their base. It sits atop a big, ugly, brown hill just past the northeast corner of town right next to the airfield.

They have it walled off pretty good. It is next to impossible to get an accurate idea of their numbers. For one, the wall is brick and about eight feet tall; for another, they all dress the same and I don’t have any binoculars.

I spent all day and all night watching—and unfortunately listening—to the comings, goings, and carryings on of these bastards. I’ve developed a plan. The downside is that it will probably kill everybody, including the female captives. However, if it were me in there, and with what I’ve heard, I would welcome death over the alternative. The problem I’m gonna have is getting away.

Friday, August 13

No matter what, tonight is my “go” night. Last night, a caravan of strange looking, obviously heavily modified motorcycles rolled into town and straight to the encampment. Three of the motorcycles were hauling wheeled cages. I would guess that there were at least a dozen women and young girls crammed into each of them. This has to stop.

I’m not afraid to die. I am only afraid to fail.

One of the hardest things will be leaving this behind. By that, I mean these books. I hate the thought of losing these journals. I know that if something happens to me, there is no guarantee that these books will ever be found, or appreciated in the event that they are. However, if something goes wrong tonight and these were to fall into the hands of those animals, I am afraid that the pages would be used for nothing more than toilet paper or to start fires. There is no way that I could allow those assholes to ever lay a finger on these. I guess I never put any thought into how I would ensure that these were passed on.

Now, more than ever, I am grateful that at least there were copies of Sam’s journal, and that a few people have a copy of my first one.

Monday, August 23

Of all of the places to be catching my breath…a cemetery. I’ve endured hunger, thirst, the kind of fatigue that makes you want to just curl up into a ball and die. I’ve traveled through a part of Nevada that looks—and feels—like a glimpse of what it must be like if there truly is a Hell. Oh yeah, and an earthquake. Something tells me that my days may be numbered and my luck has finally run out.

Once again I am down to less than the necessities. I had to leave my bicycle and trailer. The satchel that I am carrying has my blade sharpening kit, a spare canteen—empty—and my journals. I have my spear and a long knife on each hip. I am trying to save the last swallows of water left in my other canteen for as long as I can manage.

On the plus side, I don’t think that there are any survivors left back in Fallon. Oh yeah, and then there is the guy lying dead on the ground ten feet away from me; he is probably the last of my pursuers.

It’s still a bit of a blur, and I’m certain that I can’t recall every single thing that happened, but I think that I can finally take the time to jot some of this down.

I waited until almost sunset and made my way back to that fenced in park. It wasn’t like these guys had any reason to think that somebody would be fool enough to fiddle with their fence. All I had to do was flip a few latches and remove a pair of steel poles that were in place to keep the fence barred. From there, it was simply a matter of being a bit of a zombie Pied Piper while still managing to avoid the roamers remaining loose in town. Staying ahead of the one pack was easy; avoiding the others was a bit more of a chore.

I was only worried about my first phase of the attack when it came to the one bridge that I had to cross. Thankfully, the Keepers of Fallon were way overconfident and far too engrossed in their nasty habits to have anything resembling lookouts posted. Their idea of security consisted of the wall around their little compound and about fifty or so zombies on tethers designed more to keep the living away than anything else. Well, they didn’t count on me…did they!

I’d crept close enough a couple of nights prior to putting my plan in motion so as to get a good look at their “intricate” security. Some were chained, others were held in place by strips of leather; nothing a good pair of bolt-cutters couldn’t handle. The posts that held them in place were all about four feet tall, so reach wasn’t going to be a problem.

The beam they used to bar their gate was no big deal, but the pair of double-wides mounted on wheels that took a gaggle of men to move would be a bigger challenge. That entrance would become a bit of a logjam, and I didn’t know how many other exits they might have, but that was my objective.

When that first chain clattered to the ground, I knew that I was screwed. The door was more like a heavy grate. It looked like it had been stolen from a jail cell. I guess it made it easier to see things on the other side, but that goes both ways. I glanced over my shoulder; the leading edge of the zombie horde I’d led here was reaching the drawbridge-like crossing that I’d had almost no trouble sliding the three-foot wide plank over to allow access. So far…nothing was stirring inside the compound. Yep, those guys were disgustingly overconfident.

When the final chain fell, I heard my first indications of movement. It sounded like a door opening about twenty feet or so away. I looked around, and sure enough, directly across from me this guy steps out. He was carrying a lantern which lit up his face perfectly. Well, at least good enough to give a clear shot with my crossbow. He never saw it coming.

The propane lantern made way too much noise when it hit the ground. I was flipping up the bar that secured the door when I noticed more lanterns flaring up inside the other buildings, I shoved open the heavy gate and dropped a lit flare just inside and out of the entryway; sorta giving the zombies a target without risking the possibility that they veer away from the sputtering road flare. The dazzling white light gave the entire courtyard a peculiar glow.

Since I had buildings to both sides, I randomly selected right and ducked in between the building and the security wall. That is right about when the first zombie stumbled in. The flare actually helped to scatter the undead as they came in, each wandering away from the offensive light in a different direction. They were all over the place in seconds. That is something I couldn’t have planned and had go that well.

I ran what seemed like a good distance and pulled the grappling hook from my belt to get on top of the wall. From there I had a good view of the compound’s open area. I managed to get off a couple of shots with my crossbow. The lost bolts (there was no way I’d be getting them back) were a good trade. I shot to wound. In no time, the sounds of screaming filled the air. No matter how much of a bad-ass you think you are, being outnumbered fifty-to-one by the walking dead will not work out in your favor.

Then I spotted the big storage tank. I hadn’t planned for it and had to improvise. That meant risking my chance of escape. I had to come off the wall and cross about fifty feet of open ground to get close enough for a shot that would stand a chance, then I’d have to lob a flare.

By now, the place was in chaos. I was really happy to not hear the sound of gunshots. While they continue to become more and more rare, they tilt the playing field drastically. If you don’t believe me, think back to the guy with the fancy sword in Raiders of the Lost Ark. What girl didn’t have a crush on Harrison Ford back then?

I lined up my shot and hoped. I really had no idea if my bolt would penetrate, or if there might even be any sort of fuel inside that thing. I was so excited when I heard the angry hiss of what I was certain had to be propane. I lit my flare, threw it, and hauled ass.

Nothing happened.

I was really bummed as I scrambled up my rope. All that risk for no results. Then some sap found my flare. He picked it up. That must’ve put it in line with whatever was coming out of that tank.

The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air backwards. I landed flat, which totally sucked. Had there been even one zombie in the area, I would have been screwed. I just lay sprawled in the brush and dirt trying and failing to get just one molecule of oxygen into my lungs. The tears filling my eyes blurred my vision so that all I could see was a bright smear filling the sky as the fireball rolled skyward, lighting up the night sky. At least it was a pretty orange smear.

Once I could finally move, I made my way to my hands and knees and looked around. I’d been blown over the moat. I could still hear shouting and screaming coming from inside the compound. I stayed down and started crawling.

I wanted to get away. I didn’t have any real desire to witness my handiwork. Hell, I didn’t even know how successful I’d been. All I knew for certain was that I’d caused considerable damage and put a nasty kink in the plans of those evil bastards.

The glow from the fire (or fires) let me see a good distance in every direction. The downside of that was that once I was clear of the compound, I had no night vision. I couldn’t see five feet in front of myself. Once I reached the highway, I was basically blind.

I reached some sort of park or recreation area just outside of the main sprawl of Fallon. I climbed up on a wooden bathroom structure and caught my breath. I remember that, as I lay there, I was hoping that the damage was as bad as it looked from the outside.

That was also around the time that the adrenaline wore off. I could suddenly feel every lump, bump, and bruise. There were a lot of them. Also, I felt something wet and sticky on my back. That is when a new pain announced itself above all the others. A stick—about a finger’s diameter—was jutting from my body. I had to reach back and grab it where it stuck out above my right hip. I might’ve screamed when I yanked it out…but since I passed out I can’t be for sure.

When I came to, I realized that I had no choice but to return to town. First, that was where all my things were stashed. But more importantly, I had to try and break into someplace and find some hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol. Also, I needed something to put over this seeping hole in my body. An infection these days is fatal.

The first time that I tried to sit up, my body refused. Pain was firmly entrenched in every muscle and joint. I cried out …loudly.

That was most likely what brought the three zombies. However, I didn’t see them right away. Thank God that Sam had picked up my trail and followed me. He was under a bush. When I heard his growl, then saw him creeping along the ground towards the approaching zombies, my eyes filled with tears.

I put my crossbow to good use then. Afterwards, I climbed down. Actually, that isn’t really an accurate description of what happened. The pain came in a bolt; I lost my grip, and then fell on my ass. When I landed, I just stayed put for a few minutes gasping for breath while fighting back more tears. Sam, the big dummy, wouldn’t stop licking my face.

Eventually I got up and started back to Fallon. A large, black plume was still rising. On the other side of that bald, ugly hill, I could see movement scattered everywhere.

I did my best to stay hidden when I could as I walked—limped is more like it—back. I slipped through some trees at one point and came face-to-face with an obscenely obese man. Zombies had ripped into his ample guts and all sorts of things dangled from the gaping hole they left behind. Also, his lower lip had been torn away and one meaty cheek hung down, flapping against his jowls as he lumbered along. Maybe I should’ve paid attention to the fact that the blood was still reddish—meaning it was still relatively fresh.

I speared him through the face. If you can score a hit to the eye socket, it is almost a guaranteed “kill shot” every time. After that, I was a bit more vigilant, as much as I could be through the pain. I’d been so worried about staying out of sight that I wasn’t paying attention to what else might be wandering around in the shadows, or when I came out of blind spots.

Most of the houses in the area were already well-looted. It was fairly late in the morning, close to noon maybe, when I finally lucked into a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some linens that were stacked neatly in the closet of an elderly couple’s trailer. (I know they were elderly because the pictures were still hanging on the walls.)

This place hadn’t been touched. The couple had obviously evacuated. Drawers were empty and still open; the bedroom closet was open and selectively picked through. The kitchen was a complete bust except for a Ziploc bag of pinto beans on a pantry shelf that I took.

I cleaned up as best as I could and found a shirt that actually fit. Then Sam and I made it back to my stuff. After giving him some water and taking a brief catnap, I was as ready to go as I could be.

After serious thought, I decided to leave the bicycle. I couldn’t pedal it. Walking was painful, but sitting and pedaling was out of the question. Also, I needed to stay as concealed as possible. That would be impossible on the bike. There was a lot of activity in Fallon now; some of it far too fast to be a zombie. That meant some of the ‘yay-hoos’ probably escaped. I seriously doubted that any of the women made it out of there alive.

I felt better once I had Sam’s and my journals back. I won’t lie. I didn’t realize until I’d spent that night away from them and doubting I would make it back, but they’re like my security blanket. My therapy. Also, I realized for the first time that there is something in my ritual about noting the date. In just that one day away from those books, I’d forgotten what day it was.

Every morning when I wake up, even if I am not going to write anything, I make a tally mark in the book. Does the date matter anymore? Probably not. But, for me, it is just something I need. I always know what day and date it is.

I am certain that a shrink would have a lot to say about all of this. It has become my little OCD thing. How else can I explain the risk I went through to come back for them. All the times I have made certain I had the books even when I was forgetting things like food and weapons. And for what reason? Is my daughter ever going to read these? I’d say that the odds are against her ever seeing any of this. Hell…will anybody see it?

Still, my trusty mutt and I slipped out a couple hours before sunset and headed east. All I could remember was that I needed to find Route 361. My hope was that I could get away from Fallon without drawing any kind of attention to myself.

On that goal…I failed.

I was following US Route 50 and had just turned south. I was heading back into the mountains, and by the looks of things…a bit of a wasteland. It was dark, but the moon was a bright, silver disk in the night sky. I had enough ambient light to see—sort of.

When Sam stopped and suddenly turned around, sniffing the air and growling, I expected a zombie, or maybe even a few, to come shambling out of the shadows. When the dark figure broke into a run straight towards me, I was glad that I happened to be carrying my crossbow.

In movies, a person dies with one well-placed shot. This one caught a bolt in the body close to the bottom of his ribcage. I bet it punctured his lung. What it didn’t do was stop him. Sam took off and leaped at my living attacker. That is what gave me enough time to draw my big knife.

I think about those split seconds a lot. If I would have run at my attacker while drawing my blade. If my bolt would have been a few inches up and to the right hitting him in the heart. If. If. If.

My grandpa used to say, “If worms had guns birds wouldn’t fuck with them.”

I am sure there are a hundred “ifs” that would result in Sam still being alive. I got there just as I heard the yelp. I’d never heard my dog yelp before. He didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. And…he was a good dog. Maybe I should have named him something else. Maybe that name is cursed.

When I got there, the man was on his knees with his back to me. I drove my knife into his back—the blade was long enough to stick out of his chest. He fell sideways, but I got a little scared when he tried to climb back to his feet. I have no idea how many times I stabbed him with my spear.

At some point, I stopped. Leaving the spear sticking up from the body, I went to my dog. My stupid mutt. I was still holding him and crying when the sun came up.

There was some sort of industrial-looking complex, and it might have even been an airport, but a nasty fire made it hard to tell. I carried Sam there and found a piece of metal that I could scoop up dirt with. That’s where I buried Sam and covered the grave with a mound of rocks. I think it was noonish by the time I finished. The whole time, I cried off and on. A few times, I had to stop what I was doing in order to put down a roaming zombie or two.

I found a dark, empty, burned out building to hide in and catch a nap. I think God might still exist.

It was late in the afternoon when the earthquake struck. When I woke up, my first thought was that I had been discovered; either by the survivors of the place I blew up or by a herd of zombies. Things were falling and there was that sound. When I realized what it was, I tried to get up, but kept falling down because the ground was rolling.

Finally, it stopped. That’s when I discovered how close to death I had come. Just like that “little” earthquake in Portland, the zombies had fallen over and laid still. I’d guess their numbers to be close to a hundred. And it was obvious right away that they were all heading for the ruins of the building that I had ducked into.

That was another mistake I made that day. I didn’t stop to think about what might have led them to me. I certainly didn’t consider the possibility that one or more bad guys might be out there; much less hot on my trail. I didn’t wait for the zombies to get up. I took off. I did stop off at a creek to fill my canteen sometime that evening around dusk.

When I finally found a place to stop, it was in the cab of a jackknifed semi.   I was just getting comfortable in the sleeper part when I heard something. In a dead world, the voices of the living really stand out, even when people speak in hushed tones. I made sure that my crossbow was ready and then set my big knife where I could grab it quick. If the owners of those voices tried to get in the truck, I’d get one good shot, after that, I would have to rely on my skills with the blade.

I was thankful when they passed. Then I heard that soft, feminine whisper, and the sound of a slap. There wasn’t really a choice as to what I had to do. I waited long enough for the owners of those voices to get a little ways away from me before I climbed out of the truck and started after them.

I got close enough to make out three men and one woman. When they peeled off from the highway and cut into the brush and dirt headed towards the mountain, I almost let them go. After all, I can’t save everybody.

Then they made camp.

These cowboys just picked a spot and flopped down. There wasn’t anything special about it. A few minutes later, they had a little fire going. Then they did what I expected; they turned their attention to that poor woman.

The worst part was listening to what they were doing while I planned my attack. The way I figured it, I would have one shot with my crossbow. I could try for a second, but I needed to have my big blade ready. After taking a few deep breaths, I lined up my shot and took it. Finally a little luck came my way. The bolt was fired from a close enough range that it must have passed clean through. The big man collapsed, and his buddy obviously thought it was because he had just finished. As they were rousing their friend…or at least trying to…I got off a second shot. I risked it and aimed for the face of the man whose dirty grin I could see in the glow of the fire they’d built.

That’s where the plan fell apart. The third guy jumped up and kicked away the fire. How was he to know that it was just l’il ‘ol me? Then I heard an awful shriek and a gurgle.

“Hope you don’t mind fucking a corpse!” the man yelled in the darkness.

I played it safe and stayed put a few minutes before I began creeping closer to where I remembered their camp to be. When I got there, I found three bodies. Feeling around revealed that the woman’s throat had been slashed. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the third man.

Having no desire to stumble around in the dark looking for him, I crept back to the semi that I had been ready to bed down in. It took me a while to cycle down from the adrenaline rush, but when it did subside, I collapsed from exhaustion.

I slept way too long.

When I woke, I was bathed in sweat which added to the yucky feeling from the dirt and dried blood all over me. A pair of roamers were on the road coming my direction. I considered staying put and letting them pass, but if they caught even the slightest hint of me, they’d just turn around and follow.

When I came out of my cab, I waited until the closest one—a teenage girl and way too fresh to be anything other than hours old—made her approach. The strand of intestines slapping against her denim overalls still looked wet. I put her down and had enough time to reload for a point-blank shot at the other desiccated corpse that made a weird rasping sound that reminded me of a playing card in the spokes of a bicycle for some reason.

The first thing I did after that was drink my water and refill both canteens before getting back on the move. Of course I had my eyes peeled for any sort of movement or any sign of that third man’s camp. And that is why I diverted my course and left the highway just as it started to cut through this mountain pass. I went north and it slowed me way down. But by nightfall, I was up high enough that I thought I might have a chance at seeing something if that guy made any sort of campfire.

What I wasn’t prepared for was over a dozen!

Like a really spread out star field, the pinpricks of light were scattered below me. In one spot there was a cluster of several. It caught me completely off guard. It made me wonder how many singles, or small, nomadic groups, I had passed by completely unaware during my travels. It also made me recall that young girl that I put down the day before. How similar to my story or Jenifer’s, or even Gabrielle’s was hers? Was she alone? Did she wander away from a larger group?

The only thing I now feel with a sense of certainty is the feeling of doom that hangs over humanity like the Sword of Damocles.

It wasn’t that I felt any safer, but I did find a spot where I could curl up that night. I slept, for all intents and purposes, out in the open. Under the stars, above all the little fires that burned in the night. The strange thing was that in the morning when I woke and looked around, I couldn’t see a sign of anything that indicated people were camping in the area. I knew the general locations of all of those fires, especially the big cluster, and there wasn’t even a wisp of smoke that morning.

Down on the highway, I could see singles and small clusters of zombies. It’s like they’re drawn to any place where there are survivors. Even out here in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, they roam. I guess they’re looking for those last living souls to feed on. Their biology makes no sense. They should have fallen over long ago…starved.

Staying in the hills all day as I walked probably slowed me way down. But I found myself in a funk and I couldn’t shake it.

Then I saw him.

Even though I never got a look at the guy who escaped that night, I knew it was him. He was walking just as bold as you please down the middle of the highway with a naked woman on a leash. I guessed him to be, at most, a couple of miles ahead of me.

The first problem I ran into was coming down onto the highway. I lost sight of my target at some point, and by the time I was on the washed out remnants of the highway, I couldn’t see him at all. As hot as it was, I did not want to jog. Then there was the inconvenience of putting down the occasional zombie.

I discovered real fast that tracking somebody is not as easy as it looked on television. Between the drag/step mark of the zombies and whoever else passed through these parts, I had no idea which set of tracks belonged to the man I was hunting. Then I reached a T-intersection with another highway heading straight south. Looking each direction it was like being given the choice of which doorway you’d like to use when entering Hell.

After taking out this particularly nasty creeping torso with only one arm that came of some brush beside the road—scaring me to the point that my bladder lost control just a teensy bit—I decided on south. The biggest benefit was the tiny stream that allowed me to stop and freshen up a bit while filling my canteens.

A few miles along, I began to think that I may be onto something. I started coming across an assortment of military vehicles. Late in the afternoon, I turned east off of the main road and found an old, abandoned air base.

The place obviously tried to set itself up as a safe zone of sorts. The fences all had makeshift towers scattered along the perimeter. Unfortunately, it also looks like a horde took down their fence. The good news is that this seems to have happened quite a while ago. There are literally hundreds of corpses—and parts of corpses—all dried out. It also looks like the animals came through for quite a buffet.

I couldn’t pass up the chance to snoop around. After all, I did say that, before all of this zombie stuff, I’d never done much of anything. To go into a military airbase replete with: “RESTRICTED ZONE! DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED!” signs all over the place…you tell me you wouldn’t go in and take a peek.

Liar.

I was never much on the UFO thing. I wouldn’t know Area 51 from the Ronald Reagan International Airport, and any airbase I found out here could be something interesting. When I ducked through the gaping breach in the fence, I didn’t have any idea what to expect. I think I was secretly hoping to find some hangar with a spaceship parked inside like in the movie Independence Day. Instead, I found a lot of planes, jets, helicopters, and big pieces of machinery that I had absolutely no idea as to their function.

I think I found some sort of workshop where missiles were put together or taken apart. The coolest find was this bunker with stacks and stacks of what are obviously bombs. They wouldn’t do me one bit of good, but it was strangely cool to see them; stacks and stacks and rows and rows of bombs.

I imagine some of the empty rooms that I found were once full of guns and ammunition. And I imagine that if I were Angelina Jolie or some other female action hero in a movie I would have hit the weapons jackpot. No such luck for Meredith Gainey, child abandoning, angel-of-death to all she meets (especially if they were friends). I found zip. At least when it came to weapons. I did score one major find:  MREs and cases of bottle water! That was what made me decide that I was being stupid chasing some ‘Bad Guy’ all around the Nevada desert. I’d already come to grips with the idea that I can’t save everybody.

I’m a little ashamed to admit what happened next. Since I’ve decided I was going to hang out a bit and explore, I found a big basin. I don’t know what it was used for in the past, but I filled it with some of that bottled water and took a bath. I couldn’t do anything about my legs or armpits, much less the Enchanted Forest growing between my legs, but at least I could be clean. I found some liquid soap that smelled like melons and I gave myself a good scrubbing. Then I emptied the basin, refilled it, and just soaked in the lukewarm water.

Before you rush to judge my obvious waste of precious water, unless you’ve gone days or weeks without a proper cleaning, AND had to use ripped up t-shirts during your period, then just shush! It’s not like this place looked to see any living inhabitants in at least a year. Besides, who else would be stupid enough to wonder around in this wasteland? Sure, I saw all those campfires scattered about, but strangely enough, I’ve only actually seen that one sign of a living, breathing person during the day.

And that is why it probably took me a while to realize that I was hearing a child’s laughter. When I came out of the water and quick-changed back into my still-wet clothing that was hanging in the window to sun dry, my first thought was that the zombies had evolved. It would just figure that those bastards would learn how to make a new sound now that everybody pretty much knew about the baby cry noise.

I grabbed my crossbow, which due to recent events and my inability to do some searching, was down to eight bolts. Granted, you only need one, but that makes for a fairly useless weapon. Then I strapped on one knife and snuck down the stairs of the building that I had made camp in. If zombies were around, I wanted to put them down in a hurry before others came.

When I stepped outside, the last thing that I expected was a “family” of four. Of course it was obvious that the children were not from the two adults. Primarily because she was Black and he was Asian and the two little girls were White. Very tan, but white.

Alicia and Min were both from Texas. They were part of a much larger group of survivors which had dwindled down due to some folks simply going off on their own, others dying—of course—and some outright vanishing. They found the girls in Provo, Utah last year when they got stranded due to a fierce winter.

The two are like any married couple I have ever known. They bicker, finish each other’s sentences, and fret over ‘their’ children. It was Min’s throwing knife that I had barely managed to duck as I stepped out of the doorway. I think the only reason he missed, is because Alicia screamed “Breather!” just as he threw. I think that because I have seen him throw a couple of times since. He doesn’t miss. Ever.

Min and his family are headed north. I told them all that I could remember. After some discussion, he and Alicia decided that they would try to winter in Winnemucca before pushing on in the spring. They said that their ultimate goal was Alaska. A bit too cold for my taste, but I imagine that its small population, miles of empty space, and months of heavy snow has its appeal to some. In fact, they seemed more than a little dubious in regards to my plan of trying to get to Vegas. I guess they’ve heard some wicked stories. Still, I’m one of those people that, once she gets an idea in her head, have to see it through.

Of course I made their day when I showed them the cache of MREs and bottled water that I’d found. To their credit, neither said a word about my bathtub. Of course Alicia and the girls enjoyed it themselves. Min was fine with a sponge bath. When they joined me outside, they all looked and smelled much better.

I have no explanation for it, but for the next couple of days, the five of us just hung out around the now-defunct military base. Sometimes we went around together, and sometimes I would wake up and think that they had left. Then I would go downstairs and see their backpacks lined up against the wall. At some point the family would stroll in with a couple of odds and ends or knick knacks in their hands. The girls found a pair of model jets one day and played with them just like a couple of boys their age might. It was actually somewhat pleasant.

Once, I watched the girls so that Min and Alicia could “go for a walk”. They came back looking like they had just run a marathon. Well…except for the ear-to-ear smiles on both their faces. Alicia probably thanked me fifty times.

Then, on a morning no different from any other, they said they needed to get moving. I actually felt a strange loss. Is this what it’s like every time I tell folks that I’m leaving? I went up on the roof and watched them go. When the little girls looked back and waved…I cried. What in the hell was that about?

The next day I wandered around the base alone. When I came back to my little camp, I knew that it was time for me to get moving once again. I had ended up staying one day too long. I heard the sounds of breaking glass. That was what jarred me awake a couple of hours before sunrise. My first thought was kind of stupid:  The family is back! Then my brain flipped a switch and more sounds of breaking glass had me up and grabbing my weapons. I don’t know why, but something made me grab the bag that had my books and the MREs along with both of my canteens.

There was a voice in my head that was screaming for me to run. I ignored it and listened to the muffled voice that told me to go see what was happening.

In the shadow of one of the giant hangars that housed a pair of jets, I saw movement. The laughter gave them away as living. I stayed put as they cranked open the big doors. The hangar was dark, but those five morons had torches and lanterns. They were like kids who’d been let into Disneyland early and had it to themselves. They climbed all over the jets making quite a scene. Of course they had no idea what to do, so the jets were really nothing more than a pair of giant play structures.

I stayed back and kept quiet as the sun came up. Eventually I staked out a spot in one of the admin buildings. There was no reason to do anything. These guys weren’t taking anything that I cared about. One of them had found a uniform and put it on. Another seemed content just to sit in the cockpit of one of the jets. The only real negative side of this situation was that I was stuck hiding and watching. I knew better than to show myself to a group of men.

As the sun began to set, they made camp in the hangar. I wasn’t really paying attention any more. As long as they stayed inside that hangar, I could simply wait it out until it was completely dark, and then slip away. I must have been napping, because I was jolted to full alert at the sound of a scream. I was certain that somebody had been set on by a zombie.

I tried to move into a position to get a better look. I could still see a low fire burning in the hangar between the two jets. What I couldn’t see were any of the men; or any signs of zombies. It went on for at least a minute. And let me tell you, when somebody is screaming in obvious pain, that is an eternity.

There was no way that I was going to snoop around in the dark for the source of those screams. Also, that meant I wasn’t leaving. Something was going on in the darkness, and I had a nice, safe, defensible spot. I’d just wait till morning.

As the sun rose, bringing what I am positive was the hottest day I had endured in my life, it actually took me a couple of minutes to make sense of what I was seeing. Four of the five men were in the hangar huddled together. When one of them got up to do something, I spotted something large on a spit over the fire. It took a minute for it to dawn on me that it was a human torso. Things clicked. At least somewhat.

I considered making a break for it, but being in the middle of nowhere, it would take me over an hour just to get out of sight. I would be exposed for way too long. The only choice I had was to stay put. The worst part was the fact that the smell of roasting meat was making my mouth water. Try as I might to remind myself what I was smelling, I could not overcome the growling in my stomach or the saliva building up and occasionally dripping down my chin when I wasn’t swallowing enough. I think, at first, I wouldn’t swallow because I was protesting my bodily reaction to the smells versus the knowledge of where those smells originated.

Finally, late in the afternoon, they started gathering up their stuff and moving along. I waited for what felt like forever, but really couldn’t have been more than an hour after they were gone before I came down. I couldn’t help it, I had to go see. Finding the killing spot was easy. It was a big, dark stain in the sand. There were bones tossed about, and on a stick was the head. The boy couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.

My guess goes something like this. They encountered this kid, maybe when they ran across another group. They probably enticed him away with stories of all the lawless fun to be had. I’m betting that this wasn’t the first time that these guys had done this. It seemed too cleanly executed.

I waited until it was light enough for me to see a few feet in front of myself the next morning, and got moving. Of course I topped off on everything and stuffed a few days’ worth of the MREs in my satchel.

I was cutting across an airstrip when I heard a commotion from a squat building that sat at the end of a narrow path. It was right against the fence. I couldn’t help myself; I had to go check it out. I was surprised to say the least at what I had discovered. The best I can figure is that maybe it’s like prison. Some men go in and need sex so badly that they make do with whatever is available. Men who don’t have a gay bone in their body, but just couldn’t do without sex.

It was the same four from the boy-barbecue. I watched through a dirty window as they fought each other. It was definitely every man for himself. When the dust settled, two men were unconscious and two men were unbuckling their pants. I tried to wrap my mind around the whole concept.

“Sorry you lost the fight today, Pete. You know the rules. I will be butt-raping you now.”

“It’s cool, bro. I’ll get you next time.”

What I did next wasn’t out of any sense of helping the two unconscious men. It had solely to do with the fact that these men were animals. They had succumbed to their most base level. They were barely a step above the slime that we supposedly evolved from.

Fortunately, these guys weren’t worried about much. The door was shut, but a window that gave me a clear shot was open. I fired my crossbow catching one of the still conscious ones right between the shoulder blades. Have you ever noticed how close the sounds of sex and pain are?  That is why I got off my second shot catching the other in about the same place. Two down and two to go. I figured I could go in and retrieve my precious bolts, then finish off the other pair with my blade or spear. I got two steps inside the door when the body underneath the first one I killed shoved the corpse off of him, rolled over, and came up with a blade that would make Crocodile Dundee jealous.

It never once occurred to me that one of the unconscious men might be playing possum. And trust me, as alert as he was, that was the only explanation. That brings a whole new series of thoughts and questions to mind, but all I had time to do was to turn and run. I don’t know if you have ever tried to reload a crossbow on the run…I couldn’t.

What I did do was duck inside a three-story building. I got up the stairs and kicked open the door at the top. It was probably all the noise I was making, but I wasn’t prepared for the pair of zombies waiting on the other side of the door. I jumped back from the two sets of arms that came at me. That’s when I dropped my crossbow. I felt a little sick when parts and pieces of it flew off as it bounced down the stairs.

I grabbed the first hand I could and did a yank-and-sling move that send it careening and tumbling down the concrete steps. I brought my knife up and drove it through the underside of the jaw of the remaining zombie, and then hip-tossed it downs the stairs as well.

I heard my pursuer burst in down below and looked for a place to hide. The sounds of a scuffle let me know that he went heads-up with the zombie I had thrown down the stairs. It sounded like they clashed on the second floor landing. By the time I heard booted footsteps coming up, I’d wedged myself in an alcove between two tall filing cabinets. My plan was simple. If he came in and looked for me, I was down low with my knife ready. I would thrust out and up.

Sure enough, the door slammed open and I could hear his heavy breathing. He called out, hoping that I would be some frightened girl who couldn’t deal with the fear of being stalked. I heard him toss a few chairs out of the way, thinking that maybe I’d hidden under some desk. When he stopped in front of me…the idiot actually had his back to me. I must have hit a kidney, because when my knife plunged in, he barely made a sound. More like a hissing whimper. I scooped up the big-ass knife that he’d been carrying and drove it into his chest. The worst part was the fact that I did not feel one single thing while I looked into his eyes as the light dimmed, and then went out.

I wiped my knife off and headed for the stairs. My crossbow was in pieces. That was a bummer. I stepped outside and that’s when I saw the other guy. We just looked at each other for a moment. Then…he leered, waved, and started heading my direction.

He was a big man and I didn’t have any doubts as to who would win in a fight. Wait! Let me correct that. I didn’t have any doubts about who would win in a fair fight. The first thing I did was run back into the cluster of main buildings. At the very first corner I reached, I took it so that I was temporarily out of sight. There were eight buildings to choose from.

The rest of the day was a glorified hide-and-seek game. In the movies, chases are so dramatic and rarely last beyond a few minutes. By nightfall, I’d been in at least a dozen different places, and hidden in every one of the buildings in this little cluster at least once at some point. At first, I considered trying to rig a trap. Those take much longer than a person realizes. I was really missing my crossbow. By late afternoon, I came up with an idea. He had set fire to the first building. All day I’d had to listen to this man’s dialogue. He took great pleasure telling me about all the things he was going to do when he caught me.

When he ducked into a second building to light it on fire—by the way, I did kick myself for not realizing that he was preparing for this activity all day while we were playing our life or death version of hide-and-seek—I bolted for the structure that housed the bombs. I knew that, as far away as it was across open ground, he would see me. I had one canister of gas or kerosene; whatever it was that he had found as an igniting source for his fires, which were now burning in three buildings. There were a lot of wooden crates in addition to the metal ones in that storage facility. I didn’t have any idea what was in those wooden crates.

I had enough of a lead that I could douse a few crates close to the rows of bombs. It really was a wing and a prayer. It didn’t have the initial effect that I had hoped for. I tossed a rag that I lit after soaking it in the gas or whatever and then ran. There was a very small reaction as something cooked off and blew up…sorta. (Curse you Hollywood for filling our heads with so many ideas involving giant explosions.) It did do enough to have the man turn around and run the other direction…for a minute or two.

I managed to duck into another bunch of buildings and escape. For a couple of days, I hid in an air duct while my pursuer searched in vain. Then, the zombies started showing up. Some even wandered right into the building that I was hiding in.

Eventually, things settled down. I didn’t hear anything living or undead. When I climbed down, I was surprised that things didn’t look worse. The biggest bummer of a discovery was that the guy had torched the building with the water and MREs. I only had about a half of a canteen of water left.

I was walking northish, heading back to the highway. That was the only way I figured to get past the mountains to the east. That was when I stumbled, almost literally, on the cemetery. When I saw the pair of legs sticking out from behind a cracked and worn monument, I brought my spear up. His eyes opened just as I raised my arms to plunge the spiked-tipped spear into him. His head moved just enough to cause me to miss.

He swept my feet out from under me and I barely had enough of a chance to get my knife clear. His fist smashed into the side of my head, and just like that, the fight was over.

When I came to, I knew he had done a number of unpleasant things to me when I was unconscious. All of my stuff was thrown everywhere, including my satchel. My hands were bound and secured above my head to a headstone. My feet were likewise tied with the legs spread uncomfortably wide and attached to stakes driven into the ground. The other handicap was being on my stomach. I couldn’t see a thing. Worse, I couldn’t hear a thing but the occasional sound of the wind which carried the smell of the still-burning buildings a couple of miles away at the military base.

I lay still for what seemed like forever. I kept waiting for the degradation or death. When darkness fell, and still nothing, I figured he must have gone to the base to scavenge. Naturally, I began going to work on the bindings. I was sore, very thirsty, hungry, and scared. Combine that with the poor job of tying me up and eventually I got loose.

It was fully dark by now and I was crawling around trying to find my stuff when I found the body. I probably screamed. I definitely moved away and felt for anything that I could use as a weapon. Nothing happened. Even with the distant glow from the fires, I could not see. I didn’t move for a while, waiting for an attack. I must have dozed off after the adrenaline backed down a notch. And here I am. I’ve dressed and grabbed what few things I still have.

My best guess is that I managed to stick the bastard just as—or just before—he punched me in the temple. The idiot was so obsessed with raping me that he bled out. Seriously, men can be such dumbasses.

There is too much activity to the west for me to risk the base. Besides, I already know that the best stuff is already gone. Seriously, I hope to God that I can find a water source by this evening. I won’t move until it gets cooler. My body is already hot, but I am not sweating. If I am…it’s evaporating before it can be noticed.

Thursday, August 26

I didn’t realize how bad off I was. Apparently I passed out in the cemetery. I am inside what I am pretty sure was a bar. Two ladies, a pretty teen girl, and an old man saved my butt. They brought me to this place—wherever the heck it is—and have been pumping me full of water, rabbit stew, and some mashed vegetables that I can’t identify.

The thing is…they’re all deaf and dumb. I don’t speak sign language and only one of them knows how to read and write…the young girl. She’s kinda skittish. I imagine that the still angry-looking scars that make up most of the left side of her face—including the dark hole where her eyeball used to be—is a big part of that reason.

I tried to helpful after I recovered. I even went out yesterday and set some snares for rabbits, just like Eric showed me.  I brought five in and after the one I ate, I wrote a thank you note that I will leave where the girl is sure to find it. Best I can tell, all I have to do is to head south following the road out of town. I’m pretty sure that I will eventually find a sign that will tell me where I am and eventually, how far it is to Vegas.

Saturday, August 28

Not a lot to see out here. There are mountains to either side of me so I seem to be walking in a perpetual shadow except for midday. The going is slower than normal because of all the rock slides and such that make it so that I am always climbing over things.

I’ve not seen a drop of rain in I don’t remember how long, however, I do hear thunder in the late afternoon and early evening. I’ve found one tiny creek since I left those people, and it didn’t smell right. I’m rationing myself with much too infrequent sips from my canteen. I’m down to one full and one empty.

Tuesday, August 31

Followed a sign that led me off the main highway. My best guess is that this was some sort of tourist stop or something. I’m inside of a wasted building. It does not have any windows remaining intact. Everything has the words “Quartz Mountain” stamped on it. I found a few of those big plastic containers that you swap out of an office water cooler. The seals were still intact, so I’ve been quite the little water piggy.

Also, now that my biggest problem of finding water is solved, it rained today. An awesome thunderstorm rolled through.  I sat in the middle of the room and managed to remain dry. I am willing to bet that this place was some science geek’s dream vacation once upon a time.

Wednesday, September 1

Gabbs Airport. That’s where I am now. I’ve met five people who are headed the same way. The thing is, I’m not sure if I want to travel with them or not. There are three guys and two girls. I haven’t really tried to learn their names yet. They do have some interesting stories about Vegas. Since I haven’t had a radio in quite a while, I can’t confirm them.

According to these people, Vegas is online and accepting newcomers. Supposedly they broadcasted for two weeks straight after the “Battle for Vegas” was over. Now they start every hour with the message that peace has been restored to Vegas and every living soul willing to work. Anyone willing to put in for a full time job is welcome to apply for citizenship. Additionally, visitors are welcome. It seems that a day’s work is the new currency. They have a variety of jobs that offer an exchange of credit for each day worked.

It’s not quite the vacation Mecca that it use to be. Still, according to these people, pretty much everything under the sun is available there: food, weapons, vehicles, you name it. One of the men said that there are even organized caravans leaving for various destinations all over the states; from the central plains to Alaska. The East Coast is gaining a reputation as some sort of Chernobyl-type wasteland. If even half of what these people say is true, then I picked the right destination. From Vegas, I can choose a caravan to anyplace. I bet they hire on scouts for advance teams.

It’s hard not to be giddy. I’m sitting here waiting for the night’s broadcast like a kid waits for Christmas. This would at least confirm some of their story. They say that the broadcast starts shortly after dark.

I don’t think I realized just how excited I could be to reach my destination. I tried to take each day as it came, putting one foot in front of the other and hoping for a little progress. Maybe, somewhere in the back of my head, I didn’t really think I would make it. Then, there’s the whole thing about how there is a real doubt when it comes to my sanity. Would a sane person do what I have done? If I examine my actions too much, or really took a moment to think about what I am doing…

Thursday, September 2

WOW! Heard a lot of interesting things on the radio last night. Vegas sounds like it has a lot going on.

Right now, I have to get over what I saw in Gabbs. I guess it was some sort of mining town way back in the Old World. Now, it is the closest thing that I have seen to match up with how I always imagine the Old West to have been.

The town is actually two parts, connected by Brucite Road. They’ve done some serious fortifications to this place, and the two parts are individual entities with very different ideologies.  They co-exist like siblings.

The northern part has a real cult feeling to it. They have giant crosses everywhere with zombies nailed and bound to them. The people all wear robes. The colors vary according to where the individual brother or sister is deemed to be in his or her “walk towards Godliness.” That was according to Brother Frank. There was a real Genesis Brotherhood feel to these people, but there didn’t seem to be any of that nasty subjugation of the women-folk.

When I asked about the crosses, I was told that they were once citizens, and now they are beacons.  I was almost afraid to ask what that meant. Apparently, when Jesus makes his return, he will take up the dead first…or something like that. When the zombies stop squirming on the cross, I guess that will be the sign that Jesus has returned.

As for the southern part, it’s like a John Wayne or Clint Eastwood movie come to life. There are saloons and brothels and people with bad teeth. There is even a sheriff with a badge.

The group I was with wanted to stay for a few days. As for me, hearing that broadcast got me fired up all over again. I know I still have a long way to go, but I wanted to keep moving. It’s almost like I can see the finish line. I did accept an invitation to dinner from the mayor; I figured one day was okay.

Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I keep expecting the family from Texas Chainsaw Massacre to pop out at any moment. I enjoyed my meal right up to the point when everybody was summoned to the fire house to “bear witness” to the hanging of a citizen accused of colony endangerment. It seems this guy led a small horde back to Gabbs when he was returning from a scavenger run. It seemed a bit harsh, but I’m just an outsider.

In the morning, I will head south once more. The owner of the Gabbs Saloon was kind enough to give me a gas station roadmap. There is a lot of empty territory between here and Vegas. I didn’t see much in the way of streams and such; that means another long, rough stretch.

I can’t stop now. I’ve come so far that I have to see this through. And the possibility that there are caravans radiating out from Vegas is exactly what I want. Who knows?  Maybe I’ll make a name for myself as some sort of fearless caravan scout. I’ll have a special suite or home in Vegas, and people will line up on waiting lists to ride out on a caravan being escorted by Meredith Gainey.

Friday, September 3

It’s like being on the moon or something. I haven’t seen a sign of anything—living, dead, or undead—all day. And the terrain is so alien to anything I have ever experienced. That is a testimony as to how little I’ve travelled.

I had no idea that mining was such a big deal in Nevada. I’m always passing signs or remnants of signs for some mine or another. Tonight, I’m making one my camp. It sits just off of the highway; and I’ve found a ratty little trailer to rest my head. I’ve really noticed the temperature drop overnight these last few days.

I looked around and didn’t find anything useful at all. Sure, there are tools and such, but most of it is far too awkward to yield and too heavy to carry. I am running with the bare necessities and have come to the realization that anytime I’ve tried to get fancy—bikes, carts, and such—I just end up losing it and then spend the next two or three days missing it.

A fairly ominous storm is rolling in. I’m glad I found this trailer. Anybody sleeping out in the elements tonight is in for a miserable one. Already, the thunder and lightning are here and some pea-sized hail fell just about an hour or so ago.

Sunday, September 5

It’s strange how something so innocuous can completely change your luck and your day. According to the signs, I’m in Luning, Nevada. This place looks to have been empty since shortly after the onset of the zombie uprising. There are maybe a dozen bodies I have found so far going door-to-door.

My lucky day came in the form of a train at the south end of town. All of those pretty cars that never got to their destination are now just worthless lumps of dingy metal. It was in the caboose—I didn’t even know that they still existed—that I discovered plenty of water. That’s a good thing, because the town of Luning has been stripped of anything useful.

My guess is that the train arrived late in the collapse. The only challenge was the four zombies I had to deal with when I opened the door to the cab of the caboose. One particularly obese man was standing there with his face leaving greasy smears on the window to the left of the door. He might have been enough to scare most folks away. Also, the window appears to be bullet-proof. I guess that the folks who came through and stripped this town over the years decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle when their bullets didn’t damage the door. They probable figured that it wasn’t worth the risk when the town itself was so empty and easy to pillage.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that this town is empty. It even looks like people have picked through the cars on the train. Not just the automobiles being hauled—which couldn’t have yielded much of value I don’t think—but every single cargo bay is open on every car on the train. In the main locomotive, there is a long-since-dead body shot in the face with obvious zombie markings.

Anyways, I have water and I don’t care how heavy it is. I filled my canteens and found a suitcase with wheels that I rigged with a harness. I’ll play sled dog if means that I’ve got water.

My map tells me that the town of Mina is about eight miles away. I may be able to ditch my harness as early as tomorrow but quite frankly, I am sick of being thirsty. I won’t risk it.

Water is the new gold.

Monday, September 6

I’m in Mina, Nevada. There are some ruins and a cemetery before you enter town. The citizens obviously reacted in the same way as other communities when the dead started walking: they went crazy on their local cemetery. It is little more than a charred mess. They took it to an extreme. There are backhoes and all sorts of digging equipment around the fence. It looks like most of the graves were dug up and whatever was found was put to the torch.

I wonder how the zombie problem got all the way out here.  I mean, did a trucker die while passing through?  Or maybe a family on vacation?  Or did they watch it on television until everybody stopped broadcasting, then just sat in scared uncertainty until a horde showed up weeks or months later?  I’m curious as to whether some folks waited as long as they could, then broke under the strain and ran…only to fall into the hands of zombies miles away.

When I see some places as remote as this and the last town affected the way they are, I try to picture someplace that might have remained unaffected, and I can’t. Over the past few years of the Old World we made everything so small. I remember all the flu bugs and viruses that would pop up. It seemed that if a duck sneezed in some remote village in China, folks in Mexico would start falling victim to a new illness ten days later.

Even in this nowhere town, the sign—what’s left of it—for the RV park, boasts of wireless internet. Seriously? And that might be why we fell so fast. We had our noses buried so deep in all our devices that we left out collective asses up in the air for the zombies to take a big bite out of.

I remember a camping trip I went on with some friends the summer before all of this happened. We chose the sight because it promised a tower that meant our iPhones and Blackberries would all still work. How did folks camp before that?

Thursday, September 9

Still in Mina.

I’ve gone through every single shop, building and residence in town. I hauled everything of value to the elementary school. I had to take out a few creepers, and in some of the residences I had to deal with a few of the formal locals that had been left behind or refused to leave.

I wasn’t going to stay, but then I saw the humongous herd of horses galloping across the grounds to the west of town. I’ve never seen so many horses in one place in my life. And all of that was interesting, but when I woke up after the first night and several deer were clomping down the main street, my mouth started to water. I’m not exactly proud, but I snuck around some buildings to put myself in position, and when the deer came past, I managed to nail a little one with my spear.

I roasted big chunks of the tender meat; enough to get me to the next town. According to my map, it is Tonopah. If those folks I left behind eventually come, they will have a sign telling them that there are supplies inside the school. Also, they will be able to avail themselves to my makeshift barbeque.

In the morning I will be on the move once more. Even with this brief stopover, my desire and excitement about reaching Las Vegas has not dimmed. I know I may be setting myself up for disappointment, but the possibility does exist that I will find what I have been looking for when I finally get there. I’ve likened this to joining the military…the chance to travel and see things coupled with a (relatively) safe and secure place to return to once your mission is complete.

Saturday, September 18

According to the map, this is Tonopah, Nevada. Too bad there isn’t enough left to identify it as such. I have no idea what happened but it looks like the military bombed the crap out of this place. The worst aspect of that is my water situation. It hasn’t rained in I can’t remember how long and I haven’t found anything drinkable since leaving Mina.

There was one cool thing. I found a mostly intact Stealth-Bomber. I’m fairly sure that’s what it was. Bad news, the pilots were both zombies. I don’t even want to know what has happened here. And as flattened as everything is…I have one worry that won’t go away.

Did they nuke this place?

Seriously, I have never seen the kind of absolute obliteration that exists here. I bet that if I could get an overhead view, I would see a well-defined blast radius.

Also, other than the two pilots in the crash-landed bomber, there is nothing living here. I haven’t seen the rustle of jackrabbits or even a fluttering bird in two days. To make matters worse, I’ve been walking through some undisturbed ash and debris.

Tonight, I’m camping in the payload area of the downed aircraft. I stuck a blade in the sides of the heads of the zombies in the cockpit. I know they seemed strapped in and all, but I just couldn’t get comfortable knowing they were right there straining against their harnesses. Also, what good does it do to leave any of those things alive when you have the chance to put them down?

I sure hope that I find water soon.

Sunday, September 19

Holy crap! It is freezing cold. It feels like somebody threw a giant switch. Normally it gets cold at night, but today it never felt like it warmed up at all.

I’ve passed all these so-called National and State parks. Really? They just seem like dead volcanoes. Some of the distant hills and mountains look like they got dusted with powdered sugar overnight.

There are lots of trenches and gullies carved into the earth around these parts, but not a drop of water that I could see or hear. I am checking any and all abandoned vehicles that I passed, but so far…nothing.

I’m too far out in the middle of nowhere to turn around. All I can do is press on and pray that I find water soon. Being extra careful, I’ll be down to my last canteen by the end of tomorrow.

Monday, September 20

Damn.

I’m trapped on the second floor of the Esmeralda County Courthouse in a town called Goldfield. Using the word ‘town’ might be stretching things just a bit.

This place doesn’t even qualify as a pencil dot on a map. It seems more like it was left in tribute or something to miners of the old days. There couldn’t have been as many people living here as there are zombies on the street. The biggest problem is that I didn’t see where they came from. I ducked inside this big, brick building looking for water, next thing I know, the streets were crawling with the undead. There weren’t even any inside when I arrived! That is what has me so confused.

I’d already checked out what passed as an airstrip at the north end of town and made my way through a few residences. I went in to check out the courthouse which has no windows left on the ground floor—but all of them still in place upstairs. That’s when things went wrong.

I heard the crash of something heavy and metallic hitting the ground. Hurrying up the stairs, I looked out the window and was stunned. Hundreds of those things were on the street. They weren’t focused on any one building—several were pouring inside mine and I quickly barred and braced the emergency exit—but the largest number converged on this four-story building up the road a ways.

The thing is, I keep hearing something. At first it took me a while to recognize what I am certain is conversation. There are others in this town. Living, breathing, talking people.

I’m left wondering if it is these people that brought the zombies. Perhaps they were on the run from a herd. The only problem with that possibility is that anybody that has survived for this long knows not to run someplace and trap yourself with those things on your tail. Zombies don’t get bored and will stay outside, clawing at your doors and walls until something comes along to distract them and lead them away. Even then, if it is a big herd like this one, (I’m guessing it at well over a thousand) then you can’t be sure that all of them will leave. The only way to survive a herd is to lead them on a wild goose chase and lose them as soon as possible.

Since the zombies seemed to be clustered to various degrees around every building in town, I’m not entirely certain what happened. All I know right now is that there are a frightening number clawing at the two doors that would allow access to this floor. If I get any sleep tonight it will be a miracle.

Tuesday, September 21

I don’t know who they are, but I hate them. It’s a large group; of that much I am certain. Most can’t be out of their teens yet. It’s a mix of boys and girls from what I can see, and there doesn’t seem to be one main leader.

This bunch has a real Lord of the Flies nature about them. On multiple occasions I saw them fighting each other as viciously as they do the zombies. I don’t have a clue as to how these idiots have survived this long. I even witnessed a pair of very pregnant girls—the older one was maybe fifteen—go at each other with knives.

Twice they tried to gain my building. Once they even made it to the second floor and tried to get in. I’ve become very proficient at setting a barricade these past couple of years. They gave up when traffic got too heavy.

I’ve heard a few of those screams. Once, I even saw a boy tossed out from a window into the waiting mob below.

The boys and the girls seem to be almost primal with their urges. I’ve looked out a few times to see a boy just run up behind a girl and yank her pants down while she looked out a window or over the edge of a roof. But nothing blew me away more than when I saw a girl tackle a boy, roll him onto his back, and straddle him at knifepoint. This group seems to have no filters whatsoever.

I hope they don’t get any sort of clarity any time soon and mount an assault on my position. I have no doubts as to the chances of my survival. What I need is to get the hell out of here.

Friday, September 24

I’m where a lot of people always thought I would end up: a brothel. This is the first compound of survivors that I have found that isn’t fenced and fortified. Stranger still, this place is a functioning brothel.

Let me correct myself. There is some fortification; all of the doors and windows are barred, and the gun turrets on the roof are iron-plated. But that’s it. According to Jasmine, the house madam, that’s all they need. There are concrete pill-boxes set up two miles out and spaced at five hundred yard intervals around this place. They rely on Morse code and flags to indicate when there are approaching parties, whether they are living or undead, and in what numbers. It’s primitive, but it seems to work.

Besides the madam and her dozen working girls, there are three hundred soldiers here. They weren’t from either faction that fought over Vegas, but they are aware of them. I doubt they’ll have any problem though. This is the largest concentration of weapons I’ve see yet. They have the building that once functioned as the truck stop packed from floor-to-ceiling with ammo, RPGs and all sorts of stuff.

The head honcho of the soldiers, Eddie Scott, said that they’ve held meetings with some of the leaders from Las Vegas and there’s no concern that an attack will be coming. When I asked about the apparent issue between the folks at Winnemucca and Las Vegas, Eddie said that their beef was an issue between the two unit commanders that spilled over to the men. His group came from Colorado, and has been here for just over a year.

I asked about civilian traffic and he said that I was the first they’d seen in two months. Then I mentioned that pack of feral children. He said that they lost a few men to them last winter. Supposedly, one of the young girls lured a patrol into a secured place. He was sketchy on the details, but I got the idea that it had been very ugly.  With what I witnessed, I can only imagine; and even then, I’m probably coming up short.

He asked how I managed to escape a town full of them and zombies. It turned out to be no big feat. The kids apparently grew bored with whatever twisted games they were playing and went on a rampage. And even then, that was some sort of game. They were intentionally beheading the zombies so that they would remain animated. Then they strung the heads from poles, stuck them on fence posts, and all sorts of varieties on that theme.

It was during this event that I made my break for it. I had to take out a few zombies on the way, but I knew that I had to get out of town before they brought their attention back to my building, and more specifically, my locked door. I’m really glad that I didn’t encounter any of those kids on my way out. I don’t know if I would have just been able to kill yet another living being—much less a child—unless they did something first. And my guess is that by then it would have been too late.

This place runs like clockwork. The men and women come and go as they start their shifts. I guess the brothel only had eight girls to start, but a few of the soldiers opted out of the military unit and went to work for Jasmine. It all seems a bit surreal, but this is the world that we live in. Goods and luxuries are the currency of today. The soldiers bring in the goods, and the girls provide the luxuries.

I did the math in my head, and if my guess of two hundred and twenty-ish is close when it comes to how many men are in this group, I figure those twelve ‘working girls’ are getting ridden twice a day every day if each guy only gets one turn per week. And I’m thinking my guess may be conservative because the six bedrooms are in use around the clock.

Fun fact: each one of the girls is sterile. Three of them were before; I guess the others had a procedure done by the company’s medic. Additionally, almost two dozen of the men were forbidden contact with all but one of the women—one of the female soldiers it turns out—because of STDs. The woman in question is infected with something, none of my business. She is also the only one that is required to use condoms with every customer.

Here’s where it gets a little stranger. The men restricted to her have made runs as far away as Salt Lake City to bring back hundreds of thousands of condoms. I’m no expert, but I know those things have a shelf life. I wonder what happens when those things either go bad or they finally run out. The whole thing is a bit dark and creepy if you ask me, but it is a reminder of what we are as a species…pleasure seekers. When it comes down to it, we want to feel good.

I asked about the women in the company. It seems that they are all encouraged to “play the field.” I don’t see anything good coming from that. We are also a possessive species, one day, someone’s going to snap.

There are seven children here between the ages of a couple of months to what I am guessing to be about a nine-month-old. They really take the ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ adage to heart in this place. There is an RV that is used as the nursery, and it appears that everybody rotates through just like a watch shift to care for the children. I’ve never lived in a commune, but I imagine that this is what it would look like.

These folks hunt, fish—although I have no idea where—and even grow stuff. They didn’t tell me where the greenhouses were, only that they have some constructed in the hills. There are windmills set up all over the place, but none of it is used to power lights. When night falls, this whole facility goes into blackout mode. Nothing more than fire pits provide lights after sunset.

I’ll stay here a couple of days. I offered to go out with the hunting group, and in exchange I am getting a water pack. It’s like a backpack but it holds water. The drawback is that I will have to fill it with my canteens because it doesn’t have any filtration device. Which reminds me, I’m down to my last two changeable filters for my canteens. I really need to reach a bigger town and hope they have some sort of sporting goods store and hope further still that they haven’t been completely looted. The filling time on this pack if I use my canteens would be most of a day, and that would also mean that I would be lugging about sixty-four pounds on my back. The more likely scenario would be filling it a little over half way and keeping my canteens full. Honestly, I don’t short change myself, but I can’t see me toting almost seventy pounds on my back for any length of time.

Saturday, September 25

Left this morning to go up into the hills and hunt. I sure wish I could bring this rifle with me when I leave, but I’ve been told that there is absolutely no way that will happen.

I spent the early part of the afternoon on this rocky outcropping. I bagged a nice buck. Being the owner of the first kill was a little source of pride for me. I think a few of the guys—and even the one female soldier—were impressed.

Everywhere I look it is brown. The ground is brown, the plants are brown, and I think this place is starting to get to me. All I want to do is to get moving again. Once I reach Vegas, if I sign on to be a caravan escort, l like I am hoping to, I’d like to do some traveling that takes me into places with a little more color. However, I can’t knock the sunsets out here. They’re incredible.

Tuesday, September 28

Back to what I’ve titled Brothel Base.

I leave tomorrow. Oh yeah! And I’ll have company. Her name is Justine Cash and she has family that is rumored to still be alive in Las Vegas.

I guess it will be nice to have somebody to talk to. She was one of the soldiers. Apparently, while I was on the hunting trip, a team returned from some sort of mission to Beatty, a town about thirty-five to forty-five miles south of here. They ran into a team from someplace called Pahrump. So, based on third or fourth hand information, Justine is heading for Vegas by way of Beatty. Since they knew I was headed that way already, Eddie, the commander or whatever he is—everyone just calls him Eddie, nobody uses rank or anything like that around here—asked Justine to wait. I guess the idea is safety in numbers or something like that.

Wednesday, September 29

On the road. Absolutely nothing to see.

It didn’t take long for Justine and me to get chatty. She asked me why I was headed for Vegas. That kind of surprised me. I assumed that Eddie or somebody had filled her in.

I explained that I’d been in a few compounds and fortified towns, and it just wasn’t for me. I told her how I’d never been any place before the zombie apocalypse and how I heard a radio broadcast one night. I decided on the spot that I wanted to go see for myself.

We probably walked in silence for almost twenty minutes. I actually started to feel a bit uncomfortable. Then…Justine let me have it. She told me how she’s fought at least fifty intense battles—I guess that meant battles lasting longer than an hour—against living and undead. She’s been close to starving at least a dozen times, nearly killed by dehydration three times and considers herself lucky. She thinks I’m an idiot.

“You survived the worst disaster in all of history and you run around seeing how close you can get to death. How can you value your life so little?” she asked.

I explained that I didn’t think I valued my life so little. I feel that I am actually turning a terrible situation into an opportunity. She retorted that I was suicidal and that everything that she’d done to risk her life had been in the line of duty.  She went on to say that this trip was the extent of her carelessness, and that if her brother wasn’t actually in Las Vegas, she would either join their military security regiment or wait for the first chance to join a team that would take her back to her original unit. Going out on her own wasn’t even a remote consideration.

The rest of the day, we just walked. We made good time, but the silence was a bit oppressive. If I’d known that I was gonna get preached to and told that I’d basically lived the last two-plus years wrong…I would have gone alone. Good thing I didn’t tell her about my baby.

Thursday, September 30

Spending tonight in the trailer of a jackknifed semi. The sky is clear, which means that the night will be very cold. We did luck out; last night we had to sleep out in the brush in shifts. This trailer is hard to get into. That means that zombies won’t be a problem even if they pass by. Not that I expect them to, we haven’t seen a single thing since we hit the road.

Today was more of the same uncomfortable silence. I hope we reach Beatty tomorrow so I can ditch her and go back to being alone. I thought it would be nice to have somebody to travel with. I was wrong.

She did actually ask me what I was writing at some point last night after we made camp. I told her it was none of her damn business. If that was her attempt to bridge the gap or whatever…too bad. I mean really, who is she to judge me?

Friday, October 1

The sign says “Welcome to Beatty Nevada…the gateway to death!”

I’m in this domed building that obviously served as a library. I honestly have no idea where Justine is. A few miles outside of town, we stopped at these warm springs. They weren’t any good for filling my water supply, but I took the most amazing bath.

Justine was kind enough to lend me some honest-to-goodness soap and—gasp!—a razor. That last part was more cruel than kind. Even with a shiny new blade, my legs and underarms now feel like giant strips of road rash. Still, I think she meant it as a nice gesture.

Next, we went to this other stream and replenished our water supply. I first knew that things would be different when we were filling up our canteens and water packs. I put down four zombies in about two hours. I was starting to wonder what the hell was going on…and that’s when I looked around and realized that Justine was gone.

I searched the area where I’d last seen her. I even risked calling her name…twice. Finally I started south along the highway. It wasn’t long before I saw the sign that ‘welcomed’ me to Beatty.

There was movement almost instantly. A glance around revealed that many of the buildings had black X’s painted on them. I assumed that that meant they’d been searched. Twice I heard gunshots. Both times scared the crap out of me.

I found a few hotels and the requisite numbers of bars and long-since-looted grocery stores. I decided not to stick around. As I crept out of town, I’m certain that I saw movement that was much too fast to be a zombie. In fact, I was chasing after the third such sighting when I found the library. I ducked inside and was disappointed to discover that it was empty of books.

It’s getting dark and the main entry of this place has a reinforced gate that bars on the inside. Somebody has used this location to hide out before. I won’t feel guilty treating myself to some of the supplies that I found boxed up in a few of the closets.

Part of me wants to look for Justine, but I’m not convinced that she was grabbed as much as I think that she crept away. There are obviously people living here; or in the vicinity at any rate. I’m fairly certain that, if I’ve seen signs of them, then they know I’m here. However, nobody has made a move to reveal themselves to me.

Saturday, October 2

Tonight, I’ll be sleeping in this church at the south end of town. I know I should have left, but something here doesn’t sit right. The voice in my head is telling me to leave, but I can’t.

Late last night I heard somebody crying. No it wasn’t the baby cry, it was honest-to-God weeping. Only, in the darkness, and with the occasional moan and groan of the zombies roaming this place, I couldn’t go out and look for the source.

Yes, I tried. I got about three blocks when five of those shambling bastards came out from what I am fairly sure was a playground or a park. They came right for me. And while I have no doubt that I could take them, it was the sound of crashing glass from somewhere else close by, that made me retreat. I have no idea how crowded this town might be.

I searched today and found a busted in door on a building that I am certain was an elementary school. There was blood everywhere. I don’t know what it is, but something here is bothering me. I looked around all day, but didn’t find a thing. At least not a living thing.

Monday, October 4

Today I tried something different.

After two days in town of finding nothing while I scurried about searching for whoever is running around here, I went up this naked, ugly hill on the north end of town. I found a telescope in the high school. And, while it’s not the greatest, it works.

I went into this horseshoe-shaped hill and climbed up the back side. When I got to the top, I lay down and scanned the town. From up here, movement was obvious. Funny thing …there aren’t nearly as many zombies wandering the streets as I had guessed. I would put their numbers at three hundred tops. And while I wouldn’t want to deal with them as a group, they are spread out.

The movement of those that are obviously living is centered on the high school on the south end of town and a hotel to the north. It is obvious that these are two competing factions.

The school compound is bigger and has more people. This little microcosm is interesting to say the least. The folks at the hotel are obviously military and those at the school are civilians. If I had to guess, I’d be willing to bet that Justine went to the hotel. Did she know about the societal rift here? And did she see me as one of “them” along the lines of the divisions here? Is that why she was so snotty? My worst fears seem to be realized. We’ve stopped fighting the zombies. We are now more worried about each other.

Friday, October 8

I chased him for three days.

I never caught him, but today I caught up with him. He is hanging from a sign over the highway. I’m in the burned out ruins of another—I had no idea there were so many of the damn things—airport, and I pray to God that the band of men I managed to evade don’t find my trail…or me.

I don’t know if these guys are new arrivals or what. However, there are a large group of badasses running all over what the sign said is Indian Springs. Funny, I thought the folks at Winnemucca had people here. If they did, they ain’t here now. This place was wrecked before that gang showed up. There are at least a dozen fires burning now. I think—although this may just be the paranoia talking—that they are trying to flush me out.

When I first arrived, after seeing the guy that I was chasing swinging from the sign, I thought that there were a bunch of zombies here. It turned out to be mannequins. That was creepy.

Now, about the guy I was chasing.

I was up in the hill looking around town when I saw this girl running down the street. Chasing her were two guys. I knew that, as far away as I was, there would be no way that I could get there in time to help. They were going to catch her. Still, I had to do something. I made my way down the hill and lost sight of them the moment before the screaming started.

I came up the steep bank of the trickle of water that passed itself off for as the Amargosa River just as one of the guys—a fat, greasy-haired, Hispanic-looking guy with tattoos all over his body, including his face—was standing up and buckling his pants. He ended up staring at the point of my spike-tipped walking stick that jutted from his chest. The other guy—a scrawny, acne-scarred white guy—took one look at his friend, then me as I was drawing my machete…and took off running.

I was between him and the girl sprawled in the dirt not moving. I didn’t have to check. She was dead. I did not have time to really take a close look, but the dark splotches around her white, freckled throat told me all I needed to know.

For the next few days we played our deadly cat-and-mouse game. The first day, he sealed his fate. I’d lost him in these ratty looking houses on the southeast end of town. Then he came out on some type of motocross bike. I was certain that I’d lost him. I watched helpless as he pedaled away. I knew that, even if I could find another bicycle to give chase, I doubted I could ride worth a damn with my water pack sloshing around.

I returned to the scene of the brief skirmish and was given another setback. I’d taken off in such a hurry after the second guy that I’d left my walking stick-spear sticking out of the fat guy. It was snapped in half. I don’t know if it happened when I stuck the guy, or if it happened when he fell to the ground or what…but it was unfixable. That’s when I started crying.

Hell, I don’t know why. Maybe it was because that weapon was the last thing I had left from the beginning. I’d been through hell with that thing. Every other weapon I have has been swapped out a dozen times or more. Half the time, I’d see a new knife or machete and simply toss the one I was currently carrying aside for the newest find. But the walking stick…my trusty spear…I’ve had that thing for what seems like forever. My hands had worn grooves into the wood that allowed it to fit perfectly in them when I walked.

I no longer cared about what was happening in Beatty. I resumed my journey. I would get to Vegas, find out who was in charge, and get a job with the caravans. I would have my cake and eat it, too. I’d have a permanent residence and I would get to travel; go and see all those places I longed to see. Maybe I’d even have a semi-regular sex life. The possibilities were endless.

By the first night that I made camp, I’d forgotten all about the guy who’d gotten away. It was midday the following afternoon when I came across the bicycle. The back tire was flat. That would mean that he was on foot. I highly doubted that he’d circled back.

Later in the day, I came across an abandoned old pick-up truck. A zombified corpse had been dragged out and its head bashed in. Judging by the scuffs in the sand, it hadn’t been an easy kill. The big rock was still sorta lodged in the skull where the last blow had finally put the thing down for good. My guess was that there was something in the cab of that truck that the skinny guy has wanted really badly.

That night, I found a clump of scrub brush to nestle in and sleep. It was a rough night. The wind was constantly blowing which added to my cold misery. I expected that if I did ever find that guy, he’d be dead from exposure.

The next day, today, I found him hanging from that sign. The body was just swinging in the breeze. In an instant, I went from fox…to rabbit mode.

I considered the ruined residential area, but decided that the airport was a better choice. Also, more of the structures were intact; more places to hide. As an added bonus, there were a number of aircraft. I counted two dozen private luxury jets parked all over this facility. There was even a large, commercial passenger plane; but without any stairs or a ladder, there would be no way to get inside.

Right now I am in one of those luxury airplanes. It is parked underneath the partially collapsed roof of a hangar. I actually had to move a big panel of aluminum, and then it was still a tight squeeze to get inside. I’m hoping that I didn’t disturb much when I got in. That way, if those crazy people running wild around here come past, hopefully they won’t even notice that I am here. There is no doubt as to my fate if I am discovered. That is a rough looking bunch.

The last thing that I saw before I ducked into this plane was the lighting of what I am positive was a church on fire.

Saturday, October 9

Mystery solved. Heading south on Highway 95, I followed my gang of looting maniacs. Staying out of sight wasn’t too hard for a number of reasons. First, they were loaded down with a strange assortment of things that they found in Indian Springs. (That included a number of mannequins, a screen door …like I said…strange.)  Second, I don’t think that these guys have faced any serious sort of resistance.

There is a pair of prison complexes just south of town. Great big sprawling monstrosities that seem to take up as much area as the entire burned out town of Indian Springs. It’s like a giant human warehouse. However, even as far away as I stayed while passing, the noise—mostly screams and what sounded like a crowd roaring—was incredible.

There looked to be a fairly impressive number of zombies milling about. Not to mention the huge bonfire blazing in the open space between the two main complexes.

I cannot begin to imagine what sort of nightmare is taking place behind those razor wire-topped fences. I couldn’t put enough distance between myself and that place fast enough. For the rest of the day I felt like I was being chased by a horrible monster. Even once I was out of range of the place—both audibly and visually—I still had the feeling that I was being watched. That feeling kept the hair up on the back of my neck.

I’ve come to realize that the vastly unpopulated state of Nevada is quite different from Oregon in a lot of ways; the sparse and spread out population didn’t keep the zombie outbreak from reaching even the most remote corners. But the pockets of humanity that survived have a much different life where the environment actually is an ally. If I use that logic, then I would be willing to bet that population-heavy places like New York and California are a waste.

Of course using logic like that makes it hard to imagine how a city like Las Vegas managed to withstand the onslaught. That would make it a bit of a miracle. I hold this sliver of hope in my heart that I will find what I’ve been looking for once I get there.

Tonight I will be sleeping in a place that was probably once some geek’s wet dream: a watch tower on the perimeter of Nellis Air Force Base. The sign on the highway told me that this is the infamous Area 51. Funny…it just looks like more of the same empty desert.

If an alien spaceship shows up…maybe I’ll hitch a ride. Talk about getting the chance to travel!  However, it is getting chilly and the sky is turning a bruised purple color. I’m going to settle in and get some shut-eye.

Sunday, October 10

Hmmm…no aliens came.

Well I guess that place turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. I have to admit, I did stay awake for a considerable time after dark…and not one single thing happened. No flashing lights in the sky, no strange whirring sounds.

So, if aliens got bitten by a zombie, what would happen? I bet all those crazies who were so into that crap before have had fist fights over the possible answers. I wonder if we would get Space Zombies? Wow…that sounds like the premise for a really bad SyFy Channel Original Movie. It also sounds like Meredith is getting a little bit bonkers spending all of this time alone.

Strange. None of the zombie stories that I do remember were so devoid of zombies. I haven’t seen any for a while. Didn’t they always have hordes of undead trapping a small band of survivors in an unlikely location? I mean, really…a mall?  How would you secure a place like that? And while I have certainly seen my fair share, there are times like now where I am just totally alone. I’ve walked across Oregon and much of Nevada this year. Much of that time I have only been in danger of being bored to death.

Tonight I am in some park; Floyd Lamb State Park according to the faded wooden sign hanging above the door of this log cabin-style building that I’m calling home for the night. Tomorrow…I will be in Vegas. Perfect timing. I’ve been careful with my water and food, but am starting to run a bit low. I think I hear some moans and baby cries in the distance. Oh well, the doors are sturdy and all the windows have heavy shutters that are still rolled down and locked.

Tuesday, October 12

What is it that they say about the best laid plans of mice and men?  Oh yeah…they’re destined to be fucked.

I won’t be going to Vegas it seems. All of my hopes and dreams are now just this sour taste of rot.

I woke yesterday filled with excitement. It really is my own fault. So much time out in the middle of nowhere took its toll. I was roused from my sleep by the sounds of pounding on the door. There were at least two dozen of those things out there. Worse still, I could see movement in the trees. More were coming.

I went upstairs to the windows that I could see out of and was upset to discover that I was surrounded by a couple dozen of them. They were at both doors clawing and scratching to be let in. I ditched the water pack and topped off one canteen. After checking my two knives strapped to my thighs, I drew my machete and went to the front door. I’ve never missed my spear as much as I did in that moment.

After making short work of the two right in the doorway, I launched myself into the pre-dawn, chilly morning air. The place was swarming with them. They were moths to my living flame. And hadn’t I just bitched about not seeing that many zombies like in the movies? Be careful what you ask for…right?

At some point I got turned around. I knew that I should be arriving at the highway…yet I was still in the park. Actually, I was in these sparse woods. When I burst out into a clearing, the sun hit me right in the face as it crested the distant mountains, bathing the world in a glorious sunrise. Crap! That meant that I was facing east; the wrong way. I knew that the highway was west of where I’d spent the night.

I turned around and he was right there. Barely old enough to start growing whiskers, the boy had the look of the long dead. His skin was split in places and his wounds were so dried out that not even maggots nested in them. Instead, I am pretty sure that I saw growth; it looked like mold or something with stuff sprouting from it. One eyeball remained; glossed over in putrid off-white and shot full of black tracers. The other socket had sealed shut like the skin had melted over the hole and fused together.

My coat saved me. Initially. Unfortunately, I’d been sans gloves for longer than I can remember. I brought my machete up and he clawed at my arm. That caused me to miss badly. The blade went into the shoulder, shattering the collarbone and wedging itself in rather firmly.

I went for a knife, but the zombie-boy lunged and we both went to the ground. I kicked and bucked, but we were such a tangled mess that it wasn’t doing any good. By the time that I got my knife free of its sheath, I had my free hand around its throat, keeping the gnashing teeth just far enough away. The smell coming from its mouth was surprisingly bad for how dried out and long dead this thing was. It was making my guts do rolls, threatening to spew what little may have been in my stomach.

The clicking and grinding sound of those teeth caused me to wince every single time. Finally, I drove the blade into its temple. I shoved the body off and scrambled to my feet…and right into the arms of the pair of zombies that were so torn up, the only way that I knew one of them was female was the sagging breast that remained on one side. Once again I found myself sprawled on the ground in a life-or-death struggle.

I fought, kicked, bucked, and squirmed. Finally I got myself free and crawled away. I made it to my feet a second time and looked around frantically. No direction was clear, but I took off in the way that seemed most likely to give me a chance.

When I finally reached the road, I fell to my knees gasping for breath. I puked up a scalding mixture of bile and a tiny smidge of food to give it some texture. It was while I was on my hands and knees that I noticed the nasty bite on my left hand.

I hoped desperately that I was one of the lucky immune. Then a handful of those bastards came barging through the brush beside the road and I had to get to my feet and run. I don’t think that I ever once considered running towards Vegas.

In all of the chaos, I’d lost my weapons and canteen. The only thing I still had was my satchel. It seems right that I am left with nothing but this journal. I’m in the old watchtower that I slept in a couple of nights back. Along the way, I saw my reflection in the side mirror of a car. The tracers are already visible in my eyes even in the filthy mirror that I looked in.

I know that I don’t have much time left. Writing this is taking all of the energy that I have. There are moments when it is like I can feel the infection spreading throughout my body. Down below, about a hundred of those things have gathered around the base of the tower. Their growls and cries and mewling keep jarring me back to the task at hand which is to finish this last…this final entry.

To whoever finds this, if anybody does, please—if at all possible—get this to my daughter. I’ve included enough information so that she can be found. When I set this book down, my plan is to secure the strap of my satchel around my neck and the other end around the railing. I realize that I will come back as one of those things, but my hope is that somebody will come along and see me. If they come up to investigate, they will find the book.

I wish that I had something profound to say now, but honestly, this headache is beating every thought out of my skull before it has a chance to gel. So…I guess that all there is left is to say goodbye.

Epilogue

Tuesday, August 1, 2023

My name is Orlando Scott. Las Vegas, 1st Regiment-Expeditionary Unit. I found this book a few weeks ago while returning from Correctional City.

The originals of this document were returned to me after Command Control inspected and copied each of the three separate texts. A convoy bound for the Northwest and the Rainier settlement will be taking the originals. If the assumption is correct, Ms. Gainey referred to what is now know as Corridor 26, a series of trading posts just west of the ruins of Old Portland.

Saturday, June 8, 2024

My name is Snoe. My father’s name was Samuel Todd. My mother’s name was Meredith Gainey.

This contains all three novels of Zomblog Snoe:

Zomblog: Snoe

Zomblog: Snoe’s War

Zomblog: Snoe’s Journey

Written by: TW Brown

Cover Art and Design by Denise Brown

Zomblog: Snoe

2012 May December Publications

The Split-tree logo is a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Dedication

“Vix” Kirkpatrick…

For refusing to accept that sometimes a story comes to an end.

Foreword

Just over a year ago, August of 2011, I released the ‘final’ book in the Zomblog trilogy. The release of Zomblog: The Final Entry marked the end of a journey that I never expected to take in the first place. When I wrote the first book, it was as a warm-up for what I considered to be my official entry into the zombie genre. I was more than a little surprised at how things turned out leading to the eventual publication of that first Zomblog. When the demands came for more…I agreed. The logic is simple, as a writer, I work for the people who read my work. When they wanted more, I was obliged to give them what they requested.

When I decided to make this book a trilogy, I figured that was a good number. Lots of people write trilogies. So, when I released that third book, I put all my Zomblog material in a cabinet and bid a fond farewell to the series that really gave me my first push. Now it was time to move on…or so I thought.

At first there were just a few comments. And that is fine. “Always leave ‘em wanting more.” That is an old saying in the entertainment biz. Then a few of the letters became insistent. One person in particular, a person I’ve come to regard as a real friend, Vix Kirkpatrick, insisted that the story was not over. More than once.

I will go on record as saying that this three book arc will be the end of the Zomblog series. All good things must come to an end, but after some time with the character, Snoe and I became better acquainted and this gives me the chance to take things in a new direction. After all, this is almost twenty years after the initial zombie rising. I’ve always said that there is more to the genre than just ‘rip and tear’ scenes. And this allows me the opportunity to explore a world that has an entire generation that has known nothing but a world where zombies exist.

Never say never…

October 2012

TW Brown

Chapter 1 - June

Chapter 2 - July

Chapter 3 - August

Chapter 4 – September

Chapter 5 - October

Friday, June 1st

Five years ago, I received my mother’s journal. Now, at age nineteen, I think I have the discipline to begin one myself. Sure, I tried a few times in the past, but it just never took. I would forget, and then, once I remembered, so much time had passed that I would just give up and say why bother.

A few days ago, Mama Lindsay came back from her unit’s escort of the Rose Colony’s president out to the Ten Pacific Nations Confederated tribal lands, something to do with a renewal of a bunch of treaties.

Anyways, she sent a messenger for me to pick her up after her DECON certification. (Everybody who ventures out of the confines of a Safe Zone has to be tested before they are allowed in general population.) It seems she found all my old failed attempts at starting a journal when she was loading out for her trip. She didn’t want to bring it up until she got back just in case we had a blow up over it.

I should probably come clean with the fact that I supposedly have a hot temper. Mama Lindsay says it is proof of genetic influence on personality.

So I guess she decided to wait until she got home to have the big conversation about me keeping a journal. I think she was being a little silly. After all, it was just a little scribbling on paper. We have a rule…no arguing before a patrol. Nobody wants to have their last memories of a loved one be of some fight over something stupid. We started that rule after Mama Janie and her entire farming group were wiped out by a Mega Herd—some reports claim there were over twenty thousand undead that day. I was only five or six at the time, but I think Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie had gotten into it over something like taking out the trash or sorting the compost; basically they had an argument over something mundane. To this day, I’ve never had the heart to ask what exactly they had quarreled over.

Mama Lindsay says the only reason she didn’t kill herself in those rough days that followed was because of me. She said I was her sole reason to live for almost two years after Mama Janie died. A few days later, Mama Lindsay sat me on her lap and we made a pinky promise to never let ourselves separate if we are angry at each other. I am proud to say we kept that promise all these years,

When I met her at the DECON station, I could tell she’d had a tough run. Half of her weapons were either missing from their sheathes, or visibly damaged. Her eyes had dark circles under them and her forehead had those two deep creases that it gets when she is either exhausted or pissed.

I took her field pack and we headed to the supply depot for groceries. At first, she didn’t say a word. Since she had called for me, I knew she would get to it when she was ready. Finally she just stopped walking and turned to look me in the eye.

“Are you leaving?”

When Mama Lindsay asked me that question, I guess I was shocked. More than that, I realized that I guess I’d known for a long time that anybody who knew me, or better yet, knew my birth mother, waited to see if I would leave on some crazy journey.

That is the price you pay when your birth mother is famous for being a Traveller. By the way, that’s as close to an insult here as you can get. Here in the Rose Colony, a ‘Traveller’ is somebody who refuses to be a part of the community.

In the world we live in, not being a part of a community carries the same stigma as the Old World welfare whore. I learned in one of my history classes that there was a small sub-culture of women who had babies, lots of times by different men, and lived off of checks they got from the government. I came home from school with a lot of questions that day.

The problem with Travellers is that they don’t even try to help anybody but themselves. They scavenge the Old World and sell anything worthwhile to the highest bidder. Sure, they risk their lives—not many Travellers live past twenty-five according to the statistics—and usually have some amazing artifacts to show for it, but it all self-centered.

It hurt me a little that, after all these years, Mama Lindsay could think I would do anything like that. I was raised to be a part of the community effort. I can’t really remember much about Mama Janie, but the images I do have are one of a person who always helped others and worked very hard. I have one clear memory about how when she would come in from the fields, she would always have something from the garden hidden in one of her pockets for me to find when I helped take them for washing.

It is sad that I know more about the father who died before I was born and the mother who abandoned me than I do about a woman who loved me, told me bedtime stories, and taught me to read and write.

Seeing how worried Mama Lindsay was at that moment made it that much more nerve-wracking about what I had to say. When the words came out of my mouth, I was not sure how she would react.

“I want to join the Escort and Expedition Force.”

Mama Lindsay has been the commander of the EEF for three years. I still remember how proud I was the day that the colony president handed her the sword and crossbow. I knew on that day that I wanted to follow in her footsteps. I also knew that she wanted me to choose a safer profession.

I honestly believe that one of her biggest concerns over me was that I would get outside the walls and feel drawn to explore the world. After all, it is what made my birth mother famous.

That brings me to my birth mother. Meredith Gainey. She and my birth father, Samuel Todd, have the three best-selling books of all time in the ZE (Zombie Era). You might think it is neat to be the daughter of two celebrities.

No. It’s not.

You see, there are a few different sorts when it comes to people and my parents. With Sam, it goes one of two ways; there are the creepy ones who see my father as some sort of demi-god, they get all weird when they meet me and it is actually kinda scary. And then there are the ones who have basically memorized his writings and feel the need to tell me about how “deep and philosophical” my father was as a writer.

The reactions about my mother are, shall we say, a bit different. There are some who see her as this avenging warrior. Her battle with The Genesis Brotherhood is a very popular story. There are some who see her as one of the early pioneers who blazed some sort of trail. There are others who see her as a selfish woman who stands as a reminder for a lot of what was wrong with the pre-ZE society.

I just see her as the person who abandoned me right after I was born. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful. I had two amazing mothers who loved me and devoted their lives to making me a good person.

I can still see the look on Mama Lindsay’s face. All of that relief that came first…then the typical “motherly” concern. No, her baby was not going to follow in her birth-mother’s footsteps. Yay! Instead, she was choosing the most dangerous profession in the colony. Crap.

Saturday, June 2nd

Jenifer came over today. I guess Mama Lindsay told her about my decision. Jenifer travelled with Meredith for quite a while. She got burned up real bad during the battle with The Genesis Brotherhood.

I guess it is okay to call her “Jenifer” in my journal. Everybody else calls her “Madame President.”

She wanted to congratulate me on my decision to join the EEF. By the big deal she made of it, I could tell she was enjoying Mama Lindsay’s annoyance.

Jenifer used to be the person Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay called when they needed somebody to watch me. I guess they went through a few sitters when I was two or three because I was “a hellion” according to the stories. In an act of desperation, they called Jenifer. I guess they thought a half-burnt young woman with most of her head unable to grow hair because of all of the scars, coupled with her shriveled raisin of a left eye, would scare me straight. Instead, it seems that I formed quite a bond with her.

I was with ‘Aunt’ Jeni when I killed my first zombie. We were out picking wild blueberries when one came out of the tall grass. Creepers are the worst. Missing their lower half, they get through the picket lines more often than a walker. This one had an even bigger advantage: it was a child.

He couldn’t have been any older than six—my age at the time. His clothing had long since deteriorated, and the years had taken their toll on the belly of the wretched thing.

I remember every detail about that boy. The way you could tell his hair had been curly, even though it was so caked and matted with filth, the piece of bone that stuck out from what remained of the left leg—which was missing from just above the knee. The fact that the entire right leg stayed intact and still had a leather boot practically grafted to the foot.

Jenifer gave me a spear and told me it was time that I learned how to put one down. I thought it would be easy. You hear about it or read my birth parent’s journals and think there is nothing to it. Pop it in the head and it’s done.

It took me three tries. The first time, I jabbed and my spear scraped down one side of its face. The second time, I stabbed it through the neck. I got so mad that I kicked it onto its back and stabbed it through the eye.

I remember staring at it for what felt like just a few seconds, but it was noticeably darker when Jenifer took my hand and led me home. I must have counted each of the nine remaining ribs a couple hundred times.

Anyways, it was sweet of Jenifer to come over and wish me luck. I am pretty sure she doesn’t do that for every single person who enlists in the EEF.

Sunday, June 3rd

My last day as a civilian—so to speak. I met with a few of my friends. (It is a bit creepy with how many ‘Sams’ and ‘Merediths’ I know.) We all went out to the corridor with crossbows, sat up on the barricades, and passed around a bottle of homemade blackberry wine while we took turns dropping shamblers with the crossbow.

The parents all hate it when we do it, but kids have been doing this for years. It is some sort of ritual. Nobody knows who started it, but for some reason, if you join the EEF, you come out here on the last day. You and a few friends drink a bottle and shoot the crossbow. The winner is the person who loses the fewest bolts. I remember something in my mom’s journal about her crossbow being fitted with the retriever reel. Of course, that is standard issue now. Nobody has bolts to waste.

I do have a guy that I like…but we already talked it over and decided that we will hold off getting serious until I finish my first tour. We almost ‘did the deed’ a few nights ago, but he was super sweet and it was actually Tim who put a halt to things.

That brings me to my sweetie, Tim Coatney. He was one of the kids rescued from that mansion where The Genesis Brotherhood had their base. He works the farms and is a very BIG boy. He has this baby fine blonde hair that I love to run my fingers through and arms that make the world disappear. I know that I am going to miss him, and I know that it is possible that some other girl will scoop him up when I leave on my first run.

As I lie in bed with my candle and this silly little book, I wonder if I will be able to keep it up. I actually lost it today…it was in the dining hall at the table where I ate breakfast. I am already wondering how my birth parents carried those damn things through all the crap they went through.

Monday, June 4th

I feel like I’ve been beaten with a really big stick. I hurt in places that I didn’t even know I could hurt. I thought I’d been so clever with my morning jogs and my secret workouts. Thing is…when it is just you, if a little fatigue sets in, you can call it quits or ease up. The only reason I’m writing this entry is to prove they didn’t beat me out there today.

Tuesday, June 5th

Didn’t think it was possible, but I hurt worse today. I made the mistake of asking what all the running and climbing and jumping had to do with being in the EEF.

Our little group had to load a bunch of rocks into our field packs and run Tower Hill. That is a big hill that all the old radio towers for the area sit on top of between The Corridor and Old Portland.

On the plus side, it got us outside the barricade…we even saw a few lone shamblers—no, we weren’t allowed to take them down—which for two of our team, were the first wild contacts. On the down side…did I mention the hill?

I guess now is a good time to say that we don’t see that many zombies close up these days. The Sunset Fortress Colony is deep enough behind the barricade that, if you don’t want to…you don’t have to ever see them. One of the guys in our team is from one of the Revelationist families.

The Revelationists are a religious group. They believe that we are living in the “End Times” or something to that effect. They don’t usually join the EEF, but this guy is the son of the pastor or priest or whatever they call themselves for the Sunset Fortress chapter.

They aren’t crazy like The Genesis Brotherhood; they just have a certain set of beliefs. We have most of the Old World religions represented—along with a few new ones. Nobody cares if you are Christian, Muslim or Revelationist these days. There are too many other problems. I guess it used to be a thing in the Old World. There are lots of things about that time that don’t make sense to my generation.

So, the thing about the guy who’d never seen a zombie before that made my day was the fact that he actually asked permission to get a closer look. All of us were waiting for our field trainer to bust his ass or make us all do more pushups. Instead, he stopped the run and told us all to take up defensive positions around the walker. Then, he escorted the kid down for a closer look! It was like he became human all of a sudden.

I watched them walk down to the thing. The trainer stayed with the guy—I think his name is Pete, but I am really not sure—and was talking to him. Then, when they got about ten or so yards away, the trainer grabbed the kid by the shoulders and turned him so that they were face-to-face before he said something that sounded serious by the tone, but that we couldn’t actually hear. After that, he just gave the kid a pat on the back and let him approach the zombie.

Of course, zombies don’t care what your religion is…they just want to eat you. As soon as it saw the kid, it started for him. I didn’t know what to expect and was sorta curious when the kid pulled a book out of his pack. He just kept walking backwards and I could hear that he was chanting something I just couldn’t hear it clear enough to make out anything. After a handful of seconds, he pulled out this long, heavy blade and split the zombie’s skull.

After that, the trainer was back to being a total jerk. He made us finish our run and acted like nothing had ever happened.

Thursday, June 7th

Yesterday we took an overnight trip out to a small stream where one of the farming teams has been spotting a few shamblers sniffing around the area. It is important to keep the farming areas clear; sighting a few zombies can be no big deal, but if it becomes a regular occurrence, it can mean the leading edge of a mob.

Mobs have been reported (if you can believe what some of the Travelers say when they pass through) to stretch on for dozens of miles. We’ve seen a leading edge arrive almost a week ahead of the main body once. The estimated number was over two hundred thousand.

Some of the older folks, like Mama Lindsay, say that the mobs are like cartoon snowballs. I guess, in the cartoons, snowballs were rolled downhill and became bigger than houses. I’ve rolled a snowball down a hill…it went about two feet and didn’t really do much of anything. Personally, I don’t get it, but there are a lot of things about the Old World that don’t make sense to my generation.

Supposedly, people used to sit at pee-sees and type all their conversations to each other. People would meet and get married without ever meeting each other! They could type things and people in whole other parts of the world could read it right then. Seems creepy.

Some of the old timers say that the reason the zombies wiped us out so fast is because everybody was so busy blogging, tweeting and Facebooking about it. They say that the zombies were at the door before anybody actually tried to act.

So, last night, I was on watch with Sam Simmons. (He is the Revelationist pastor’s son.) We saw a few coyotes, a bunch of raccoons and a skunk. Not one single zombie.

We broke camp at first light and headed back. This evening, the second training unit (who took over for us) just got back an hour ago. They made seven kills!

It is SO not fair.

Friday, June 8th

Graduation was this afternoon. Mama Lindsay presented all the graduates with their sword and crossbow. When she handed me mine, I guess it finally sunk in for her. I’ve been to lots of graduation ceremonies and never seen her show hardly any emotion at all, but today, she had a tear in her eye. If you know Mama Lindsay, then you know how rare that is for her.

We were all given our first assignments at the banquet. I will be travelling with a produce caravan to a settlement that just established itself outside of the ruins of Oregon City. They set up beside the river just east of the falls.

None of their farms are fully on line yet, but they have a bunch of fish, so we will give them some fruits and veggies and we get salmon. The kitchen is already planning something special when we get back. I’ve only had salmon twice…it is so yummy.

The wagons have all been loaded and are in line at the North Gate, ready for us to leave in the morning. I hope I can sleep tonight. I’m actually very excited about this.

I pulled out my birth mother’s journal and flipped through a few pages. She’s killed more zombies in a few days than I’ve ever actually seen. I guess since I’ve grown up my whole life knowing about them, I never gave them much thought. With places like The Sunset Fortress just up the line by the North Gate and Warehouse City as the last stop before exiting the West Gate, and all the little places in between along Corridor 26, this has just always been part of my world.

The last numbers I heard when Mama Lindsay was talking with Jenifer and a few others were that there are over eight thousand people living within the walls of Corridor 26. Almost nine hundred live around Sunset Fortress where I grew up. To me…nine hundred people just seem like so many. In my lifetime, I remember when dinner was served for the entire Sunset Fortress community in one sitting. Now it is done in three.

I realized the other night when we were out, just how used to the sounds of people around me I am. It was really quiet out there. I wasn’t totally ready for that. In the morning, I am leaving Corridor 26 for at least a week of that type of silence. Toss in the possibility of having to engage and kill zombies, and I just do not know how to feel about everything.

Saturday, June 9th

This evening we are camped in a handful of houses. I’ve never been in an Old World house before. There is so much to see and fiddle with that I think my brain is swollen.

We travelled over to an abandoned stretch of what used to be called Highway 217 according to the wagoneers. It winds through what were once hundreds of stores and shops. I can’t imagine how many people it would take to need that many shops. Some of the names were still readable on the buildings. My favorite was ‘chen Kaboodle’. I don’t know what it sold, but the name is funny.

We had very little activity since most of this place is occupied by individual tribes. Not everybody chooses to live in the protected zones. From what our squad leader said, most of the tribes are run by criminals who don’t want to live by rules, have to work to earn their way, or help anybody except themselves.

Did I mention that my class’s trainer is the ranking officer on this run? I thought it was going to be like training, but he is a totally different person now for some weird reason. He even pulled me aside when we had camp set up for the evening. As soon as I saw the cover of the book, I knew what he wanted.

I guess it was a popular thing in the Old World to ask for people to write their name on stuff…autographs. He had me sign on the page where it announced my birth. He seemed kind of embarrassed when he was asking.

So, I wandered around this house with a few of the wagoneers and a handful of other EEFers. The hardest part for me was the smell. It stank so bad in a few of the rooms that it made me gag.

How did people live with so much stuff? Every room had shelves and cabinets and closets full of clothes and all sorts of things.

I finally saw a computer. (I thought they were called ‘pee-sees’ because of how everybody used that term when they spoke about them.) How did people sit in front of those things all day? I also saw the biggest bed I’ve ever seen in my life. It took up over half the bedroom. The wagoneer said that king-sized beds were common. When I asked him if the whole family slept in it together…he laughed.

I saw one thing and asked if I could take it as a souvenir. So I have this really pretty picture frame. When I get home, I will put the picture that Eric Grayfeather drew of my birth mother in it. I don’t have any bad feelings for her. I can’t understand a lot of what she did, but I am grateful that she chose Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay to take me.

In the morning, we will be changing over to the 205 Corridor. It is just now being settled and has long stretches that are open to zombies. Also, it passes through some heavy woods, which make it doubly dangerous. Thick woods let zombies get right up on you according to the lecture portion of our training.

So…as I snuff my candle and snuggle into my bedroll, I can hear the occasional sound of the draft horses snorting. I can hear the whispering sound of footsteps crunching around as whoever is on watch walks past. And that is all. It is just too dang quiet out here.

Sunday, June 10th

I’ve heard a lot of people say “Be careful what you ask for, you may just get it” lots of times. Now I know what they meant. One of the reasons that I joined the EEF was because I wanted to get outside the walls of Corridor 26, The Sunset Fortress, and see what was out there. I wanted to see this world that makes the older folks get that look in their eyes when they talk about the past.

I know that some folks are already placing bets on how long it will be before I do like my birth mother and take off, but that won’t happen. I like my home, I love Mama Lindsay, and I like being alive. Out here…I miss the first two, and the third one is in constant jeopardy.

Today, the caravan ventured into the untamed 205 Corridor. While there is no official national government, there are elements that do still exist. Basically, every territory is left to fend for itself. The state lines are all gone, but there is still a national militia. I guess they operate under the same idea as the old United States Army.

A few years ago, they gave up trying to actually wipe out the zombies. What they focus on now is trying to help established settlements build a safer society.

The one thing they have managed to do is utilize the rail systems around the country. I can only speak for what happens with the settlements I am familiar with on Corridor 26, but they seem to show up every nine months or so with heavy equipment. They meet with our president and offer to help shore up barricades, expand our borders, or whatever we happen to be working on. During that time, they meet with people and see if they can recruit. On the average, six or seven kids around my age usually get a bee in their bonnet and decide to join.

I say all of this because we were very surprised to discover a detachment of soldiers guarding the entrance to the 205 Corridor. It seems that the reports we received about a few communities banding together to start securing the corridor were only partially true.

Our wagon leader and Captain Ross met whoever was in charge of the outpost, and there was a lot of yelling. From what I can gather by what I heard and saw, we had to pay some sort of toll to pass through the gates. Captain Ross had to let the soldiers peek through all our stuff and write down what we were carrying.

That was a bad start to the day. Did I mention that it was also raining so hard that you had to yell to be heard by the person next to you because the rain was so loud hitting all the tarps covering our wagons? That meant all of our strung weapons were wrapped in oil cloth and stashed.

The 205 has a huge grassy median that separates the two roads. One of the wagoneers told me that he used to drive this road to and from work, and that it was so thick with cars that it would take him an hour to get home. He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly explained that without traffic, he could make the drive in fifteen minutes. I still think I missed the point.

Once we cleared the military checkpoint, the group split into two units. My part of the caravan was on the southern side (the right hand side). To our left was the tree-filled median. To our right were thick woods and a downhill slope in places that fell away to passing streams.

I guess the heavy rain is to blame, because we never heard the rear escort call for help. To be honest, I probably did everything wrong an escort can do before we got hit. I was walking with my head down. At some point I’d just gotten sick of all the water in my face. Even with my hooded poncho, I was totally soaked.

A hand grabbed my sleeve and pulled. My first thought was that somebody was about to get slapped. I spun around ready to really give them an earful. I found myself looking right into the grey-green face of a zombie. Even in the downpour, some of the fresh blood still dripped from its chin.

My eyes flicked past the zombie for a split second, because on the ground about ten feet away, three of those things were pulling apart one of the other escorts. I couldn’t see who, and I still don’t really know who made it and who hasn’t. (Did I forget to mention that we are all in quarantine at what the residents are calling Willamette Refuge?) That was the first time I have ever seen somebody actually attacked by a zombie. The way they tear a person apart is bad, but I had no idea that the human body smells so awful on the inside—like poop.

I went for my blade as I jerked away from the one that was yanking on the sleeve of my poncho. I barely had the blade free of the scabbard when an axe came down on the top of the zombie’s head. I jumped back as it fell and slipped. I don’t know how, but I ended up under the wagon I’d been walking beside.

It seemed to take forever before it rolled past and I was clear to get to my feet. A hand was already reaching down for me and I came an inch away from chopping off all or a good part of it. I am nursing a nasty bruise from where she kicked me. That is how I met Phaedra Woods.

She helped me to my feet and covered me while I waded into the tall grass where my blade had flown when she kicked my arm to keep me from attacking her. Together, we hacked down a dozen or so zombies and made our way to the last wagon in the convoy where they had lost their horses. Okay…that isn’t exactly true; they didn’t lose their horses. Both of them were easy to spot under a dogpile of zombies.

The kills were pretty easy. The zombies were so involved in ripping the guts out of the poor horses that they paid us almost no attention. A few managed to look up just as Phaedra or I split their heads open. When it was over, it took my hands about ten minutes to stop shaking. Then I threw up. Phaedra was nice enough to hold my hair back for me while I knelt beside the road and gave up my breakfast.

Phaedra is probably around thirty and I bet she used to be really pretty. She is one of those rare people who exhibit immunity to whatever it is that turns people to zombies after they’ve been bitten. The left side of her face is a mass of really bad scar tissue. There is a hole in her cheek that you can see through into her mouth. So, before you think that I was out of line for almost cutting off her arm when she went to help me up, consider what I was seeing.

The wagons have a rule out in the untamed lands: Don’t stop unless you are dead. So, once we helped the wagoneer secure his wagon, we had to jog up to the convoy and fetch a pair of the reserve horses. By the time we had the wagon back on the move, it was just me and Phaedra and the wagoneer.

There was one point in the trip that I will keep in my mind anytime I think about quitting the EEF. As we cleared the crest of a long and gradual incline, the clouds broke up. In the distance was Mount Hood. I’d never seen it in person before. I know that my birth mother crossed it on her failed trip to Las Vegas. From this distance, it looks beautiful, but I can’t begin to imagine what would possess anybody to travel over it. As I stared out across the valley and just took in the sights, I felt a tickle in my belly.

We arrived at the gates of Willamette Refuge just as the sun was swallowed up by more dark clouds. A flash of lightning and the sharp crack of thunder made me jump just as the huge iron gates began to open.

Now I am in a quarantine cell until my blood work returns. The people here appear nice. They are set up right beside the river. That seems so strange, to have a side of your village completely open and without any sort of wall or barricade. I talked with the girl who was examining me, and she said that they placed a huge barricade in the river. The bars are about a foot apart. It is wide enough for fish to swim past, but too narrow for zombies. Still, you can’t see it. That means if something happens and it comes free or a piece breaks off, they won’t know it until a zombie comes walking up out of the water.

Zombies don’t normally go into the water, but it happens. They may fall in or any number of things. One thing I learned from reading my birth parent’s journals: anything can happen.

Speaking of the journals, there is a bookshelf in my little holding cell. On it are a few bibles, Edible Plants of the Pacific Northwest, and my birth father’s journal. I thumbed through it and was interested to discover that people had taken the time to scribble notes in the margins: “IRONY USA OR BUST”, “RIP SAM”, and the very popular “(Insert name here) WAS HERE!”

Tuesday, June 12th

The people of Willamette Refuge are really different. Yep…different is probably the best word that describes them. They had a huge fish fry for us, but quibbled over how much fish to send with us in exchange for the vegetables we delivered. Also, two of their citizens are coming back to Corridor 26 to meet with the president and discuss setting up embassies!

I can’t even begin to imagine how that is going to go over. Couple that with the weird military outpost at the junction to the 205 Corridor and I think Jenifer is gonna be super annoyed.

We leave in the morning.

Friday, June 15th

Something is wrong. I think we are in for a nasty surprise coming soon.

Dang it! I didn’t write anything down from the past couple of days! Okay, I am going to try and put this all down so that I can remember it. This may change the entire landscape of our society.

It started when we reached the checkpoint we’d had to pay a toll at on the way in. It was leveled. From the looks of things, a much bigger armed detachment arrived and either didn’t want to pay the toll, or didn’t like the military. Most of the place was burned to the ground. Charred bodies littered the area, and from the smell…and the smoke still rising off the corpses, we didn’t miss the excitement by much.

The only thing peculiar (and I didn’t notice it, Phaedra pointed it out to me) was that the sturdy gate system that had been erected was still in place. Whoever did this had a personal thing against these soldiers.

Phaedra and I talked about it as we walked. I guess she has heard that the military force has been doing things a little different than I was led to believe. They do show up about every nine months to help with all the stuff I mentioned. However, the six or seven kids that they take with them may not all be volunteers.

If what Phaedra said is true, the commander of the military unit meets with the president and agrees on the number ahead of any work being done. That left me with a lot of questions. First, does Jenifer know all of this? The soldiers are due any time now, and their arrival will be the first during her presidency. Also, does Mama Lindsay know this?

Phaedra says that the recruits are selected from the men and women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. How have I not known any of this? Do other kids my age know this? How has this been kept a secret for so long in our community if it is true?

Mama Lindsay is out until tomorrow with a hunting party. When she returns, I have some questions.

Anyways, the two people from Willamette Refuge met with Jenifer. I was assigned as their escort (which was better than being the person who had to tell the families of those who didn’t make it back). I waited outside the door and heard most of what was said.

It didn’t start well with Jenifer reading the inventory list of what we brought back. I guess the numbers were nowhere near what had been agreed on.

Once most of the yelling was finished, the part about the embassy came up. I was surprised at how readily the deal was accepted. They even discussed sending a joint delegation into the Free Zone where all the independent tribes live along Corridor 217 to put out an offer of some sort.

Actually, once the real dealing started, they talked so fast and it got hard to follow. I did gather that a lot of this is in response to that military post at the start of Corridor 205.

A new convoy will be leaving tomorrow to Willamette Refuge. Some of our people are being sent to talk to their president. I get the next two days off, so it won’t be me. That’s good. I’m looking forward to some sleep in my bed.

Saturday, June 16th

How have I lived my life so blind? Did Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie shield me from all of this for a reason? And who else is in on it?

I confronted Mama Lindsay with what Phaedra told me about the arrangements with the military units that come through, and at first she denied it. Only, as soon as she did, I could tell she was lying! I can’t say that is the first time my parents have lied to me, but this isn’t something harmless like Santa or the Easter Zombie. This is a real lie.

Finally, she told me that it was true. She also said that it is done by lottery. The recruiters are allowed to set up a volunteer recruitment desk and talk to the citizens. If the quota is filled, then there is no need for the lottery. If the number isn’t reached…

So that brought me to the situation at the entrance to Corridor 205. It was interesting to have some real intel that Mama Lindsay didn’t have yet. She was visibly upset when I told her about the toll on the way through. However, once I told her about what we saw when we came back…she left in a big hurry.

Monday, June 18th

I haven’t seen Phaedra since shortly after we got back. When I went to her home, she wasn’t there. I checked at the EEF office, and they said she was on assignment with a farming group. I kinda want to talk to her. Finding out all of this, and then seeing Mama Lindsay get weirded out to the point where she tried to actually lie to me directly, has me so confused right now.

I have never felt like I needed somebody to talk to until today. So many things are in my head right at the moment. I feel like I am missing a few important pieces of information, and people I know and love and trust have them, but they won’t share.

After being outside in the field as an EEF member, I feel like my brain won’t work right. All the things that I love don’t feel the same.

Tuesday, June 19th

Phaedra came back. I was actually waiting by the gate when her group came through. I’ve never waited for anybody to come back from the outside except my Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie. I don’t feel all that much better after talking to her, though.

I waited for her to clear inspection. Since she is immune, she doesn’t have to wait for blood tests before being released. As soon as she came out, I had questions. Where did she hear all of the stuff that she knew about the military was the biggest.

She told me that about two years ago, her son Kyle was selected. That was the last time she ever saw him. She has never heard one single word. When she asked the president at the time, Paul Kulgowski, about her son, he said that it was the only way to keep the national militia out of our business.

Apparently Phaedra thought that was as big of a load of garbage then as I do now. Ever since, she switched jobs from the farms and joined the EEF. She says that running into military detachments is rare, but more common than if she was staying inside the walls. She always asks every time she runs into soldiers in hopes that just one of them will know who her son is and if he is still alive.

I asked her if she ever considered leaving Corridor 26 to search for him. She said that, as much as she loves her son, she still has a desire to live, and if he is alive…then this is where he would come back.

When I got home, Mama Lindsay wasn’t here. She left a note saying that she was taking a group of our people that want to be a part of the Corridor 205 reclamation team out to their camp. She won’t be back for at least a week.

Also, an envelope was waiting. My next assignment is in; I will be escorting a party of diplomats all the way out to Timberline City! I will be travelling to Mount Hood along most of the same trail that Meredith took when she and Eric Grayfeather crossed over and went south.

For some reason, I’m more excited than I thought I would be. It isn’t so much about Meredith as it is about the mountain. After seeing it from across the valley, I guess I really want to see it up close.

Wednesday, June 20th

So, a couple of the five people we are escorting are some familiar names for people who know my father: Tom Langston (everybody calls him The Mountain and he totally blames my birth father for it!) and Monica Campinelli (formerly Sister Monica).

They are going to meet with the Confederated Tribes. I guess the president is taking the situation with the military seriously. She wants to reach out to the tribes and see if they will allow her to travel to meet their chief.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that we might be going to war. It sure seems like there is suddenly a lot going on.

As for my trip, today was nothing special. We are taking the same route that leads past Willamette Refuge. I didn’t feel like as much of a tourist this time. I actually took out a few walkers on my own with my crossbow.

Oh yeah…it is really sunny out. Not cold, not hot. It is perfect weather for hiking.

I was tempted to talk to Mister Langston or Miss Campinelli at different points today, but I chickened out. For one, Tom is BIG! I know my Sam described him as a big man—a mountain—but until you are up close, you really don’t realize just how huge he is. When he shook my hand, I think my arm disappeared up to the elbow.

As for Miss Campinelli, she is just way too sour looking. Her lips are pressed so tight that you might think she doesn’t have any. Her eyes are blue, but not a pretty blue. They almost look black they are so dark. The other EEFers are calling her “Crabinelli” behind her back. I think that is a bit mean, but it is kinda right.

As I get ready to go to sleep, I just realized that I didn’t even take a look around the old apartment building that we are camping in for the night. It isn’t that there wouldn’t probably be a lot of cool stuff to play with and try to figure out, but I felt a teensy bit more experienced this time. Also, the old timers that we are escorting all seemed to get really sad when we were setting up camp. I guess they miss their former lives.

I refuse to feel guilty when it comes to being excited about my new one!

Friday, June 22nd

We are on the unpatrolled section of what was once Highway 26. (One of the older EEFers told me.) This is where Meredith and Eric began their journey through what is now considered the Wild West. (Again, that is what one of my companions told me.)

This evening, we are actually encamped inside the log walls of a big fort. I’ve seen photos, and it really looks like something out of a picture book. Everybody is dressed in animal skins with an assortment of weapons dangling off their belts and from their backs.

I saw some females walking around practically naked! Trust me when I say that a few of them shouldn’t do such things. The whole feel of this place was weird. Also, it smelled really dirty.

There is a river just outside the walls and when we arrived, I bet I saw fifty to sixty kids playing in the water. All of them had knives hanging off their waists…even the really little ones. A tiny girl with hair so blonde that it was almost white in the sun ran up to me as I arrived and asked me if I was the new teacher. She was so cute that I hated telling her that I wasn’t.

Once we were logged in, a couple of men came up to our captain and they went off for about an hour. When she came back, she briefed us. It seems that military convoys have been spotted in the area. The big thing about that sentence was the plural form of the word “convoy.”

Like I said, we might see the military roll in on trains once every nine months to a year. The fact that they have convoys roaming the area is a real cause for concern. The biggest concern is that nobody seems to know what they are doing. One of the recent sightings supposedly involved what looked like a long line of people in chains.

Saturday June 23rd

We are officially inside Confederated Tribe lands. While the tribes claim the lands a bit further out (that fort would fall inside their borders according to their claim), they are not that zealous about “trespassers” until you reach the fence.

To think of what it took to build the fence that surrounds their territory is mind-boggling. It is ten feet high and VERY sturdy. The rumor is that one of the larger herds came up against the first fence and flattened it. The casualty rate was high.

Now, you might think that they would decide to shrink their holdings to something more manageable. Nope. They sent delegates to the Seven Tribes. (If you can believe this…the entire state of Oklahoma is walled off and Native Americans from around the continent, as far away as the deep reaches of Canada, now call it home.) The story is that they built the wall around the Confederated Lands in less than a year from the day they broke ground.

So, while our delegation is meeting with tribal leaders, we are allowed to mingle as long as we have an escort. The cool thing about that is that they also give you a history lesson while they walk around with you. I learned all sorts of things about the meanings of Totem Poles scattered around the village. Also, my guide showed me how to make an arrowhead from basalt. I made five and then realized how clever the guide was to have the silly white girl doing manual labor for free. To make it even better, had we simply been tourists instead of part of a diplomatic party, we would have PAID to be taught. Then, you get to keep one as a souvenir. The rest are property of the Peoples of the Confederated Tribe.

In the morning, my “guide” has offered to take me to their burial grounds. He made it seem like a really big deal. When I asked what the big deal was about a cemetery, he laughed.

Right now, I am trying to find a way to lie down that is comfortable. I ate so much that I feel like I might just split open right down the middle. I’ve never had fry bread before. Plus, they made this stuff with strawberries to scoop up with the fry bread…

Oh. My. God.

Sunday June, 24th

Death.

I guess the Natives have it all figured out. They don’t fear it. They seem to embrace it in a way that I don’t think I will ever understand.

So, when one of them reaches an age and feels that it is time, they make sure that they go around the village and pass out their things to friends and family. Then, they walk out into the woods. There is a trail that leads into the tall pines of the forest, here at the base of Mount Hood. At the end of the trail is a big clearing. The closer you get…the quieter the world seems to become. It is like not even the wild animals want to disturb it out there.

When I saw it, I had to look for a while to figure out exactly what I was seeing. The best I can describe it…they have a tree adorned with deer antlers—really big, pointy sets of antlers.

I guess they come here and duck inside this little hide-covered hut. Inside, they stoke a hot fire. Brian (not a very Native American sounding name) told me that they make a final commune with the spirits, and then they come out to the tree with the antlers and impale themselves through the eye; straight into the brain to ensure that they never foul their bodies with the “evil spirits” that fill the shell of their former selves—in other words, no Native American zombies. After two days, the family comes out and removes the body from the tree of antlers and there is this huge black stain where the bonfire is built and the body is burned.

When I asked him if he understood that you needed to be bitten to turn, he didn’t seem to care. I asked him if he would do the same thing when he became an old man. He said that he would embrace it.

Oh. Kay.

Monday, June 25th

Back out into the wilderness. We are not in the fort tonight. Instead, we are on a hill looking down into the fort…and the hundred wagon convoy emblazoned with the NAA (New America Army) logo that is encamped all around its walls.

Wednesday, June 27th

I think I am starting to understand how this journaling thing got so engrained in my birth parents. I was a bit too busy yesterday to write, but it nagged at me all day today. Besides, there is something to be said about having some sort of record of things.

It seems that there has been a faction of military that has broken off from the actual New America Army. When we reach Corridor 26, things are probably going to get a bit frantic.

Yesterday we were involved in a skirmish with a scouting element from the renegade faction. (Can I still call them the NAA? They may still have the equipment, but these people aren’t operating under the official banner anymore.)

So, if this goes bad, I guess you need to have a little history lesson. Yes, I am writing this with the thought that I may have information that will help others. But I also believe that things in the world I grew up in are about to change.)

In the Old World, there was a place called NORAD. It seems that a few members of the old government did manage to get to Colorado and the Cheyenne Mountain installation. They couldn’t do much to help, but they brought in as many people as they were able. Also, they did manage to attract a pretty decent amount of military personnel. It seems that any who survived and still felt some sort of obligation to their duty fought their way to that big hole in the mountain.

It has been from there that this small group of Old World government types tried to rebuild. They knew that there would not or could not be a United States of America anymore. However, they did feel that it was important to try and bring as many of the places like Corridor 26 into some sort of loose fold. To that extent, they sent out expeditionary forces to find those sorts of communities.

It was in their best interest to help those communities grow. If you can’t say anything else, you have to say that these people had that so-called American Spirit. The stuff that won World Wars and sent people to space is part of who we all are, I guess.

I never gave it any thought to what those who first set up Corridor 26 must have gone through. Places like Sunset Fortress and Warehouse City have always existed in my life. The community that I live in and grew up in was created by people who lost everything and started from scratch.

How have I lived my life and not realized this?

So we were moving off the ridge and plotting a new course. The Native American ambassadors we had with us had already departed, informing us that they needed to tell the tribes what they had seen. They promised to send people to meet with our president as soon as it was reasonable. However, I doubt we will be seeing any of the Native Americans anymore. They have stayed mostly to themselves and refused to get involved in much of anything outside the confines of their great wall.

As we moved off the ridge, we heard screaming. Of course, out here, when you hear screaming, you expect to find people being torn apart by zombies. I was with the detachment sent to investigate.

The man was in a stream with two arrows sticking out of him—one from a leg and the other in his back. Three other men were doing a terrible job of trying to kill him. Unsure of what we were walking into, the decision was made to try and take them alive.

As soon as the three got wind of us, that idea went out the door. There were some nasty words and a few threats. Then the man in the stream called out.

“They are coming to conquer every community they find! Run! Warn everybody!”

Those were his words as I recall them.

Less than five minutes later, we were helping Danny O’ Conner out of the stream and tying the one good hand of the only member who survived the skirmish behind his back. I personally put the gag in his mouth. Sheesh! I wonder if all soldiers curse like that.

So, the word we got from Mister O’Conner is that there was a coup from a faction of the NAA that believed it was time to “subjugate the wildly out-of-control communities being allowed to draw on the finite resources of the NAA and the government it represents.” It seems that there is a president and a vice-president sequestered in NORAD.

They have always considered themselves figureheads more or less. Well, it appears that the individual holding the office of vice-president has larger aspirations. When the president would not agree to some plan laid out by his vice-president…she slit his throat on stage during a huge assembly. She already had key elements of the NAA in place around the auditorium or whatever they meet in. Since the assembly was indoors, nobody was carrying weapons. The coup was over in seconds and the vice-president declared herself the new president.

Her first order: Bring all the independent communities to heel under the banner of the NAA. It took me a moment to recognize it, but my mother would be pissed.

All hail New America’s president…Dominique DuBois.

Thursday, June 28th

I can’t believe how much the news of Dominique’s “un” death is affecting people. It is like finding out that the boogeyman is real. I never realized just how much people hate that name.

It was around lunch when it struck me. I’ve met a lot of “Sams” and Merediths” and a host of familiar names from those books. Proof of their impact, I guess. However, I have never met one single Dominique. She is the biblical Cain…which makes Jenifer…Abel?

Friday, June 29th

Arrived home. I didn’t feel like being the one to drop the bad news on everybody, so I just submitted to my check-up, passed my blood test, and came back to find the place still empty. I expected Mama Lindsay to beat me back.

It is strange, but now that I know what is out there, I worry so much more about her than I ever have before. Add this new element of the NAA…and Dominique takes everything up a notch.

I stopped by Phaedra’s, but she wasn’t home. I know she isn’t on a run, because I checked the board before I left.

Sunday, July 1st

Mama Lindsay is home. I guess she got word of everything from an outbound convoy. Well…almost everything.

I told her about New America’s new president.

Jenifer is coming over tonight to meet with Mama Lindsay and a bunch of the folks in charge of security. We will be prepared for the worst of possibilities. One of the benefits of who I am—Mama Lindsay’s daughter, not the offspring of Sam and Meredith—is that it will happen under my roof. I will be in the know.

Monday, July 2nd

I leave in seven days.

The EEF now has a new mission statement. An offshoot branch will be tasked to embark on “recon and becoming a general pain in the ass” is how our eloquent president put it. We will be undertaking our first mission. There is a railroad bridge about three days out that we are tasked with taking down, sabotaging, or impeding by any means necessary.

The task is very open to ingenuity. I guess it would have been easier in the Old World era. However, the tools and/or explosives to make a job like this happen are not readily available. We will have to improvise in the field.

THAT is exciting!

Two of the people coming with us are old friends of my birth mother: Jeff and Rodney. It is ironic that they are now considered explosives experts. When Meredith met them, she believed that they were Army Rangers. They were…sorta.

Jeff and Rodney were supply clerks. They were also the ones responsible for blowing up the house of The Genesis Brotherhood. They were informed of the situation with Dominique and both men stepped forward to volunteer.

The real humor in this situation is that both men had to officially enlist in the EEF. They are in the training now. I wonder if they are having flashbacks.

The normal enlistee for the EEF is between seventeen and twenty-five. In their mid-forties, Jeff and Rodney are going to be the oldest and most junior members of the force. I can’t wait to actually meet them.

This brought up some new feelings. I have always tried to live my life as the daughter of Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay. I have made it a life choice to put being Sam and Meredith’s daughter in the back…to the point of almost pretending they don’t exist. I am not sure that is the right way to go anymore. I have avoided meeting a bunch of people from their past, people in the books just because I wanted to avoid mixing with their past too intimately.

I tried so hard to be something else. Yet, here it has come back…full circle. I never understood that phrase until now. All that has gone before is coming back like that bad taste in your mouth you can’t get rid of no matter how much you rinse. The whole time you were rinsing your mouth you were forgetting that the source of that taste is deep in your belly.

I maintain that I will NOT be taking off to see the world. There was an aspect of selfishness in my birth mother that does not course through my veins. I think my heart is more like my birth father’s. I want to help my home…serve in the EEF…and maybe even settle down someday.

Wednesday, July 4th

Today was one of those Fourth of July celebrations that made everybody feel connected. Not just to each other, but to the past. For those of us who have no recollection of the way things were…this day has always been about the food and the games and seeing so many people come together.

I’ve seen pictures of fireworks. I guess they are much prettier in person, but to me, they don’t seem that special. Today, President Jenifer Emory gave her first speech since accepting office. I waited until she was busy and snatched all of the pages because I wanted to write it down. It just seemed really important. I realize that she is only the president here at Corridor 26. I realize that there is a person declaring herself the actual president of all the colonies. I could say I am the President of the Moon…that doesn’t mean a thing.

So, here is the president’s speech:

“Ladies and gentleman of Corridor 26, I want to welcome you to our Fourth of July celebration. Every year for the past fifteen years, we have come together on this day to remember the spirit that made this nation great.

We come together to celebrate the accomplishments of a people who had no business winning the war that they undertook in the name of Life…Liberty…and the Pursuit of Happiness. Yet, for many of us, those words have held little or no meaning for too long.

We live behind walls made from cars and trucks and cement. We leave the protection of those walls at great risk to our lives. None of us could have foreseen this all those years ago. The events that transpired were out of a movie that few of us would have probably watched, and none of us would have believed possible.

By hard work and the determination inherited from our forefathers, we have carved out a life for ourselves and our children. Yet, to some, it seems that it has come at a cost of the very freedom we celebrate today.

I say that is a load of crap! (There was a good round of applause here along with the laughter. I guess presidents didn’t use words like that in their speeches in the Old World.)

As I stand up here and look out at all the faces, I can say that I recognize most of you. I have spoken with most of you. I have yelled at half of you. (More laughs.) I have cried with all of you.

Since this crazy world got tipped over and all Hell broke loose, we have all had to start our lives over. We have done well for ourselves here. We have shown that pioneer spirit that the men and women displayed when they came out on covered wagons. We have endured hardships beyond imagining. We persisted during those two winters when there was barely enough food to survive after the terrible storms destroyed most of our crops.

Now there is a new threat.

Some of you have heard rumors, and I am here to clear the rumors out and give you truth. I know that today is a day of celebration, and I don’t want that to change. However, I need you all to know what we have ahead of us.

It seems that the American government is alive and well. They have a stronghold in the old NORAD complex. From there, they have been building their strength and resources. We have all seen the trains that have come, and the fine men and women of the New American Army who helped us build stronger walls and dig channels to provide our community with fresh water.

This government has decided to try and reclaim sovereignty over all the organized communities like ours that it helped. An individual has taken the office of president through assassinating the president in office when he refused to submit to her ideas of this New American rule. She has assumed control of a large part of the organized military and intends to wield it as a club to knock down any who would stand up to her regime.

I say she better be prepared to wield that club personally because the citizens of Corridor 26 will not acknowledge any leader that we did not elect. We will not serve anybody who has not toiled in the fields or stood watch on the wall. We will not follow somebody who is unfit to lead.

We will fight anybody who tells us that we are here to serve their pleasure. There will be no negotiations and I will make no concessions. As long as I am your president, I will not permit our community to be occupied by any force that has designs on assuming control.

So, on this Fourth of July, I want to quote a famous sea captain of the Revolution. I want to borrow from a man who was facing the most powerful naval might in the world at the time and had no business doing so. I will share with you the response that I sent when I was informed by messenger that refusal to accept an occupational force will mean that we stand against the New American government and that such actions will be dealt with swiftly. I will share the words I gave in answer to the question, “Are you ready for a fight?”

“I have not yet begun to fight!”

That got everybody yelling and cheering. After that, President Emory (she wasn’t Jenifer today) waded out into the crowd. I watched as she vanished in a sea of people. For just a flash, the scene turned to one of her being pulled down by a thousand undead hands. I shook it off as a mixture of the sun and the venison pepperoni I’d been snacking on all morning.

I hope that wasn’t some silly foreshadowing dream. I have heard of people who have those. In fact, there is an old lady here that has a small business telling people their future. I can’t say that I buy into that sort of thing, but stranger things have happened.

The rest of the day was all about celebrating. Maybe it was me, but folks seemed a bit more vocal and just plain noisy today. It was like everybody wanted to prove how resilient we are through excessive volume.

Friday, July 6th

I met with Mama Lindsay, Jenifer, and the captain who would be in charge of our mission. His name is Jackie Vaughn. Also on hand was his second-in-command. Phaedra! So the team is set. There will be six of us. I was curious as to why I was called in for a meeting, but it didn’t take long for the answers to come.

The concern is that my going out in the field could lead to other problems. If I am ever captured by these NAA forces and it was discovered who I am, then it might go badly for me. All three of the journals have been copied and are strangely widespread. I say strangely because it is not like there are any companies shipping books around the country (or however books used to get distributed in the Old World).

I tried to explain that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but apparently people feel that Dominique is so focused in this region because of her feud with my birth mother and Jenifer. They seem to think that she will make some effort to get me.

What a bunch of hooey!

So, after the meeting where I made it very clear that I would not give up my position, and that I am not afraid of any crazy lady with a grudge against Meredith, I left with Phaedra. We sat down by one of the streams where the children play and just talked about food and boys and how many ways we were going to send the NAA running back home with their tails between their legs.

Saturday July 7th

Met with Jeff and Rodney today after graduation. They were both very nice. We studied the map of the route we will be taking. I won’t pretend for a second that the idea of venturing into Old Portland is not equal parts thrilling, scary, and creepy.

You hear all sorts of stories, but I am quickly discovering that you can’t believe everything that you hear. People tend to take things and twist them into something that they understand. The problem is, as soon as it gets passed on, the next person in line does the same thing. Pretty soon, what we have is nothing even close to the actual thing it started out as.

I was also surprised to hear that they feel we will be out in the wild for possibly two months or more. That gave me just a little pause of concern. It isn’t that I’m afraid to be out there…EVERYBODY is afraid to be out there. For Pete’s sake, that is where all the zombies are! It’s just that this will be a big step for me. I have a sense that, if I am feeling this conflicted now about my life and my past and my history, this might change things in such a way that I can’t ever be the same person again.

I get the idea that they expected something different from me when we met. It was like they were studying me and watching every single thing they said. It was weird.

So, the six of us will leave on Monday morning. It is me, Jeff, Rodney, Phaedra, Captain Vaughn, and a guy named John Collie.

John has been in the EEF for almost four years. He seems like a real quiet guy. At first I thought it was the whole thing about me (somebody needs to get over herself) until Phaedra told me that he has been like that as long as she’s known him.

Tonight I am packing everything I will need. Then, Mama Lindsay says that she will go through my pack tomorrow and make sure I didn’t miss anything.

Things are different here at home now. It seems like Mama Lindsay is nervous. I don’t know what I can say or do to convince her that I won’t just up and leave. I can’t understand how people could see me that way after knowing me all my life. I am very happy living in Corridor 26. I get more than my fill of the wilderness when I leave as an agent of the EEF. I am even looking forward to returning from this mission because all of us have been promised a two week R & R period.

I love my home. I love my bed. And I love my mom. My mom’s name is Lindsay Wells. It does not matter who gave birth to me…she is the person who raised me to become the person that I am today.

Monday, July 9th

First night out is always the hardest. You have to get used to the quiet. Oh…and the occasional sound of a zombie. Some moan, and some make that icky “cry baby” sound. Nobody has ever figured out the Crybabies. (That’s what they are called in the field.)

There are a few differences in the zombies from twenty years ago. At least that is what I am told by those who remember. I guess they are even slower now. Also, they don’t move unless they are in an active herd or actually in pursuit of something. They can continue on in pursuit for a few days even after losing sight of their prey, but they are like a wind-up toy and eventually run down to a complete halt.

A few weird stories include one related by a Traveler who says that there is a valley in what used to be Utah where a herd of over a hundred thousand walkers are just standing there. They finally came to a halt and nothing has triggered their need to move. Supposedly, in a place called Death Valley, over a million of them have come to a stop and have stood so long that they are buried up to their knees in sand.

Nobody that I know has ever seen these herds with their own eyes, so I can only pass that on as a rumor. However, there is a zombie up near the old zoo that has been standing at the entrance for over six years. Lots of people from Corridor 26 have seen it.

Anyways, we are camped out in what Jeff says used to be an outpost of something called The Salvation Army. I didn’t ask him to specify, but the building is in surprisingly good shape.

We did have to travel through a vast grid of homes. I still cannot wrap my mind around people living in such large residences…and still so packed in that close to each other. I can see how the zombies overcame the population like they did, though. People jammed themselves into every piece of ground they could build a house on top. And it seems that if they couldn’t build because of the surrounding landscape, they just ripped it apart until they could.

It is almost embarrassing.

We didn’t see any zombies until just as we set up camp for the night. Actually, we can see hundreds of them down below in the ruins of Old Portland.

I couldn’t get a really good look today because we arrived just around sunset. The shadows were already blending together to form the blanket of darkness that you only find away from the settled areas. I did get enough of a look to be completely in awe of how incredible the fire had to be that destroyed so much of this city.

Also, I have never seen buildings so tall before in my life. What would possess anybody to go up in such things? I was even more amazed when I was told that people lived in some of those buildings!

No Thanks.

Tuesday, July 10th

I just know my body is going to hurt tomorrow.

To put it in perspective, yesterday we travelled several miles. We walked through some empty neighborhoods until we reached the heavily wooded hills that separate Old Portland from Corridor 26. (I guess it used to be called the West Hills, not very creative.)

The terrain was the limiting factor in how fast we could travel. There were places that felt like we were walking straight up to the sky. My calves burned, and I woke to some soreness in my legs. No big deal.

Today we might have managed to travel a mile. Yep. One mile. I had a feeling when I woke and actually got a look down into the ruins of the city that it was going to be a busy day. I had no idea.

Shortly after we broke camp and headed down to the ruins, I got my first twinge of what I can only describe as “bladder-squeezing-fear.” We stuck fairly close together as we moved down that first street. I don’t think we got a full block when the first zombie attack occurred.

A hand reached out from under the almost melted ruins of a car. When I say melted, I mean that the car is fused to the road. I have no idea what chain of events led to a zombie wedging in underneath, but when that hand snaked out and caught Phaedra’s booted foot…I think everybody screamed—even Jeff and Rodney.

That was the ringing of the dinner bell. I’ve never in my life seen so many of them. There is a rule that you learn on day one of your training in the EEF: Always work in pairs. The reason is simple: you need somebody watching your back in the field.

I was trying to work my way past a small cluster of five when something crashed into my back and sent me sprawling to the concrete. If I had better instincts, I might’ve rolled one way or the other. Instead, I made the rookie mistake of trying to crawl forward for my dropped weapon. That meant I was giving the zombie an open shot at the back of my neck.

Now, before you think I am a total idiot, the standard attire for an EEFer in the field is full leathers, double-lined gloves, and protective eyewear. Also, long hair is a big no-no. You don’t want to give the zombie anything extra to get ahold of. There are other accessories that are optional like vambraces, shin guards, and shields. Mama Lindsay packed the first two; I was just being a little stupid and decided to pass on the extra outerwear because it was promising to be a hot day.

I will never forget the feel of that dead hand as it brushed my cheek. Fortunately, Phaedra was right there to kick it off of me and spear it. That is the first time I’ve ever been touched by a zombie…I pray it is the last.

We managed to fight our way out of the first skirmish and had a chance to retreat back up into the wooded hills. Had we done that, I bet we could have made another attempt to get through the city tomorrow. Some of the zombies might’ve wandered up into the woods, but the hill is steep enough that they wouldn’t be able to walk up it, and they would eventually turn around and stumble away.

We didn’t do that.

Captain Vaughn insisted that we “push on” and try to make a run for a cluster of buildings that he said would offer us a place to regroup. He said that we would be able to go up high enough so that we could actually see our target: The Steel Bridge.

We took off at a trot, but it seemed that our “group scream” had brought out a lot of zombies. Every street that we passed, they were coming. I know I was thinking it, but I felt only a little bit better when Rodney suggested that maybe we turn back.

Captain Vaughn did not share our belief. Since nobody is looking over my shoulder, let me say right here that I wish he’d been dragged down and eaten by a pack of those things. I absolutely blame him for the fact that we are stuck up here on the fifteenth floor of some creaking, groaning building that used to be luxury apartments.

Sure, I can see the damn bridge…big, fat, hairy deal! I can also see the four or five hundred zombies that are surrounding this building.

When we cut across this one multi-tiered courtyard, we found ourselves trapped. The zombies were coming around both sides of the building in front, and by now we had a couple hundred on our heels back the way we came.

The real problem was the tall buildings. One of the things they teach in EEF training is to make sure you do not lose sight of your surroundings. For instance, you don’t want to get trapped in a dead end alley with an unscalable fence barring your way. It is the basic principal of “look before you leap.”

The only choice we had was to duck inside one of the buildings and hope the emergency stairwells were accessible. We lucked out there. Jeff tied the handle of the door to the railing to keep any zombie from getting lucky and pulling the door open.

Up we went. After several floors, we were able to take a breather. We popped the door and discovered a pitch black hallway. I was designated as torch bearer, and we entered the first apartment on the left. Once again we got lucky and there were no surprises waiting for us inside. None of the windows were intact, so we could hear the crowd down below making all kinds of racket. Of course, that only served to attract even more zombies.

When we looked down, I knew we were in trouble. Not only were the dead crowding the open courtyard, but they were coming from all directions. I looked around at the others, hoping to see them in deep thought about how we would go about escaping this little predicament. What I saw did not offer any encouragement.

We all eventually moved away from the window and found a spot to sit. As I look around, I see Phaedra in a corner with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. Jeff went into another room, and so did Rodney. John is curled up on a gross, moldy sofa. Captain Vaughn went to the door and is sitting just outside in the dark hallway. I am in the corner opposite Phaedra, using the light coming through the window to see as I write.

I think I am starting to get it. Meredith was able to write things down as they happened. I think she used it to sort through her problems. I hope that I start coming up with some brilliant ideas…otherwise this is going to be a very short journal.

Thursday, July 12th

And then there were five.

We are now inside some huge building with what looks like a million seats. Jeff says that concerts and sporting events used to happen here. I am just so amazed at the number of people it would take to fill a facility like this.

So, yesterday, we dozed off. When I woke up, it was really dark. Clouds had rolled in and blocked out much of the moonlight. I had to use one of my glow sticks (a few guys back at the Corridor make them and offer them as barter items) in order to find everybody.

The problem was quickly apparent. I found everybody…except the captain. That realization came at the same time that I heard the rhythmic pounding.

One by one, everybody made their way into the living room. I don’t know who mentioned it first, but somebody suggested that we look outside. Sure enough, the zombies—not all, but a good portion of them—were leaving the courtyard. They were heading down the side of the building. We couldn’t see where they were going, but none of us were fool enough to stand around and wait.

We took off down the stairs. Since I already had a glow stick going, I was in the middle of the group: Jeff and Phaedra in front, Rodney and John taking up the rear.

We ran into our first zombie four or five floors down. I guess I didn’t think they would get in. I mean, the door handle had been tied to the rail to keep it shut. To say that it unnerved me is an understatement. It was in that moment that I realized how close to death we are out here. There really is no such thing as safe.

From that point on, it was a fight. By the time we reached the bottom, we’d cut down at least three dozen zombies. At some point, I rotated to the front, swapping out with Jeff. He’d made an overhand swing at a zombie and the damn thing moved at the last second. His heavy machete glanced off the thing’s head and caught the steel railing running along the wall as a bannister. Everybody heard his wrist snap.

When we reached the bottom, we discovered that the hemp rope had parted and looked like it had been chewed on. We really didn’t have time to investigate very thoroughly.

Of course, the lobby was crawling with zombies, but most of them were looking the other way. In fact, the problem we were faced with now was getting through the busted out picture window. (The doors were out of the question due to the handful of zombies wedged in the frame.) The drop from the window ledge was only about eight feet, but let me assure you that, if you are about to jump into relative darkness, it seems like a long way down. Toss in a few zombies wandering about and it gives a whole new meaning to “Leap of Faith.”

It didn’t help that Jeff made a bit of noise when he landed. Bless his heart, he tried to bite it back, but it was obviously very painful.

From there, it was a run through the scattered remnants of the mob. We were about two or three blocks away when I heard a scream unlike anything I’d ever heard in my life. I have no idea how I didn’t hear it when that person was dragged down during my first mission. It was loud and long and made my heart feel like it was being crushed by ice.

We ran and I started having trouble seeing. That is when I realized that I had tears in my eyes. I swear I didn’t mean it, Captain Vaughn. I didn’t really want you eaten by zombies. I will never know if you peeked at my open journal while I slept and saw those words on paper, but I didn’t mean it. I would never wish that on anybody now, especially after hearing so much pain in that scream.

I will never say something like that again…not even joking.

Friday, July 13th

One of the things about the world I live in that is very different from the Old World is the degree of natural medicine…and what was once known as witchcraft. I guess there was some sort of social stigma about people who went under the label “witch” or “wiccan” back before the rise of the undead.

Of course I have heard about a lot of things from that time…far more bad than good…that makes little to no sense. One thing we are now probably to the extreme is superstitious. I never questioned it, but I was raised that Friday the 13th is a cursed day, and one best spent doing nothing.

Today, we wandered about the inside of this vast arena. The faded pictures prove what I have been told. I can see athletic men seemingly frozen as they fly through the air with a ball in one hand. I found one of the balls in my wanderings. It was stiff and flat. I wish I could pump air into it and see what it felt like. Even flat, I had to marvel at how the men in the faded pictures—that were easily twenty feet high—could hold the ball in one hand as they flew. It must have been something incredible to see.

However, equally amazing was the fact that I could make out a sea of faces in the background. The seats were full of people who all looked like they were having the time of their lives. Now…they are all dead. Or undead.

I did find a room with boxes of bottled water and a few things that I couldn’t identify and would NOT want to actually drink no matter how pretty the bottles were.

An update on Jeff. Phaedra set his wrist as best she could. There was a room with all kinds of wraps and braces and bandages. John actually laughed and said he couldn’t believe that nobody ever thought to hit this place for medical supplies. It seems that professional sports teams have a hefty amount of some of the first aid basics on hand.

Saturday, July 14th

We will have to wait another day before we make it for the bridge. There was a huge mob of walkers down by the road that runs along the waterfront.

I know what I saw.

There has been a lot of talk about people doing things when they become one of the walking dead; stories about zombies aping things that they did when they were alive. One of the reasons that we are so careful with our own casualties in the field is the fear that they might lead a herd to the Corridor. Not that we aren’t equipped to withstand it, but because it is senseless to fight a thousand when you only need to kill one. (That is from the EEF manual.)

I saw Captain Vaughn. He was missing an arm, and it looks like his clothing is all torn off. The walker that I saw leading the mob was fresh. Old blood is not red. It is black…maybe a brownish color. Only fresh blood is red. Very few zombies have red bloodstains these days. In fact, if you find one that does, you do an intense search of the area for possible survivors. (Very few people with the exception of the Travelers are out in the wild by themselves—also in the EEF manual.)

I don’t know if anybody else saw him. When we saw the size of the mob, the decision was made quickly to return to that big arena. I stayed on one of the balconies that opened to the outside for a while to watch them pass. I was scanning them with my binoculars when I saw him.

They were headed for the Steel Bridge. So you tell me…why would a bunch of walkers just happen to migrate towards the Steel Bridge? I think the captain is finishing his mission. He probably has no idea why he is drawn to that bridge, but my concern is where he will go after. How long before he decides to head for home?

Sunday, July 15th

Today we went down to the industrial area by the waterfront. The main goal was to find the big tools that we would need to destroy the rails on the Steel Bridge.

This being the first operation of its kind for Corridor 26, I don’t think everybody has the same idea as to the best way to go about this. I think it is a play-it-by-ear operation. I got the first real hint of that as we were actually crossing the Steel Bridge this morning. Until then, we really hadn’t had a full understanding of what it would take to accomplish the task. It may prove harder than we expected.

For one, we have to get everything from the other side of the river. Most of Old Portland is a burnt up mess. Several of the buildings look like crayons left out in the sun. I can’t imagine the size of the fire that it took to do all of this damage.

Once we actually got a look at the bridge and the tracks, Jeff called everybody together to “brainstorm.” He said that the rules of brainstorming are for one person to jot down what everybody says. We all had to blurt out ideas of how we thought it would be best to handle this. We were told to just say whatever comes to mind no matter how silly.

I didn’t really pay attention to everything that was said. However, once we ran out of suggestions, Jeff and Phaedra looked over the list and talked quietly. After a while, they seemed to have an idea as to what they wanted and the angle of approach for the job.

My favorite part up to that point was standing on this bridge as the sun made its slow march across the sky. It was a warm, sunny day. The water looked so sparkly and blue. I have seen pictures of this river from before, during the days when people didn’t care what they did to the world they lived in. The water was a murky sort of color. We learned in our History class that companies used to dump their waste into this river. (Not just this river, but in rivers all over the country.) They knew it was bad for the water and the fish living in the river, but apparently nobody in charge cared.

I looked out at the river and couldn’t believe how anybody could ruin something so pretty. Of course, I enjoyed looking at the river, and seeing the mountain off to the south just added to the beauty. However, as pretty as it was, my job was to watch for walkers. Eventually, we headed across the bridge in search of what they would need to do the job.

So, while Jeff, Rodney, and Phaedra searched through the dozens of warehouses, John and I kept watch. By late in the afternoon, I’d dispatched two creepers and a dozen walkers. I was really starting to feel like a veteran.

We (meaning Jeff and Phaedra) found something very interesting. In one of the warehouses, there were barrels and barrels of some sort of alcohol. Not the drinking kind. Jeff said it was probably some sort of fuel. Unfortunately, they are just too heavy to lift. It would have been great if we could’ve loaded them onto a wagon or something and hauled them to the bridge. I bet we could’ve blown it up. After all, it was pretty heavily damaged from all those years back when Old Portland burned. The NAA rebuilt it. Of course, that works in our favor. Jeff says that we would probably have a hell of a time doing more than superficial damage if this bridge was made from Old World construction.

We will blow up the warehouse when we have everything handled as far as the Steel Bridge is concerned.

Monday, July 16th

More standing around while the “grown-ups” work on the bridge. I am noticing that we are starting to attract more attention. I killed at least twice as many zombies today as yesterday.

When we got back to the arena, I asked how long this might take. The answer: Until we are done. I thought that was kind of rude. When I mentioned the fact that we drew a bunch more zombies today than we did yesterday, Rodney asked if I was bragging or complaining. I don’t know what is eating at everybody, but I found a spot up here in the upper level by a window that looks out at the river. I am spending the night here, because, quite honestly, I don’t care to be around those people right now. I realize that I don’t have all this incredible experience out in the wilderness, but I work hard and do as I’m told. For them to treat me like I am a pest, or less valuable for some reason…well, that’s just mean.

Tuesday, July 17th

I spent the day down on this access ramp with Phaedra. There was a strange vibe all morning that I tried to ignore, but I finally had to ask her about. It seems that Jeff and Rodney aren’t too fond of my keeping a journal. They both felt that Meredith made them seem like cowards. I guess they are worried about how I may portray them in my journal.

When we got back this evening, I asked them both to their faces if they wanted to read my journal. If they wanted to see how I was “portraying” them. I got a bunch of sputters and protests. They both acted surprised that I confronted them, and of course, neither wanted to read my journal. After all, it isn’t like Sam’s or Meredith’s journal. Lots of people keep them now. None of them have become best-selling books. I don’t think that anybody cares anymore. The originals were novelties. It let people connect over a similar experience. At least, that is what Mama Lindsay always said about the books.

Phaedra found me a while ago up here in my private little spot on the upper tier. She said that Jeff made a comment she thought I would be interested to hear.

“That girl is just like her mother. If she keeps it up and can stay alive, she may just be one serious badass.”

I guess that is a compliment.

Thursday, July 19th

I am probably more scared right now than I have ever been in my life. For the first time in my life…I am alone.

I think I have found a place where I will be relatively safe and still be able to keep an eye out for the others. I have to hang on to the belief that they are all alive and watching out for me like I am for them.

The day was going so well. After my little confrontation with Jeff and Rodney, they seemed to be a little more accepting and easy to be around. Rodney even asked me to help him in the warehouse with all the drums of alcohol. He was rigging it so that we could blow it up. The trick would be setting it off while giving us enough time to get back to the bridge, finishing our job there, and getting out before every zombie in a hundred mile radius showed up.

I was up on a platform laying a trail of splintered pallets that would act as a fuse. We had soaked them all in the alcohol for a few hours and then lit one to see how it would burn…if it would. Not only did it burn, but it was a pretty shade of blue. (Rodney laughed when I made that very same comment out loud.)

When I heard the scream, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but it was much too similar to the scream I’d heard from Captain Vaughn. Rodney didn’t hesitate and ran for the big doors. I was climbing down when he yelled for me to run.

I did. I ran after him.

By the time I’d reached the entrance to the warehouse, he was already down the hill and climbing the embankment on the far side that led up to the on-ramp to the Steel Bridge. By the time I was down the embankment, he was out of sight…and the screaming had stopped. When I say stopped, I mean that it stopped suddenly. It was like somebody threw a switch.

I scrambled up the hill, and what I saw made my heart feel like it was going to take off without me. There were thousands of them. They were in this gulley that used to be a road or something as far as I could see in either direction. That meant that they’d been there for a while. It also cut Rodney and me off from the others.

The only thing I didn’t understand at first was the scream. Then I saw them. It was like a small part of a river breaking away to cut its own path and become a stream. Several hundred had found a gap in the shoulder-high concrete corridor. It really wasn’t much larger than to allow them to funnel off single file. Yet, I guess if a steady stream of zombies break away from a huge herd even one at a time, it adds up after a while.

I would guess that a few hundred were stumbling across the Steel Bridge. I looked for Rodney again, knowing he couldn’t have made it across. I didn’t want to call for him because I sure as hell didn’t want to bring the attention of so many of those things my way. Also, if I am being honest…I was terrified.

There is something indescribable about seeing so many of them so close. I could hear and feel the vibrations from that many feet moving. Zombies don’t walk so much as drag themselves along. It was enough for it to feel like a constant vibration that tickled the bottoms of my feet.

I backed away from where I’d stood until I could just barely make out the tops of a few of the heads bobbing as they passed. Still, I couldn’t see Rodney anywhere. There was no sign of Jeff, Phaedra, or John on the bridge. However, as I ducked down, I did catch sight of the cart that Jeff kept all his gear in that he was using to sabotage the tracks. It was surrounded by a cluster of them.

I ran back down the hill and made my way through that warehouse. I stood in the middle of the ground floor for several minutes…or maybe it was only seconds. I don’t know. I considered everything that I was certain of at that exact moment. The biggest were that somebody had fallen to the zombies, my group or a stranger I had no idea. Jeff was gone and I had no clue where the others were…or if there were others anymore.

Before we left, Mama Lindsay had sat down with me and had a serious talk. She explained that she was not happy that I’d been selected for this mission. I was undertrained and in no way prepared. She felt that somebody had a hand in this and that they meant to do me harm.

She wanted me to understand the importance of this mission. Our first priority was to hamper the NAA in whatever way we could. She didn’t know what I might encounter out here, but she wanted to stress that if I saw something important, I should remember it for when I got home. However…if it looked like I might not make it home, if I had the chance…I needed to do as much damage on the way down as possible.

At the time, I just thought that she was being silly. Not to mention a bit of a downer. I was hoping for a pep talk and a little bit of “I believe in you and you will do great!” Instead, what I got was, “If it looks bad, take as many down with you as you can.”

That is why I made my way through the warehouse one more time. That is why I spent a few minutes looking at what exactly Rodney had been doing before we’d been interrupted. That is why I struck flint to steel and started the fire.

I had to run. The one thing I hadn’t really taken into account is where I would go. I had to think fast.

To the north, I could see a four-level structure. It was open, but the weather wasn’t an issue. Besides, if it got nasty, I could move to a lower level and have cover.

As I approached it, I recognized it as a parking garage. It was strangely reminiscent of the Sunset Fortress. I think that may have been a subconscious element in my choice. I sought something familiar.

As I ran, I noticed a few walkers on some of the side streets that I sprinted past. I probably should have moved with more caution. I know that, for the next few hours, I had to take out several dozen of them as they came stumbling into the area. However, most of them were drawn to the sudden loud noise when the warehouse blew up.

It really went up in a pillar of beautiful flame. I felt the heat even as far away as I’d managed to get before it blew. I hoped that this would let anybody still alive in my group know that they were not alone. Also, I really hoped that Rodney would find me. As I ran, I left the mark: “26”. Every chance I got, I would pause and pull the tube from my pouch and mark a building or landmark that anybody passing would see.

One thing that I am very good at is the crossbow. That is why I moved to the fourth level after checking it from top to bottom. Except for a few that I found trapped in cars, the place was clear. The ones in the car had worn their hands down to nubs over the years as they pounded, slapped, and clawed at their interior surroundings to no avail. Some had open windows. Those I just drove a spear into the heads of and moved on.

For the rest of the day, and even for a while after dark in case somebody lit off a glow stick, I walked the rim of the top tier in hopes that I would see signs of anybody.

First thing this morning, I was up and at it again. Not a sign of one single living soul. The fire is still burning, or at least there is still a lot of smoke climbing into the sky from the area.

As darkness settles in, I guess I have a choice. Do I wait another day? Or, do I set out for home by myself.

Friday, July 20th

Found Rodney. He is pretty beat up.

I started out at first light, making my way through the ruins of this part of Old Portland. I spotted our symbol on the front of a building and couldn’t believe my luck. Had I walked down one block further or started south one block sooner…I would have missed it.

I was a little concerned when the marked building had a walker standing right outside. Plus, the big windows that wrapped around the place were all broken. I totally expected to find one of our group inside…and I was ready to put him or her down.

I skidded to a halt when the zombie turned to face me. I’d not been paying attention and stepped on some broken glass. Not that I had cared much if one zombie heard me coming. I just wasn’t prepared to see the slack face of Captain Vaughn staring back at me with those milky eyes laced with the black squiggles.

I already had my spear ready and closed the short distance between us at a jog. I wanted to put him down quick. Seeing him up close like that was playing on all the guilt I felt about his death. I was not prepared for the captain to turn away from me and start walking up the street.

I don’t know how long I stood in the open, completely exposed to anything that might have passed by. I just didn’t know what to do. It was as if the captain knew who I was and didn’t want to hurt me. I knew that was a bunch of crazy thinking. Zombies don’t think, feel, or have the ability to remember. They are exactly what the name says: zombies.

It was the low moan coming from inside that snapped me back to reality. I gave the captain one last look as he turned a corner in the distance and vanished from view. I hurried inside and discovered Rodney lying behind a waist-high counter. It took him moaning twice more, but I found him.

His face was all bloody, eyes swollen shut, and his lips were split. It took me another few seconds to realize that he was missing his gear. He didn’t have a single weapon, pouch, or canteen. I gave him a drink from one of mine before ripping a strip from one of my rags and getting it wet. Even being careful, he made a much bigger fuss than I would have expected from somebody so manly while I was cleaning his face.

The biggest problem I had was that he wasn’t going anywhere. Even as I cleaned him up and he whimpered and whined, I knew that he would not be able to get up and start walking. He kept mumbling and fussing. And then he said something that made my get a weird feeling in my stomach.

“Yes, sir, Captain Vaughn.”

I tried to brush it off as a combination of him being delirious and me being freaked out and more than a little paranoid. After all, it had to be a coincidence. Right?

I made sure he was going to be okay for a bit, and then I ran out and looked for something that I could use to transport Rodney back to that parking garage. I found a big metal cart. The wheels were kinda shaky, but I got him back while only drawing the attentions of twenty or so walkers.

I have us set up on the top floor, in a space between a big, yellow car that looks like it could drive through a concrete wall, and a truck. The car is actually bigger than the truck. The name is a bit cryptic: H2.

I may be stuck here for a few days. My newest problem/question is what exactly happened to Rodney.

Saturday, July 21st

Not much change. He keeps mumbling something, and I swear I hear him saying the captain’s name over and over. Maybe he has some guilty feelings over the fact that the captain had to sacrifice himself for all of us.

Keep telling yourself that, Snoe.

Also, I thought I saw a fire. Not the big one that I started (which has almost burned itself out now), but a campfire. I know that if I did see a campfire, it is not likely to be one of my group. We are taught in day one of EEF training that you never light a fire in the open. Besides the zombies that might see it and be drawn to it…there are still Travelers and marauders out there who you don’t try to draw the attention of for obvious reasons.

I tried to mark it against the shadows of the ruined skyline, but by morning, I couldn’t quite remember, and there was no trace of smoke or anything else. I spent the day making regular patrols around the upper level and hoping I would see something from one of ours. Also, I cut the seat cover out of the back of the H2 and marked the pale side with our symbol, and then I hung it from the top of a light pole. I used a stick to keep it extended and readable. Sure, if anybody is in the area, they might notice it and come sniffing around. That is the chance I have to take.

Sunday, July 22nd

Rodney came to for a while today. He said that I need to leave him and get out of here. It would seem that there is some territorial tribe around. I don’t know how much of what he said should be taken to heart. He said a lot of things, and most of them made no sense.

He says Captain Vaughn rescued him after he got jumped. He also says that the captain stood watch over him until I arrived. I gave him some water and managed a little food into his mouth between his ravings.

Monday, July 23rd

I woke this morning to find Rodney stiff and cold. I don’t know what more I could have done to save him. The most upsetting aspect was that I didn’t know anything about his history. If he’d been one of those immune types that suffered a bite or been infected at some point, I could have been in big trouble.

Since there is no way that I can transport him, I made a point to remember where I left his body. I considered torching the building, but I figure I have done enough fire-starting on this trip.

Tonight I am in a weird building with all kinds of bizarre machines. On one floor, all along the tinted, grimy window are about fifty bicycles. Well, not real bicycles. They don’t go anywhere. They are “bicycle machines”. I did recognize this place as some sort of workout facility, only, all I’ve ever seen are bars and steel plates. Most of these machines look more like something you would expect to find in a torture chamber.

From here, I can see the Steel Bridge in the distance. I have scanned it with my binoculars a few times, but nothing indicates that any of my group has returned. I keep remembering that one cluster of zombies that day. I have to believe that at least one more of us went down.

Tomorrow, I will make an attempt to get to the bridge. I just wanted to be sure that nothing might jump out at me.

Tuesday, July 24th

Found Phaedra and John. They were in an old movie house. The signal was posted on the busted up marquee that dangled precariously over the dark entrance.

I told them about Rodney and filled them in on all I’ve seen. We decided to head back to Corridor 26. The whereabouts of Jeff remain a mystery; however, the job on the Steel Bridge is complete. Apparently he was able to inflict enough damage to the repaired section of the bridge. Phaedra says that the next train through will probably trigger a collapse or derail and plunge into the river.

I asked if they knew whether he made it off that bridge. Phaedra said that she was insisting he run, but he kept saying he was almost done and didn’t want to risk missing out on this opportunity. She eventually had to go. I asked if she heard the scream. She said that she did, but it hadn’t sounded like it came from where she’d left Jeff.

Tonight, we are in that same apartment building where we lost the captain. We climbed to the roof this time. It allowed a very good view of the surrounding area. What we saw chilled me. I can’t speak for the others, but I am scared.

In the distance, across the river and maybe a good four or five miles away, there is a huge scattering of fires. Campfires. Nobody needed to say anything. I think we all know what an army looks like. There is a force and I’d be willing to wager a year’s pay as to their destination.

Wednesday, July 25th

Reached Corridor 26 late this evening. I am sitting in quarantine waiting for blood tests to clear. Phaedra is already meeting with Mama Lindsay and the president.

Rodney’s wife came to see me. I guess she was briefed on her husband’s death and wanted to hear me tell her all the details. It felt bizarre relating it all to this strange woman who kept crying. I asked her a bunch of times if she wanted me to stop, but she insisted on hearing it all.

An hour later, Mama Lindsay came to see me. Rodney’s wife is unaccounted for. She signed out at the North Gate…twenty minutes after our meeting.

That is exactly what I needed to feel just a little bit worse.

Monday, July 30th

Patrols came in today with bad news. What we saw was in fact a large contingent of the NAA. Also, it seems that all of our plans were for nothing; they had the bridge repaired yesterday and the train pushed through.

On the plus side of things, it seems that the tribes in the area were no more receptive to the NAA presence then they were to ours. One of our scouting outposts reported several small skirmishes. There were no accurate reports on casualties, but the NAA unleashed a weapon that has everybody worried. (Once the word gets out, all rumors from the field spread like wildfire.) They had something on one of the flatcars on the train that looked like a big spray nozzle. It shot flames at least a hundred feet if you believe the rumors.

The one thing I am hoping is that the teams responsible for tearing up the train tracks leading here (this used to be a major transit hub, and that is how the NAA has always come to our settlement and provided us with help) have done a better job than we apparently did on our mission.

I asked Mama Lindsay how we could have failed so spectacularly. She said that it is obvious that Jeff didn’t finish whatever he had in mind. It was a calculated risk and only intended to gain us more time. There was never any question that the NAA would repair what we did and cross the river.

That confused me even further. We lost three people out of six on a mission that does not seem to really have a purpose. I pressed her on that and she said something about it being as much about the message as the action.

I don’t think Rodney’s wife saw it that way.

Tuesday, July 31st

The hardest part of keeping this journal is feeling like I am always forgetting something. Days like today make me feel that it is impossible to really tell you what is happening. It also makes me wonder just how much Meredith or Sam left out. Seriously, how can you recount an entire day in a few paragraphs or pages?

We were attacked in the night last night. Actually, it happened just after I finished my entry and had snuggled in to my bed. I could feel how tired my body was as I pulled my blanket up to my chin.

I heard that first explosion and I knew what it was before my feet touched the floor. It was obvious after the past several days.

Sure enough, as I walked outside into the warm drizzle of a summer rain storm, I could smell it. Not the relaxing fragrance of rain on the grass; instead, I smelled the acrid stench of chemicals used to set things on fire.

I shouldered my field pack (that is something you learn in grade school…if the Corridor comes under attack, you have an emergency pack for survival in the wild), and headed towards the bright orange glow of flames.

People ran past me shouting all sorts of things. A few of my friends from school stopped me and asked what they should do. I guess, since I am in the EEF and not a farmer or a builder, they must believe I would have real answers. Nope.

When I reached the wall, Phaedra was with Mama Lindsay. That struck me as a little strange. I’d never seen them together; now, it seemed as if they were pals. They were ordering people around, sending damage control teams to deal with the fires. I don’t know why, but it just sits with me strange. I feel like there is something I am missing.

So, the attack was brief. They came, they lobbed a bunch of incendiary devices (that’s what I kept hearing Mama Lindsay call them) at and over our walls, and then they disappeared. While we cannot be for certain that it was the NAA, it seems the most likely. None of the tribes have ever had issues with us, and many of the closer ones trade goods here with our people.

Since nobody—meaning Phaedra or Mama Lindsay—was paying me any attention, I climbed the wall and took a look. There is a stretch of the old highway that climbs a long gradual hill. It actually connects with the 217 Corridor up that way a bit. Anyways, I was fairly certain that I saw a few flashes from some far off light source up that way. I didn’t catch it in time, but it was rhythmic in nature so I am guessing Morse code.

Of course, about an hour after the attack, we had to send teams to the walls to repel the undead drawn by all the noise and flames. The normal noise from our community draws its own share, but the sounds from the explosions travel a lot further, and therefore, it brings in walkers from greater distances that may have not budged in a while.

There is one more thing that I wanted to make note of here. That one zombie that has been standing stationary for so long is still there. It apparently did not see the need to investigate.

As for the day, most of it was spent getting this place ready for another attack. All of the farming teams were kept in. All members, past and present, of the EEF were called in for a briefing. Two teams were sent on scouting missions. I actually felt a nibble of disappointment when I was not one of the individuals chosen.

I have never seen this place so hectic. I guess the hardest part for me to understand is why any of this matters. Why now? Why would the NAA transform to an organization that has been famous for helping all of the communities, and now they want to conquer them? It makes no sense. I tried to figure how they might go about enforcing any sort of rule and nothing seems feasible.

So, what the zombies could not do in the past twenty years, it looks like we are rushing to do on our own. Meredith used to fluctuate on her feelings about how long we could last as a society…she didn’t have a very optimistic view of our chances.

I hate to say it…but I think I am starting to see why.

Wednesday, August 1st

Tonight I am outside the walls of Corridor 26. I was asked to find an observation post at the top of the hill. I headed to the zoo and found a spot. I think this is where that first skirmish with The Genesis Brotherhood took place. Here or someplace close. I am just past what I imagine to have been some sort of outdoor theater. The concrete stage sits at the bottom of the overgrown bowl-shaped depression. I didn’t venture down there, the growth was much too thick, but I saw what looked like the remnants of a set of crosses and also what looks like a giant circular cage.

From the spot I am dug in at, I can see the majority of Old Portland down below. My only problem now is that I can see all the way across the enormous valley to the beautiful mountain that sits there…a timeless icon. It has been there since long before us, and it will be there long after we are no longer a memory. Of course, at this rate, it won’t take long.

So, I sit in my little notch in the fringe and watch. I have a great set of binoculars (given to me on loan by Mama Lindsay with about a million warnings and tips on how to care for them properly) and a note pad. I am supposed to jot everything down that I see. Now that the shadows have fallen, I can’t see anything…except for hundreds of campfires on the roofs of several of the buildings.

This is my first night by myself on a mission…ever. It’s kinda exciting.

Thursday, August 2nd

Something is going on. I watched a train pull out of Old Portland just after sunrise. It was headed west, that means it is on its way to Corridor 26. However, at the same time, there were several big explosions around the perimeter of the city.

Also, what I first thought were just echoes turned out to be more explosions. I am only guessing because I can’t see, but it seemed to me that they were coming from the area along the 217 Corridor where all those free tribes are located.

I knew it was a different series of explosions when the dark plumes started to rise high in the sky. I counted at least five from that direction and another seven around Old Portland.

The crazy thing is that they all happened at almost the exact same time. It was unlike anything I have ever seen or can recall anybody talking about. This is new…and whatever it is, it is bad. Very bad.

I am now torn. My mission was to stay here and take notes of what I saw in the log book that they gave me. I was supposed to do this until somebody comes for me to relieve me at my post or tell me to pack it in.

I keep climbing out of my spot and making my way to a place on the hill where I can see better towards the direction of Corridor 26. I don’t know what I will do if I see one or more of those clouds rising from the direction of my home. I do know that none of this makes any sense.

Why now? Why would this self-proclaimed President of New America want to try and attack this area? Is she doing the same everywhere else? Or is this really something as petty as her believing that she may be striking back at Meredith?

The morning I was set to leave on this mission, Jenifer—Madame President—stopped in to see Mama Lindsay. They must’ve thought that I would try and squeeze every second of sleep out of my bed as I could on that last day. They talked a lot about Meredith and Dominique. I guess I didn’t realize until then that Jenifer holds that woman responsible for her “condition.” It seems reasonable considering it was during that mission to end The Genesis Brotherhood that she suffered all the burns. Still, how long can anybody carry a grudge?

Friday, August 3rd

I head back to Corridor 26 as soon as it is light enough to see without risking falling and breaking my neck. Late this afternoon I heard a series of explosions. I scurried out of my observation post and climbed to the top of the hill in order to look back towards home.

Dozens of pillars of smoke are rising from that way. No, I don’t think that I can single-handedly make a difference. However, those are my friends and family. I need to help.

Sunday, August 5th

The damage is extensive and there are still dead bodies littering the area. I am on a ridge looking down into the confines of Corridor 26’s east end. This is basically where I grew up. This is where Sunset Fortress is as well as a few dozen households.

I would guess the entire population of Corridor 26 from Sunset Fortress out to Warehouse City is maybe ten thousand all along the thirty or forty mile long, two mile wide strip. That feels like a HUGE number to me, but that is the one I seem to remember hearing from Mama Lindsay and Jenifer.

A six-car train is stopped just inside the North Gate. I can see a bunch of figures dressed in dark outfits that I have to assume to be uniforms. I see small clusters of these uniformed types walking around freely, but not much movement from anybody else. My people are either confined indoors or something along those lines.

The side of Sunset Fortress that I can see is blackened from ground floor to the top. I don’t want to think about the fire that caused that kind of damage, or about what it did to the people trapped inside.

One of the most upsetting sights is a gallows. Using my binoculars, I can see a common theme among those hanging from the two dozen or so ropes…female.

I sit here now wondering what I am going to do.

Monday, August 6th

His name is Grant Koeneke. (I had to ask him how to pronounce that last name about five times; Koi-na-key…and then I needed to know how to spell it.) He is a soldier in the NAA. He is also my prisoner.

I was sitting here watching and debating what I should do when I heard something. I scrunched down and hid in the brush until he walked right by me. I got lucky when he obviously thought he was alone and went to use the bathroom. A person is never as vulnerable as when they doing their personal business.

So, once he got his pants up, I tied him up real good and held a very sharp blade to his throat with the understanding that a scream would be a silly thing to use his last words on. I wish I knew what I was doing because I could ask better questions. Still, with what I asked and what he answered—provided that he wasn’t telling a bunch of lies—I found out some interesting things.

Obviously the new president is not aware that there was a third book. Also, she does not seem to be aware that Meredith is truly dead. It appears that the NAA faction that she has under her control has already relocated. After a nasty fight with forces loyal to the assassinated president, they bugged out of NORAD.

Dominique is based in Irony, USA.

Tuesday, August 7th

A second train showed up today. The first one headed west…most likely down to Warehouse City. If what this soldier says is true, they probably have tortured enough people and gotten the same information about Meredith to move down the line. They will want to confirm it.

I asked him what the big deal was about one person. He says that he doesn’t know; he just follows orders. What the hell kind of answer is that?

Grant says that once they dealt with the “Meredith situation” to their satisfaction, the orders were to put elements in place to ensure we came in line with the “edicts and expectations” of the President of New America.

The thing is, the whole time this guy talked…I just wanted to slap him. He has this attitude like his shit doesn’t stink. I got news…he may forget how I captured him, and I can attest that it smells just like everybody else’s.

Looking down a few times, I was unfortunate enough to see another batch of women brought out to the gallows. I didn’t watch when they dropped them through the trap door, but I promised myself that if I ever find out the identity of that person who pulled the lever, I may actually be compelled to take a human life.

Wednesday, August 8th

I knew that there was no way I could just kill this guy in cold blood. I also knew that I couldn’t take him with me. I couldn’t see any sort of clear solution. In the end, I hope I made the correct choice. I left him tied up, but if he wriggles and crawls on his belly, he will make it to the knife.

Maybe I was being petty, but he is gonna have to get his hands dirty when he retrieves it, and that is the only way he will get free of the bindings I trussed him up with. I let him see me place the knife in the latrine hole.

I moved down closer to the Corridor. I am west of the scorched Sunset Fortress in some old business complex. I can’t see anything from here, but I will be aware when the train leaves, or worse, if the one that headed to Warehouse City returns.

I feel so lost. I know that there is a lot I am not writing down, but every time I pick up my pencil, my mind wanders. I am scared for Mama Lindsay, for Jenifer, and even for Phaedra. I also know that there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help or save anybody. I’m one person. I’m not some sort of superhero.

I’ve read old stories—books are something highly valued and precious in this society and libraries are almost as valued as what I gather churches used to be in the Old World—and they always have a hero. These heroes have the answers…it may take them a few minutes, and it seems as if they always get slapped down a few times before they overcome.

Maybe that is why folks are so fascinated with Sam and Meredith’s books. They didn’t seem to have very many answers…often they were wrong…and in the end, neither managed to overcome. In fact, not much good happens to either of them at all when you get down to the nitty gritty.

So I will keep hidden. I never revealed my identity to that soldier. He doesn’t seem like the type to admit he got ambushed and held captive by a girl. That is really a funny thing to count on, but it has been my limited experience that you can always count on the male ego.

Thursday, August 9th

Another group of black plumes rose into the sky early this morning. In fact, by the time the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, they were hundreds of feet high which means the attack probably came before dawn.

I know for a fact that Warehouse City has a formidable defense. I bet the NAA took some serious casualties. Sunset Fortress has much fewer citizens in and around it. I didn’t see more than a couple hundred soldiers come from the trains. And of course now I know at least one question I should’ve asked.

As for my neck of the woods, I actually had to take down a damn crybaby this afternoon. I realized as soon as I heard that sound that I’d not seen any zombies in the past two days. I wonder if they are confused with all the noise. It has been pretty hectic the past seventy-two hours. This has made me realize just how quiet our communities are. Even with the everyday life taking place, we are a very quiet society. I bet somebody could do a study on it and call it something to do with our evolution.

The NAA are decidedly not quiet. If they leave or are eventually driven off, I bet we will be cleaning up incoming zombies for months. Speaking of…

I’d heard something wandering around on the bottom floor making all kinds of noise. I had to go check it out and hope for the best. I was thankful that it was only a single. Unfortunately, it was fresh…one of our people. I recognize her from the big kitchen. She was about Meredith’s age. She made the best cookies ever. She must’ve been one of the immune who suffered a bite or something at some time. She didn’t have a scratch on her, but the ugly chaffing around her throat gives away her cause of death as being one of those hung.

I did something a little stupid. I remembered Rodney talking about Captain Vaughn, and how he watched over him the night he got attacked. I wondered if she might recognize me from all those days of plucking cookies from her tray.

Nope.

She came at me the moment she was aware of my presence. She cut loose with that cry and I drove my spear through her eye. It did beg the question as to what they did with all the bodies they hung. Did they intentionally let anybody who turned go free outside of the wall?

I am debating on whether I should go home, or continue to hide. I am so worried about Mama Lindsay. After all, she falls in that “Meredith” target age range. The same with Jenifer and Phaedra.

Friday, August 10th

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I came home. First I stashed all my field gear in that building where I killed the crybaby. If I have to run, I want to have some gear ready. Obviously, if I had to take off in a hurry, I wouldn’t have time to pack.

The house is empty, but it isn’t a mess or anything. So I don’t think any sort of struggle happened. The first thing that I did notice was the continued lack of people out and about. Well, except for soldiers. My only guess is that this place is on some sort of curfew.

I am writing by candlelight under a table. I arrived just after dark and actually watched the NAA foot patrol come by three times to get an idea on their timing. I guess I am more thankful now for some of the seemingly stupid parts of EEF training like how to infiltrate an enemy encampment. I really did not think that I would use this stuff…especially to get into my own home.

I will wait until the morning and see how much activity there is. I don’t want to stand out.

Saturday, August 10th

I found out how the NAA is keeping everybody in line. All of the children have been moved to the middle floor of the Sunset Fortress. A few dozen of the soldiers are keeping them hostage. Once a day, a few of the mothers are allowed to go in and see that the children are okay.

I still haven’t seen Mama Lindsay, and the few people that I ran across say that they’ve not seen her or the president since the first day of the attack. The good news from that is that they didn’t see them hung. I also asked about Phaedra, but got pretty much the same result, only, nobody that I spoke to really knew her until I described the healed wound on her face.

One of the things I am going to ask Mama Lindsay about when I find her is how we have managed to live in such anonymity. There are not that many of us here. And while I don’t think it is important that we all know each other’s business…I find it peculiar that we know so little about each other.

Monday, August 12th

Mama Lindsay is home!

I was so glad to see her that I forgot much of what I wanted to say…wanted to ask. Instead, I just couldn’t seem to let her go. The whole time that she filled me in on what I missed, I never once allowed her to slip from my arms.

Here is what I missed:

The NAA came about two hours before sunrise. Since their movements had already been scouted, it wasn’t a surprise. The surprise came in the fact that they didn’t try to negotiate or even engage in any sort of dialog. They simply started launching firebombs, focusing on the Sunset Fortress structure. (Mama Lindsay says it is obvious that they knew about that particular building because they placed far too much importance on it.)

Apparently, Jenifer gave the word to open the North Gate after less than an hour. Mama Lindsay thinks she might have acted a bit premature, but Jenifer insisted that we didn’t have the firepower to match up with them.

Here is where Mama Lindsay went on a bit of a rant. I guess we have never put measures in place for a concentrated attack from a living enemy. We always believed that any individuals that came at us…raiders and the like…would be “normal” people. We never planned for an army to invade. (I guess Mama Lindsay has been hollering for that cause for a while.)

What nobody expected was the round-up of women who fit a possible description of Meredith and the hangings that followed. I guess it broke Jenifer. She screamed and cried and insisted that Meredith has been dead for years, but they wouldn’t listen. Worse still, they made her watch each time they brought a new bunch of ladies to the gallows.

I finally interrupted to ask about Phaedra. I was so concerned that she might be one of those brought out. What I never realized was that both Mama Lindsay and Phaedra are actually quite tall. Meredith wasn’t.

That is when I got a new surprise. It seems that Mama Lindsay and Phaedra are an item. All the times I have seen them together…and the missions that I have had with her have all been by design. At first I was a bit miffed. I felt lied to and spied on. However, as I listened, I began to hear what she was really saying.

Mama Lindsay has been alone since Mama Janie was killed. She has found somebody, but she didn’t know how to tell me. How can I be upset at her for trying to be happy? How can I expect her to spend her life alone? She already gave up so much of it to care for me by herself.

So, back to events here. The NAA has announced that they will be conducting a census. They will be requiring every person here to fill out their forms. Failure to do so will mean an immediate order of execution. Also, as a demonstration of our acceptance of their authority and that of the President of New America, Dominique DuBois, we will be required to submit one half of our population between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two as enlistees in the NAA.

A lottery is to be held next Sunday to determine who will go after the call for volunteers has been put out. For the next few days, there will be a recruiter at the dining facility accepting those who would enlist of their own free will.

The census forms will be checked and used to compile a list of all eligible members of our community. I guess I should prepare myself for the possibility that I may be leaving my home. Oh…that was the other catch; any new recruits will be shipped via train out to Irony, USA…the supposed capitol of New America.

With all of this news, I am more than a little surprised at how well Mama Lindsay is taking things. I asked her what she would do if I were selected; she was not even hesitant for a second when she said that she would follow me to Irony even if she had to walk the entire way.

The next thing I asked was how Jenifer was doing and if I could see her. Mama Lindsay says that it isn’t a good idea right now because Jenifer had a bit of a collapse. She has used words like “broken” and “collapsed” to describe one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. It has me concerned.

Wednesday, August 14th

Mama Lindsay and Phaedra sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Yep, my mom has a girlfriend. Phaedra moved her stuff in yesterday. And the two of them are smiling like idiots.

Corridor 26 is facing its largest crisis and those two are a pair of love-struck dumb-bunnies. It was cute for about ten seconds. I finally told them I was going to the EEF depot to fill out my registration card and that I would not be back for at least two hours.

Now, I am sitting up on this wall of concrete-filled cars that has meant safety all my life. This is where I came the day before I began my EEF training. Only, this time, I am alone. I have my crossbow, but no zombies have made an appearance yet. Most of the walkers have been concentrated near the North Gate. I have seen a few in the distance, but nothing I could shoot.

Why now?

That is the question that hammers away at my insides. If Mama Janie had lived, would we still live in Warehouse City where I was born? If so, would I have joined the EEF? So many questions that I can’t answer.

And what about Warehouse City? We haven’t heard anything from there to suggest one way or the other how the NAA has fared. Is it possible that they have been able to withstand the attack? Perhaps the NAA was beaten and now help is on the way here.

I do know that any time I have asked Mama Lindsay about that place the past couple of days, she has just shaken her head and said that the NAA might find them a tougher nut to crack. I keep thinking about sneaking out for myself and travelling down the Corridor to see what I can, but I don’t want to worry anybody. Still, I can’t help but wonder…and this is a recurring thought that is starting to bother me…

“What would Meredith do?”

Thursday, August 15th

It is late and I am tired. The NAA kept us all on the top deck of the Sunset Fortress. The sun beat down on us and the concrete just seemed to make it even hotter. We were given water twice.

I don’t think things went well at Warehouse City. The train returned early this morning. It was missing a car and the whole thing looked like it had been dipped in tar and lit on fire. Black globs of the stuff are hanging in thick patches. Also, I didn’t get a good look, but apparently, a bunch of the soldiers were off-loaded and carried into one of the buildings that many of the residents of this area called home.

Meanwhile, several soldiers went around and asked everybody their name, age, and occupation. I don’t know why, but when they asked me, I said farmer. I guess I was just afraid to say that I am in the EEF. I don’t want to be bumped to the head of the selection pool.

However, the biggest concern I had today is about Jenifer. She was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t the only person to notice. Some folks asked about her and basically got told to mind their own business.

That didn’t sit well with anybody. A few people started getting loud, but the soldiers moved in with these cattle prod looking weapons. Only, they didn’t use them on the folks getting unruly…they brought up a few of the children from where they were being held. There wasn’t even a warning, they just showed up and zapped this little girl no older than six.

Then a big fight broke out, only, it was us fighting amongst ourselves. People were yelling and carrying on. Things are falling apart here. In no time, nobody was talking about how well it appeared Warehouse City did against the NAA. All the talk about hope and making our own stand…about the possibility that we might see some help from down the Corridor was gone. Instead…we were fighting each other and casting blame. By the time it was over, people were even blaming all of this on Jenifer.

I can’t believe how fast we are coming unraveled. It is like everything done here the past twenty years has been thrown out the window.

Saturday, August 17th

As I sit here in this partially burned down apartment complex, I wonder if I will ever see my home in Corridor 26 again. I wonder if I am doing the right thing. I wonder if I will be able to live with the choices I am making…and the ones made for me.

Friday, agents of the NAA started rounding up all citizens that fell in the sixteen to thirty age range. I guess they decided to expand their acceptable parameters. It started early in the morning about an hour or so before sunrise. The only reason I knew ahead of time was because Phaedra and Mama Lindsay were in the front of the house having some sort of secret resistance meeting. (I will get to that later.) They heard a commotion outside and watched as a neighbor of ours was dragged out to the street and added to a group already shackled together.

Phaedra went outside to ask what was going on, and it turned ugly in a hurry. One of the soldiers hit her in the side of the head with a club or something. That caused everybody who had been at this little revolution planning event being held in our living room to get angry. Before Mama Lindsay could say or do anything, folks were rushing out of our house and attacking the soldiers.

At some point, Mama Lindsay had dragged Phaedra in the house. She was telling me to grab our bug-out bags as she went back outside to try and get things under control. I had everything by the door and even managed to clean and bandage Phaedra’s head. I guess I was so absorbed in that task that I just didn’t realize how bad thing got outside.

Then I heard the scream.

I ran to the door and saw a woman crawling across our little yard, the handle of a very big knife jutting up from her back People were coming from all directions now. Soldiers and citizens.

The battle got hot and the soldiers were losing. They were simply too outnumbered. I was in the yard searching the crowd for Mama Lindsay when the flare burst over the Sunset Fortress. It froze everybody as the reddish-white glow lit up the area. It took me a moment to realize that it was a tiny body being tossed from the roof.

A voice came across on a megaphone demanding that we cease our “hostile actions” immediately. As an added emphasis, a second tiny body was tossed. This time everybody heard the screams and I swear I heard the impact. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I will go to my death certain of what I heard.

Needless to say, the fighting stopped. Nobody—at least none of the citizens of Corridor 26—wanted to have another child’s death on their conscience.

Mama Lindsay rushed me inside. She helped get Phaedra to her feet and she urged us to the back of the house and out the door. We made it to the wall and it only took a little extra help to get Phaedra over. From there, we wove our way through a well-looted neighborhood. When we came to this apartment complex, Mama Lindsay chose it as our place to hide. I was initially worried that we hadn’t gone far enough, but she insisted that they didn’t have the manpower to spare to go look for three people. Besides, we could have gone in any direction and they have no way of knowing where we ran.

Still, it just does not sit right with me.

Sunday, August 18th

I went out for a while on my own to see if I could find us a way to Warehouse City that wasn’t too deep in the wilderness. It looks like we can travel along the north side of the Corridor. That will keep us away from the railway and provide plenty of wooded cover.

This won’t be like when Sam or Meredith made the trip along this route. Most everything that is useful is gone. We will need to worry about food if it takes longer than four days—the standard load for a bug-out pack—but the plentiful creeks and streams will take care of our water needs.

When I returned, Phaedra was doing better. She still feels a bit woozy and won’t be worth a damn on foot for at least another day, but she should be fine to move out tomorrow. I guess that she and Mama Lindsay thought it was as good of a time as any to let me know they had a plan in place to keep me from being picked in the draft.

It seems that all of the paperwork involving the census was being kept in the president’s office. The reason nobody had seen much of her lately is because she was making it a point to stay close to the files so that she could find my form and dispose of it. The belief was that nobody would ever know the difference. The problem is that now I know about it…and I’m absolutely not okay with what they did.

I hope that I don’t come off sounding like a spoiled or ungrateful child, but the fact is my friends and people that I grew up with were all in that lottery. One of the people—and it doesn’t matter who—would be filling a spot that might have been mine. I simply cannot be okay with that. I realize that since we’ve run for it, it is all a moot point, but the reality is that they were willing to put somebody else in my place.

I can’t help but wonder what else I have been passed over because of who I know. Heck, did I get accepted into the EEF because of being the daughter of Lindsay Wells? What makes me so special?

Tuesday, August 19th

It may not be the right choice, but I made it on my own.

Yesterday, I went out again by myself. I was just out to fill our water packs. The idea was that we would be heading out that night for Warehouse City. Mama Lindsay seemed to think that, if we made it there, we would be safe. I personally think it is delaying the inevitable. If this new president is so intent on conquering us for whatever reason, then she will simply send a bigger force next time. Warehouse City is only safe for the time being.

Anyways, I was out when I heard another series of explosions. By the time I got back to the apartments, Mama Lindsay and Phaedra agreed that we had to see what was happening. If nothing else, we needed to make a detailed report to the folks at Warehouse City.

We left most of our gear behind and travelled light. We made our way up to a bluff that gave a good view of the area around Sunset Fortress. Or rather…what used to be Sunset Fortress.

For whatever reason, they blew it up. I mean there is nothing left but a big pile of rubble. Also, we saw no sign of movement down there. The trains are gone, North Gate is a gaping hole, and already, zombies were starting to trickle in.

I have no idea if they took all the people they had gathered up and simply killed the rest or what. What I do know is that my home is gone. The last thing that I had in my life that was solid and permanent is gone.

I love my Mama Lindsay with all my heart. I even have a growing affection for Phaedra. I am happy that those two have found each other. I will come back for them. But I have to go find out what happened to my people…my friends.

Early this morning, I set out for Irony, USA. I left a note for Mama Lindsay telling her that I love her and that I will be back. I tried to stress that I am NOT Meredith. I am not leaving to see the world or anything else…I am simply going to find out what happened.

I gave it some serious thought and it took me a while to realize why I have to do this. In some of the talks I’ve had with Phaedra, it has been something that really weighs on her…not knowing about her son. I don’t have any hopes of finding him, but I want to be able to come back home and tell people where their children are and if they are okay.

I know that it looked like Corridor 26 was wiped out. I can admit that it appears very bad. However, if there are even a dozen survivors left alive from whatever the NAA did before taking off, they will return.

So will I. I promise, mom.

Wednesday, August 20th

Got down to that building overlooking the ruins that we stayed in that first night when we were supposed to destroy the bridge. What a joke that was, I look back on it now and it seems so foolish.

Send a group of citizens out to try and scavenge up the means to destroy a railroad crossing. Don’t worry about tools or anything, just make do with what you can find out there. Good luck.

We lost half of our team and the NAA came anyways. The more I sit here and think about it, the angrier I get. Not only that, but I question how the community has survived for twenty years. Maybe signing off with the NAA and this new president are not terrible ideas.

I am sitting here weighing out the pros and cons and it seems to break even. Obviously they have the greater minds. For example, we walk everywhere. There are a few horses, but they are more of a luxury and used to haul wagons. The NAA has freaking trains!

We have been so busy trying to make a peaceful life for ourselves that we are not really prepared for confrontation. Yes, we can deal with unthinking, easy to outmaneuver, walking dead. But we are like some big kid, we go all our lives using our size and relying on that to keep the little kids in line or at bay. The problem is, the first time we get punched in the nose…we don’t have a clue on how to deal with it other than to curl up and cry.

This “new” government does seem to have a few things going for it. They have an organization that were desperately lacking…at least in our neck of the Corridor. I started thinking about some of the stuff I learned in History class and realized we don’t even have a basic system of tax in our society.

People were trying to create some sort of utopian atmosphere. It was all peace and harmony. Only, they have been living a lie. Children were being shipped off to the NAA in exchange for a little help here and there building our own cage. Sure, everybody had to work, and we all shared in the bounty of the crops, the yields of the hunters and fishers.

Only, there was another side of things going on that nobody wanted to acknowledge. We, as the collective, were using some of the younger people as a commodity. So, there was a tax being paid…but only by the unlucky few. The worst part is that, for those who had people in “high” places, they were protected. So it does seem that everything has a price, but only a few have to pay it. In the morning, I doubt I will be able to have another moment’s peace for quite a while. I will be crossing into the wilderness. I know enough from Sam and Meredith’s books that Irony is well east of here.

I’ve met a few Travelers who have braved the Gorge Wilderness. It is a mix of roving band of nomads, singles and groups of some of the more unsavory types who prey on passers-by, and zombies. Rumor has it that some spots are as bad as they were in the beginning when it comes to the undead. Some of the small towns are like snapshots of a “land that time forgot.” Most of the coolest artifacts that Travelers bring in for trade come from stretches of land in places like the Gorge Wilderness.

Thursday, August 21st

Today I made it all the way to that parking garage on the other side of the river. I saw some signs of what must have been a small skirmish between some of the tribes and the NAA. Mostly bodies hacked up or burnt and left in the street.

I made a covered fire and it was actually pretty warm at night. Sleeping alone out here is always an adventure. It is automatic to string a noise-making trip wire, and that is supposed to help make a person feel a little better about being out in the open. I probably woke a dozen times or more to every single new sound. Each time, I was certain it was my wire. It never was, but I actually felt relieved when the sun rose and I could see around me in all directions. I hope I get better at sleeping at night

Saturday, August 23rd

What a difference a few days makes. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I guess the Corridor has really cleared out a majority of the walkers. Travelling the established routes, they are present, but most of the time it is one or two.

To be some place and see them wandering in and out of battered houses that look like it would take nothing more than a good breeze to knock over was an experience. I had to wonder how we could have fallen to such a simple creature. Was it because they were our friends and loved ones? I wonder this because I had no trouble staying out of their line of sight for the most part.

There was one instance where I was moving down a side street and lost sight of the train tracks. When I realized it, I turned in the direction I was pretty sure that I knew them to be and started cutting through a few yards. I reached a fence made of wood that was at least six feet high and built so I couldn’t see the other side. I climbed up and actually had my leg swung over when I realized that the yard on the other side was the residence of a trio of very big dogs.

The thing about zombie dogs is that they aren’t faster, but there is a different “creepy” factor that is hard to explain unless you’ve seen one in person. For me…this was the first time. I have nobody to blame but myself for the next few hours after that. I guess I screamed louder than I first thought.

I climbed back down and spun around at the sound of a crybaby coming around the side of the house I’d cut alongside of…and he wasn’t alone. The thing is, I’d just walked down this road and seen almost nothing. Yet, there they were…coming out of every shadow.

I had no choice but to engage the crybaby. One of the things they teach us in EEF training is to only actually fight when it is absolutely necessary. It was absolutely necessary. I had them coming from all directions and made a snap decision to head parallel to where I believed the train tracks to be running.

The next problem that I ran into was that the fact that the road began to curve away. I was getting farther from the river and the train tracks. I was also getting closer to the old highway. I knew well enough from landmarks that I was closing in on what used to be Interstate 84.

That was a road made famous by both Sam and Meredith. It was a long stretch of highway that runs along the Columbia River and cuts through several small towns along the way. It has become famous in my lifetime for being a favorite poaching location for raiders, land pirates, and massive migratory herds of undead. They really seem to favor roads like this. It probably has something to do with how there is really nothing in their way.

A few differences in the highways now versus when Meredith and Sam travelled them: they are scoured pretty clean of abandoned vehicles; they are littered with body parts; one of the dangers is the odd detached head—people have nicknamed them mousetraps. Over the years, vehicles were either scavenged or shoved aside by some of the larger herds. Having so many undead moving as one, there is a lot of jostling. Wear and tear eventually causes parts to slough off. On the rare occasion that a head comes free—usually on the ones that suffered horrendous neck wounds—it still snaps at anything that passes, hence the nickname of mousetrap.

So, I was being slowly coerced away from the water. It seemed that every side street I wanted to cut down to take me back where I really wanted to be would terminate in a dead end.

Eventually, I came to some big industrial site. It has fallen in to such a state that it was impossible to discern what purpose the place once served. However, it did have one saving grace: a ten-foot high fence still intact around some of the buildings.

I made it over just as a few of those damn things arrived on the scene. I had to get around on the far side of a building to get out of sight. The problem was that zombies don’t give up once they have you in their sights. The concept of futility is completely lost on them. I made it around the building and found my way up onto the roof after only a little display of acrobatic skill. From there I was able to assess the situation. This place was big enough…covered enough area that it was unlikely I would be surrounded if I stayed the night.

I will leave in the morning. Tonight, I am sitting beside a series of pipes, using them to shield me from any prying eyes in the direction of the highway. Anybody across the river would see me if they were up on the tops of those ridges. However, the water is an excellent barrier.

I should sleep well tonight.

Sunday, August 24th

I found an odd little community. They are living on an island in the middle of the Columbia River. I would not guess there is a single member of the community over the age of thirty. This would mean that, if I am to believe even half of what they say, this colony was established by children.

The story has them coming home on a bus from a church gathering. The bus crashed when a man (they didn’t know what a zombie was at the time) staggered out into the road and was hit. The driver got out to investigate. I bet you can guess what happened to him.

The older kids—apparently there were a few teenagers and a pair of youth group leaders on board—eventually took charge of the situation. They were near the river and after losing several more of their number to walkers, somebody in their group suggested what was happening might be “the End of Times.”

That got shouted down after the next zombie encounter. One of the kids was apparently a fan of a comic book series about zombies. It took them a few days, but eventually, somebody took actual control of the group and they made for the island. Since it had no bridges and was a “wildlife refuge” (I wasn’t entirely certain what that was, but it sounded important) they decided that it would be free of any zombies.

They survived off the land and only sent small groups back across the river for whatever they could find. They now have a community of shacks. They are drafty, but surprisingly sturdy. They make no attempts to communicate with outsiders. Some of them get a haunted look at the mention of such things. Having read Meredith’s journal, I could understand.

It was interesting that the only books I have seen were Bibles. They really do not have any desire to know what is going on in the world. They know only that it got very bad and that some very bad people survived. It is kind of sad.

I was reminded of that group Meredith and Eric Grayfeather met on their way south; a group of children living in a church who had become very militant when it came to outsiders of an adult age. I wonder how they are doing…if they are still holding on. This group has some striking similarities. I was approached because of my obvious young age. I guess they were good enough to follow me unseen for almost an hour as I got up, had a quick breakfast, cleaned up my camp and headed out.

I asked them about seeing trains go past. They said they had seen one a few days ago. They said that they can hear things like that from far enough away that they can stay hidden.

I was convinced of that until I stepped out of the shack where they allowed me to spend the night tonight. They have scouting outposts up on the hills on the Washington side. I knew it when these big covers were brought out that go over the fires. All the lanterns and such that were hanging from trees were put out.

I waited until it was just me and this little girl of about eleven or twelve. I asked her why we were turning out all the lights; she told me that a signal came from the sky warning of evil.

That would be another aspect of this community that I could spend a while just learning about. They are very devoted to their scriptures. These are not just stories to the children of this community. They really believe that there are angels and demons out there fighting for our souls.

It would seem that they have created a culture that combines zombies and a very interesting section at the end of the Bible titled “Revelations.” I’ve never actually read the bible before. I must say, I can certainly see where the believers of this sort of thing could interpret some of that stuff to what we are living in right now. It actually talks about dead rising from the graves. And while that may not be exactly what happened, it is as close to an explanation as anything else.

Monday, August 25th

As much as I would’ve liked to hang out with those very interesting folks and learn about their culture, I have a mission. I declined their offer to stay for a while. I saw a strange mixture of disappointment on some of the faces of the guys there.

It took me a bit to figure it out, but the ratio of males to females did seem a bit lopsided. The more that I thought about it, I guess they would be anxious to have some more contributors in their gene pool. I can’t help but wonder what sort of dynamic exists between the guys who have girls and the ones who don’t. It is one of those human functions that we can’t deny.

Today I moved along the highway and was doing fine until I came around the corner and saw a rock that resembled a certain part of the male anatomy jutting up from the lush greenery in the area. It was just too funny to ignore and I started to giggle. It only got worse when I found a sign that still hung beside the interstate: Rooster Rock State Park.

I see what they did there.

Tuesday, August 26th

I am camped out near one of the prettiest things I have ever seen. The most beautiful waterfall is just through some trees.

Unfortunately, my camping here is due to some rough events that will give me nightmares for weeks. I found one of those groups of raiders that I have heard about all my life. They have always been just stories. I guess I had to know that there was some truth to those tales deep down. Still, it is like stories of the Boogeyman. Or the tooth fairy. (The idea of some winged thing coming in my bedroom while I slept always creeped me out.)

I was moving along the side of the highway, making sure to keep to the brush, but still close enough to pop up and take a look every so often. When I first heard them, I thought it was some new zombie sound. It was a bunch of howls and yelps—not quite human sounding to my ears.

I moved back deeper into the foliage that has managed to claim almost one entire lane of the highway at this particular location. Being on the side closest to the hills, I was able to move up to a spot where I could see the surrounding area better.

There were at least fifty of them—men and women all decked out in furs and leather. Some of them even had helmets with horns attached or crowned with the head of a wolf or bear. Their victims were a small group of five.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was just so completely savage. And these raiders didn’t differ in the treatment of their prey based on gender. In fact, what happened to the men seemed just a touch more brutal. I’ve added a new scream to my catalog. Who knew that we were capable of so many variations when it came to screaming.

When it was over, they left three bodies dead in the middle of the cracked and uneven section of pavement. I stayed put for quite a while after, for fear that I might give away my position. Once I dared to move, I skirted the scene, not wanting to get too close. Unfortunately, when I passed by, I couldn’t help but look. I kept whispering to myself over and over “don’t look, don’t look” as I moved along. Of course, the more you tell yourself not to think of or do something, the more likely you are to do it. Of course I looked. I wish I hadn’t, but I did.

Also, by the time I reached this spot to camp for the night, I was witness to the “cycle of nature” or whatever you want to call it. All I could tell from here was that it was a pack of dog-type animals, but they came and dragged off the bodies.

About an hour ago, a small cluster of walkers came through, headed west…towards the direction of Portland. They never broke stride as somebody from up in the woods took shots at them with a bow and arrow. Something tells me I need to get out of this area as soon as possible.

Thursday, August 28th

Great place to hide, lousy place to be stuck. I am not exactly trapped, but I won’t be moving for a while. There is a big fight going on in this area between rival factions of some sort. Also, all this activity has drawn in a few walkers. Then there is the water.

Of course, leave it to me to actually unleash a gaggle of them that have been obviously trapped in this building for who knows how long. I have no idea what this building was used for, but it is full of huge basins that obviously contained water at some point. They are bone dry now, but there is a lingering stench more pervasive than that of the undead. It is like fish left out to spoil in the sun.

One nastier find happened to be the half-eaten bodies of rats, raccoons, and even a few possums and skunks. Overall, this place absolutely reeks. However, I am sorta stuck in here because the zombies are still wandering the halls, and I dropped my crossbow. I can’t leave without it, so I need to let things settle down before I venture down to retrieve it.

Here is how it all happened…

I actually heard this incredible noise that was similar to the sound of that waterfall, only, it was coming from the direction of the Columbia River. I decided that I would go take a look. After all, while I do have an objective to this little excursion, I am still taking the opportunity to see a few things. This is a once in a lifetime experience. (No, I do NOT intend to venture out again like this once I return to Corridor 26…or whatever is left of it.) I really wish I had a camera. Some of what I’ve seen defies description.

I made it down to this one spot and actually risked coming out in the open to get a better look. There is a huge dam…or most of one anyways. The far side of it—the Washington side—has crumbled in places and there are massive gaps. I can see things sticking up from the middle parts of the river where I am pretty sure there used to be an island. Also, just by looking, I could tell that a new section must’ve just given way. That was most likely the sound I’d heard.

I was so mesmerized, that I really didn’t see the danger until it was right on top of me. A trio of creepers were pulling themselves towards me along the rocky edge of the highway. One had managed to pull itself most of the way up the slope. I had not really appreciated just how loud the roaring water could be until I felt the hand grab my ankle.

I speared it in the head, and then I moved down just enough to poke the other two. When I climbed back over the rock wall that ran along this stretch of highway, I caught sight of a pair of people running across the road, jumping that same wall, and bounding down the hill. They vanished into the brush, but emerged a few moments later and took off down the slightly flooded street of whatever the name was of this town built around the now crumbling dam.

I was just going to wait a bit and make a run for it back across the highway. I wanted to get back up on the hills before continuing on my way. The going is slow, but I have managed to stay out of sight and that is my highest priority while travelling alone.

I was about to make my move when I heard the distinct sound of a child screaming for help. This was not a crybaby. This was an actual plea for help. I seriously debated my next move. Part of me really wanted to run. I could have gotten away from here with no problem. I simply was not raised that way. I did what I know Mama Lindsay would have done if she’d been out on a run for the EEF.

The little girl is named Natalie and she is five. When I reached her, she started crying, calling me a “dark raider”. She said that she promised not to come on my land ever again, but that the water made her family move.

Since I had no idea what she was talking about, I simply told her it would be okay and that she wasn’t in trouble. I would take her back to her mom and dad. She looked at me funny for a second, but she eventually took my hand. I led her out to the street where the water was just about ankle deep.

Since there was a very sturdy looking building up on a nearby ridge, I took off for it. I probably should have paid more attention to little Natalie. She kept tugging my hand and saying something, but I was hearing the distinct sounds of people fighting in the area and wanted no part of it.

I had to pry the door open. All of that racket, plus the other chaos happening around me, is probably what brought all the zombies to the door of this building. When I opened that door, a few stumbled out. Those were the easy kills.

I must admit to being very impressed with little Natalie. She stepped back to give me room so that I could spear the closest ones. And while she balked at initially entering the building, she did so with only a little urging. Once inside, I had to leave the door open for a bit because the first room had no windows. There was a door across the way that had long since been torn from its hinges, but the light coming through the windows was not enough to offer much help.

I fought my way in and cleared the first two rooms with what I consider relative ease. The weirdest thing about the zombies in here was that most of them were still wearing at least remnants of the heavy coveralls that were obviously the uniform for this facility. I say that because any zombies you find out in the wild, provided that they are not freshly turned, are naked for the most part. The years have torn away or deteriorated anything that they might have been wearing.

It was after I sealed the door and then made for the metal staircase that things went a little bit wrong. I had reached the first landing, and I was constantly checking down on Natalie. She was just so darn quiet through it all that I had to keep assuring myself that she was present.

I was reloading when a walker fell over the edge of the railing. It crashed down onto the landing and made a terrible noise. It was also the first time that I heard Natalie shriek. Of course it also scared the bejeezus out of me. My crossbow fell and skittered over the edge and to the floor below.

I drew a blade and plunged it into the temple of the zombie on our landing. When I looked up, several walkers were already coming from some deeper recess of this building’s interior as well as through the open door we’d broken in through. I guess I hadn’t pulled it shut or the hinge was so busted that it wouldn’t hold. In any case, our little hideout was compromised. I would not be able to go down there at the moment. However, with all the activity outside, I was fairly confident that the noise would draw many of the ones below outside.

When we reached the second floor, I made a snap decision on which way to go. Left had one door, right had five; I chose left. I was surprised to discover that the door was not locked. It took some work to get it open nonetheless from all the years of not being used. On the other side was a long corridor with a pair of doors on either side, and another at the end.

I pulled out a metal wedge from my belt pouch and used my toe to kick it into place at the door’s base to help keep it shut. We ran down the corridor using the very dim light from the overhead skylights as our only source. I tried the knob and wasn’t all that surprised when this door was locked. I jimmied it open and that is when I almost threw up a little.

This room is huge and is open to all three stories. The ceiling must’ve been all glass or something of that sort long ago. It is now open to the sky. I could hear the roar of water outside, it seemed louder for some reason.

However, it was the tanks and basins that were the problem. They were a greenish slurry of algae and I think they used to hold fish. Lots of fish. The bottom of one of the tanks have a layer of what first looks like dirt or maybe sand. It is fish. I know only because some of the bones have not dissolved yet. I can’t imagine how many fish these tanks once held, or even begin to guess at the purpose. All I really know is that it was enough to make me gag…and little Natalie actually got sick.

I was trying my best to stay calm. Then the water started flowing in down below. I kept hearing things bounce off the metal doors. I wasn’t concerned about the doors giving way…but the rising water level had me a touch nervous.

I found a way up onto the roof and brought Natalie up with me. I was not prepared for what I would see. The section of the dam that gave way had caused the river to rise over the banks.

It is unlike anything I have ever witnessed. Who knew that water could pack so much power? It has cleared the banks and my guess is that it is at least eight feet deep right where I am.

It was after about an hour that I started to wonder…what would this do to that nice group on the island? Or any other island downstream from this point. Could this have an effect as far away as Portland?

I’ve seen countless undead drift past. Also, I have seen movement on some of the other roofs. The fighting continues between whoever these people are. Don’t they realize that there are more important things to be worried about right now?

Sunday, August 31st

Natalie is still with me. For better or worse, I’ve decided to try and find her family, or anybody who knows her. I certainly can’t take her with me. I also cannot just abandon her.

It has taken this long for the water levels to recede. The streets are littered with some pretty rank debris. I imagine most of the ground floors of every building on this side of the dam had its contents flushed out onto the street.

Water is an amazingly powerful source of energy. I was not surprised to find a few bloated bodies in the aftermath. The levels rose so fast. One moment it was a trickle in the streets, and five minutes later, the bottom floor of every building was under water. Several of the smaller buildings were washed away entirely.

I saw a few people in the distance from time to time, but whenever I tried to hail them or get their attention, they scurried off. It was like they were afraid of me.

I know I’m not that scary looking. I take after Meredith in that I am maybe a couple inches over five feet tall. On a good day, I weigh maybe a hundred and ten. That is after a big dinner.

Natalie doesn’t talk much except when I speak to her directly. I know that her mom and dad are named Jerry and Marty. I didn’t have the heart to ask which is which. I also know that her mom is “the prettiest mom in the whole world” and that her dad is “braver and stronger than any daddy”. I also know that she had a big brother who left with the soldiers and a baby sister who never woke up after she was born.

The comment about her brother has me thinking about how long this campaign of the NAA has been going on. I can’t help but wonder if, just maybe, the zombies are of so little concern to us now that we are starting some sort of cycle where folks start grabbing for power.

Monday, September 1st

Jerry is actually Jeri. I found Natalie’s parents. Actually, they found me. We had just finished breaking camp and climbed down to the muck-filled streets. The sun was already promising a scorcher. That was making the place smell just a bit worse.

I asked Natalie if she could see anything that looked familiar. She shook her head and fell in beside me as I searched for any signs of people.

I will say this much…they are really good. I didn’t hear a thing or sense anything was wrong. Then I had a knife at my throat.

After a brief explanation, they took the knife away and we had an interesting talk. There has been a bit of a grab for power here. It seems that the old leader had a deal with the NAA similar to what was going on back at the corridor. When he died, two people both wanted to assume that position.

It got violent and the factions were fighting each other when the NAA came through a short time ago. (I didn’t tell them anything about where they were coming from…didn’t figure it was their business.) It seems that the commander demanded that both factions surrender the required number of recruits. When they tried to refuse, a handful of people were dragged out and executed; then they took double the number of recruits.

The blame game shifted to a new gear after the NAA left. It was during this latest skirmish that the section of the dam gave way. These folks are having a really bad run of luck.

I was glad to accept their invitation for a hot meal and a warm bed for the night. Of course they asked if I would consider staying. I explained that I was on my way to see a friend. I am a terrible liar, and that is actually very close to the truth, so I was able to look them in the eyes when I declined.

I have a lot to bring back to the Corridor when this is over. Already I have run into a surprising number of smaller communities. It does seem as if humanity is trying to claw its way back to the top of the food chain. Who knows…we may even succeed if we stop trying to kill each other off.

Tuesday, September 2nd

It would seem that the NAA is stepping up their response against those who do not bow to their wishes. The small community here was still burning when I arrived. Of course I had an idea what to expect when I set out this morning. Almost immediately after setting out, I saw the black cloud rolling skyward.

I see this as a couple of things. First, the NAA aren’t that far ahead of me. Second, they are obviously leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. I’m not sure they expected folks to say the word “no” in response to their new demands.

The thing is, the way I see the situation, they are going about this all wrong. I’m no expert in conquering the world, but I would think that they might try a more relaxed approach. Killing and burning everything in your path seems silly. What exactly will they be ruling over if they kill everybody they planned on taking control of?

I stayed in the heavy growth as I drew closer. The first thing that I noticed was the twisted ruins of a pretty large bridge. From the looks of it, that bridge has been out of commission for several years.

As for the community here…they are gone. I didn’t find signs of one single survivor. I did find plenty of charred husks. The first bunch I discovered made me cry. I probably stood there and wept like a baby for several minutes. From the looks, the two larger husks tried to cover the three smaller ones. Now they are fused together forever.

This just makes no sense!

The further I moved into this area, I found more and more buildings that were down to the embers. I stopped trying to get a better look at all the lumps scattered about the streets. It seems like they simply rolled in on their train and set everything on fire. If they came in the night, a majority of the people were probably asleep.

I did find a pair of soldiers at one point. That showed me a bit more about these people. The NAA doesn’t care about its members. I know that if this were some sort of sick world where the people of Corridor 26 tried to conquer the area, we wouldn’t leave our dead behind. I read a few history books and always found it difficult to accept that people could do the things to each other that I read: The World Wars, ethnic cleansing, slavery, concentration camps, Crusades and Inquisitions. Yet, here it is…repeating itself again.

What the hell is wrong with us?

Wednesday, September 3rd

I had to make my way up into the hills. It seems that all of this NAA activity has brought walkers from every direction. I heard them just before sunrise this morning. I had found an intact water tower and climbed up for the night. There is never anything good about being woke up by a crybaby. It sets your nerves on edge for the whole day.

Taking my time as I climbed down, I could see dark shapes moving amidst the burned out ruins of this little community. Not just a few…I was pretty sure I was seeing the leading edge of a herd.

By the time I’d made it across the highway and started up into the hills, my suspicion was confirmed. They stretched on back the way I’d come for as far as I could see. Now, that is a bit misleading since that little community was just around a large bend. Still, they have to number in the thousands.

I am stuck here for who knows how long. All I can do is watch the zombie parade. The good news, I snagged a rabbit in a snare a little while ago. I am deep enough into the woods to make a small fire inside of a partially hollowed out tree. Every so often, I move out to this bluff and get a visual update.

Saturday, September 6th

Gliders passed by overhead this afternoon. I have no idea how long they were circling the area. I might not have ever known about them if I hadn’t gone out to the bluff and decided to set out my canteens for the rain. I was really just watching the trailing end of that herd stumble past when the shadow passed overhead.

I had my binoculars on a small cluster that had caught something. They were in “feast” mode, ripping whatever it was apart and shoving bits into their mouths. I had a good look at one that was facing my direction. Since I was this far up, and not really in a direct line-of-sight, I was able to check it out. I was really just concerned that it was a person at first. Once I saw fur, I was watching more out of fascination.

At first, I thought a bird was swooping in low. The shadow was kinda large. When I looked up, I really had no idea what I was seeing. It looked like a huge child’s toy circling the area. Then a second one came into view.

I have no idea if they saw me. They were more focused over the area above the burned ruins of that small community. Still, they did pass overhead once or twice. I feel like a bit of an idiot. I just sat there staring at them for the longest time. Of course, I kept my eyes on them from the relative safety of the brush until they left. The interesting thing is that they headed back the way I’d come…sort of. They flew off in a bit of a West-Southwest heading.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Nor have I heard tales from anybody else. Ever since shortly after the dead started doing their thing, places like factories and refineries shut down. It is hard to fly aircraft without fuel.

I really wish I could get the heck out of here, but the trailing edge of a herd that size can take a couple of days. I hope things will be clear enough by tomorrow. Whether they saw me or not, I just feel the urge to move out of this area.

Monday, September 8th

There is barely enough here to identify my location as what used to be the city of Hood River. From what I can see, no attempt was ever made to settle this location. Judging by the extensive and very old fire damage, I would not guess that there was much to claim or settle here.

The thing is, I’ve never seen so much devastation. Old Portland burned, but there are still plenty of buildings left standing. Not here. From the looks of things—and I’m certainly no expert—it seems like something big caught fire on the southern end of town and roared down the hill. The flames didn’t stop until they hit the river. There is just a wasteland reminiscent of a bone yard. There are bits and pieces jutting up here and there. However, even those are few and far between. I imagine that the years have knocked over the weakest bits.

I can see a few lone walkers scattered about, nothing to be very concerned with. I will move through tomorrow when I have the full day. The weather is turning a bit rainy and the wind is terrible here. I bet that had a lot to do with the extent of the damage.

I am hunkered down in the woods to minimize the effects of the high winds. I haven’t been this cold in my life. I am fortunate in regards to the fact that I am in dense enough woods to build a good fire.

I found a pair of really sturdy pine trees and was able to string my hammock between them. I am about ten or so feet off the ground above my fire. Kinda like roasted Snoe in a sweat sauce. It is really toasty.

As long as I don’t forget where I am when I wake up…I should be fine. I have a line tossed over one of the branches above me so that I can pull myself up and then swing out of bed. It would not do at all to drop into the middle of my fire pit.

Tuesday, September 9th

Note to self:

Don’t leave ALL of my weapons next to my pack! I guess I just got too comfortable. I wasn’t worried about living people stumbling across me and my little camp. However, I was so focused on getting my hammock in the trees, then so proud of figuring out how to keep a fire going below me to keep me warm, that I didn’t even give thought to what I would do once I woke up and found a zombie or five down below me.

I know that I should have thought about keeping something on me, but I must’ve just been too full of myself and my ability to ward of the chill from the harsh winds while shielding my fire enough to prevent it from starting some sort of forest fire.

I seem to recall Meredith making several comments about keeping a weapon at all times. I guess growing up inside the relative safety of Corridor 26 has made me a bit soft. I know that EEF training says something about always being armed, I just never took a lot of the stuff so literal.

When I woke up, I could hear something moaning and hissing. When I looked down, I was more than a little disturbed to see five sets of hands (well, five and a half since one of them was missing the arm just below the elbow) reaching up at me.

Funny thing, it wasn’t the noise that woke me. The damn zombies had stomped out my fire jostling each other and trying to get at me. I woke up because I got chilly.

I surveyed everything and figured how I could swing down and land near my stuff. One more time, it might do well to remind myself not to be so dang careless. I hit the ground with the little pack of walkers falling all over each other to get at me. That is probably what saved me.

I snatched up my long blade and yanked it from its scabbard, coming up under the chin of the first one. I had to kick the next one to keep it at bay as I drew my blade back. I was pretty proud of myself when my next swing came across in a wide arc and took off two heads. The bad thing was that I stumbled over the body of the first walker and ended up crawling on my hands and knees to get away from the remaining pair.

By the time I reached my feet, the smaller of the remaining walkers—the one missing her arm—was on me. If she’d had both hands, she might’ve gotten in a good swipe. As it was, that nasty stump with the exposed bone probably missed taking off my nose by a hair. I chopped down and split the skull all the way to the upper lip. That was also when I lost my sword for a bit. It wrenched out of my hands with a violent yank.

My wrist is still sore from that one, by the way.

The last one was so slow that I was able to shake the pain out a bit and draw my knife. One good thrust through the temple put it down. I can write about it now, but you have no idea how badly I was shaking when it ended.

Wednesday, September 10th

Moved past Hood River today. That place gave me the creeps. I have no explanation, it just made me edgy.

The landscape undergoes a dramatic transformation right here. It is brown and dirty looking. The lush green I’ve known all my life is like another world. I can’t imagine anybody choosing to live out here.

I have had to take a few walkers down. More of the trailing edge of that huge herd. I think I am going to stay in this rundown and ratty looking farmhouse. I picked it from the others just because it looks so terrible.

I’ve seen signs of raiders the past few hours and I think it is best if I get out of sight. This house is not going to attract curious scavengers. The highlight is the huge basement. I will be able to make a fire tonight and not worry about attracting any attention. I was actually prepared to be a bit uncomfortable this evening.

Friday, September 12th

Still in the farmhouse. I don’t dare venture out right now. I was right when I said I thought that I was catching a whiff of raiders in the area.

The other night, I’d just drifted off when I heard a scream. Not THE scream; that is a very distinct sound of its own. No…this was the scream of somebody who was scared. There might have been some pain in there, but this was fear. A few seconds later, the hoots and howls I heard were also manmade. It went on for longer than I care to think about. Sometimes, it sounded very close, and other times it was farther away. It had all the sounds of a chase.

I wanted to help…really I did. Only, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do. When I heard what sounded like the conclusion of the chase…I stuffed my fingers in my ears. It didn’t really help. I still heard the crying and the begging. The thing is, I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl…old or young.

I feel terrible. This is where I simply do not see how Meredith did some of the things that she did. I also felt like I might have let her down a little bit. Sure, she is dead, but there is this little part of me that feels like I should try and be a bit more like her at times like this.

I wonder…did she ever doubt herself? She just seems like she had it all together. Sure, she was a bit full of herself, but I would be willing to bet that if she’d been here tonight in my place, there would be a pretty nasty body count. If I hear that stuff again tonight, I might have to go out there. After two nights in a row, I just can’t sit here any longer and do nothing.

Saturday, September 13th

It is raining so hard that I can’t see five feet in front of me out there. I have all of my clothes hanging over a fire that won’t last me the night. I hope they get mostly dry.

The good thing is that I am still alive. The bad things seem too many to list, but I will give it a shot.

Just before dawn, I was packing all my gear. I felt that I would be able to move out. I so desperately wanted to be away from this place and the feeling of being a failure. I was cinching my sleeping bag to my pack when I heard the very distinct sounds of running feet.

Dropping my gear to the floor, I went for my machete. (I was really starting to curse losing my crossbow) and snuck upstairs as quietly as I could.

There was a harsh and cutting wind blowing through all of the missing windows and door frames. I couldn’t see very far because there was a nasty cloud cover keeping the moonlight under wraps. That is probably why I didn’t see her until she literally stumbled right in front of me. When I screamed, she screamed.

The howls and hoots were coming from all directions. I tried to help the frightened young woman to her feet, but she screamed louder, kicked at me, and then scurried away. I probably should have taken the hint.

Like an idiot, I took off after her.

I was actually catching up. I have to admit, I am a pretty fast runner. (A fact that would come in very handy later.) Just as I was about to call out, there was a very familiar hissing sound. Anybody who has shot a bow would instantly recognize that noise. I hit the ground and rolled, but the girl kept going. I swear I heard the next arrow pass right over my head. I know for a fact that I heard it hit her. She cried out and tumbled. I considered my options for about two seconds. When I heard several voices yelping and howling, I rolled into the shadows and crab-walked to the first thick bunch of brush I could find.

I was on my belly in the brambles with a sudden fear that there would be a creeper hiding nearby and that it would grab my leg. I held my breath for so long that my chest began to burn and I started seeing spots. When I let it out in a steady exhale, I almost gave myself away. Yes, they were that close.

All I could do was try and stay invisible while I listened to these animals describe what they intended to do once they caught their prey. Some of the things didn’t even sound possible. I thought back to how many terrible people Meredith encountered on her journey. Growing up in Corridor 26, I was never exposed to that sort of thing. In fact, there was a big noise made that maybe she had focused too much on the bad things.

I think people might have too high of an opinion of ourselves as a species. Out here in the wilderness, there is no law, no rules, and the people who thrive and survive in this climate do so by taking advantage of others. I guess if there is nobody to stand up and tell you that what you are doing is wrong, then the freedom exists to follow whatever base instinct lurks under the “civilized” brain.

I believe that this entire event has allowed us to redefine ourselves in whatever way we decide. I grew up my whole life hearing all of the names: Travelers, Raiders, Scavengers, Traders, and Soldiers. When it comes down to it, we are all simply following that voice in our head. I absolutely don’t believe that following that urge should come at the expense of others, and except for the raiders…they don’t. I’ve spent my life hearing people talk bad about Meredith. The folks labeled as Travelers are all lumped into one category…the same one they put Meredith in.

Selfish.

Was she really? She was a young woman who had her world turned upside down. So did lots of people; I get it. She wanted to live outside of the walls that people were so hastily trying to hide behind. Along the way, she helped some and hurt others. But was she really that bad?

I joined the EEF because I spent my whole life wanting to prove that I was not like her. Yet, here I am…out in the wilderness…stupid journal wrapped in oilcloth to keep it protected from water. The people I grew up around have been killed or captured or scattered to the Four Winds. I left Mama Lindsay and Phaedra to go off on some damn fool mission.

What do I think I am going to do when I find the train? How about when I reach Irony? Am I simply going to walk up to this new president and say, “Okay, Dominique, let my people go.”

I’ve been travelling this whole time with absolutely no plan and no idea what I will do if I catch up to the people I am chasing. Then, nights like tonight come and slap me right in the face. I hid while a dozen or so raiders raped a woman and beat her to death. I listened to them talk about some small settlement near here being “ripe for the picking.” And what did I do? Not a damn thing but hide and try to muffle my own crying.

When I was certain that they were gone, I crawled out to the woman to see if she might be alive. She was not. I’d stayed huddled in the shadows only a few feet away from this poor woman. I’d been witness to her last words, but had no recollection of what they were. The only words I could hear clearly were those spewed from her tormentors. They had said things that will haunt me forever.

I sat there for the longest time, sobbing over this dead body of a stranger. As the rain began to come down harder, I eventually climbed to my feet. My mind was made up. I would find these people and actually do something.

I headed off in the direction I was pretty sure they had gone, staying in the shadows. I gave no thought as to whether I could even find my way back to my things. I simply wanted to stop being an observer. It was time that I actually DO something.

If I was fool enough to chase an army that had taken away some of my friends, then by God I better start figuring out how to act on my impulses. Otherwise, I would find the train, or discover Irony, USA and then…

What?

They were camped inside what looked like a huge warehouse. From a distance, I tried to get a real idea of the layout. It was about hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. I could make out three bonfires visible through the wide open entry. I also made out a series of catwalks that connected that building with several others around it. This was a complex, but there were only signs of activity in this one building. Part of me wanted to observe these people for a while and see what they were about. However, the memories of what I’d heard managed to drown out any such thoughts almost as soon as they rose.

I watched for maybe an hour…or five minutes. Time seemed to fall away. I was determined to do something… anything.

Nothing. I did nothing.

How am I supposed to take on a camp of who knows how many raiders? And I can’t even blame it on not having my crossbow. There is simply nothing that I can do. Any attempt I would make to attack these people would end poorly for me. I have no doubt of that.

The defining moment for me was when a pair of men came out. I don’t know now if they were actually looking for me…or just standing outside talking. No matter, I crept back and got around the first corner of a building that I could and I sprinted with all I had, never even looking over my shoulder once until I ended up out in the middle of the woods with a bunch of welts and cuts on my hands and face from all the branches that whipped at me as I passed.

Around midday, I slunk back to the ratty old farmhouse soaked and cold. I am a failure. I ran off on some impulse with no plan. What’s even worse, I am trying to piece together the logic I used to talk myself into doing this in the first place. Now I am in the middle of nowhere and almost out of supplies. There is very little vegetation to forage here and I imagine the presence of these raiders has most of the wild game scared off. Basically, I’m screwed “six ways to Sunday” as Jenifer puts it.

When this rain stops…I will head home. I will apologize to Mama Lindsay and I will do as I’m told. How could I begin to think that I could do anything when I set off in pursuit of an army?

Sunday, September 14th

Still raining. If possible, it is actually raining harder.

Monday, September 15th

I was able to move out today. I’m not sure I have the desire to continue this journal as it now seems to be a very detailed written account of my failures. I have to admit, I pulled it from my bag this morning when I set out…I set it on a dusty shelf in that basement and walked out.

I don’t know what possessed me to go back an hour later to retrieve it. It has its hooks in me and I can’t shake the urge. Even now…I’ve set the pencil down at least a half dozen times, but I pick it back up.

I have my hammock strung between a pair of pines up on a hill that looks down at the river. About an hour ago, another of those gliders circled the area to the east…towards where I was. I’m not saying that they were looking for me, but they may be enemies of those raiders or friends of the people being victimized.

That doesn’t answer any of the questions that I have, however…it’s not my problem. I just want to go home…whether it is to help rebuild the Sunset Fortress, or to relocate at Warehouse City…I just want to be back where I belong. It is obviously not out here.

Tuesday, September 16th

There is something going on here. I am at the burned up ruins of Hood River and found four people staked to the ground and two more hanging from a metal crossbar.

Okay, that is only partially accurate. The ones staked to the ground are now zombies, but obviously turned very recently. The two hanging were just plain dead. I guess I need to keep extra vigilant.

I would have gotten farther, but I also had to deal with about two dozen walkers. Not all at once…but it did start to seem like I was taking another one down every time I turned around. The worst part was at least half were fresh—relatively speaking—but there was something else about them that I just can’t place. They look really weird. And the even stranger part of this is how one of them looked oddly familiar. That is ridiculous of course. And it isn’t like she looked like somebody I know…just somebody I may have met in passing or something. Like I said…weird.

Wednesday, September 17th

I am stopping just prior to this big bend in the river. I might have to move deep into the woods to travel from this point on. There was some bizarre activity and I don’t have any idea what to do.

I saw the gliders first. Both swooped in just around the middle of the day. (By the way, it has been sunny but cold the last two days.) Of course, I immediately found a spot to hide out. I thought they might be headed east again, but they kept circling well to the west of me. I can’t begin to guess how long they circled, but with the strong winds through here, they could’ve gone all day long.

Once the coast was clear, I resumed my journey. There were some subtle differences in the landscape; especially on the other side of the river.

So, the reason that I finally called it quits for the day and am considering moving up into the woods is that there was a gang of people out ON the river riding windsurfers. It took me a bit to realize what I was seeing, but one of the Travelers that passed through the Corridor had one on his wagon. I remember him trying to explain it to a bunch of us kids with very little success. However, I also remember quite well that Mama Lindsay knew exactly what they were.

In any case, there were a bunch of them out there—at least twenty. I never saw them come very near to shore on this side of the river, but they were zipping around a lot and coming close enough that somebody was exhibiting enough concern to start lobbing big rocks from a huge catapult.

Eventually, the windsurfers headed back across the river and disappeared into a small cove. It looks like there is some sort of small settlement on that side, because as it gets darker, a soft glow is coming from that general direction. I wonder if it is a new settlement. And if it is…where did they come from? Are they on the run from the NAA?

In the morning, I will start the very arduous hike up the hill. The advantage is that I really doubt that I will see any walkers. However, I think I will increase the likelihood of running into the living. Given what I’ve seen lately…I’d rather take my chances with walkers.

Thursday, September 18th

It took all day, but I am walking what I think is the ridgeline. No sign of anything…living or undead. Game is back to being plentiful. Just in time since I haven’t had more than a handful of pine nuts in over forty-eight hours. I set a snare and climbed up into my tree for a nap. When I woke…it was time to start a fire and make dinner.

I had a nightmare that I returned to Corridor 26 and they wouldn’t let me in. Mama Lindsay even came to the wall with Phaedra and said that I was no longer her daughter…that I was Meredith’s and that she never wanted to see me again. Needless to say, I am not very happy right now.

Friday, September 19th

Oh my God.

That was the first thing that came to my mind when I made it to this point overlooking the gorge below. The dam is almost completely gone now. I guess I only witnessed the beginning of the event.

Most of the town where I found Natalie is simply gone. Also, across the river on the Washington side, there is more of the same. A town on that side looks to have taken a beating. I am terrified of what I might find further down the river.

I wonder if this is what all the activity from the gliders and the windsurfers was all about. Bad weather has moved in, and I don’t know if that is what is keeping them away today, but the wind is terrible, the rain is coming down almost horizontally, and the flashes of lightning combined with the rumble and crash of thunder has me seeking cover under this big rocky overhang. It’s not quite a cave…but pretty close.

I feel something building…like there is a horrible storm coming and it is focused on me. I really can’t explain it any better than that.

Sunday, September 21st

I’ve met up with a trio of people. Travelers. They were actually camped in another niche in the rocks about three or four hundred feet from me during the incredible storm that raged through here yesterday.

The way we met was almost humorous. I was at this waterfall filling my canteens when I heard something coming through the bushes on the other side of the little stream. Of course I was at my most vulnerable, straddling the stream with my hands full. I tried to step to one side and slipped. When the three people came through the trees with weapons out ready for action, all I could do was stare up at them with a stupid look on my face.

The two men relaxed and one even made the effort to come help me. Of course I didn’t know him and thought the worst. I had my knife out and up to his throat as he bent down. So that was how I met Bob Hall. The other guy started to come at me in defense of his friend (and twin brother), but the girl grabbed his arm. She started giving him the what for about “coming at a young girl all by herself in the woods, and what did they expect me to do?” Then she stepped forward and introduced herself. That is how I met Felicia Hall, Bob’s wife. She was kind enough to also introduce me to Kenny—the twin.

They are from Florida! I’ve never met anybody from so far away. All three of them keep their hair cut down to just stubble. Even so, Felicia is very pretty. She has skin that is a light brown which makes her hazel eyes seem to glitter all the more. The scar that runs across her throat looks a bit sinister.

As for Bob and Kenny, they are very dark. Both have eyes that are so dark brown, they almost look black. Bob has a healed bite on his arm. It is mostly just angry scar tissue now, but even the scar looks painful.

All three are probably some of the tallest people I’ve ever met. They are decked out in leathers with nasty spikes sticking out all over…kinda like a porcupine. I guess they use their entire bodies as weapons if it comes down to it. I almost want to see them in action to get an idea how all the stuff they are carrying works.

They have these wheeled sleds that have harnesses (all equipped with quick releases) with all their goods. I asked them where they were headed and that is when Felicia pulled out tattered copies of Sam and Meredith’s journals. She said that they were actually headed to Corridor 26 because some of the other Travelers have been circulating a rumor that there is a third book. I didn’t say anything.

I asked them if they’d seen any type of army in their travels. That was when things got interesting. It seems that they had figured out where Irony was located and made that the first location they would check in to see if perhaps anybody there knew anything about Meredith. They said that the place had been hit hard by something, and that there was definitely some sort of organized occupational force in control. They didn’t bother to venture in and were smart enough to not be seen.

As far as that area where I saw those raiders, they said that the area is well known to all Travelers, and it is simply a place that you skirt unless you have a death wish. They were strangely impressed by my having actually been inside a “No Man’s Land” and survived. I think perhaps I got luckier than I realized. I told them about what I saw. According to Felicia, there are a half a dozen tribes in the area, and they are always at war. Women are traded like a commodity, and they even do exchanges to dilute the gene pool.

I asked them about the dam, but they had no ideas. Kenny said that others have failed all over the country. However, he said that is a relatively small catastrophe compared to the areas around the various nuclear power plants around the country. I guess there are parts of the country that nobody dares venture into. Some of the stories coming from survivors who do manage to escape are pretty horrifying. Zombies that don’t die or are so radiated that proximity exposure to them causes violent illness.

Of course, as we sat around the fire and I listened to these stories, I wondered how many of them were retellings of rumors that have grown farther away from the truth with each exchange. Some of it was so far-fetched that I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Still, there is a saying that every rumor has a grain of truth to it.

I have to admit, while I sit by the fire and hear the sounds of Kenny snoring…it is nice to no longer be alone. I realized as we sat and ate and laughed and shared stories (they had most of the stories), it was comforting.

Monday, September 22nd

We had to come down out of the hills today. The woods simply became too dense to travel through. We were spending all of our time hacking through the dense vegetation.

It didn’t take long for trouble to show up. We were moving parallel to the highway when we saw them. It was a group of five heading east. Apparently Travelers has a secret sign. If the hand-signal isn’t returned, then strangers are greeted with more reservation. I had no idea that Travelers had a society…they have rules and all kinds of customs. Not at all like the selfish “grave robber” persona I have grown up hearing them painted with.

So when the secret signal was not returned (which they have not shown me since they know I’m not a Traveler), Kenny told me to keep a hand on my weapon. Felicia did one better, she drew the long sword from over her shoulder and Bob had a pair of pistol-sized crossbows.

The five spread out so that there was several feet between each one, and one of them dressed all in pieces of metal that were fastened to each other by what looked like strips of leather wrapped in wire came forward. Kenny asked us to stay put and went to meet the guy. They talked for a few minutes and it didn’t look very friendly. When Kenny came back, he said that these guys were demanding a toll. When asked what the toll was, apparently it was me.

I have to admit that I felt a surge of fear. After all, I’d only known these people for a day. They didn’t owe me anything. Plus, all the stories that you grow up hearing about Travelers say that they believe everything has a price and they would sell their own mother if the offer was right.

Kenny looked right at me when he said, “I told ‘em they better have an army hidin’ in them trees, ‘cause ain’t none of those rednecked bastards gonna lay one grimy finger on you, little girl.”

I know my fear was probably on my face. However, not one of them mentioned it. I guess they didn’t have an army, because they let us pass. A few of them said some pretty nasty stuff, and one guy stuck his tongue out at me and wiggled it around. Did he think that would make me suddenly want to jump into his arms or something?

The rest of the day, Bob sort of vanished. Kenny said he was always close, but I never saw or heard him until we got ready to make camp. I talked a bit with Felicia through the day. I guess she was fifteen when it all happened. She said that her daddy was a fireman and just never came home from work one night. Her mom took her to a shelter at a local high school, but things went bad there in a hurry. A group of soldiers that were at the shelter helped everybody escape when people in the shelter started turning. That was when she lost her mom. She said that one minute they were running across this swampy field, and then her mom fell. A passing soldier scooped her up and kept running, refusing to let her go or see what was happening. She heard a scream that she was pretty sure was her mom.

Of course, all of that eventually brought up questions about me. I just said I never knew my real mom. I was raised by a community of people. I explained that I set just out after my eighteenth birthday in search of some missing friends. I felt bad. Especially after all she shared with me about her mom and dad. I just didn’t want the fuss I was certain would be made if they knew exactly who I was. I really wish that they didn’t have those damn books.

Tuesday, September 23rd

Today I walked mostly with Kenny. Felicia stayed in the woods and was just as silent as Bob had been yesterday.

Kenny wasn’t as talkative. I did learn that he was in what he called a “youth detention center” when it all happened. It took me a while to realize that he meant jail for kids. It wasn’t that I don’t know what jail is…we have two jails in Corridor 26. It’s just that we don’t make a special one for kids or women. Jail is jail.

Anyways, I guess he and two other boys figured out what was going on and decided that they would rather get in trouble for escaping if things ever returned to normal instead of staying in a place that locked you in a tiny room at night. He made his way home to discover Bob was gone. They wouldn’t find each other for almost a month. When they did, it was because Bob had hung a bunch of spray painted signs all over their neighborhood saying: “Ken, meet me at Gran’s house.”

Their mom had never returned from her shift at the paper mill the first night. Bob had managed to get to their grandmother’s house, but she was already dead and turned when he arrived. Unable to kill her, Bob had lured her into the basement. Since their grandmother’s house was out in the sticks, Bob had decided to try and stay there in hopes that his wayward brother would find him.

Kenny saw the signs a few days after escaping and sought his brother. He said he went back to the youth facility two years later because he just had to see for himself. I guess a bunch of kids died of starvation locked in their cells when nobody came to let them out one morning. He stopped a bunch of times while he was telling me things and I could tell he was seeing it in his mind as he told me.

If I felt bad about not telling Felicia the truth...I felt even worse after Kenny told me his story. Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t think it has anything to do with trust, or lack of it. I simply don’t want to tell them and have them think I might be anything like Meredith…or Sam.

Wednesday, September 24th

Today we discovered some of the first heartbreaking damage from the dam. We passed that giant rock that looks like a man’s privates and the highway is covered in silt and debris. However, there were also the bloated corpses of at least forty people amidst all the muck.

That was when I realized something about the zombies I’d encountered a few days back that looked familiar. I’d seen them when I was with Natalie and her parents. The reason they were only a little bit recognizable was because they were so water logged. That made me wonder and worry about Natalie and her family. When I’d left them, they were still in the vicinity of the dam. If the rest of it had given way while they were in the location I’d left them…

Other than that, I spent the rest of the day with Bob. I have a strange feeling that they are trying to feel me out. I’ve been left mostly alone with a different one of them each day. Each time, the topic has found its way to their story about their life in the Old World.

Bob’s was actually the most interesting. He was home watching the news of what was happening when his and Kenny’s mom called. She said that she was in an office where she was working as a janitor and that the building was overrun by zombies. (Of course she’d called them “those crazy people” because they hadn’t started calling them zombies just yet.)

It just so happened that Bob’s mom was cleaning the office of a biologist who had traveled to New Guinea. She said that two of the biologist’s co-workers had showed up before the building was surrounded by the zombies. They had barely escaped the local hospital where their co-worker had been flown to by a bunch of government types.

He went on about these other scientists claiming that the bite from some giant rat discovered by their friend was the cause of it all and that several members of the research team had become ill. They were supposedly flown to separate hospitals around the country and put in quarantine. Even more interesting, there had been several samples of these rats brought home. Only, not all the samples arrived at their destination.

I stopped listening when he started talking about secret government agents sending out contaminated samples to random addresses around the world. It just seems a little far-fetched. What government would willingly and knowingly send out something that could wipe out an entire population if they knew how dangerous it might be?

I considered slipping away this evening. I like these folks well enough, but they do seem a bit strange. Tonight during dinner, all the conversation was about how things were in the Old World. A lot of what they were saying just sounds too crazy. Still, they are headed the same way, and it is nice having people to talk with, even if they are a bit loony in the head.

Thursday, September 25th

Today was another heartbreaker. That really nice group of people from that church group that settled that small island are gone. I would guess that almost two-thirds of that island is now underwater. From where we are on the hill, it is clear that everything they built has been washed away.

I told the three Travelers that I wanted to go over and check things out. They didn’t seem to mind, but they weren’t interested in coming over with me. I found a boat and they helped me turn it over and push it into the water. From there, I rowed across.

When I reached the island, I could already smell the reek of dead bodies. I also found a pair of them who were immune but infected. One of them was a little boy who was buried up to his waist in the soupy mud. I remember his face. I can see him sitting on the lap of a woman with long braids. He was a maggot-white corpse with pruned skin that just clawed at the air and hissed at me until I drove my knife through its head.

The other was a woman in her fifties. She was bent over backwards which indicated to me how violent the waters must’ve hit. Of course, the fact that the entire village is totally gone without a trace gives a pretty good sign.

I didn’t stay long. There really wasn’t much more to see. It just seems so unfair. These people have survived this long after all they went through, and now they are gone, wiped out as if they never existed.

It made me wonder…did they see the waters coming? I know enough about the Bible to know the story of The Flood. Did they see something divine in that wall of water as it approached and signaled their doom? Or…did they simply surrender to their fate and wonder why they’d fought so hard to survive?

As I get closer to home…or what might be left of it, I wonder how many times the people who settled the Corridor reached moments where they wanted to simply give up. I also wonder how they managed to create such a large stretch of land that is free of the undead. I guess I never gave thought to what, why, or how when it came to Corridor 26. It has simply always been there. I don’t even really remember living in Warehouse City.

I remember people, but not places or how they came to be. If nothing else, this little trip has given me a new appreciation for a lot of things. I think I have a few tasks ahead of me when I return to whatever is left of my home.

I want to talk to Mama Lindsay first, but I intend on restoring my mother’s name. She is used as a cautionary tale, and even a bit of an insult. Travelers have been branded as selfish, but I think we have it wrong. They are a supply line and a source of information. They brave the unknown and bring back news we would otherwise be ignorant of were it not for them. And we need to understand that isolating ourselves behind walls may not be the best choice. Perhaps Meredith had one thing right when she said she felt like she was in a prison or a cage.

Even the EEF do not really travel outside of our established boundaries. We know what is relatively safe, and that is where we stay. Would those people on that island have stayed there if they knew how close they were to other societies that would accept them and their beliefs while still offering them a safe place to live.

Instead of creating several small communities, we need to focus ourselves on one large one. Otherwise, the NAA, the New American President or any other larger group can move in. The years have pushed the undead out of the top threat window and once more, as it seems to have been throughout history, it is mankind that now seeks domination and control. The strong will enslave the weak. However, just as a bundle of sticks is much more difficult to break than just a single…so it is with people.

I can’t help but feel that our entire civilization is at a crux that will either make us or break us for good. The hardest part will be getting everybody to realize that we will have to put an end to the NAA and stop trying to re-create the United States of America. We can start over with the greatest aspects of ourselves, but we will need to end, once and for all, those who seek to prey on the weak. We cannot sit behind our walls and allow Dominique or those wild raiders to continue. Both are wrong and ignoring their presence or believing that it is “not our problem” has not worked.

Friday, September 26th

Something or someone is following us.

Sunday, September 28th

The belief is that they were raiders. Perhaps their tribe—or whatever they call themselves as a unit—suffered catastrophic loss when the wall of water came through and wiped out everything in its path. From the way things look along the river, so many of the building were just barely standing after twenty years of neglect, they didn’t stand a chance against the power of not only the water, but all the debris being swept up and carried along.

We actually moved further inland because we started encountering so many partially buried zombies. It became too hazardous. Kenny called it a “zombie minefield” but then had to explain it to me.

These three people have so much general knowledge from the Old World. They are, at times, amazed that I am so well educated, yet seem to be missing such huge chunks of what they deem “common knowledge.” The thing is, I guess the folks who put together the education program on the Corridor decided that there were simply things that didn’t need to be passed on. I have mixed feelings about it. For instance, I was amazed at the concept of minefields until Felicia explained that there were stories of long-forgotten mines blowing up children. I don’t know exactly what I thought when I heard the initial explanation; I guess I just figured that they were all picked up when the war or whatever was over.

I know there are many times that the three of them talk about stuff and I honestly have no idea what they are carrying on about. There are moments when they laugh…I really feel like I am missing something.

Anyways…there were five people following us. I don’t think they were following us for any other reason than they didn’t know what else to do. They were almost like animals. The oldest one couldn’t be older than fourteen.

Still, that didn’t prevent them from coming at us in the night with their clubs and machetes. When the shrill cry split the silence that seems to amplify in its oppression after dark, I was on watch.

The first shadow that came within the strange almost-dark on the fringe of the minimal light put off by our fire was moving at a sprint. I nearly missed when I swung my long blade. I know I did what I had to do, but I almost wish I would’ve missed. I can still see her face staring up at nothing. The eyes of a person just killed are something I don’t think you can ever really forget.

When the next one came, I was still trying to recover from the surprise and still acting on instinct. That is the only reason I was able to turn and swing. Thank God that Kenny, Bob, and Felicia were fast reactors. When I hit the second attacker, my blade got stuck. I had caught this boy of maybe twelve square in the neck. I must’ve gotten lodged in the spinal column. When I finally pulled free, the head flipped back in a way that I was ill-equipped to deal with.

It was Felicia who came to where I was hunched over on my knees throwing up. She rubbed my back and just stayed with me until I was able to get back on my feet. Bob took the next watch, but I could’ve stood his and Kenny’s, because I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. I don’t know that I will tonight. Every single time that I close my eyes, I see those faces. Every time I blink, I get a flash. I can even hear the noise that little boy’s head made when it flipped back. I can feel the tingle in my hands from when my blade dug into the bone. I can smell the blood…and other things that happen when a body dies.

Meredith mentioned a few times about having to take the life of a living being. She did not seem comfortable with it, even when she did it out of what she perceived to be necessity. Maybe that is where I will begin my repair on her legacy.

Tomorrow should prove interesting. We head into the outskirts of Old Portland. We will begin to travel through neighborhoods and such as we close in on Corridor 26. We are not taking the same route that I took coming out; I have allowed the Travelers to lead. In fact, I’ve made no suggestions and have not once been in front leading the way.

Monday, September 29th

If I don’t sleep tonight, I could get somebody killed. Of course, with how completely exhausted I am…I don’t see that being a problem.

The day started early with a small pack of walkers stumbling on our camp just as we were getting things packed up. I was very thankful that I have lived my life in an environment that preached the importance of always having a weapon handy. Of course, not everybody was always so vigilant.

Once we dealt with the interruption, we headed out. I was actually fascinated as we walked along. Having been in a few neighborhoods in and around the corridor, I was really unprepared for the condition of the houses that I saw today. Also…so many apartments. It is really etched in my mind now just how packed in people were before all this.

One apartment complex that we passed looked like it could hold every living resident on the Corridor. It had several two-story buildings over a space of land that might contain ten people back home nowadays. To try and imagine all the noise is unfathomable.

As it was, the Travelers could not resist the urge to poke around. When we walked into the place, I was amazed to discover that there was a square of land in the center of the buildings that was now almost a jungle. In fact, some of the plants had forced their way through cracks or broken windows and were actually growing inside many of the units.

The first creeper came out on its belly and let loose with a cry. It was answered by several crybabies! I’d never heard so many at once before. I thought one or two was bad, but to have several…it made the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up.

Once we did away with them, the plan was to go check out some of the upstairs units. Halfway up the first set of stairs, Kenny froze. At first I thought he saw zombies…then the stairs gave way and he disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.

Bob, Felicia and I ran for him. My fear was that a creeper we might have missed would get to him before we did. I was partially right. One had gotten to him, but it was hung up on some of the two-inch spikes sticking out of his leathers.

Bob stepped in and didn’t even bother with a weapon; he slammed his forearms down across the back of the thing’s head and hoisted it up off his brother. With the closest thing I’ve seen to anger from any of them, he hurled that pitiful thing at a chunk of broken concrete. The head burst in a spray of black goo.

Felicia helped Kenny to his feet and checked him for injuries. There is a little concern because he has a nasty cut on his left arm and a lot of scrapes and scratches. His right eye is swollen shut and I am pretty sure that his nose is broken. If any of that creeper’s splatter got in those cuts, he could be infected.

None of us blame Bob for his actions. It was his brother and he acted out of a protective instinct. I don’t think any of us expected that thing to basically explode on impact. It was like a rotten piece of fruit. That eventually led to the discussion that perhaps that creeper was not as old as we might have guessed.

One thing about the people who turn…there is a period around the nine months to a year mark where they can sometimes do what has been termed “go sour”…at least that is what we have always called it along the Corridor. It doesn’t even happen to all of them, but there are cases where some of them get these squishy spots. If you stab them or hit them with any real force, they explode in a stinking mess. And it’s not like they completely explode…just the squishy spot. Like a giant boil or zit is the best way I can think to describe them.

The three of them are sitting around the fire right now talking about whether we move on tomorrow or not. I guess I need to decide if I am willing to wait for them, or if I will press on by myself.

Tuesday, September 30th

I will wait. Not because I don’t believe that I can make the rest of the journey alone, but rather, because these people have been nothing but decent to me. It doesn’t look like Kenny is going to be okay. There are tracers in his eyes. We all know what that means.

Wednesday, October 1st

It happened late last night. I heard the sound. Kenny was one of them…a crybaby. Bob was the one to put him down. We have been camped in this overgrown golf course. It had an intact fence which allowed us to relax a little the last couple of days.

We buried Kenny on a small hill. I guess it was the green for this particular hole. (Bob said so, that is good enough for me because I don’t know squat about golf courses other than they make excellent locations for farm plots.)

Obviously I decided to stay with these folks no matter what at this point. Despite some of my earlier reservations about how it seemed that they were sort of trying to draw information out of me, they are simply very nice folks and I have become a little attached to them. I still feel a little bit bad about keeping my identity a secret, but that isn’t such a big deal.

I didn’t bother to ask them when we would be heading out. Bob announced that we were leaving in the morning. I just kept my distance most of the day.  While I feel bad that Kenny is dead, it is certainly not comparable to what they are feeling right now. I can’t imagine what losing a twin must feel like. If I were only to go off Bob’s example, I would say that it must be the worst thing in the world. I never realized how much he used to smile until that smile vanished.

Thursday, October 2nd

It just seemed strange today. I guess Kenny was the one who always had a funny comment or a joke. He didn’t talk much, but the things he said were always welcome. He never seemed to get annoyed.

I can’t say the same for Bob. It almost seemed like I couldn’t do anything right today. At one point, Felicia yelled at him and told him to back off. We were passing through some heavy brush and I didn’t see that he stopped. I bumped him from behind and he lost his footing and ended up sliding down the hill to the highway below. Had Kenny been here, that is exactly when he would have cracked a joke.

What made it bad was not so much that Bob slid down the hill on his butt. It was more about the big mud puddle that he ended up in at the bottom. I probably shouldn’t have laughed…but the look on his face was just so darn funny.

The nice thing was that we were on an unsettled portion of Corridor 205. I honestly wouldn’t have known, but there were remnants of a sign as well as a huge concrete building where the number was all over the place. Felicia spent the next hour before we made camp talking about how much she missed malls.

As for walkers…or undead of any sort, there were a few, but nothing to get too concerned about. One other bad thing—and I feel bad for even mentioning it—watch shifts are longer with only three of us.

Friday, October 3rd

I sure hope that Bob is okay. I am trapped in a rundown office center with Felicia. We have the entire bottom floor sealed as best we can. I am on the roof right now keeping an eye open for any opportunity that might give us a chance to escape. Also, I am trying to keep from looking Felicia in the eye. She keeps asking me if I think Bob is okay.

After what I saw, and all that happened, I would have to say that I do not think he is okay. However, as much as I don’t believe he is okay, I am a bit more concerned about our chances of survival.

The morning started rainy and cold. It was the kind of morning that really makes a person appreciate home. My breath was visible in little puffs of mist as we got moving. I told Bob and Felicia that the best route I knew of through these parts was to stick with the old highway. I just figured that we might run across the Willamette Refuge. That would mean I am almost home. We reached a long bend and that was when the leading edge of a huge herd showed up.

It would have been okay had they been down in the trench that holds the expanse of highway that cuts through like a concrete river. Unfortunately, they were also plowing through the surrounding neighborhood. The best guess I have is that two smaller (but still very large) herds were actually joining as one, and we just happened to be unlucky enough to be caught in the current.

That was how we ended up being separated. Bob ran up one side of the embankments that contain this highway and Felicia went up the other. The original idea was to search for a good place to run and hide. The problem was that we had no idea that a bunch of walkers were up on the side where Bob went to look. They caught sight of him, or whatever it is that zombies use to detect people, and there was this outburst of moans, groans, hisses and cries.

I think Bob was trying to buy us some time and probably thought he could get back around to us. He told us to run for it, but unfortunately, things weren’t much better up on Felicia’s side. I ran her direction, but she was trying to come back down to me before I got halfway there. I looked past her shoulder and saw the sea of bobbing heads. I guess being down in that gulley shielded most of their sound, because we were all totally caught off guard. I wanted to run in the direction that would take me home, but there was no way I would be able to make it past so many. I did the only thing that I could; I turned and ran the other direction…back the way we came.

I heard Felicia call for me. God help me, I considered for just a split second to keep running. I was scared I would turn and find her trapped…surrounded by walkers. I knew that if I saw her face, if I saw her pleading for help with my own two eyes…it would be something to haunt my nightmares forever. Thankfully, she was trying to point out a collapsed section of retainer wall on our side of the highway.

I veered that way, hoping to God that I wouldn’t reach the top and find more. I only had a few seconds to decide what to do once I hit the crest. Already hundreds of walkers had broken off from the main group up on this plateau and were headed our way.

I decided to wait for Felicia because I knew that there would be no way for us to find each other if I started zigzagging through these buildings. I remember running in a relay race when I was a little girl. I had to wait for the person to come and hand me a baton before I could take off. It felt a lot like that as I waited for her to catch up. Once she was almost to me, I started jogging. The few seconds that I’d stood there had allowed my body to start feeling the weight of my travel pack. I knew I would see raw skin when I peeled out of the straps later. (Boy, was I right!)

We were in some sort of business district with lots of warehouse-looking buildings and office complexes mixed in. I found a gap in the trees and bushes that have overtaken everything and dove in with Felicia right on my heels. I came out from between two four-story buildings to a huge courtyard. None of the glass on the bottom floor on any of the buildings was intact. However, I did notice that one building still had windows on the top two floors that hadn’t been busted out. That was my sole determining factor.

I ran inside. I heard Felicia call my name, but this time I was determined to keep running. I hoped she would follow, and was glad when I heard her feet crunching through the dead vegetation, broken glass, and other garbage that littered the lobby of this place.

I found a door to an emergency stair access. The tan wall was splattered with dark stains that had to be blood. There was one very easy-to-see handprint. I pulled my machete and headed into the dark stairwell.

The second floor door was torn off the hinges. I didn’t stop to take a good look, but the grooves and chunks in the wall were manmade…not zombie. I saw a flash of movement in the shadows and decided that I couldn’t take the risk that one or a dozen walkers might be wandering the halls and follow us up. If that were the case, they would create a ruckus and bring who knows how many. I had to make sure we were in the clear.

I told Felicia to stand watch at the door and went in to clean out the floor. It was a long hallway that would go in a giant “U” shape. The one good thing going for me was the fact that all the doors were open or gone. Even with the lousy weather, I could see…mostly. I say that because as I rounded the corner, I ran into what I was pretty sure had to be the source of the shadow that caught my eye.

The dog was just a bit taller than my knees. I couldn’t tell you what color it used to be—its fur was so matted with filth and vermin that I swear it looked like its skin was actually moving. I do know that it was very dark…not black, just…dark. That is why I didn’t see it until I almost tripped over where it was laying on the floor in a pile of garbage. Bringing my machete down on its head was probably the most merciful thing I could do for that pathetic creature.

Fortunately, the rest of the floor was clear. I jogged back, and Felicia and I headed up to the third floor. The emergency door was shut and so we didn’t bother. Also, since none of the windows on the upper two floors were broken, I felt pretty confident that the floor wouldn’t hold any surprises.

Once we reached it, I got a good look around and saw that the leading edge was a few blocks over. I remembered seeing a bunch of large debris and busted furniture on the bottom floor. I told Felicia my plan and she went to the roof to keep watch while I barricaded the downstairs. She gave me a warning when they were about a block away. It wasn’t anything that will stand up to a long assault or a massive throng of walkers smashed up against it, but if it comes to that…I will do myself in before they ever get close enough.

Saturday, October 4th

Heard noises today in the direction we last saw Bob. It sounded like breaking glass. Lots and lots of breaking glass. On the bright side, many of the walkers surrounding our building seem to be wandering off.

Sunday, October 5th

We got our chance today and took it. When the sky grew light enough to see—which took some time considering the fact that it is a very gloomy day with low-hanging clouds that constantly supply a drizzle of near-freezing rain—the area surrounding the building was almost empty of walkers.

We made for the gulley of the 205 Corridor and were pleasantly surprised to find it almost empty. I say ‘almost’ because there were a few creepers. I imagine they get pretty damaged travelling in those packs and bits start to fall off. Plus, if one of them happens to fall, it isn’t like he or she will be getting a hand up from friends. I bet being stepped on by a few thousand of your closest friends would wreak havoc on a body, especially one that already has a few chunks missing.

I had to keep stopping to go back for Felicia. She kept turning around and then she would just stand there…staring. I know she kept hoping for a miracle. If this were one of those stories in a book, he would come running around the corner and they would catch each other and hug and kiss and laugh.

The only thing coming for us from back the way we came were the assorted walkers that must’ve caught sight of us when we were running through that business complex. Since I’ve never been to this part of the 205 Corridor, I had no idea what to expect. This was farther than any of our caravans have ever gone as far as I know. In fact, once I started thinking about it…I don’t know of anybody from Corridor 26 who has ventured onto the old Interstate 84 since Meredith.

Tonight we are staying in a partially burned down hotel. Felicia says this place was probably pretty expensive long ago. To me it just looks like clutter and lots of wasted space.

There was one interesting little moment as we settled in for the night. Of course we pulled the mattress off the bed to flip it over. It isn’t much, but trust me when I say that you don’t want to lay on one without doing that in a place like this. The funny part came when I found an old piece of money. I held it up and Felicia said that it was common for folks to leave a gratuity under the mattress when they left so that the housekeeping worker did a good job. Seemed kinda strange to me, but we both started wondering aloud about what happened to not only the person who left the money, but the housekeeper who didn’t ever come in and collect it.

Tuesday, October 7th

We reached Willamette Refuge this afternoon. Actually…we reached what was left of it. This place looks worse than Corridor 26. They were just getting started and were in no condition to defend against a concentrated and organized attack by something like the NAA. This is worse than I thought. If this place was hit, and I already know about Corridor 26…then just how extensive was this attack?

In the morning I will set out for home. If there are no signs of life there like here, then I will continue on to Warehouse City. Something has to be done about this now, before it is too late.

Walking around this place, I can barely recognize it as the vibrant and growing community that I entered when I made my first run. The most disturbing is the obvious signs of struggle, but strange lack of bodies. There are blood stains all over the place to go with the burned down shacks and busted down walls.

This just seems so pointless. Why would anybody do this? If this new president wants to gather the remnants of the nation—or at least what remains here in the western part of the country—why would there be so much destruction? If you kill everybody, who is left for you to be president of?

There was one other thing that struck me as odd. Nothing was taken. All the supply houses look untouched except for a little scorching here and there. None of the doors are busted open or anything. Why wouldn’t they take anything?

Wednesday, October 8th

It keeps getting worse. All along the Interstate 5 connection to the 217 Corridor there were several fires burning out of control. Felicia made an interesting comment as we stopped for a bite to eat around midday. She said, “Seems like somebody is trying to flush somebody out.”

I thought about it. If Dominique wants Meredith this badly, what would she do if she discovers that Meredith is dead? Even more interesting; what would she do if she found out that her daughter is still alive? If all of this is really about my birth mother, then perhaps it will be up to me to make this stop. I may not be able to fight an army or be some sort of superhero that swoops in and saves the day; however, I can make my presence known.

I decided to start with Felicia. Since she has traveled with me for a while and never been anything but wonderful to me, it was time to let my secret out. Wow, did I feel like an idiot! It went something like this. (I am only able to paraphrase here because the conversation went on for quite a while once I admitted who I am and what my plans are.)

“My name is Snoe Elana Gainey. My mother was Meredith Gainey and my father was Samuel Todd. I have lived my whole life along Corridor 26. When the NAA showed up, I escaped with my Mama Lindsay and a friend. When I discovered that several of my friends were taken by the NAA, I went after them and found that I am nothing like my mother. I am not a one-woman army.”

Felicia said something like, “I know who you are, Snoe. We’ve known who you were within a day of meeting you.”

I felt so stupid. It got worse. “How many young girls are named Snoe? Throw in how you are always scribbling in that journal of yours every night…just like your mom and I dad I’d be willing to bet. Pretty sure they didn’t have any idea how many folks would read them over the coming years. And hell, everybody who read those books since folks started making copies has named their baby Meredith if it was a girl, unless they really hated her that much. And every boy for almost three years is named Sam. We knew why you didn’t tell us…can’t say anybody would blame you. And if what you say about Dominique is even half true, well, you probably got a price on your head by now.”

I guess I got a look on my face that gave away how worried I might be that she would be the one looking to collect any such reward. Felicia has a very pretty laugh…even when it is at you and not with you.

“Girl, if I wanted a bounty for your skinny ass, I woulda sold you to one of the raider groups we passed.”

I was really taken aback by the fact that the three of them had me figured out so quickly. I guess I am just not nearly as clever as I think I am. I do have to admit that this adventure has been a real eye opener. It also made me feel terrible that I kept my identity a secret from them…especially since two of them are gone now.

What sealed the deal with me as far as Felicia is concerned is the fact that she didn’t try to belittle me or talk bad. She understood my choices and even said that Bob and Kenny had felt the same way. When she mentioned Bob’s name, I almost cried.

That was when she broke the news to me:

“My man sprung us. That glass breaking trick works every time with stiffs. They ain’t all that bright. He’s been hanging back on our tail for the last day.”

I was stunned. For a moment, I was a bit of a hypocrite. I felt my blood boil just a bit at that revelation. To find out that Bob was alive and she knew was one thing. To know that she was aware that he was following us was another. I won’t even get into the whole thing about how obviously clueless I was throughout the entire ordeal.

About an hour later, Bob showed up. That was great. Unfortunately we had to break camp and haul ass because he was being chased by a group of what he called “very organized sumbitches.”

We managed to find an old train car. Felicia and I are here now. Bob is, of course, gone again. His plan is to lead them down by the river and hopefully lose them. Felicia and I are to stay put until dark.

Thursday, October 9th

I had no choice but to split from Felicia. She and I had a talk last night and we decided that we MUST help Bob. We kept seeing flashes in the dark. The guys chasing him have Molotov’s or something along those lines. Neither of us could stand sitting still while he was out there risking his life for us.

I am on a plateau that looks down into the valley. I know that Mount Hood is hidden someplace behind the heavy cloud cover. This morning started off with a fog so dense that we actually had to stay put for what seemed like forever after what passed for sunrise.

We decided that we would meet at the bridge on Corridor 217 that passes back over Interstate 5. It was the best landmark we could come up with.

The low clouds have trapped the smoke close to the ground, so I have had a scarf over the lower half of my face all day. I don’t know if it helped all that much. I have been hacking and coughing most of the evening.

I’ve seen a few walkers down along the Interstate, but for the past few hours, it has been so silent and still. I can’t just leave. This is where I told Felicia that I would be waiting. I owe it to her…and Bob for that matter. I can wait a couple more days before I finish the journey. I am just a handful of hours away if I don’t get hung up on the last leg.

Friday, October 10th

Still nothing. Well…except for the freezing rain. The road is a sheet of ice. My tarp keeps drooping from the weight and I have to knock all the stuff off of it.

Sunday, October 12th

Today is the last day that I will wait. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay here much longer. I’ve been hearing this horn that keeps blasting. I finally broke down and counted between blasts. Right around six hundred, it would shatter the silence.

I have noticed an increase in walker activity down on Interstate 5. A mile or so south of my position, I keep seeing them crossing. They are being drawn by the sound. I don’t think that is just another one of Bob’s diversionary tactics. My gut is telling me that this is the NAA.

I know that Felicia and Bob can make it to Corridor 26 without me if it comes to it. Also, I really don’t even know what I am going to find when I get there. If the place is empty…then I guess at least I can hide out for a while and wait in familiar surroundings. If home is like Willamette Refuge, I will have to head for Warehouse City and see if Mama Lindsay and Phaedra made it there.

Monday, October 13th

Bob and Felicia are fine.

That is about the only good news that I have right now. I guess a lot has happened since I took off. For starters, a huge section of the retainer wall is torn down and the dead wander the area freely. Sunset Fortress is a blackened rock decorated in unrecognizable bodies that have been strung from the ledges.

This cannot simply be about my birth mother. Despite whatever orders were given by this self-proclaimed president, it took willing participants to carry out the orders. These weren’t soldiers or zombies…just people. People that I grew up with.

It just makes no sense. Why would anybody do this? What would drive somebody to this point? I’ve read Meredith’s journal a hundred times. And while I understand now more than ever that a journal can only hold so much…and that when all you hear is one side of a story, you only get half of the picture, I still can see nothing that would merit the sort of hatred that would drive somebody to act out in this way.

I have searched my home and found no signs that Mama Lindsay ever came back to it. It looks the same as I remember it. That is the other part that makes no sense…nothing is taken of any major consequence. While I’m sure that some stuff has probably been scooped up…the area around the Sunset Fortress is not what I would call looted. And the majority of the damage and activity involves the actual building known as the Sunset Fortress. The surrounding “neighborhood” is suffering from nothing more than an infestation of walkers.

One thing that broke my heart was seeing the staggering, lurching shadows as you face west and look down the Corridor. I think of all the hard work and lost lives that made this place what it was, and it just makes me want to cry. However…I will not give anybody that satisfaction. Also, I believe that the day will come when we restore these walls and return to our way of life. The damage is great, but not beyond repair.

Judging by what I see, this has been the situation for quite a few days. My guess is that the people at Warehouse City know by now about the breach. I have no other choice but to head to Warehouse City. If I know Mama Lindsay at all, that will be where she went…where she will be waiting and hoping that I will come back some day. She would not travel, because she knows that it would be too unlikely that our paths ever cross.

I have no choice but to set out in the morning. I spoke with Bob and Felicia about my decision. They said that they really like me, but they have spent too many years struggling to stay alive. They both think that I am on a path destined for death. They said that maybe I have more of Meredith in me than I am willing to admit.

I thanked them both for all that they have done. I said that I understood. Part of me does, but another part of me screams that this is the problem. If we do not come together as one, then we will eventually fall…alone.

I know now what I have gained from this journey: purpose. I don’t know how, but I will bring Corridor 26 back. Stronger. And with an even greater sense of community.

Tuesday, October 14th

I said farewell to Bob and Felicia this morning. They are actually staying in my house. They promised not to pick through things. I think they actually felt like Travelers for the first time since we met. They kept saying over and over how they would never pick through my things or the houses around Sunset Fortress. Bob kept insisting that as bad as the damage looked to the fortress, that the damage was mostly cosmetic.

Felicia looked like she was almost ready to cry when I hugged her before setting out. She pressed her mouth to my ear and whispered “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure they were both in agreement not to come with me to Warehouse City.

I’ve had to stick to the center of the highway as I head west. The funny thing is, it never dawned on me until today that this is the same stretch of road that my birth father took when he escaped his home after having to put down his ex-wife and my (half) sister (I guess that would be how closely related she and I would be) before setting out and eventually finding the warehouse complex that would give birth to Warehouse City.

The best thing about the Corridor is that it still has the safety structures all down its length. As they created the huge barricade walls down either side, they made these towers. The beauty is that each is accessed through a manhole cover about three hundred yards away. The thought behind the “secret” access point is that it minimizes the chance that walkers will surround your tower should the need arise to utilize it.

Each of the towers are about forty feet tall. The top floor is a giant platform with angled walls so that it minimizes the chance of being seen. They all have a toilet facility and each is stocked with enough food and water to last a week. There is actually a crew responsible for keeping each one of these clean and freshly supplied. Of course all the food is dried, but it sure beats starving.

One of the many advantages of these towers is the ability to see further up the Corridor. Also, there is a reflector light; it used to be the way information was passed in a relative hurry when the place was being settled. For some reason, it was eventually decided that no outside band of raiders would be a big enough threat to require that the towers remain manned. I wonder if folks still feel that way.

Wednesday, October 15th

It sure takes a lot longer to go from one place to another when you have to deal with walkers. I really took for granted what it was like to travel the Corridor without zombies getting in the way. Maybe it is just the fact that this is a walled in and relatively narrow stretch, but it seemed that I was either dodging, hiding from, or killing zombies every time I turned around. The only good thing was that at least ninety percent of the trouble was in front of me.

I did notice a very upsetting trend as my day dragged on. Several of the walkers…are people that I knew. Today, I put down my EEF instructor and the kid from the Revelationists that joined. I got a much better understanding about how this plague— or whatever started things—managed to wipe out the population so quickly. It is one thing to put down scores of undead, it is quite another to start seeing the faces of friends and loved ones coming for you with no recognition…just the desire to feed.

I imagine that I have at least three more days travel at this rate. I am going to have to use even more caution in the morning when I leave this tower. I have noticed about a dozen walkers that seem to be just hanging around in the area. These also looked fresh, but not anybody that I recognized. Also, even though it was getting dark, a couple looked like they were wearing uniforms. Maybe the NAA suffered some losses here. No matter…one zombie is pretty much like the next.

I have stopped early today because that blaring horn started again, the same one that I was hearing back at the Interstate 5/Highway 217 Corridor junction. The timing is the same as far as how spaced apart the blasts are, and there was a period of time where it went silent. When it restarted, it was closer and to the south of my location. I don’t know what it is…but it is making me jumpy.

Thursday, October 16th

The NAA is definitely still active in the Corridor. I reached another section that had the wall torn down. A piece of the puzzle might have fallen into place. The section torn down reveals a rather wide road. Since no signs are in place, I have no idea what road that could be, but it is very large and shows sign of some sort of recent use. There are wide track marks and an obvious trail cut through the debris and overgrown vegetation.

Also, there looks to have been some sort of large encampment just down at the bottom of the hill here. There are still a few tents in place. I didn’t see any activity, but that does not mean there are not people. I have managed to stay low and am very conscious about using as much cover as possible when I move.

This section of Corridor 26 is where a lot of the farms are located. I have passed several of the fields, but nobody is working them. That does not bode well. If the winter crops are left untended, it could mean rough times even if we did manage to repel the NAA.

One of the other terrible things is that our horses are gone. There are a handful of stables along the route and they are all empty. Most of the buildings themselves are burned down. I just wish I understood why all of this is happening.

I have come to the conclusion that the initial train that arrived and attacked Corridor 26 that first night was nothing more than a leading edge of an attack. It is sort of like when a herd arrives; there are always a bunch of walkers that, for whatever reason, seem to be just a bit faster than the main body. I am now convinced that we have suffered from a major attack that was vastly more far-reaching than just the hit on our little area around the Sunset Fortress.

The only reason for this is malice. It just can’t be anything else. I only pray that when I reach Warehouse City, that they have been able to withstand whatever attacks have been thrown at them.

Friday, October 17th

I am still hiding out in the same tower. I now fear that there might not be anything but death and destruction at the end of this journey. However, I must see Warehouse City for myself.

My day started with sounds that took me a while to identify. Once I did, I had to force myself to take a peek. I heard shouts and cries and all sorts of commotion. I also heard horses!

What I saw has me doubting that I will find anything good at the end of this journey. There was a long line of people shackled together. They were all in leg chains besides having their hands manacled. The entire line was connected one to the other by a heavy looking chain that was connected to each person’s waist.

If I would have thought to count, I imagine that I would have eventually stopped. Yes, the line was that long. Uniformed men—presumably the NAA—were acting as escorts. They were not shy about hitting people with clubs or lashing them with whips.

One scene in particular will never be erased from my memory. One of the soldiers on horseback climbed down when a person fell and could not get up. He unlocked the waist chain and pulled the young girl from the group. I could hear people begging and pleading. I couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like somebody was even offering to carry the girl. None of that mattered. He blew a whistle and a cage on wheels was brought forward. I really hadn’t paid them any attention because there were a few of those types of carts all covered with tarps being pulled along by draft horses.

The girl was hoisted up and the tarp removed. Inside were several zombies. I could tell, even from here, that many were fresh. A long pole was used to lift the trap door on top. The girl was tossed in! At first there was nothing…then I heard a cry…then…the scream. Because of the cramped confines of the cage, only a couple looked to have been able to fall on the girl. I swear that I saw a small form rise to its unsteady feet just before they put the tarp back over the wagon. It was a while before the sobs and cries faded from where I could hear them.

From the tower, I had a clear enough view to see that they exited the Corridor at that open gap I spied earlier where the camp, or remnants of a camp, is sitting. I cannot imagine why they would take people like this. I know I’ve said it before, but none of this makes any sense to me.

All day, I stayed put. For one, the caravan of prisoners—or whatever they are—took a long time to pass. By the time they did, it was getting dark. The weather has been miserable all day with dark clouds and lots of rain. That brought nightfall on even earlier than normal.

Just before the shadows all merged and darkness fell, I saw the first snowflake fall. It was big and heavy. It more plummeted than drifted to the ground. That poses a new problem. If it snows tonight in any amount, I will be easy to find. There will be no hiding. Therefore…if I leave the tower…I cannot stop until I reach Warehouse City.

Sunday, October 19th

I have found a place in the woods well north of Warehouse City. It is an abandoned farm house set back in some trees. The years have been kind to this place. Other than mold and rot, the place is in good shape.

It was obviously cleaned out years ago. There is nothing inside this place but garbage and broken bits of furniture. I have to take some time and decide what to do.

Obviously the idea of any sort of attack is ridiculous. Seriously…how did people watch movies like that where one person (usually that big guy with the weird accent) would storm someplace all by himself and kill hundreds with a machinegun that he never needed to reload?

From what I saw, Warehouse City put up a heck of a fight…but they fell to the NAA. There is a large flag hanging from a pole in the center of town, and I will get back to that in a moment.

Many of the structures look to have suffered from horrific fires. It looks like this place fell a while ago. There is already a considerable amount of repair going on. It would appear that the NAA is not planning on leaving any time soon.

The famous wall of trailers that Sam wrote about remains intact. That area inside the giant square is Warehouse City’s nerve center. It is where the government meets; it is where other community’s leaders are brought when trading agreements are signed. It is also where the hospital and the schools are located. It remains intact, but considering the fact that I see a few dozen soldiers walking atop the reinforced structure, it is safe to assume that it is now where the NAA have taken up residence.

Of course then there are the things that I saw that told me the situation is not going well down there at all. First, there are three gallows in the park that was once the giant parking lot of the original warehouse complex that gave birth to this little city. There are several bodies still hanging from the nooses. Also, there is an open pen with several hunched over and heavily bundled figures that are clustered together (obviously trying their best to stay warm). I saw a few people taken from—as well as a few shoved in—that pen.

There are other things that bear noting. Besides the rail where a train now sits on the edge of the small city, there are several armored vehicles. I have no idea how they operate, but I saw one roll in just as I had dug in to some thick brush to set up my initial observation of the place. It actually moved slower than a good horse-drawn wagon, and it was strange sounding the way it chugged and sputtered in a rhythmic growl.

There is a giant nozzle mounted on top. I have no way to be sure, but I would be willing to bet that it is some sort of flame-throwing device. I have seen four similar vehicles parked around Warehouse City. I am reminded of an anthill when I look down there. Only, it has been invaded by an army of hostile ants that, instead of killing all of the inhabitants, have decided to put them to work.

From my observation point, I have noticed activity non-stop. The repairs and rebuilding of things damaged in what must’ve been a tremendous invasion are being done by the citizens who called Warehouse City their home. When they drop, they are dragged to one side and left to lay there. Some eventually get up and disappear. I imagine they return sooner or later…assumedly by force. Some do not get up and the landscape is decorated with lumps in the snow. Nobody is being allowed to collect the bodies.

As for the flag…that is where I have been forced to consider what I must do. The flag is the symbol. It is the symbol agreed upon by Jenifer, Meredith…and Dominique that day in the theater. It now is painted in black on a white sheet and fluttering on the flag pole in the center of the town.

I must now consider whether they are still seeking Meredith…or if they are possibly aware of my existence. In any case, I must now decide whether or not to go down there.

Monday, October 20th

I think I saw Mama Lindsay today. If my eyes were not playing tricks, I saw her and Jenifer being led from a building near the center of town up and into the actual center complex. The only reason I even noticed is because the only people to come and go through the gate at any time were the ones wearing the uniforms of the NAA.

I spent the rest of the day afraid to move or take my eyes off of the area. For a while, I fixated on the door they disappeared into, but then I realized that they wouldn’t necessarily need to come in and out of the same door. So, I kept scanning all day.

I did witness another one of those flamethrower nozzle vehicles roll in. Also, just before dark, a line of shackled prisoners were brought into the area. They didn’t bother taking them anywhere special; they simply shoved them all in that holding pen.

So far, from what I have been able to observe, there are groups of soldiers scouring the area and bringing in herds of prisoners from all over. Some of those prisoners—for reasons that I cannot even begin to guess—are then chained up and escorted out. I imagine that, since they are heading out in the same direction, they are taking them to that other opening they made in the wall.

I almost didn’t want to leave for the night because I was terrified that I would miss seeing if it was, in fact, Mama Lindsay and Jenifer. However, a strong wind kicked up and the mix of freezing rain and snow started coming down. It just became too cold and miserable. I will return before first light.

Wednesday, October 22nd

About an hour ago, another train arrived. It unloaded what began to look like an endless supply of soldiers. It honestly would have been a little bit funny were it not such a serious matter. The only way that many people could have been in each of those cars is for them to have all been standing and packed in tight.

However, it was the very last car on that train that has my attention now. It is different from the box cars. It looks like an armored trailer or something. There are those flamethrower nozzles in the front and back mounted in swiveling turrets. Five soldiers were riding on top of that car, and even from here I could see that they were bristling with weapons.

Nobody has come out of that car, but I saw a handful of people leave the fortified center of Warehouse City and actually meet the train when it arrived. They were escorting Jenifer. I am certain it was her that they took under guard to that train. She was in chains, but I could tell that there was something wrong with the way she was walking. I believe she may be hurt bad.

I stayed until I could not take the cold any longer. As it is, I am huddled in the bathroom of this old farmhouse with a fire going in the old bathtub. It is so smoky that I keep coughing and choking, but I am so cold. I have kept my fires small up to now, but the temperature has plummeted, and staying hunkered down in my sleeping bag while I am out there observing, I am chilled to the core. I don’t know if I will ever be warm again. It got so bad at one point that I almost considered walking down there and surrendering myself just on the chance that I could stand next to one of the five barrels they have burning in that open prisoner compound.

About the prisoners. With it being so cold, many of the prisoners have been taken inside one of the buildings. However, there are still twenty or thirty figures milling about. Barrels or not, they have to be freezing.

I have not written much because I have stayed out well past dark the past couple of days and then gotten up before the sunrise to be back in position.

Friday, October 24th

In the morning, I will walk down to Warehouse City and surrender myself. I am now certain that Mama Lindsay is down there as well as Jenifer. I am also certain that it is Dominique in that last car.

Today, a banner was unfurled from the top floor of the central building—which is also the tallest in the city—from all four sides. It reads: Snoe, we have your lesbo mother. Surrender!

It would seem that my identity has been revealed. I guess that means my birth mother’s death is probably known. I don’t know why she would want me, but I do not see that I have any other option.

I am not afraid. Even if it means that I may be walking to my death, I will do this on my terms. If all I get out of this is the chance to see Mama Lindsay once again, then I will die happy.

I have considered leaving this journal behind; however, I was given a better choice. Felicia and Bob. Yesterday, I was hunkered down in my hideout when I heard breaking glass. I have no idea how many times I actually heard the sound and ignored it, but when it happened a few times, I remembered Felicia telling me about Bob’s little signal.

On the off chance that it was them, I forced myself to leave my lookout post. I actually saw Bob as he was hurling a rock through a big window on a house that sat on a hill maybe a mile from where I was staying.

They explained that they talked it over, and they just felt like they needed to come find me. I told them what I was going to do, and have asked them to take this book. I told them who is down there and they both acted like I had mentioned the Devil himself. I seriously hope that Dominique is not the monster she has been painted as over the years. Perhaps, much like the legacy of Meredith, much of her image has been exaggerated and distorted over the years. (I can’t say I am too optimistic considering all that I have witnessed so far.) I could not bear to think of what might come of this journal if Dominique got her hands on it.

Whatever fate has in store for me, I am prepared to accept it. If I am able, then perhaps I will start another one of these journals. I have found something very therapeutic about the ritual. Before I stop and hand it over, I felt that I should say briefly what I have learned from this experience.

As the zombies become less of a threat, it is our own nature that threatens our existence. If any form of society is to survive and thrive, we need to come together and pool our strengths. While I may have spent my life raised by one family, there is something inside of me that cannot be attributed to anybody other than the woman who gave birth to me. While I am no warrior, I am also capable of much more than I gave myself credit. Call it genetics or whatever you like, but…like it or not…I am the daughter of Meredith Gainey.

Snoe’s War

TW Brown

Zomblog: Snoe’s War

©2013 May December Publications

The Split-tree logo is a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Dedication

Greg Carrico, Carol, Wills, J. Thorn, Rhonda Hopkins, The Loving Memory of Doris Hopkins, Selina Maeder, Wanda Beers, Jamal “Morgue” Luckett

An introduction you should read…

One of the first things you will notice is a departure from the blog/journal format. With Snoe being captured at the end of book four, it did not seem reasonable for her to have a journal. To that end, I took some liberties that I hope will be acceptable and enjoyable to you…the reader. After all, this series is for you.

That brings me to what I think is an exciting announcement. The next book in the Zomblog series will be the final one. For many of you, this will be like saying “farewell” to a friend. Because of that, I am opening the door for you to have your voices heard. I will include up to three “fan-fiction” stories at the end of the final installment. If your story is selected, you will be notified by email. I will have to send you a formal contract that allows for your piece to be included. So what am I looking for? Well, many of you have proven over time that you know some of these characters better than I do. To that end, I am inviting you to center a story around anybody from the Zomblog universe. The only rule is that you can’t alter the “reality” of that universe. So…Sam stays dead…you get the picture. Now, I may not hear from anybody. And some of you may be thinking “I’m not a writer.” To that I say “Bollocks!” Just have some fun. You will get a free copy of the book BEFORE it is released to the public (signed if requested). What have you got to lose?

Additionally, I have included something special at the end. One of the things writers do on occasion is try out “new” things. Believe it or not, I do actually write more than just the zombie stories that I am best known. I got my start writing comedy material for a few morning radio shows “back in the day.” To that end, I am developing a new series that I bill as a horror/comedy. The series is called That Ghoul Ava. It began as a short that became two shorts (which I condensed into one offering that was made available ONLY in ebook form). On April 1, 2013, I released the first full-length Ava novel titled That Ghoul Ava & The Queen of the Zombies. Since I have heard from a few of my very devoted readers that they do not (nor are they likely to ever) use an ereading device due to their love of holding a physical book, I have included the ENTIRE short, That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures, as well as an excerpt of the new Ava novel. So, if you are holding a physical copy of this book in your hand, I did this for you. (Plus, honestly, I think this Ava series is gonna be a blast. Let me know what you think.)

Now that I have that out of the way, I wanted to take a moment of your time. I realize that many will skip this part, but I hope more will read on. I am baring a bit of my soul here and sharing something that I feel is special.

This book was written during Camp NaNoWriMo in April of 2013.  For those not familiar, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writers Month. During that time, the goal is to write 1,667 words per day and complete a 50,000 word novel. (50,000 is considered the official minimum word-count length for a novel according to some sources.)

In April, I embarked on my annual fundraising effort for The Offices of Letters and Light (the official non-profit that oversees NaNoWriMo). Last year I set a goal of $500 and reached it. This year, I shot for the moon and put forth a loftier goal of $1,000. As I write this intro, I am less than $90 from reaching that goal.

What I want to share here is the fact that a single individual is responsible for $750 of that total. Now, the donor wishes to remain anonymous and I will respect that wish. However, I also wanted to express my thanks. The folks in the Offices of Letters and Light are calling me on the phone, emailing me, and even having me as a guest on a video conference. But the reality is that I didn’t do anything other than write a few blog posts and set up an account with the folks at StayClassy.org that make the fundraiser page happen.

I am always amazed each and every day when I sit down to write. I can do what I love because you all read these books. The Zomblog and DEAD series may not rake in the “Big Bucks” when compared to some, but they do well enough to let me do this as my regular job. That is because of people like YOU. And my being the top fundraiser for the good people who bring literacy to young and old in the form of reading and writing programs is also because of YOU. I just want to thank you all for allowing me this wonderful life that I have.

On to other things...

Yes, there is one final book in this series yet to come and then I put Zomblog to rest. However, I still have my DEAD series for those of you who have yet to discover it. Also, I have recently released the first full-length novel for my That Ghoul Ava series. I bill it as a horror/comedy. It is my respite from the often dark world that I paint in my post-apocalyptic worlds. You will find an excerpt at the end. I hope it tickles you enough to investigate the actual book.

As far as this series is concerned…I actually expect to hear from a few people. This has gotten away from zombies and become more about the people trying to rebuild a world that was wiped out. That is a conscious choice on my part. Seriously, this series is not about zombies…never has been. It is about people. Some good…some bad.

Another challenge is to portray an eighteen-year-old girl with some sense of reality. Sure, I have one roaming about the house, but I don’t understand her any more than I do Quantum Physics. What I hoped to do is make her a product of a world that is void of malls, social media, and all the other distractions. So, if she seems a bit “too smart” or whatever; imagine how she grew up. This is a world very different from our own.

Unlike books one and four in the series, there will hopefully be a bit of closure here. If you deiced to continue on with the series (and obviously I hope that is the case) and want to see how it all ends, book six will be out (hopefully) in October of 2013 and wrap the story in a nice bow. No spoilers…but I do have one more big event planned for our heroine.

My thanks to you all and I await/encourage your reviews. Believe it or not, they make a difference. And I am always surprised when some folks make a fuss when I do respond. Seriously, you all are why I do this to begin with…why would I NOT take the time to let you know that I appreciate your reviews (good or bad).

On with the show!

TW Brown

ZOMBLOG:

Snoe’s War

Chapter 1: The Escape

Chapter 2: Monday March 1st

Chapter 3: Thursday April 1st

The Escape

What a crazy year! I know that I have a lot of catching up to do. I am sitting in camp with my pencil and a log book that will act as my journal. (The world has been dead for over two decades and one of the first things that people started making is writing material…I credit my father, Samuel Todd for that because of the success of his book.)

I wish I could have kept a journal these past months, I just know that I will be forgetting something…or a bunch of somethings. After all, you try writing down everything that happened to you in the past year, see how much you remember.

Needless to say, that cold morning where I walked into Dominique’s camp and surrendered, there was no way I could keep a journal. I did actually try while I was locked up, but it was discovered by Bruno and confiscated. (Bruno is what I called the monster of a man who was assigned to guard me, I never did learn his real name.)

When Dominique found out that I was keeping a journal…she got really mad. But that is getting ahead of the story. I guess I should start at the beginning—the day I surrendered was a day that would change my life and that of many of the people I know and love. Some for the better, many for the worse. Even with how things are turning out, I did what I felt had to be done at the time.

Was it the right choice?

Some will say yes, others would disagree. Of course they are probably dead and don’t get a vote. The losses that I—that we all—suffered, might not seem worth it when they originally happened. After all, even people who say that they are “willing to sacrifice for the greater good of humanity” don’t often expect that they will end up on the casualty list.

I think one of the most difficult things about sharing this will be when I have to look at my mistakes on paper. How many of you want a tally sheet of all the things you do wrong staring you in the face for the rest of your life? And since I already know that at least three people will be reading this besides myself, that is three people who get to look at what I have done.

I guess, before I go much farther, I need to say this one thing up front. This is not going to be an apology. I did some things that I am not proud of, but they were necessary at the time. Or at least I felt that way then. I have always heard that hindsight is twenty-twenty. I never knew what that meant. (And actually, Mama Lindsay had to explain to me about eye exams and how they were graded back in the Old World since we don’t have people who specialize in just a person’s eyes. What a waste!)

So when last I wrote, I hand given my journal over to Felicia and Bob. Then, I walked down to Warehouse City where Dominique claimed to be holding my mom. I thought it was a bit dramatic for her to paint the message on a flag, but I would soon learn that, if nothing else, Dominique enjoyed the dramatic.

As I came out of the trees and started towards the gate, you would have believed that a herd of zombies was approaching. All of a sudden, there were people running up to the towers and aiming every weapon at me!

Two rows of soldiers lined up and one person came out dressed in all black. They marched to the gate and stood there waiting for me to arrive. The closer I got, the more trouble I suddenly found myself in when it came to not busting out laughing.

One of my problems is that when I get really nervous or angry, I laugh. And I don’t just mean a little giggle. I am talking about tears coming down my face, can’t hardly breathe, unable to speak. By the time I was about twenty feet away, I could not hold it back. I started laughing.

And that is how I met Dominique DuBois, self-proclaimed President of New America.

***

“Just what do you find so amusing?” the figure dressed in all black that stepped away from the two rows of soldiers who had crossbows cocked and trained on me asked.

I tried to answer, but every time I opened my mouth, the laughing just seemed to get worse. Finally, I did the only thing that I could; I pointed. That did not go over very well. I could see her face turn an even deeper shade of red. And that is when I took my first really good look at Dominique.

She had some nasty scarring on her face. Nothing to the extent of Jenifer, but it was gruesome looking none the less. As she got angry, the scar tissue turned a shade of purple. That only made me laugh harder.

“What is so funny?” Dominique demanded.

I honestly tried to stop laughing, but as is usually the case, the harder I tried to stop, the worse it got. That only made her angrier. She stormed over to me and got right in my face. I could smell something that reminded me of rotten fruit on her breath.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and noticed that a few of those crossbows wiggled a little bit when I brought my hand up. More than one of these supposedly trained soldiers were jumpy it would seem. That meant it would not take much from me to end up being killed. Now I was really laughing.

“Stop!” Dominique snapped. When I didn’t, she slapped me across the face. That only made me even angrier. I really wanted to glare at her and shoot daggers from my eyes, but all I could do was laugh.

And so that is how I was cuffed and practically dragged through the gates of Warehouse City. As I passed through the gates, I saw them cutting down the bodies of people that they had hung yesterday. I looked for familiar faces and I am embarrassed to say that I was relieved when none of them looked like anybody that I knew. I imagine that is small consolation for those people who lost loved ones at the end of one of Dominique’s nooses.

I guess that I should say right here that I realize she did not actually march those people up to the gallows, place a rope around their necks or pull the lever that opened the trap door beneath their feet. However, she gave the order. Sure, her soldiers carried out those orders, but make no mistake…the blame rests clearly with one person when it comes down to what would happen over the next days, and weeks, and months.

I was led inside the building that I knew to be the council chambers for the leaders of Warehouse City. Inside I would discover more of Dominique’s dirty work. As you enter the building, there is a huge arched ceiling and the entry way is enormous, with stairs going up on either end. In the center of the reception area was a cage. Or more specifically, a cage complex.

The structure is a cube with twenty-seven chambers. The ones in the center have living people in them. The others contain zombies. There is barely enough room to move around inside each individual cage, but the living people have to continue to move so that they are not grabbed. I would imagine that it is unsettling at the very least to have something less than an inch away clawing and moaning and trying its best to get at you. You would have to stay still to actually suffer a bite or scratch.

I didn’t get a chance to really see who was in that construct, but somebody did call my name. At the time, I had no idea who it was, and so many people in my life are dead now that I can’t even begin to imagine who it might be.

I was led up the stairs and to the second floor. They shoved me into a little room with no windows and no light source except for the thin crease at the bottom of the door. And that is how they left me.

I think it was a few days, but it seemed like weeks. The only time I saw anybody was when the door opened and this hulk of a man shoved a plate of whatever they were passing off as food and a cup of water inside. There was a bucket for a toilet which I found for the first time when I kicked it over. But finally, Dominique sent somebody for me.

I was blindfolded this time and anytime there were stairs, Bruno would throw me over his shoulder like a rag doll and carry me. I have no idea if they just walked around to disorient me, but when the blindfold was removed, I was in another room that contained a table with a chair on each side. I was tied down in one and then Dominique came in and sat in the other.

This was really the first time that I had seen her close up. She had dark hair and a nasty burn scar that did a number on what would have probably been a pretty face. Only, there was an ugliness to her that dripped off her like poison. And her eyes…they were the eyes of a crazy person. Wild. Scary.

“So, where is your mother?” she asked.

“You should know,” I snapped. “You hung a flag telling me to surrender because you have her.”

That earned me a slap across the face.

“I am talking about your real mother.”

“Mama Lindsay is my real mother,” I shot back. Another slap.

This went on for a while. By the time it was over, my face felt hot enough to cook on and I couldn’t breathe through my nose. At some point, she had changed from slaps to punches. My nose was a mess.

It would never be the same and I have these little bumps that you can feel with your fingers if you rub it. People try to ignore it, or if they get caught staring, they say that it is distinguished. That is just a polite way of saying it is crooked.

“So…it is true,” Dominique finally said after who knows how long.

I knew better than to say anything. The first couple of times she asked questions or went on a tirade, I made wisecracks or said something nasty. That sounds really neat in books where the hero or heroine has something to say to the evil villain during an interrogation. And then, as they get beat and smacked around, they just keep it up. Well, in the real world, getting slapped and punched really hurts. After a while I kept my mouth shut except to say “I don’t know” to the same questions over and over. (Which was true because, as far as most of the questions went, I didn’t know the answers.)

“Meredith Gainey is dead.”

I’ve know that for years, but for some reason, whether it was having been locked away in that room for however long, or the fact that my face hurt from being slapped and punched, I started to cry.

“So you are what is left?” Dominique said dismissively. “A sniveling little bitch who was left with a dyke so that mommy could go and see what was out there in the world. Do you ever wonder why? Does it ever bother you that your mother just abandoned you with strangers so that she could run around killing?”

What could I say to any of those questions? Of course I have wondered. However, I have read what my mother wrote during those years after she left me with Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie. And I can’t imagine having been raised by her. She would have been miserable…and most likely, so would I.

“She would rather risk being eaten alive…and eventually die alone someplace than be your mother,” Dominique was still talking. However, I now think I realized what she was trying to do. She had already beaten me physically, and now she wanted to do the same mentally.

“Are you making a point, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?” That was out of my mouth so quickly that I didn’t have time to clamp my teeth together and prevent it.

“I am going to enjoy watching you become one of my soldiers,” she hissed, leaning across the table so that her nose was almost touching mine.

“Why would I become anything for you?” It seemed like a fair question.

“Because I have your mother…or the person you call your mother.”

Dominique got up and knocked on the door. It opened and Bruno came in with Mama Lindsay. She was cuffed, shackled, and gagged. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me and tears came instantly…for both of us.

“Your mother will remain my guest and work as my personal assistant,” Dominique said. “She will be responsible for my safety because as my life goes…so does yours. As for you, you will be enlisted into my New American Army. You will be a soldier. If you die in battle, then I will release your mother as she will no longer serve a purpose. However, if you come up missing, then I will give her to a hundred men a night for a month before tossing her into a pit of zombies that will put an end to her miserable existence.”

That was the end of the interview…and the reunion. Dominique left with Mama Lindsay and Bruno brought me down to a large open room that had been converted into a dorm. I saw lots of other people, most my age or a little older. They all had the same defeated look on their faces. While I doubted that all of them had been told their parent or loved one was going to be the new personal assistant to the psycho president, I imagine that most were being leveraged into “enlisting” into this New American Army.

Bruno showed me my cot and then left. I guess there was no longer any need to watch me. If I did anything, then Mama Lindsay would be killed. That was the only reason that I needed to do as I was told.

“Hey?” a voice said from behind me. I could already tell how this was going to go without even turning around. Have you noticed that you can usually identify a bully just by the tone in their voice?

“Just leave me alone.” Deep down, I knew that wasn’t going to be good enough for this person, but at least I was giving them a warning.

“Whoa-ho…the new meat has an attitude.”

I turned to see a girl that looked like she not only did not ever miss a meal…but those belonging to the people sitting on either side of her as well. Her eyes were dark little orbs that looked almost black as they glared out from the fleshy folds that squeezed them. Her nose was flat and broad. I only wondered for a second if maybe she had been pounded on by Dominique as well.

“Listen, whoever you are, I just want to be left alone. I am sure that there are plenty of people in this room that you would be able to pick on and beat up with almost no resistance at all.” I felt a little tug inside for just offering up others to this person, but I was tired, my face hurt, and I really did want to be left alone.

“Everybody else in this room already knows who is running things…and since I know all of their faces, that makes you a stranger. You aren’t from Warehouse—”

“No, I’m from Sunset,” I snapped. “Big deal, what’s it to ya?”

I guess I really had no idea what to expect. I was an outsider. Also, I am not all that big. For a bully, that makes me a primary target. That is why I was stunned when her expression changed. She went from scowling menace to stunned. Then…she took my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper. “I hear they didn’t leave any survivors when they hit you guys. But why would you come here and give up? Why didn’t you just run?”

“Because they took my mom and my friends,” I said.

“And that is what they are using on you,” the girl said this as a statement of fact.

That made me wonder what they were holding over her head. I looked around the room and realized that very few people were actually paying us any attention. Usually, when a bully makes a move like this, everybody would be watching. Either with a look of pity and commiseration…or one of relief that finally there was somebody new to take away some of their heat.

“Listen…” she left that open as a bit of a question. She was waiting for me to say my name.

I gave it a moment’s thought. The knowledge of my identity always has a strange effect on people. After all, my dad and mom wrote the two best sellers of a generation. Everybody knows Sam and Meredith…and Snoe.

If I gave this girl my name, then I would most likely be treated different. I already had the whole “outsider” thing going on. Did I really need another reason to stand out and be different? However, the chances of my identity being kept a secret were next to nil. I had little doubt that Dominique would make sure that whoever she put in charge of training would know exactly who I am.

“My name is Snoe Gainey.”

The big gal looked at me, and if it was possible, her eyes squinted together even tighter to the point of being little more than slits. She gave me an up and down look and then she looked around the room as if she wanted to see who might be near enough to listen. Despite seeing that nobody was, she leaned in real close to me.

“You aren’t tellin’ a fib now, are ya?”

“To what purpose?” I asked back, not bothering to whisper. “You think that is something I would want to make up?”

“Then you stick close to me, Snoe.” She stood up straight and put an arm around me as if we were suddenly best friends. “Some of these folks might start acting all crazy if you go makin’ that known. You need a nickname, if everybody calls you by it, then so will the drillers.”

“Drillers?”

“The folks that they got putting us through the paces.”

“About that,” I said cautiously, “what sort of stuff can I expect?”

“Most of it is close-in techniques for dealing with the biters. However, they also spend a lot of time teaching us how to detain and restrain…least, that’s what we call it. They call it crowd control. Ask me, I think they plan on hitting the tribes and tryin’ to bring those folks under their thumb.”

I let that sink in and then asked my next question. “So, before you give me a nickname, maybe you should tell me yours so I can call you something besides ‘Hey You’.”

The gal turned a shade of pink which really surprised me. This is not the sort of girl you imagine would blush.

“Name is Betty, but everybody calls me Ugg.”

I realized that I would probably regret it, but I had to ask. “Ugg?”

“On account of me being so damn ugly,” she said as if it were a normal and natural thing to blurt out. I started to say something, but she cut me off. “We got plenty of mirrors here at Warehouse, so don’t try to give me some line of garbage.”

I shut my mouth and thought about what I would say. When it came to me, I smiled. “Well I am calling you Betty.”

The big girl looked at me like I was growing an extra arm. I just stared back. When she smiled, it sure did her no favors. She lacked the front bottom teeth and it squeezes her eyes into the folds of flesh that surround them. Also, it did not look like her face was accustomed to such expressions and there was a war going on with the muscles that were responsible for her frowns, grimaces, and scowls and those that helped her smile.

“And I am gonna call you Princess,” Betty said with a braying laugh that was as unnatural as her smile, but certainly did not lack enthusiasm.

“I rather wish you wouldn’t,” I said once I felt that she had calmed down enough to actually hear me speak.

“All the more reason,” she said, her face returning to that sterner countenance that I imagine she felt more at ease with.

Grabbing my arm, she hauled me around the dorm and introduced me to everybody. I could tell as we approached that everybody, even the boys, had either fear or a healthy respect for Betty. By the time we had made the circuit, I had a bruise about the size and shape of her hand on my upper arm.

When introductions were over—I could not recall one person’s name that I had met and have the associated face pop up in my mind—Betty stopped beside my bunk.

“Now listen careful, Princess,” she said in a rough whisper, “you keep your name to yourself. And if anybody asks, you ain’t from Sunset, you from one of the tribes, don’t matter which one. Make up a name you can remember and stick to that story.”

I wanted to ask why, but at that moment, the double doors on the landing above the dorm area opened and s whole bunch of soldiers in all black with helmets and shields and stuff strapped to their arms and legs barged in.

“Everybody on your feet, assemble in two lines at the base of the stairs!” a male voice barked.

Everybody started to scramble. Betty grabbed my arm, causing me to wince as the bruise seemed to act as a magnet for her hand. She looked to be counting and then jammed me between a guy and girl who said nothing at all and simply made room. Then she got in the line across from me.

“What fresh hell is this?” I muttered.

Nobody answered or chuckled.

***

We marched up the stairs and outside. I desperately wanted to look around, but I noticed that everybody—including Betty—stared straight ahead. I locked my eyes on the back of the head of the boy in front of me and followed.

We came to a halt in front of a long building that had huge roll-up doors all down the side. Every one of them was up revealing a vast structure that had large cages that were probably about twenty feet by twenty spaced all the way down the center of the building. Once inside I was able to count nine such structures.

“Count off in nines!” a woman ordered.

I listened as the numbers were ticked off from one to five and then starting over, by the time it got to me, I shouted out, “Three!” just as Betty did the same.

One of the soldiers yelled for us to go to one of the arena-like cages based on our number. Since Betty and I were both threes, I just fell in behind her. I noticed that she was never first or last. That was something I filed away in case I was ever without her. Funny, but in just this short time, I already feel like I can trust her and consider her a friend.

Once we were all at the appropriate cage, we were each told to line up side by side. Each group had two soldiers in charge. They really liked to yell. It wasn’t anything like EEF training. There, if you got yelled at, you were doing something wrong. Here, these people seemed to only have one volume level. Well, I hope they all had sore throats at night when they got home…or wherever they went for the evening.

“First two, step forward,” the taller of the soldiers in charge of us—and a female—ordered. (Yes, she was yelling, but you already got that part. I figure you can just assume that if I say that a soldier is talking…they are yelling.)

The first two in line did as they were told. I watched as they were given a variety of things to strap on their arms, legs, chest, and head. Then they were handed a big stick that I guess was supposed to look like a sword and the last thing was a shield.

“One-on-one combat training,” Betty whispered out of the side of her mouth.

I was curious as to why we needed to learn how to fight each other. People don’t fight the same way zombies do, and if these people thought that the tribesmen and women were going to meet them out in the open, they had obviously never dealt with those folks before.

I watched as three pairs went in and beat each other with their sticks. One of the fights was over in a hurry. The guy refused to hit the girl he had been paired up against. I tried to get a look at his face but didn’t get the chance. Once he refused for the third time, the soldiers blew a whistle and these really big guys came over. To make a long story short, he was told once more to fight. He said no. They beat him until he was just a lump on the ground and then dragged him away.

Next up was me and Betty. Just before they called us, she whispered to me.

“Make it look good. I’ll go easy on you, when I strike on your helmet, just fall down.”

I put on all the gear while the soldier gave me what I assume she must have thought was good advice on how to fight in the ring. I just nodded and ignored her.

When I stepped into the cage, Betty flashed me a wink and then it was like a switch was thrown and she was all snarls. I actually jumped back when she rushed me and almost fell.

As she came like a raging bull, I remembered something that Mama Lindsay had shown me. I let her come and then, just before she reached me and her momentum had her committed, I stepped aside and grasped her outstretched arm by the wrist. Using her energy, I turned slightly and threw her over my hip. She landed with a heavy thud. I guess nobody had ever taught her how to fall.

My mistake was in thinking that she had the wind knocked out of her. I guess she was just surprised. When I bent down to offer my hand, she took my legs out.

“Nobody called the fight yet, newbie!” the female soldier laughed.

I rolled out of the way just as Betty brought the wooden sword down where my ribs would have been. It made a loud crack which made me flash a questioning look at Betty. Hmm…she still had the really angry face. I tried to wink, but she just snarled and came at me again.

I ducked and heard the wooden sword whistle above my head. From this position, I only had one option. I brought the butt end of the weapon around and thrust it up into Betty’s ample—but amazingly firm—stomach. She made a little ‘oof’ noise. Then she brought her own weapon down on my back.

I felt pain radiate from my kidneys as I crumpled to the ground. A second blow came to the side of my head and everything went fuzzy. The loud ringing in my head kept me from hearing anything else, but when a third blow didn’t come, I had to assume that the order to stop had been given.

I felt hands grab my shoulders and roll me over. It took a few seconds to adjust, but eventually I saw the face of the female soldier hovering over mine. She was trying to convey something, but the ringing in my ears had not subsided enough.

“…your feet or are you going to just lie there in your own puddle?”

Hey, I could finally hear. However, it was also around the same time that my other senses were returning. I had wet my pants. I felt my face flush. Of course I could also now hear the titters of laughter from the others.

I rolled away and started to stand. It was easier said than done, but I slapped away two attempts from an unknown set of hands that tried to help me to my feet. I staggered and did my best to stand up straight, but the pain in my kidneys was really making that a chore. When my vision still didn’t clear, I realized that the tears in my eyes probably had something to do with that and I scrubbed at my eyes with my fists as I stepped out of the cage.

The laughter had stopped, and now everybody was looking anyplace but at me. I fell back in line and just wanted this to be over. Three more pairs went after, but I had stopped caring. That was probably why I didn’t hear Betty when she tried to get my attention. When she nudged me with her elbow, I turned my head very slowly and deliberately. To think that just moments ago I was ready to trust this person!

“Damn, girl,” she winked. “Thought you was just gonna fall over for me. Then you had to go and damn near break my arm.”

I must have wrenched it a bit when I threw her. I have to admit, I was a little rusty. Still, she just about ruptured my kidneys. I wasn’t exactly feeling like apologizing for making it tough for her to kick my butt.

“You like talkin’ trash, Ugg?” One of the soldiers appeared out of nowhere.

“No, sir,” Betty turned forward and snapped to attention.

“Good thing, because it looked to me like you picked the newbie here because she is so small and you thought you would have an easy go today. You like picking on the pretty little ones, Ugg?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“I think that the next time you two step into the ring, that little newbie might just ring you up. And when your undefeated streak falls, you remember the deal…right?”

I saw Betty’s face turn just a little pale from the flushed red that had come with all of this attention. She did not flinch outwardly, but her posture changed, that was for sure.

“Sir…yes, sir,” Betty responded. Only, I think the soldier mistook the quiet tone of voice for submission. What I heard was nothing short of hatred…with something else that was surprising coming from Betty even though I barely just met her and could not claim to actually knowing her all that good.

Fear.

***

I stepped out of the shower. It was actually kind of nice to feel hot water on my skin again. It had certainly been a while. The soap made my skin itchy, but it was a small price to pay to feel clean. It is hard to believe, but being out in the field, you tend to forget about those sorts of things. Staying alive really occupies most of your thoughts. And if you are out there alone…well, there is nobody around to make a face when you sit next to them all gross and stinky.

However, that peace and tranquility brought on by the hot shower vanished in an instant. The bathroom was empty. Not one person was at a trough or finishing up from their own shower. I knew I wasn’t alone when I started because it caught me by surprise that the boys and girls all used the same common bathroom and shower area.

I wrapped my towel around my body and stepped back to the stall I just vacated. If I was about to be jumped, I would not have my back exposed.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Betty stepped out of the shadows. “They teach that over at Sunset?”

“My mom taught me.”

“Lindsay or Janie?”

Wow, people really did know the story. Heck, these people probably know my mom and dad better than I do. I mean, sure, I’ve read their journals…but some folks have passages committed to memory. I’ve even heard that there are some folks who have retraced the routes that Sam and Meredith describe.

“Mama Lindsay. She was the head of the EEF at Sunset and also sort of the unofficial guard of the president.”

“Did you know her…the president I mean?” Betty said with way too much awe.

“I know her, she comes to the house…or at least she did when things were normal.” I saw something on Betty’s face flicker.

“You don’t know.” Betty suddenly looked like she would rather be someplace else.

“Know what?”

“She…the president…” I felt dread building in my heart and the threat of tears in my eyes. “She has been in the cube for five days. Nobody has ever lasted beyond four. Folks say that she has actually killed three of the biters. Dominique has had to replace them and I guess she threatened to start tossing guards in because she can’t believe that the president isn’t doing this without help from somebody.”

At first I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then it struck me…that huge contraption in the lobby. That had to be what she was talking about.

“Well then, she must have not paid attention when they were running around together. Jenifer is about as mule-headed and stubborn as they come.” I was actually able to muster a laugh.

“Still, nobody can last forever,” Betty said sadly. I also heard a lot more in those words than just concern for Jenifer.

“So why did you scare everybody away? It wasn’t to tell me about the president or just ask who taught me how to fight.”

“I guess I owe you a bit of an explanation.” Betty was really struggling to speak. She kept choking up and I was not sure if I was more confused, concerned, or curious.

“About what?” Maybe she needed to be led down whatever path she was trying to go down.

“In the ring…I went a little crazy.”

Okay, a bit of an understatement coming from somebody who had told me to take a dive like she was doing me a favor.

“Nobody has even come close to beating me in the ring. Pretty soon, they started using me to graduate the newbies. If they lasted a certain length of time and managed to get in a shot or two, they were considered ready. And not just the girls.”

Her voice rang with a bit of pride. I had to imagine that she had not had an easy life up to this point despite the sense of community in Warehouse City, which I had been told was just like Sunset…only with about twice the people.

“Wait…how long have Dominique’s people been here occupying Warehouse City?” I asked.

“About three months…maybe a little longer.”

Had it really been that long? Time just seems so odd. Have you ever noticed how a good day goes by in the blink of an eye, but a bad day lasts forever? And then…stack a bunch of bad days one after the other and you just lose all track after a while.

“One day they had a soldier step in the ring with me.” Betty smiled and I had an understanding of the phrase “like the cat that ate the canary”. “He was talking about how I made it look easy, but that beating up on kids was a lot different than dealing with adults. I busted his jaw.”

She smiled even bigger. I still didn’t know what that had to do with her going crazy in the ring. I kept quiet and waited for her to resume.

“When they took me back to the dorm, Major Carson was there waiting,” Betty’s voice suddenly changed. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn that she was afraid. “He told me that I would stay here and be used as the final test for students who were about to be shipped out, but the first time I lost, he would walk me to the train car personally.”

“The first time you lose? That seems kind of mean.”

“Yeah, well you haven’t met Major Carson. Of course it didn’t help that it was her boyfriend’s jaw that I busted.”

“Oh…so I take it that you don’t want to be a part of the New American Army?” I asked.

“That is part of it, I mean why would I want to be out where the walkers rule the land? I grew up here in Warehouse City. I worked on a construction team and was on my way to being given my own work crew. My dad was so proud of me…”

And then she choked up. For the first time, I saw what I was sure had to be tears start to well up in her eyes.

“You live here with your dad?”

“Yeah…actually, you and I have something in common in a way. I mean, nobody wrote about me in a book, but my dad knew your dad.”

Now I was really curious. Betty wiped her eyes and her smile came back even bigger than before.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who is your dad?”

“Tom Langston.”

***

Morning came early and it started bad. The day would only get worse.

A dozen soldiers dressed in full gear came into the dorm and started yelling names. As some were called, they just stepped forward. Some did not, and that would prompt the soldiers to stomp over to one cot or the other and yank the person out to the middle of the room.

“What is going on?” I whispered to Betty.

“Shipping out a group,” Betty said from the corner of her mouth.

“Where?” I asked.

“Who knows,” Betty said with a shrug. “They leave and that is the last we see of them…ever.”

That made me remember what Phaedra told me about how her son had been taken. So where did everybody end up? Where were they sending them and what were they sending them to do?

“The rest of you will assemble and eat breakfast. Afterwards, you will be going to the ring, and then some of you will be selected for a field test,” one of the soldiers told us as they were marching the ones who had been called out the door.

Breakfast was wheeled in. It consisted of flatbread and watery oatmeal. I looked around and noticed that everybody ate in silence as the soldiers walked around glaring at us.

As soon as we were finished, we repeated the same routine as yesterday. I wanted to ask Betty what a field test was, but I thought I had a pretty good idea.

This time, Betty made sure not to be in my group. I felt strange as she was led away with her group of “twos” while I went with the “fives” to my ring.

My opponent was a boy about my age. He had a sneer on his face when we entered the caged fighting ring. He couldn’t sneer as well with the busted lip and puffy cheek when we were done. I noticed a few people giving me a nod. I also noticed the soldiers with their heads together talking and making no secret about the fact that it was about me as they stared and pointed while writing things down.

So I guess that is why I wasn’t surprised when my name was called for this so-called field test. After lunch we were all told to line up at the door. I sat next to Betty during lunch, but we did not have a chance to say anything because a pair of soldiers stood right behind us the entire time talking.

“So she finally gave in?” the one was saying.

“It only took a second,” the other replied. “She fell from exhaustion and it was a three-way tug-of-war. But get this…I hear that President DuBois is pissed. Not only did she miss it, but I hear that scar-faced bitch never uttered a peep. Got ripped apart and not one single scream.”

I knew right away who they were talking about. A woman that I grew up admiring was dead. She was dead and these people were laughing and joking about it! I felt something inside me start to change. I had never really known what hatred was until that moment. But it was what I heard next that probably changed me for good.

“And now that dyke is in there…I hear that President DuBois has set up her desk by the cube to ensure that she doesn’t miss this one.”

They kept talking, but I didn’t hear any of it. My ears started ringing and I felt like I needed to cry, but I couldn’t.

When lunch was finished, I got up with the others who were going to be tested. We were led to another room and each of us assigned to a soldier. The soldier had us putting on all sorts of what I would consider unnecessary gear. One of the things that you learned in the EEF was to wear protective clothing while not letting it become restrictive. The things they had on my legs made it almost impossible to bend my knees. If I ended up having to crawl or climb, I would be like a robot.

Once we were dressed out, we were marched outside. I noticed that we were taken out the back. I wondered if Dominique thought that she could just do what she wanted with my mother now that she had me. And while all of it seemed very petty, I had very little problem seeing the rotten little child who had run off on my mom and Jenifer and then tried to have them killed.

Mama Lindsay used to tell me that there were a lot of problem children back in the days before the zombies, and that she believed some of it had to do with the fact that parents could not discipline their children without fear of being arrested. It made me wonder just what had turned Dominique into the person she had become. I could not understand how one person might be able to take any pleasure in killing another.

As I stepped outside, I saw that a new batch of people had been hung from the gallows. This was just more that didn’t make sense. If she was building an army and conquering people, what was the sense in killing them all? Who would she be the leader of if everybody ended up being executed?

We were led to the main gate of the city and told to line up. A man with a clipboard came down the line and scribbled something down as he got to each one of us. When he got to me he stopped and looked around like he suddenly forgot how to do his job.

“Who’s the newbie…and why is she going on this run?” he asked.

“This is that one the president mentioned at the assembly last week,” one of the soldiers said.

That made a few of the other soldiers start looking at me funny. However, I also noticed a couple of the other kids give me a glance. I wondered how much longer I was going to be able to stay anonymous.

As we went through the gates, our soldier guides started explaining what exactly we would be doing. There was a small tribal community rumored to be in the area. We were going in to ask for volunteers. The expectation was that we would be refused. At that point, our objective was to secure every single citizen that looked to be between the ages of ten and forty. By the time we exited through an opening in the Corridor that had obviously been made by Dominique’s forces, the explanations were over and we were just a column marching to our objective.

Our group of twenty “recruits” and thirty actual soldiers would be an impressive force for any but the largest of the tribal communities. They didn’t usually number above thirty people total. Along the way, we passed a few recently killed walkers. I was wondering who had killed them, whether it was soldiers from Warehouse City or the tribe we were going after when another dozen soldiers sort of drifted out of the surrounding ruins of what looked like a massive apartment complex and joined us.

I immediately realized that these people knew very little about the tribes in this area. Many of them had adopted the sign of an animal: wolves, grizzlies, eagles, falcons. Mama Lindsay said that most were doing so because of former schools that had once populated the area. I guess schools held regular contests against other schools. To identify one from another, they wore different colors and adopted names of all sorts of creatures…including ones that never existed. It all seemed silly, but many of these tribes had gone so far as to scavenge clothing from the school that was decorated with images of whatever namesake they had chosen.

As we marched, I saw signs and images that told me this particular tribe called itself “Spartans.” I was vaguely familiar from my history classes that there was a particular group of Greeks that used that name. They were not very nice people if my memory served me. Unfortunately, these people had very little in common with those fierce warriors from ancient Greece.

We walked into their little village and the children actually started coming out to greet us. I had to wonder how little the tribes communicated with each other if this was how we were greeted. I had almost expected either armed resistance or folks running away and screaming in terror.

A man came out of one of the huts. He was all dressed in blues and silvers and I really think he believed that we might be arriving with great news or something like that. The soldier leading our column did not even break stride as he brought up his crossbow and shot the man in the face. The bolt went in the man’s eye, but the other one was still wide open in surprise and staring blankly at the sky as I walked past.

People started screaming, children started crying. And we were told to start grabbing people that fit the range we’d been given. Each of us had been paired and a soldier was supposed to watch over us and only become involved if we failed. Of course it was also implied that failure was going to be met with some serious discipline later.

As we started gathering individuals up, I ended up walking into a hut. Inside, I discovered a woman I assumed to be the mother standing in front of three children. All of them—including the mother—would actually fit the criteria we had been given.

The person I had been paired with stepped into the hut and produced four sets of cuffs. He glanced at me and shot me a look as if to question why I did not have my own set out yet. I just stood there. The woman was crying and begging us not to take her children. The children were crying and huddled around the woman, clutching at her.

“Hey, newbie,” my so-called partner prodded, “you just gonna stand there?”

“You’re okay with this?” I turned and asked the boy who could not be any older than me.

He got a stupid and confused look on his face. Then he looked past me to the door we had come through. The soldier had accompanied us to that point and then sent us in with the words “Don’t screw this up” or some such nonsense.

A thought formed and I did not really have time to pick it apart and weigh out the pros and the cons. All I could think of was that night I just laid there and listened to another person be treated so horrible…and then end up dead. And while I still believe in my heart that if I had tried to do anything, the only thing different about the outcome was that there would be two dead bodies instead of one, I still regret my inaction.

The only thing that registered as concrete in my mind was the fact that I would probably not have this good of an opportunity again. Also, it was obvious that Dominique was done using my mother as leverage. I still did not see what sense there was in killing Mama Lindsay. After all, if she was supposed to be my reason for staying in line, did she not think that I would want to see her every once in a while? And how long did she think that she could put me off?

Then there was also the possibility that this lunatic woman no longer cared. She seemed the sort who would change her mind on a whim and then act without thinking it through. I wonder if she ever sat in her room and regretted some of those decisions she has made over time? I doubted it.

And then there were the funny looks that I was already starting to get from the soldiers. I had a feeling that the little announcement that had been shared with them told them who I was. Sooner or later, somebody was going to try to make themselves famous. (That is what Mama Lindsay always said about people who tried to hurt me when I was young. That they were just trying to make themselves famous by association.)

I looked at the mother again and winked. I had given her enough of an appraisal to know that she could handle herself. Of course, it is kind of difficult to live outside of The Corridor and not be at least a little bit of a bad ass.

I tried to use my eyes to send a message to the woman. I had no way of knowing if she understood until I acted. From that point on, it was a matter of hoping for the best. I flipped open the pouch that held my cuffs. When I reached in, I sort of wrapped my hands in one set.

Without warning, I spun and socked my up-to-that-point teammate. The blow landed right on the tip of his chin and he went down like a sack of rocks. One of the children shrieked and the mother clamped a hand over the little girl’s mouth.

“Hurry up in there,” the soldier outside shouted. I was surprised at how disinterested he sounded.

“Please tell me there is a back way out of here,” I whispered.

The woman looked at me and I could see her running through a list of possibilities. Luckily, she did not take long, and even luckier was the fact that she decided to trust me. She pointed to the floor.

I stepped back as she moved towards me. She shoved the unconscious form of the boy I had knocked out to the side and flipped up a small square of carpet. Underneath was a trap door. I nodded for her to lead the way.

We jumped down into a very narrow tunnel. Apparently these folks practice using them or something because in no time at all they had left me behind. I had to fight down a little feeling of anger. After all, I had just rescued them and now they were leaving me behind. However, I also know that I would do the exact same thing if I were them. It is sort of foolish to have somebody go through all the trouble of saving your life and then you screw up and die anyways because you kept waiting for that person to continue saving you. The saving is a very simple and single act. Once you have done it, the rest is up to the person you have provided that opportunity. That is something Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie stressed while I was growing up.

A small square of light appeared just ahead after I rounded what felt like the millionth corner. I had to wriggle a bit to climb out. All my gear was making me a bit bulky. That was when I realized that the tribal people did not bog themselves down with a whole bunch of protective gear. They were built for speed.

When I climbed out of the hole, the mother was standing there. She also happened to have a great big knife in her hand that was pointed at my eyeball.

“Whoa!” I put my hands up. “I just helped you and your family escape, I really don’t think we need to do this.”

“I don’t want you following us,” the woman said in a whisper. “We are going this way,” she cocked her head off to her left, “and I don’t want you following us.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a nod.

“I just have one question,” the woman said as she turned to go. “Who are you people? We have lived in peace with the folks from Warehouse City. When did you all decide to start attacking the tribes?”

“Actually, a military force has captured Warehouse City. Their leader wants to subjugate everybody for some stupid reason. I’m not actually from there…I’m from Sunset Fortress…we were wiped out too.”

The woman seemed to consider my words for a moment. She nodded and then turned and vanished around the corner of a building that was little more than a pile of burnt wood. Even though I was staring right at her and her kids, they basically seemed to disappear before my eyes.

Well, that was enough of that for now. I needed to make myself scarce. The problem that I had was that I had absolutely no idea where I was or which direction to go. I heard commotion behind me, so I decided that my best bet was to move in the opposite direction.

I started at an easy jog. Using all my EEF training, I took in my surroundings and made my way into the ruins of a series of buildings with similar design and features. Any signs that identified this complex were long gone, but it looked like a factory of some sort and there were a lot of transport trucks in rows in one area.

That would be the easiest way to go to lose anybody who might be on my trail. It would also be the worst place to go because of all the blind spots. The only weapon that any of us recruits had been given was a small baton. This was not a mission where we were expected to deal with the undead, and I now understood why a detachment of soldiers had been sent ahead of us to take out any zombies. We were not really given anything that would constitute as a real weapon. Killing a zombie by beating its head in was not something that you wanted to do if you could help it. And if you were facing more than one…that was basically a death sentence. Even after all these years, the skull is a tough nut to crack.

I ducked down one of the rows of slowly deteriorating and vine-covered semis. Nature had helped in one aspect. The vines and brambles that were covering these vehicles had turned them into giant, solid rectangles. Even if there might be something underneath one of the trailers, it was basically trapped in their now. The vines were a tough curtain to get through for a person with a blade. Using your hands would take forever.

The sounds of the tribal village faded as I continued moving. They had to be aware of my absence by now. And it was not like we were able to hide the manner in which we escaped. I knew I didn’t have very much more of a head start. The question was just how intense and determined the search for me would be.

As I came out the far end of the truck graveyard, I had my answer. I could hear the sounds of yelling and shouting. Somebody was using a megaphone.

“Snoe Gainey, this is Captain Warren. I know you can hear me…you could not have gotten that far away. You need to turn yourself in before the consequences are too great,” a low-pitched voice called.

A very tall fence was in my way. I gave it a little bit of a shake. The vines and stuff growing through all the little diamond shaped openings actually helped keep the thing standing. I was not entirely sure if it would support my weight, but this was my way out now. After another shake for good measure, I peeled off my heavy leather jacket and started to climb. When I reached the top, I threw the jacket over the strands of barbed wire that were at the top and slanted away from me. Supposedly this was to keep people on the outside from coming in. I didn’t see how if their form of security could be easily circumvented with something as simple as tossing a coat over it.

Since it was only ten feet or so, I dropped to the ground. On the plus side, I was over and an enormous bit of rolling grassland stretched out before me. It was a good two or three miles of easy ground and then dense forest. As soon as I was over the first hill, I would be almost invisible. Sure, my path would be easy to follow, but once I made it to the woods, I had no doubt that I could lose any remaining pursuit. The negative was that my coat would be an arrow pointing to my escape route. A soon as they reached the end of the trucks, somebody would see me. Also…I had lost my coat.

I started at the jogging pace that you learned to master in the EEF. One of the things that they taught you was that our greatest advantage over zombies other than our mind, was our speed. And the beauty was that we just needed to be a bit faster than them to get away. The mistake would be to burn all of your energy right away. So, one of the things that you learned was what the EEF manual called your “All Day Pace”.

I started for the mountains. I knew that I was going to need to find a weapon soon. Also, as I ran, it dawned on me that I did not have a plan at all. I had a few miles of running ahead. That was the perfect time to come up with one.

***

If this was the enemy, I really had no idea how we had lost to them so far and so fast. I slipped the pitiful attempt that the soldiers made in almost no time and with practically no effort. By the time I had reached the trees and began to move up into the hills, I was settled on my course of action.

It would take me a few days, but at the moment, it seemed like the best possible plan. It was around that time that I started to really wish I had something to write with in order to keep track of the events as they unfolded. (That is a wish that I am both happy and sad was fulfilled for reasons that you will see later. I had no idea what was happening, or what I had set in to motion with my escape. Had I known…dear God, had I only known.)

That first night was exciting…initially. By a few hours after dark, I was cold and miserable. It was sometime in November by now and the weather was awful. I was grossly unprepared for being out in it and had to take shelter in a filthy, rundown trailer that was just out in the middle of nowhere. The only thing good that I can say about the place is that it kept me mostly dry.

I was awoken once in the middle of the night by something pawing at the outside of the trailer. I knew it wasn’t a zombie because of the noises being made. I didn’t dare look, but in the morning I found deep furrows in the siding made by what had to be a pretty big bear.

As the sun came up, I oriented myself and headed east. It would take two days to get back to Sunset if everything went okay. I should have known better.

***

It was still early, not even noon yet when I realized that I was being followed. Since all I had for a weapon was a baton, I knew that I was in no position for any sort of fight with anything beyond a single zombie. And when it came to the living, I had even worse odds.

I started to wonder if maybe the soldiers that had met up with our little invasion force had continued the search for me. Whoever they were, they were trying not to be seen, but they were not letting that stop them from tracking me as I traveled through the morning and late into the day.

I was at a stream filling my one small canteen that I had been equipped and nibbling a small portion of apple. Judging by the texture, I would not want to ration out my remaining two slices much longer. Since I was nearing what had once been a populated area, I was following the ridgeline and deciding where I would go look for a place to spend the night. I could have travelled another few hours, but I was not all that familiar with the region, and therefore, unsure as to how far before I would reach another area that would offer up someplace to stay.

One of the things in the EEF manual about being out in the wilderness is that if you are alone, it is always preferable to find someplace inside to stay at night. Walkers are only a concern in large numbers when it comes to being trapped in a house or other structure. Since it is unlikely that you would be drawing any attention to yourself, a house is a perfectly acceptable place to camp for the night. A two-story location is ideal; simply find the hatch that opens to the crawlspace above the ceiling.

I spotted a location that looked promising and started across a large, open field. The grass was at least waist high and so I was being careful to keep an eye out for creepers. Maybe I was too focused on the ground and that is what allowed a dozen people to surround me and get within few yards from me before I even noticed that they were there.

“Can’t say that I seen too many Travelers around these parts lately,” a man’s voice snapped me back to being aware of my surroundings. I cursed myself for my carelessness.

“Don’t look like no Traveler, she ain’t carryin’ no weapons, ain’t even got a proper pack. Looks to me like some fool kid runnin’ away from one of the colonies,” a woman added with a laugh that sounded more mean than anything else.

I kept my mouth shut. One thing I learned that they didn’t exactly teach in an EEF manual was that if you kept your mouth shut, most folks would keep talking because they did not like silence. Something about quiet made people nervous. Or at least talkative.

“She’s carrying one of those metal clubs,” a younger woman said. “Only seen them on those soldiers that been comin’ through. And she’s wearin’ all that gear like those idiots. I think she’s one of them.”

And there it was. As I looked around, I began to think that they had rehearsed this scene…or perhaps played it out a few times already. This was looking bad. Maybe now would be a good time to break my silence.

“I’m not one of the soldiers…I was supposed to be in training and I escaped,” I said.

“Little slip of a thing like you? I imagine it probably wasn’t all that hard. Looks to me like you’d pure disappear if you turned sideways,” the first man who’d spoke said while rubbing his hand over his stubbled face.

“Hard to believe that’s a girl,” another man’s voice spoke from behind me. “Ain’t got much meat on her bones, that’s for sure.”

I spun to face this person with my hands on my hips. “Bob Hall, if I tell Felicia that you spoke to me that way…I bet she’d give you a swift kick.”

I ran to the outstretched arms of the big man. I’d met Bob and his wife Felicia when I had foolishly set off east thinking that I was going to march into Irony, USA and rescue all the people from my community who had been taken by the NAA when they’d first struck. I’d been with them for several days before revealing my identity, only to discover that they had already figured it out. Bob and Felicia Hall were also the people I had handed my journal over to when I had turned myself in to Dominique and her invaders at Warehouse City.

“Never thought I would see you again, little girl,” Bob said with a smile.

“Yeah, well…my reasons for staying…”

I felt something squeeze my throat and heart at the same time and realized that I was crying. I had worked so hard to keep myself together that I had not allowed myself to think about the fate that Dominique had relegated to my mother.

Once the tears began, it was like there would never be an end to them. I folded into the arms of Bob Hall and I bawled myself silly. My home was gone, all the people that I knew were either captured, dead, or just gone. Everything that kept my life together was destroyed…by one crazy bitch who could not let the past just fade away.

I wiped at my eyes once I felt like the worst was over. At some point, I guess all the other people who had been part of the group with Bob slipped away. Bob took my hand and we walked in silence back to the little village that he and Felicia had apparently decided to settle down in—for the time being at least.

***

“Wait, so you are saying that this girl, Dominique DuBois is not only alive, but that she has assassinated the President of New America and decided that she wants to basically conquer every independent community and tribal society and become some sort of—” Rick Brunson was sputtering.

“For the however many-eth time…” I was getting tired of this conversation running in the same stupid circle. “Yes, she wants to be some sort of warlord. I think she has something big in mind, this cannot just be some weird revenge kick.”

“I think we have heard enough for tonight,” Felicia said, patting my hand. “Tomorrow we can discuss what to do and who to tell, but this child needs some food and a good night’s sleep.”

People began wishing each other well and saying good night, but Felicia and Bob were already leading me out of the tent. I was tired, but not too tired to notice all the people hanging around outside. Curiosity was clear on more than one face and nobody seemed to be trying to hide it.

I don’t remember anything after that, including whatever it was that I ate before falling asleep. Apparently I was more tired than I realized.

When I woke up, it actually took me a few minutes to get my brain caught up on where I was and what had happened. I climbed out of the bed I had no recollection of climbing in to. Imagine my surprise when Felicia greeted me outside and informed me that I had slept for four days! In that time, quite a lot had occurred.

A scouting party had run into a pair of soldiers and killed one while capturing the other. He was currently being questioned by Rick and a few others. Since there was a crowd standing around outside a small hut and the occasional muffled yelp could be heard, it wasn’t hard to figure out where the questioning was taking place.

“Also…we need to talk, Snoe,” Felicia said after a moment where she gave me a looking over like she was trying to figure something out.

“Okay,” I said with a nod as I scooped out a bowl of the meaty stew that was simmering in a pot over a nice fire that was doing a great job of keeping the chill in the air from getting a grip on me.

“It’s about your mom.”

I heard that sentence and right away I could tell that I did not want to hear what she would say next. She was going to tell me that my mother had met her end in that bizarre cube that had already claimed Jenifer; but I already knew that.

“Now…mind you, we only have the word of that man in there to go by…and I would not necessarily believe anything that comes out of the mouth of somebody that is being tortured…”

She said the word “tortured” like it was no big deal. I was not sure what sorts of things happened to Travelers to make them so able to be matter-of-fact with something as horrible and cruel as torture, but hoped that my heart never turned so cold that it did not break just a little at the idea of one human being using pain to get another to speak or do the torturer’s bidding.

“It seems that your mother was publically hanged the day you escaped.”

The words slammed into me and I have no idea how I ended up on the ground staring up at Felicia. The bowl I had been about to dig into had fallen from my hands, but it didn’t matter because I was no longer even the slightest bit hungry.

“That’s not true,” I insisted. “They had her in that cube.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Felicia said. “And like I said, I wouldn’t exactly take the word of somebody being tortured. People say a lot of things to try and get out from what is being done.”

I got up and started towards where this person was being interrogated. A couple of people must have tried to slow me down, but after I pushed through them, Felicia was at my side and telling people to back off.

There was a guy standing at the entrance to the tent. Quite honestly, he looked like he would rather be anyplace else at the moment. And from the sounds coming from inside, I guess I could understand. Once again I found myself praying that I never became immune to emotion or feeling to the point that I could so easily tune out another person’s suffering.

“I want to talk to him!” I blurted as I entered the tent.

I have heard about cameras. I have seen photos and understand what they are and how they work. We don’t have anything like that now. There are people who draw or paint, but that is really not the same. At that exact moment, I wished for one of those things so that each of the men standing around that table could see the looks on their faces. No matter how much bluster and denial they could muster, they would not be able to deny the fact that each of them knew deep in his heart that he was doing something wrong.

“Snoe…” Bob was the first to recover and came towards me with his hands out as if he meant to shield me from what was so easy to see just a few feet away.

“I want to talk to him,” I repeated. “Felicia says that he has admitted to seeing my mother hanged the other day. I want to talk to him right now.”

“Let her pass,” another man spoke up. This one was a little taller than Bob who was easily six and a half feet tall.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” another man said.

This one was a short, pudgy, balding man who looked like he had been dunked in a trough of blood. His face was splattered and for some reason, my eyes fixated on a single drop that grew and grew on his chin until it simply could not defy gravity for another second.

Despite his appearance, he had the expression of a man who had been caught in some terrible act. He also looked like he did not care and that I had just interrupted him in the middle of something very important and he wanted me gone. Not because he—like the others—was embarrassed by his actions. Rather, I was keeping him from getting back to it and he really wanted to resume whatever he had been doing a moment ago.

“Do you know who that is?” Bob asked.

“I could care less,” the pudgy man remarked, setting down a long metal rolling pin that was slick with blood.

“She is Snoe Gainey,” Bob whispered like it meant way more than it should.

In a flash, the pudgy man was now studying me in a way that I was not at all comfortable with. And were it not for my mother and what I had heard regarding her death. I might have noticed…or paid attention to that look.

I pushed past and took a spot beside the table this man was strapped down to and I tried to keep my focus on his face…such as it was. He could only really look out of one eye, and that had to be rough considering that it was barely a razor-fine slit. I tried to imagine what this man might look like in a normal situation and really could not. He was a bloody mess, and he was so swollen and misshapen that it looked like a huge lump of clay that had been tossed on the floor for the children to do with as they wished.

“You say that a woman was hanged the other day,” I said. “What makes you think that it was my mother?”

“Because…” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I had to struggle and strain not only to be able to hear his words, but also to be able to decipher them. The man’s lips were probably twice their original size as well as being split in multiple spots. I could make out one particularly ugly hole where it was obvious that his lower teeth had come through the flesh. Also, I could tell that several of his teeth were broken and could not begin to imagine how this sort of damage was actually inflicted.

“The president made everybody come out to witness it. She announced it on a bullhorn and had a huge banner hanging above the gallows. She gave you an hour to turn yourself in…and you didn’t.” All of that took what felt an eternity to say as the man coughed, choked, and spat through every word.

“You are a liar,” I said, leaning down close to him. “My mother was in the cube enduring the same fate as the president of Sunset Fortress did…I heard with my own ears before that expedition I was sent on ever left.”

The man shook his head very slightly. He coughed again and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. I was having a very hard time looking at this without feeling some sense of pity. After all, it was Dominique, not this man, who had killed my mother—one way or another.

“All I know is what was said. And the woman was able to speak before she was hung…although I don’t think she got to finish. She told you to run and never look back.”

Once again it was what felt like a lifetime until the man could get all of his words out, but I heard each and every single one very clearly. I asked him to describe the woman who was hung and he did…perfectly. It was certainly my mother he described. So then I asked him to describe the woman who was currently in the cube. I could feel something in my chest starting to squeeze. I had a feeling.

“…and her face has a nasty bite scar.”

Phaedra.

I felt my knees go weak again. It seemed like I was spending a lot of time trying not to faint. My head swam with this revelation. If what he was saying was accurate, then I had, in fact, caused my mother’s execution.

I had not even considered that perhaps Mama Lindsay’s girlfriend, and also a good friend of mine, a woman named Phaedra Woods, might be what Dominique had been using as leverage against my mother until I had surrendered. And now, in my haste, I had made the choice to run.

My mind was reeling with all of the bits and pieces that I fixated on to make my choice to run. In my mind, every whispered conversation between the guards had been about me. And now, my mother was really and truly dead.

Bob had me by the hand and was escorting me out of the tent where I imagine that the torturing would resume and this man would eventually die. The pity I had felt a moment ago was gone. I suddenly did not care that he probably had nothing to do with Mama Lindsay’s death. I wanted him to pay.

I jerked away from Bob and went right back inside. I heard Felicia call my name, but I didn’t care. As I entered, the pudgy man had moved in beside the person whose name I would never know…nor would I ever care to know.

The pudgy man had the metal bar in the mouth of the man on the table and was punching him in the chin. Each punch was punctuated with a word.

“When. Are. The. Troops. Coming. This. Direction?”

The bar was pulled from the man’s mouth and I could hear what had to be teeth crumbling. A dark line of drool extended and broke with an audible and wet sound. Blood leaked from both corners of the man’s mouth.

I stood there as the session continued. I saw things that my mind went to work on right away to erase so that they would only visit and haunt my nightmares. I refused to move until the event reached the conclusion that I knew was inevitable.

Through it all, I don’t think I heard any of the questions being asked or the answers that may or may not have come in response. I simply stayed there until the man’s body shuddered and arched up one final time.

***

“If this president is amassing an army, there has to be a reason,” Felicia insisted.

I was at the table with Bob, Felicia, and a really sweet couple that were visiting members of another tribe. What I had discovered after the torture session was that a half a dozen tribes had sent people to this place for some sort of meeting. The word had started to spread that soldiers were coming and they were targeting individual tribes.

“We heard something outside of the Salt Lake Unified Zone that the Vegas Empire has sent ambassadors to the Native Confederacy,” Greg Carrick said. I noticed that he had whispered to his wife (or whatever she was supposed to be) before offering that bit of information.

“How long ago were you down that way?” Bob asked.

“Three months or so,” Ginger, his wife, said. (I noticed that she did not look at her husband before speaking.)

“So she is forcing people to join her?” I asked. The beauty of being alone was that I didn’t have to look at—or not look at—anybody before I spoke. “How loyal does she think this army that she is building could possibly be?”

“Considering the fact that she is holding family and loved ones hostage, I believe that she has little concern about that issue,” Felicia said.

I felt my face flush. My eyes met Felicia’s and I saw what she had just said—and in whose company—dawn on her. Everybody at the table had grown instantly silent.

“Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry,” Felicia said and grabbed my hand.

“It’s okay,” I lied.

It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. I had gotten my mother killed. However, I could already feel something burning inside me. I guess I had never actually experienced hatred before. I was certain that I was experiencing it now.

However, there was something else in my mind that I was having trouble with. All my life, I had a certain image of my mother—Meredith, not Mama Lindsay. I had been able to see how some people disliked my mother. I also saw that she was a very strong woman who did what she did without apology. She was strong. Many called her selfish.

One of the things that I had always warred with was the idea that I did not want people to see me as her. I wanted Mama Lindsay’s and Mama Janie’s influence to shine through. I spent much of my youth worrying about whether what I did or did not do would be seen a certain way.

One of the things that I had always had a problem with in regards to Meredith Gainey was the fact that, despite how much you read her book, you still never got to know her as a woman. Right now, I needed somebody to help me with what was going on in my mind. I wanted revenge. The problem with that was the fact that I was still very much aware of how my trip east had ended up: I had come to the conclusion that I was just one person. There was really nothing that I could do realistically against Dominique and her NAA. To be more specific, there was nothing that I could do by myself.

“If she is building an army, then maybe we should be doing the same thing,” I said.

The four people sitting around the table with me looked at me as if I had suddenly become one of the zombies. Greg’s wife, Ginger, actually made a face like she saw or smelt something offensive. I just stared back at them all with as little expression as I could manage.

What did these people think was going to happen? Did they believe that Dominique would simply go away? Or, was this a case of ‘it hasn’t happened to me yet, so I will just ignore it’? I think that might be part of why the zombies had been so successful. People were not willing or ready to do anything until it had a direct impact on them, and by then it was too late.

I thought of some of the things that I had learned from Mama Lindsay, and even from Jenifer long before she became president. Corridor 26 did not just spring up. It took a lot of work. There are stories about how the people who settled that area had to deal with zombies and raiders. The zombies are just the easiest to talk about and label as bad because they are an absolute. You know that none of the zombies will ever try to be your friend. With people, especially once there were so few, you wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. The problem with that was that there were a lot of really bad people walking around. I think more so in the early days than now. It was that initial surge of people reacting to having nobody telling them what they could and could not do.

From what I read in both my mother’s and my father’s journals, it was clear that there were some very bad people out there. However, there were plenty of the good sort. And I think the bad sort of helped take out the bad in many cases because, while you could find a group of basically good folks to work with and strive to create something with, the bad was probably always seeking to be in control. “Too many chiefs, not enough Indians” is what Mama Janie used to say when it appeared that everybody wanted to be in charge at the same time. I think too many bad people in one place was probably the best thing to happen. Each of them would get greedy or want to be the boss and that would lead to fights which would lead to dying. At least that is how I see it.

That is also how I believe that places like The Corridor have been so successful. That is why the Confederated Tribes have managed to take an entire state and secure it from invaders—dead or otherwise. These are what I believe to be the examples of people at their best. This is in a big contrast to what I saw when I made my journey up the Columbia Gorge. There are areas that are apparently known to be sort of like a ‘No-Man’s Land’ that people avoid if possible.

I never thought of Corridor 26 as some sort of bastion of goodness. It is just where I grew up…where I lived. My little journey opened my eyes a bit. However, this new development with Dominique (I refuse to call her president of anything) has me re-thinking my basic beliefs.

I grew up around people who had a ‘live and let live’ ideology. From what I read in history class, I guess we could almost be considered pacifists. But that is not entirely accurate because we had small clashes with tribes that might wander into our area and try to test our defenses for whatever reason. Also, we made regular excursions out to the wilderness. There were times when human-versus-human conflicts took place. It had become rare over the past several years, but it still happened.

However, there is a chapter from the early days that I think too many people might have forgotten. The Genesis Brotherhood was an extremist group that used religion as something twisted and evil. (I should clarify that I have no problem with religion, however, I believe that anything taken TO THE EXTREME is problematic.) My birth mother, Meredith Gainey, along with a few others went in and took those people out. Yes, there were casualties, but I believe that, if she were alive today, she would be one of the first people signing up to take down Dominique and her version of New America.

“Are you suggesting that we go to war?” Bob asked in regards to the statement that I had made seconds ago that had  caused silence to fall on our little table.

“Of course she isn’t,” Greg laughed.

“Actually, that is exactly what I am suggesting.”

Things got lively after that. I was on one side, and all four of them were on the other. I could understand Bob and Felicia; after all, they were Travelers. However, Greg and Ginger were part of a settled tribe. They had to know that the same fate I had witnessed and related that befell the Spartans would eventually be theirs as well.

It became clear that none of them would support this idea; however, Felicia said that perhaps it was worth bringing to the attention of the council. Personally, I could not believe that this had not already been discussed. I know that one of the core values we held at Sunset was that peaceful negotiation was always preferable to just going to war. Even in the EEF we were taught to try and negotiate if we were ever confronted. It was a big part of training. We even had mock encounters with people who were varying degrees of hostile.

As we left the tent to go look for these council leaders, I started to worry. The more time we spent talking, the more time Dominique had to openly conquer. I sure hoped that we would not be dragging this out too long.

***

“We need to keep order,” Ethan Lind spoke over the din rising from the crowd.

Ethan was a pretty non-descript man when you looked at him. But when he spoke, his voice carried. It was low, but not rumbling…and very powerful. He was somebody that you would forget you saw ten seconds after he walked by, but if he spoke, you would never forget his voice. And the rumor is that he can sing, too.

He is the leader of a tribe that camped close to the Sunset Fortress. His people had taken the name Apollos and could be spotted by the purple that you would find made up the majority of their garb. I had actually eaten dinner with him on more than one occasion when he was on business with Mama Lindsay or President Jenifer. He was the person that I had laid out my plan to after Felicia suggested that I bring it to this council.

Turns out that Ethan had been the person who sent messengers to as many tribes as he knew of to call this meeting. I was hoping for two things: first, that he would be receptive to my idea; and second, that he would be able to convince the others that it was worthwhile.

“You cannot actually believe that our options have been reduced to building an…army…” the woman spat out that word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “That would drag us down to her level. I say that this is a problem for the incorporated towns of the Corridor system. They are the ones who made agreements to supply so many people per year to that war machine in trade for supplies and from the NAA’s engineers when it came to building their walls. They have been shipping their children off for years. It is not our problem if the NAA has suddenly changed the deal on them. If you keep bees, you must expect to get stung.”

A chorus of “Here! Here!” and other stupid phrases of support were being shouted by the majority. It did not look to me like these people were willing to budge an inch despite the fact that, as I explained it to Ethan, he had seemed agreeable and presented it as a good idea to them. These people were living up to some of the stereotypes that people who lived in the Corridor had painted them with. One of the biggest being that the tribes in the area cared for nobody but themselves.

I had lived my life hearing those sorts of things. I had also heard that and worse when it came to Travelers, but after meeting Bob and Felicia, my attitude had definitely changed.

As the little council meeting went on, it was becoming clear that my plan was not going to be welcomed by these people. Then a woman stood up and walked to the front of the room. I recognized her right away. The woman from the Spartan tribe that I had helped escape.

“You people make me sick,” she spat as she turned to address the crowd.

Not exactly the approach that I would take if I wanted people to do something, but to each his or her own, I guess. I looked around the room and saw a lot of mouths hanging open.

“We have been saying for years that there could come a time when we might need to band together. Of course, we believed that the threat would come from the people in the Corridor wanting to expand, but the fact remains that we saw this coming. And now, my people have been scooped up by this lunatic. My children barely escaped because of this woman…”

I liked being called a woman. And I didn’t see the point in telling her that she would have been snatched up also due to her age. She was on a roll and I could see a few people starting to stare at the ground. She was using the good old motherly tactic of shame and guilt. Yay for her!

“…and if what I am hearing is true, this is just the beginning. You will all feel rather foolish if you return to your homes and end up suffering the fate that the people of the Corridor, people who have never done us any harm by the way, as well as several of the tribes in the area.”

She stood there for another few seconds and scanned the crowd of silent people who had just moments before been practically shouting down Ethan, one of their most respected leaders. I glanced over and was surprised to see Bob looking at his feet and Felicia picking at her fingernails like she had just found the most interesting thing under them.

“And if we did band together…what would you have us do then? Attack this NAA? They would slaughter us wholesale,” Greg Carrick stepped forward.

“Nobody said anything about meeting these people in a straight up fight. However, we have the advantage of knowing this place far better than she or her soldiers. We could set traps, perform ambushes. History is full of armies that were defeated by the locals. In fact, if you read up on the history of this country, I believe it was born out of just that sort of conflict,” the woman said with the air of somebody that was lecturing small children.

I knew what she was talking about. History was one of my favorite subjects in school. I guess, if you thought about it, this situation was not that much different. And, to coin a sports phrase that I had heard on more than one occasion in my life, we had “home field advantage.”

I desperately wanted to say something, but this woman was doing just fine without any help from me. A low murmur started as the people gathered began to whisper and mumble to one another. I noticed a few that were still holdouts—Greg and Ginger among them.

“If we do nothing, then it will be our own fault when we fall under this new tyranny that wishes to bend us to whatever plan this self-proclaimed president may have.”

I decided that maybe I had something worth offering and stepped forward again. “I know that none of you have any reason to trust me, I am an outsider. But I was there when my mother and the president of Sunset Fortress got the word about how Dominique assassinated the person who had been the president of New America. I know that under the former administration there were deals in place that asked for any community receiving help to offer up recruits for the NAA. But my mother told me that those recruits were voluntary. And at any time, a community could opt out of the deal. Assistance would cease, but we were within our rights to withdraw from the agreement.”

I was mostly telling the truth. I had learned that there was more to it than that. I had also learned that I had been kept out of the lottery that our community held to determine who was sent when the requests came, but that was my problem, not theirs.

“If you think that Dominique will simply stop,” I continued, “then you will be thinking that all the way up until she comes rolling in to your homes and scoops up all she sees as useful and uses the rest as hostages to ensure that those she captures will do her bidding.”

I shot a look at the woman and saw her lips curl in a little smile. She motioned for me to follow her and she walked out of the gathering. I had to pull my coat tight against the wind that was starting to whip up pretty fierce. I hate wind. I can deal with rain, snow, or hot sun, but wind serves no purpose in my opinion other than to make a person miserable.

I took a moment to get a better look at her now that we weren’t running for our lives. She had a pretty face, but there were lines etched in it from hard living. Her hair was dark, almost black, and her eyes were a deep brown that still seemed to sparkle despite how darkly colored they were. She was a little taller than me now that I got a better look at her, and even dressed in furs and heavy clothing, you could tell she was stout; not fat, but sturdy…that was the word that came to mind when I looked at her—sturdy.

“You really Snoe Gainey?” the woman asked once we were alone.

I sighed. That was not what I wanted to talk about…not how I wanted to be known. I had given up long ago on the notion that I would ever be treated like a normal person in the Corridor. I guess I was hoping that it wouldn’t be as bad around the tribes.

“Yes.”

“I bet you get really tired of that question,” the woman said with a smile.

“You might say that.”

“Well, the only reason that I know is because I overheard some of what went on during the interrogation. I don’t imagine too many others have a clue.”

“I guess I was hoping that I could be someplace where nobody knew who I was…or more importantly, who my parents were.”

“A lot of people would trade places with you in a heartbeat,” the woman said. I could hear just a hint of something in her voice. It wasn’t like she was scolding me, but she had something on her mind.

“So is this what you wanted to ask me?” I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on how great it must be to have such famous parents. I have no idea why people think that sort of thing has any meaning. If anything, it puts a lot of pressure on the child to live up to some mythological idea that outsiders have no clue about.

“Actually, what I wanted to do was thank you.” The woman seemed content to change the subject. “I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. You saved my children from a life that I shudder just thinking about.”

“Yeah…” I decided that maybe she should know that it wasn’t just her children on the line. “Well, according to the orders we were given, you would have been taken as well.”

The woman nodded, no look of surprise crossed her face. “Yes, well, if Dominique is really building an army, then I imagine that she has need of any able-bodied person that she can scrape up. I just wish I knew what she really had in mind.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I wasn’t really interested in trying to guess what Dominique’s plan might be. All I wanted to do was stop her…permanently.

“Sure.”

“You now my name, but I have no idea who you are. Do I just call you lady?”

The woman actually blushed. Her face turned a bright red and the smile on her face was priceless.

“I am so sorry.” Hearing her stammer and sound all flustered just did not seem right. I could tell that this woman was usually very much in control. “My name is Mary…Mary Turner. I feel like such a doofus.”

If seeing her blush was odd, hearing her say the word ‘doofus’ was even more peculiar. There was something about this woman, all the way down to the way that she spoke, that told you she was a smart, strong individual. In many ways, she was what I hoped to be. And then it hit me…she reminded me of Mama Lindsay…only about ten years younger.

“Nice to meet you, Mary Turner,” I said.

***

“So, it seems that the council has agreed to send runners to other tribes. We are going as far south as the 205 Corridor, as far east as West Hill summit and north to the Columbia,” Ethan said.

Sitting around a long table were the leaders of each of the tribes currently present, as well as Bob Hall, Mary Turner, me, and that creepy little man from the interrogation. I still hadn’t gotten his name yet, and I had no desire to ask. Every time I glanced his direction, it seemed like he was looking at me. No…to be realistic, he was staring. I began to wonder if he ever blinked. I started to feel real icky.

“And how long will that take?” Mary Turner asked.

“Hopefully no more than a week or two,” Ethan said.

I looked around the table at everybody. They were all nodding. That had me wondering, how much actual travelling around did these people do? Things happen out in the wilderness. Setting a time like a week? I had made the trip to the 205 Corridor and it could take longer without a doubt.

“You have a problem, Snoe?” Ethan asked.

“Huh?” I never had been any good at hiding my feelings. “I just wondered how much moving around you folks do?” I said it as flat as possible. I didn’t want to make them think I was some sort of expert. After all, I had only made a couple of runs. The time I went off by myself had been a failure. Still, they seemed a bit too optimistic with their time frame.

“We travel between tribal territories quite often,” Ethan said with his eyebrow raised just slightly. Perhaps I had not come off as casual as I had hoped. “We do things a little different than people from the Corridor. You are always looking out for possible supplies, and you tend to engage every walker you find. Our people stay out of sight and only travel in pairs. That allows us to move through areas that your wagons and such do not.”

He wasn’t snotty about it, but I heard a little something in his voice that made me bristle. Maybe I was just being defensive, but to me, all this talking was not getting us anywhere. If these people did not act and act soon, Dominique would roll over them all before they knew what hit them.

“Perhaps what my friend here is trying to say is that, while we wait, maybe some preparations should begin,” Mary spoke. I gave her a sideways glance and wondered if she could read minds.

“That is reasonable,” Ethan agreed. “I will send word that all capable defenders will need to assemble.”

“And where would you have them assemble?” Mary asked.

“There is an airfield about three miles from here,” Ethan said. “Some of the hangars are still standing. I think that might do.”

“I would also suggest that you put some eyes on Warehouse City.” Mary said it like a suggestion, but you could tell that there was very little doubt she expected it to be done immediately.

Finally, the meeting was over. A few more things were tossed around, and there was still a bit of grumbling from a few of the tribal leaders who believed that maybe the best move would be to run for the hills. They were a minority, though. I could see a new sense of urgency now that Mary had shared what happened to her people.

I headed out, intent on following Bob and having my evening meal with him and Felicia. Mary caught me by the elbow and steered me away with a curt nod to Bob. He looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it. I was really starting to wonder about Mary. Everybody treated her different…almost like they were afraid of her.

“You don’t do a very good job of hiding your feelings,” she said once we were alone and walking down a path that I would have never seen if she hadn’t led me to it.

“Never really had to,” I answered with a shrug.

“Yes, well when you are dealing with people who make the decisions for groups, there is more to it than just stating your piece. You have to learn how to ask for what you want in such a way that makes them want to give it to you.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what she was talking about.

“And when you deal with men, especially older men, you have to let them think that they are doing something for you.” She really stressed the word ‘for’ in her statement like it had a special meaning. Unfortunately, I was just not catching on.

“Like now,” Mary laughed. “You look like somebody just asked you how to fly an airplane. You have to learn how to keep what is on your mind from showing on your face.”

“Is that why Ethan got so touchy?” I asked.

“Considering that you were looking at him like he was a total idiot? Yeah, I would say that might have something to do with his reaction.”

I gave what I was about to say some careful thought. I decided that it wouldn’t hurt.

“So why does everybody act weird around you? Almost like they are afraid of you.”

Mary stopped walking. She looked at me and her eyes sort of clouded over. Not like she was going to cry or anything, but more like she was remembering something and reliving it at the same instant.

“I met your mother.”

Those four words hung in the air for quite a while. I wanted her to say more, but I didn’t want to push. I could see a few things on Mary’s face…and one of them almost looked like shame or embarrassment.

“I was travelling down south for a while with several other girls. A few of us had escaped from some very bad men. We sort of took it on ourselves to make them pay. Only, after them there were others…”

As I listened, I instantly remembered the entry from my mom’s journal. She and Greyfeather had found this group of girls while heading south towards Las Vegas. They had a guy that they were “dealing with” when Meredith found them. I tried to picture this woman involved in that sort of thing and it just didn’t fit. I guess people can change over time. However, if this was common knowledge, no wonder folks gave her so much space.

After she finished speaking, I just stood there quietly. Seriously, I didn’t really have anything to say. She was talking about something from almost twenty years ago for one thing; and for another, it didn’t really have anything to do with me.

***

The next few days went by with very little going on. Scouts from the area reported that two more tribes had been hit and that there was nobody left behind. One of the tribes that got raided by Dominique’s forces apparently ran into some resistance and I guess they decided to hang every single person—including women and children—to send some sort of message.

A huge sign was posted in the center of what used to be the village that read:

Attention!

All tribes are officially notified here with this posting that any further resistance will be met with your execution. Spread the word (we know that you have been watching us) that any tribe within five miles that does not surrender at Warehouse City within one month will be seen as an enemy combatant. You have been warned.

Posted under the authority of President DuBois
by Major James Carson

The word spread quickly through camp and renewed the argument of what should be done. While they were busy fighting and arguing, I had managed to locate a map. I started plotting the camps that were known to have been hit. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.

I grabbed my map and walked in to the tent where the latest meeting was taking place. There were a lot more people in favor of banding together and dealing with this threat now that it looked like Dominique was escalating the action.

The most vocal in opposition was Greg and Ginger. I didn’t know what their deal was, but they were really starting to annoy me. After all, how much clearer did things really need to be?

I waited for my chance to speak and stepped up to be recognized. Ethan waved me forward and I climbed up onto the little makeshift stage beside him with my map.

“We need to relocate our meeting or we are all going to be captured or killed.” I probably could have opened with something less dramatic.

I held up the map and explained that Dominique’s forces where spiraling out from Warehouse City. They didn’t seem to actually know where the tribes were located, they were simply discovering them—most likely with a small team of scouts—and acting accordingly. My guess was that tribes were located and scouted, and then this Major Carson would decide on the size of the force needed to go in and do the job.

I was able to show what—at least to me—looked like a very obvious spiral that would eventually reach us. And if my guess was correct, the scouts would discover us very soon…if they hadn’t already.

That seemed to get everybody’s attention. A new round of shouting and arguing began. I was not in the mood to hang around for it. I didn’t understand what there was to discuss. It was clear to me what was happening. I was not going to just sit and wait for those people to storm in here and take us. I had a feeling that, as bad as my first experience with Dominique had been, getting captured would be a death sentence for me.

I went to the little tent that I was sharing with Bob and Felicia. If I had to act alone, then so be it. I was sick of waiting…sick of talking…and sick of hearing people talk. My mother, Mama Lindsay was dead along with my friend Phaedra and so many other people that I knew. If I was going to die, it would be doing something…not talking about doing something.

I had all my stuff, not that there was much, loaded into my little knapsack. I had a machete that Bob had given me and a nifty set of throwing knives from Mary. I would have loved to have a crossbow, but nobody was giving theirs up and since these people were all away from their homes, it wasn’t like anybody was carrying spares.

I turned to leave and found myself almost colliding with that creepy guy who I first met during the torture of that one NAA soldier. I hadn’t heard him come in, so I had to wonder how long he had been standing there. The fact that he made no move to step one way or the other when I practically ran into him was a bit annoying. I waited for a moment to see if he would move out from blocking the exit. When he didn’t, I scowled at him and moved to the left. He moved with me.

“Going someplace, Miss Gainey?” he asked in a voice that made think that, if a snake could talk, this is what it would sound like.

“It really isn’t any of your business,” I snapped and moved to the right.

He moved with me again, blocking my path. “Actually, it is. You see, I am one of the people responsible for the safety and security of the tribes in this region. It seems that your presence is something that this President DuBois requires. I have been assured that if I can somehow make that happen, that the tribes in this area will be left unharmed.”

“And you think that anything she says is true? You think that if she has me she will just decide that whatever reason she holds for doing what she has been doing will magically go away?” I retorted.

I was doing a couple of things. First, I was stalling. All I needed was anybody to show up and this would be over and done before whatever plan was swirling around in this man’s mind could be enacted. Second, I had a sneaking suspicion about this weasel of a man—whose name I still did not know.

“Absolutely not,” the man made a sound that I had to assume was a laugh. “However, if I deliver you to her, then it will secure a place for me in her hierarchy. The tribes are finished. They have no ability to stand up to the force that the NAA wields. Most of these people are little more than farmers and scavengers. They have managed to survive as long as they have by running and hiding. How would you think even for a minute that they could make a stand against a real army?”

“So you snatch me, turn me over, and then become some sort of pet, able to torture freely without worrying about judgment, without having to pull yourself in before somebody sees that you enjoy what you do?”

I was really hoping that somebody would show up right about now. I could see the look in this man’s eyes, and something told me that he had already been in contact with Dominique…and that she might have already told him who his first victim would be.

“If you scream, I will simply kill you here and now,” the man said. To emphasize his point, he let his hand come out from under his fur cloak to reveal the pistol-sized crossbow. He must have noticed me looking past him while I was hoping for help. “It won’t be nearly as much fun, but the results will be basically the same.”

I wouldn’t have to scream. I saw a shadow moving behind him. What I needed to do was keep my eyes on him and try to keep my face calm. Ever since Mary had pointed it out to me, I had practiced, but I didn’t really know if I was making progress or not; now would be a good time to discover that I was.

The tent flap parted and in stepped Greg Carrick. He looked at me and then shot a curious glance at my would-be captor.

“For crying out loud, Spujt (it sounded like ‘spewt’), are you gonna grab her or not, that stupid meeting won’t go on forever.”

When Greg started to chuckle, I realized that my mouth was open. So much for keeping things off my face.

“You thought that I was somebody who was going to rescue you or keep Spujter (that sounded like ‘spewter’) here from hauling your skinny butt to Dominique,” Greg said.

I would have no chance if I didn’t act right away. The odds were already against me, but if I did nothing, I was a goner.

My mind went through the possibilities. I knew that the moment I reached for a weapon, I would take a bolt, and by the looks of it, there was something coating the tip. It was either poison, or something to knock me out. Either way, that was bad.

I decided that I had one option. I was pretty certain that they had already underestimated me because of my size. I would need to make this count.

Bringing up my knee, I caught Spujt in the groin. He scowled, but the effect was not nearly what I had hoped. When he came back with a backhand across my face, I ended up being the one stunned.

“You screwed up, girlie,” Greg snorted. “Old Spujter hates being reminded of what he lost.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. Apparently I was doomed to a life of not being able to hide my thoughts or feelings because Greg chuckled.

“Spujt is a eunuch.”

I had no idea what that was, and I would not be having any time to think on it because Spujt the Eunuch fired his crossbow. The bolt caught me in the shoulder and whatever was in the tip worked fast. There was a terrible burning sensation, and then everything went wobbly. I tried to scream because I figured that, if I was going to die, I wanted these jerks to go with me. Unfortunately, the only thing that came out was a pathetic squeak…or at least that is what it sounded like in my ears. The very last thing that I remember is Greg stepping over to me. Looking up at him, he suddenly seemed much bigger. Then, almost like in slow motion, his fist was coming at my face. Slow or fast, there was no way that I could move to avoid it. There was a bright flash….

***

“Snoe?” a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

“Mom?” I managed around cracked lips and the taste of salty copper wire.

I felt something press up against my lips. My thirst was stronger than my aversion to pain. I drank greedily and tried my best to ignore the way my mouth felt like it was being ground up under lava rocks.

I opened my eyes and the light came through the slits and went straight to the pain center of my brain. I might have cried out, but I was certain that I shut my eyes and vowed never to open them again.

“Hang something over that opening,” the female voice snapped.

“Snoe, I need you to try and sit up,” the female voice that I was now certain was not my mother said.

My mother.

And then it came back. My mother was dead. She had been hung after my escape. At the thought of the word ‘escape’ I felt a new sensation start to build. My mind was insisting that I needed to escape, but I could not yet recall from who or what.

I felt a hand slip behind my back and ease me to a sitting position. As soon as I was upright, I promptly threw up all over myself—and judging by the way I suddenly had no hand supporting me behind my back, the person beside me as well.

“Oh, my goodness,” a new voice said. I heard sounds of people gagging just a bit.

Say what you want about the fact that we live in a world where the dead walk and you can see what was once a human being wandering around with its insides hanging out, but be around a person who throws up and it still makes the gorge rise.

Some fuzzy bits of memory started to return, slowly at first. And then it came in a rush. I cried out and forced my eyes open against the pain, uncertain of what I would see, or where I might be.

“Easy, baby.” Felicia moved up close beside me with a wet rag and began wiping at my mouth.

Mary was just behind her and currently engaged in wiping off her own self, answering the question of who it had been that was standing beside me when I got sick. Two other women were in the room, but I didn’t recognize either one.

Looking around, I was in a tent of some sort. It was pretty big. In fact, it looked almost as large as the house that Mama Lindsay and I lived in back at Sunset Fortress. There was a fire pit nearby that was making it toasty; which was good considering the fact that I was now being stripped of my sick-fouled clothing.

“They came to get me,” I whispered.

“Yes,” Mary said with a flat tone. “Well, lucky for you that I was not about to let you go traipsing off on your own and had come to speak with you about your foolish notions of taking off after Dominique by yourself. I arrived as Eric Spujt, Greg Carrick, and his wife were bundling you up. They had a wagon just outside of the camp.”

“They were going to give me over to Dominique and join her.” I was remembering out loud.

“Yes, and they were also apparently feeding information to the NAA. Greg and Eric were not talkative, but Ginger was fairly easy to break,” Felicia said with a nastiness that I had never heard from her before.

“We broke up the meeting and relocated to a new location about ten hours ahead of the NAA force that was apparently coming for us. It seems that the idea was to take down the leadership and snuff any threat to resistance before it began. All they managed to do was solidify the resolve of those of us who were already set against them and to bring in all those who had remained on the fence.”

“Wait…I am a little behind,” I managed. My own voice seemed to echo in my head, and each echo brought a thudding blast of pain.

“We are at war,” Mary said matter-of-factly.

***

As runners from all around the area started to pour in, the moods began to change just a bit. There was a tension in every face that had not been there before. People were scared.

I was with Mary, Bob, and Felicia in a tribal village. The people called themselves Grizzlies. Their chief (or whatever the leader calls him or herself) wore a headdress made from an actual grizzly bear! Around his neck, what there is of it, hangs a necklace of claws. Everybody here wears these heavy fur cloaks. I asked Bob and he said that not all tribes go to such extremes, but some really have adopted their mascot into the tribal identity. At first I thought it was kind of silly. However, as I have come to know these people, it has grown on me.

Word came in this morning that we will begin conducting raids on the NAA. I guess three more villages have met with the same terrible fate as the one where the notice was posted. No more notes, though. I guess the time for talking is over.

I am feeling better. Whatever was on that dart had me sick for a few days, and I kept having the strangest dreams. Mary checked me out pretty intensely before giving me the green light to join the team on the first raid.

***

There were twelve of us on the mission. We cut through some dense forest; the entire first day was uphill. By nightfall, we were seeing snow on the ground. The plan was to hit a large group of NAA soldiers that were on the way back from raiding a village.

Funny thing, though. Their intel was faulty and the village was actually abandoned. During Ginger’s interrogation it was discovered that they had a certain place to leave information for Dominique and the NAA.

Nobody was foolish enough to believe that they would not acquire other assets, or that Eric Spujt and Greg might be their only ones. We were really just sending a message that this particular well had gone dry.

As morning broke, we set up in these trees that gave us a perfect view down to the trail that the NAA would be using to return to Warehouse City. All of us were in position with crossbows. Also, a series of traps had been rigged.

The arrival of the soldiers was announced with a loud snap and thud as a trip line was triggered that sent a pine log swinging down into their path. The first few soldiers were practically shattered by the force of the blow and flew back into the others. A whistle sounded signaling for us to open fire.

This is where my life changed.

I sighted in on the first soldier I could and felt my finger tighten on the trigger…but I couldn’t fire. Not at first. However, as I looked through the scope, I saw another of my comrades have no such qualms. A bolt caught the NAA soldier in the chest and sent him sprawling.

I shook off the queasy feeling that was trying to take hold and found another soldier. By now, it was chaos. People were yelling and screaming. It was a rout. The NAA soldiers were on the run. That caused several of them to trigger the traps that were put in place for them further down the trail. The one I found was running away, presenting me with a big target of that person’s back.

Once again I felt my finger tighten almost to the point of firing, but I just could not make myself apply that extra little bit that would send a bolt into the body of a living being. Then, in a flash, I pictured Mama Lindsay. I felt my throat close as my mouth went dry, and my heart seemed to be squeezed by a giant fist.

I pulled the trigger.

***

That moment has played a million times in my head since then. It was made more vivid by the fact that the person chose that exact and inopportune moment to look back. I saw his face as clearly as if he were standing directly in front of me. It is a face that I see every single time that I close my eyes. And it is the face that I have seen on every person since that day when I must take the life of another human being.

***

We returned to the Grizzly tribe’s camp the next day. Our messenger went to report of our success.

Within two days, Ethan sent runners to us and all the other tribes in the area that scouts were seeing an increase in activity within the grounds of Warehouse City.

Over the next several days, other tribes were engaged in the same sort of activity as we had; with varying results. There was only one instance where things went poorly for one of the tribal ambush teams.

The one survivor said that it was clear right away that they were expected. That meant there was already a leak somewhere. That knowledge served to ramp up the paranoia.

One of my history classes taught about the witch trials in a place called Salem, Massachusetts. From what I recall, the people in that town could and did make accusations just to get rid of somebody that they did not like.

When the first accusation came in the Grizzly camp, I guess I should have seen it coming. After all, I was the new person…the outsider. At that point, nobody in the tribe with the exception of Felicia, Bob, and Mary knew who I really was. The fact that my name was Snoe was no big deal. Lots of people in the Corridor were named Snoe, Meredith, and Sam.

It was a short process, and eventually it was decided that the accusation was false. It seemed that some girl thought that I was spending too much time with her boyfriend. The fact that we were assigned on the same patrol on three different occasions was apparently enough for her to suspect that he and I were a thing. The problem was that I actually did not even know the guy by name.

On five occasions over the next few months, word was sent from other tribes that actual traitors had been uncovered. The worst was when one of the people who was supposedly a member of Ethan’s staff, and also a longtime friend, was discovered. His excuse was that a family member was being held at Warehouse City. Ethan had him executed.

It was almost a month later when Ethan sent the word out to all tribes. We would be assembling in the ruins of a stadium. The rumor was that we would be preparing for something along the lines of a major attack. That caused a lot of concern. The reality was that, while we had done well in harassing the NAA, we had sabotaged the rail system that they used to transport people east for whatever they were planning and all but eliminated their supply of recruits, we could not hope to face them in a stand up fight.

However, we had expected Dominique to leave long ago, yet she remained at Warehouse City for whatever reason. Ethan had made up his mind that we would not be rid of her unless we burned her out of Warehouse City and forced her to move.

By then, I had taken the lives of eleven men and women. I kept track on the butt of my crossbow. I could still remember each face more or less. I was still (and believe I will always be) haunted by the face of that first kill.

When I heard the plan, I began making my own. I knew that a part of me would never find peace until Dominique was dead. The thing was, I now realized that I would not have been able to kill her in those first months. I did not have the stomach for it. Now that this little campaign was almost a half a year old, I still did not enjoy killing living people, but I knew that I was able.

I had a feeling deep down that, once this newest little plan of Ethan’s was put into play, the time would come. Dominique and I were on a collision course and only one of us would be able to survive the outcome.

I was packing my bag when Mary, Felicia, and Bob came into the tent. In their hands was a small package. Mary handed it to me.

“With everything that is about to happen, we thought it was only fitting that you have this,” Mary said.

“After all,” Bob had a smile on his face as I began to tear away the wrapping, “somebody is going to need to keep account of what happens these next few days or weeks. I have a feeling history is going to be made.”

Inside the package was a pair of worn-looking, leather bound books. The pages were blank.

Monday, March 1st

Today we set out on what will be an event that many believe will decide the fate and history of every person for hundreds of miles. I tried my best to find another way to put this because I did not want to over-dramatize things, but that really is the general feeling.

So, the plan (at least as much as I feel comfortable sharing here…just in case) is that there will be several teams of ten. We will be spread out in an arc around Warehouse City and at a specific time on a specific day, we will be hitting the city en masse.

In the meantime, we have been told to act independently and make as much trouble for Dominique and her people as possible. I wonder if anybody else managed to be as unlucky as we did today.

So, my group consists of me (obviously), Mary, Bob, Felicia, and six others. Of that six, I have only really spoken with one of them. Her name is Selina Madison. She has no idea who I am and didn’t even bat an eye when the team was introducing themselves to each other and I said my name. The other five were a mixture of raised eyebrows and curious looks. I have seen both enough in my life to know that they were wondering if I might be “that” Snoe.

Selina has beautiful skin, but the roughest, most calloused hands that I have ever seen or felt in my life. Her blonde hair is barely longer than a crew-cut and she is missing one of her upper front teeth. Now, after all that you might be wondering if she is scary. Actually, she has a very round and pretty face with such bright blue eyes that they almost look like they aren’t real, and the cutest little nose ever.

Since Selina didn’t react, I teamed up with her for the first leg of the trip today as the advance scout. We were on a crumbling overpass when I saw several black-uniformed people leading a group that were attached to a long length of chain. Each of the prisoners was manacled and cuffed.

I kept my eye on the procession while Selina went back and told the others. I half-expected everybody to decide to just let them pass untouched. After all, there were at least forty soldiers acting as escort. When the word came from Bob that we had to at least try, I was almost as scared as I was excited.

We moved around and put ourselves in a position that would intercept them because we had to assume that they were headed for Warehouse City. When almost an hour passed without any sign of them, Bob told us all to stay put while he went to check out the situation. When he returned, I knew the news was bad.

It seems that Dominique has put her rail system to use. That has me wondering what else might be going on inside Warehouse City. Bob said that there was signs of activity near the train tracks just beyond the ridge that we were set up and waiting to unleash our ambush from.

We don’t have anything that would allow us to do any significant damage to the rails. I felt terrible because we did nothing. While it is obvious that any sort of open and unplanned attack would end badly for us, I still feel like I let those people down.

If the people are still being shipped to Irony, they are still so far away that it is unlikely we will ever be able to help them. If they have been sent even further—that place called NORAD for instance—it is a certainty. That might as well be on the moon.

Tonight, as we make camp, I wonder if we are simply outmatched and wasting our time.

Tuesday, March 2nd

A light rain fell most of the day. We ran into a scouting party that was hiding out in a huge ruined warehouse. They were quite helpful. We have learned (from the one survivor that Mary and Bob questioned) that Dominique is preparing to leave. It seems that she is satisfied with her work here.

We also discovered exactly what she is gearing up for.

One of the most common ideas thrown around was that perhaps she was putting herself in position to take Vegas. That is part of it. But she has an even bigger goal in sight. It seems that she wants to take down the Confederated Tribes.

She wants Oklahoma.

I asked Bob how he could be so sure that the person he questioned was not just feeding us bad information to throw us off. He made a face and glanced at Mary. She ended up being the one to answer.

“He was given the choice of a quick death or being castrated and left staked to the ground for the walkers,” Mary said.

I didn’t ask if they would have really done such a thing. Mostly because I didn’t want to know. After all, we are supposed to be the “good” guys. Right?

Wednesday, March 3rd

Selina and I have taken a position just about a half mile away from where Bob and Mary had chosen to make camp. It allows us a perfect view down into Warehouse City.

I really have nobody but myself to blame.

When we reached the spot where Bob said Ethan had indicated that we wait, he asked for volunteers to go over the ridge and keep watch on Warehouse City. Since I was still a little bothered by what Mary and Bob had done to gather information, I volunteered. Selina was right there beside me.

We found a great spot in some lush pines and set up. I took a look to see if I could spot anything worth noting. My mother is still hanging from the gallows. The worst part was that I really had to focus in on her to recognize her. It looks like hanging was only part of the punishment dealt out by what I now consider one of the most evil people to ever exist.

I don’t know how long I sat there and stared at the beaten, disfigured body of Mama Lindsay, but it was apparently a while because eventually Selina had to pull on my arm to get my attention. A handful of walkers were close enough to be a concern. After we dealt with them, Selina asked me what I had seen down in Warehouse City that was so hypnotizing.

I told her. But once I started talking, I guess I just kept going. I really never noticed that she dug the hole and built a covered fire, or that she made us a dinner of some bird that she had killed. (At least I think it was a bird.)

I told her about my real mother and father. And when it was all over, she sat quietly for a few moments until eventually telling me that she had lived with just her father until about a month ago. She had no idea who I was and had never heard of my parents! She said that she overheard plenty of people talking about me, but she just never realized why. After hearing me rattle on for so long, she said that she thought it was neat that I was taking after my real parents by keeping a journal. And then she asked if I could teach her to read!

I guess it never occurred to me that a person could live their life and not know how to read. However, I also never really gave any thought to the idea that besides the small tribes, there were also still loners out there that did their own thing. I imagine that school is probably not on the list of priorities for some folks.

Anyways, I promised Selina that I would teach her to read as soon as we got done with this. She seems pretty excited about it.

So, after I had spent all that time spilling my guts, I had to ask her about her life. I almost felt guilty about every gripe or complaint that I have ever made in my life after hearing her story.

Selina and her family have lived almost like Travelers, but they actually have a big circuit that they travel according to the seasons. All her life she has been a farmer. She didn’t even know what a zombie was until she was almost ten years old!

To me, that is just amazing.

She was the youngest and had five older brothers. I guess they were doing their best to bring her up without having to deal with the undead. I’m not sure why, and she says that she never got a straight answer out of anybody.

For her, it all came to an end one night after she got into trouble. She was punished and did what I bet most of us have done as children—she ran away.

She was hiding in a barn when what she thought might be one of her brothers came in…it wasn’t. She peeked up from the stall she was hiding in and figured that the thing caught a glimpse of her. It got to her stall and she said that, because of the shadows, she could not actually see the face of the “person” who stopped and tried to reach for her over the gate.

She started screaming. The youngest of her older brothers must have been close because he was there in seconds. She was initially horrified when her brother used his field machete to split what she thought was just some mean person’s skull open.

I guess for Selina, that day was probably very much like how the rest of the world felt back when my mother and father were around. It just seems so odd. For me, zombies have just always been there. I have no part of my life where they did not exist.

However, Selina’s story grew very sad in the end and I feel that it is not my place to put her private life here in these pages. What I will say is that a person she trusted very much hurt her deeply.

As strange as it seems, I think she and I will be friends forever. She is the first person that I have ever met that I can be absolutely sure does not care anything about my past. She likes me for the person she is sitting beside.

Thursday, March 4th

In camp today, something must have happened while Selina and I took that first day of sentry duty. One of the members of our group is gone and nobody seems to want to talk about it. It can’t be something as simple as zombies because that would not be a reason for all the silence and the generally bad feelings I am picking up.

Also, Mary has a black eye.

Friday, March 5th

Not much going on, but we are moving our camp so that we are now set up over the ridge looking down into Warehouse City. There has been a lot of activity and one of the back-up plans made allowances for a situation that looks like Dominique could be departing.

I would say that an entire day of executions (I doubt there are any survivors of Warehouse City left that were not drafted and/or sent away on one of the trains) is a good sign that something is coming to a head down there.

We have spotted Dominique on several different occasions as she is apparently preparing for departure. If she gets on that train—the one with her fancy travel car has never moved as far as I or anyone else knows—then the battle will begin.

Monday, March 8th

On the road and it looks like we lost our chance at Dominique! She left in the middle of the night when we couldn’t see anything.

I told them when the city went dark that she would make her break for it. My group all stood around and argued. At least some of the others saw this for what it was and made the effort. Sadly, it ended in disaster for many.

It was late Friday night/early Saturday morning when the sound of the train (which had been running or idling or whatever it is that trains do when the engine is up, but they aren’t moving for the past two days) pulling out could be heard. At first, there was a series of loud bangs. Mary said that was all the cars linked together coming to a state of tension where the couplings are located.

I started getting ready to head down the hill, but it was Bob who told us to stay put. He insisted that it could be anything…a trap. Of all the people that I figured would fail me, he was not one of them.

When the sound changed and it was obviously the train pulling out, I had enough of the talking and decided that I was going—even if that meant by myself. I was halfway down the hill when I heard the sounds of fighting from the general direction of the blacked out Warehouse City.

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, the train was gone, but I had something that I had to do. I did not realize until they both reached in and helped ease down Mama Lindsay’s body that Mary and Selina were at my side.

I cut Mama Lindsay down from the gallows and, with help, wrapped her up. Since Warehouse City is completely wiped out, I doubt anybody will disturb her body. We placed it in a small room in one of the old warehouses that are still in place and were used for quarantine stations. It is unlikely that anybody would disturb this section even if survivors of the city that may have escaped somehow begin to return. I hope to someday return and collect her body. If possible, I will take her to Sunset and bury her next to the memorial marker for Mama Janie.

The NAA had gone; I guess a very small group was left behind to act as a diversion while the train left. The smell of death was thick in the air as morning broke. Unfortunately, most of that stench comes from all those (the old and apparently unfit for duty) who were executed prior to Dominique’s departure.

When dawn did break, people were still trickling down from the surrounding hills. So much for this grand plan of Ethan’s; it was a failure.

I came to the realization that perhaps I was not seeing things clearly. I had a stake in this because my mother and many of the people I knew had been taken…or killed. These tribes were all individual groups. They had survived as long as they did by living on the fringe and NOT belonging to anything. Most of them were between ten or twenty people. Three families was about the max. They engaged in things like arranged marriages and all sorts of ideas that were foreign to me.

In the end, they dragged their feet and stalled until the threat of danger was gone. All the talk about standing and fighting was bluster. As I walked around the ruins of Warehouse City that morning, I could hear different people making claims as to who had done what to “drive the enemy out” and other equally ridiculous claims.

Now that the threat was gone, those who had spoken were acting as if they had actually done something. All they had really done was stay hidden well enough to not be found and taken.

Even Bob and Felicia had proved to be a disappointment. They were Travelers. Nothing more. When it came down to it, they had no stake in this.

As the bones of Warehouse City were being picked clean, I equipped myself for what I have to assume will be my last journey. I went through the EEF checklist in my head as I gathered what I would need. Like ghosts, Mary and Selina followed.

By late in the morning, I was ready to go, but first I had to confront Ethan and his circle. I was hardly surprised to discover them in what had once served as a council chamber for the leaders of Warehouse City. There was a great deal of self-congratulatory nonsense being spoken as I walked in the room.

“Cowards!”

That was how I began. The rest is more or less as I remember it. (Mary and Selina have read over my shoulder during this entry and helped with a few points to make this as accurate of an account as I can relate.)

Every head turned to me as I walked through the door. A few of these people had their feet up on the table. Everybody seemed to be making themselves feel right at home.

“Little girl,” Ethan said with a scowl, “our efforts have driven this Dominique DuBois and her New American Army from our territory. We embarked on a campaign that the history books will remember as fierce.”

“The history books will mark you as cowards who simply waited in your holes until the wolf decided it was done hunting!” I slammed the two books I’d been given on the table for emphasis.

“I may not be my mother…or my father…but I will promise you that this record will show you for what you really are. You were all talk. You had no intention of doing anything to Dominique. It was all for show!

“The people that you call your tribes are nothing more than a few family members and the only interest you wanted to protect was your own. Now you all strut around like you have done something. All you did was watch and wait until she was gone. And now you strut like roosters that chased off a fox…but the fox left with all the chickens in his mouth that he wanted.

“Well I am going after Dominique. I may not be able to stop her army, but if I can kill her, it will cut the head off of this monster before it can do any more harm. If I fail…you may not know it right away. But when she returns at the head of a column of soldiers bent on destroying everything in its path…that will be sign enough.

“But if I succeed…it is me that will return. And I will rebuild Sunset if I have to do it alone and with my bare hands. Then…I will repair the Corridor. And I promise you this…no tribe will ever set foot inside the walls again except to surrender.”

At first they all stared at me with open mouths. Then…slowly…they started to laugh. I heard it all the way down the hall as I left and exited Warehouse City. My ears burned with a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and something else…resolve.

No, I don’t plan on becoming the next Dominique. I’m not going to assassinate her and then assert myself as the president or anything like that.

I will kill her or die trying, then I will return to my home. As far as I am concerned, the tribes are like the grasshopper in that old bedtime story about the ant and the grasshopper. They are happy to sit back and let others do for them. That is fine, but I do not think that they fully realize how much they relied on the people of the Corridor.

We were their trading post. They came for miles and brought their goods to trade with us and each other. None of them were so self-sufficient that they did not need a little something from us. And that was really it…

Us.

To the tribes, if you are not actually a member, then you are an outsider; even if you are a member of another tribe. That is why they all have those ridiculous names.

Inside the walls of the Corridor, it didn’t matter if you were from Warehouse City, Sunset Fortress, or simply one of the people who settled down its length, you were part of a greater whole. That is why we sent the EEF out there to help others prepare settlements. That is why we had regular meetings with the people of the Confederated Tribes.

The people of the Corridor may not have been perfect…but then, who is? However, we did not turn our back on the world.

So, we left Warehouse City. I was surprised at who was walking beside me as I headed down the tracks in pursuit of Dominique. If you would have asked me a few weeks ago, I would have sworn it would be Bob and Felicia. I guess I should have known before when I first surrendered. That might sound unfair, after all, I was walking down into an occupied city and giving myself over because they had my mother. But the signs were there and I chose to believe that they were like people I grew up around.

One of the things that I am counting on is the fact that we did sabotage several points along the railway. Nothing that is not repairable; we didn’t have anything that allowed us to be too intricate. It was mostly prying a piece off here or there—by the way, that is much more difficult than you may think if you have never tried it yourself.

When the first day came to an end, I was making a fire. Selina came to me and I could tell that she had something on her mind. I knew it could not be something mundane like her wanting to actually watch how I built a fire. When I got it going, I decided to make it easy on her. I asked what was on her mind. Turns out she was wondering where the zombies might be hiding.

I actually had to explain to her that they were rarer than most people might believe. I told her about the rumor that there was a herd numbering over a million just standing in the aptly named Death Valley. Rumor had it that their eyes had shriveled away to nothing. Also, there was supposedly a place out in the plains of the Midwest…a huge valley of grass surrounded on three sides by a series of cliffs with several hundred thousand just standing there. Most encounters were with singles or small groups. On occasion you might encounter a herd of a hundred or so, but over the decades. Many of the larger groups had come together and formed super-herds which, due to their size had pushed their way into a place and eventually come to a stop in the face of some natural obstacle. The Grand Canyon has stories so fantastic that they are now regarded as myths.

The second day, we saw a few stragglers that we had to take down. I imagine that the train will attract plenty of attention and it will be us that will have to deal with it. Although, I did notice a few large number kills which is pretty smart. They would not want to bring a bunch of undead with them. By the time they reach their destination, it would be likely that they have a bit of trouble on their hands.

I don’t know why I didn’t just stick with the train tracks before when I made this trip. While there are spots that leave you exposed, those are easy to go around (so far). And even if they get tricky, I am sure that a person using their head can come to a solution that is workable. That is the key here…I will need to use my head. I cannot let my emotions get the best of me.

So much is swirling in my head, and as I look at the sleeping figures of Mary and Selina next to the fire, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed.

Tuesday, March 9th

Today we thought we had caught up with them. Just outside of the actual city of Portland, heading east along the Columbia River, we spotted a train on the tracks that was not moving and surrounded by hundreds of the undead.

This was the point where the train actually crosses over into Washington. I guess that might be part of the reason why I did not take this route. If I would have crossed over, I’m not sure that I would have been able to get back. The bridge has been repaired since the dam farther up broke and sent who knows how much water this way, wiping out several small communities, but it was hit pretty hard and I don’t know if I would have been able to use it several months ago. Obviously Dominique’s people came in and took care of it since that event.

This bridge crosses at an island in the middle of the river that looks like it practically had a city on it judging by the ruins. I do not have any recollection of being out here, but Mary told me that several tribes live there and are not known for being too friendly to people who trespass.

That is not very encouraging because we are camped in a building that looks out at the Washington side of the river. From the looks, I think it is safe to assume that this place used to sell boats. There are what look like the remnants of docks and dozens of boat-related things everywhere. This little cove shows signs of that flood. Everything has been “washed” to the west as we look north from the dreary ruins of this building.

Mary did not bother to tell me until we made camp. I asked her why she waited and she said that she didn’t realize where we were until she was out gathering some wood for the fire. She led me to a tree where two bodies are hanging. I have no idea what the story is, but two soldiers from the NAA are dead, strung up by a hangman’s noose.

Have you ever walked in to the end of a conversation and wondered what the hell people were talking about because you hear something that is just so crazy. Well…that is what I am feeling right now. It doesn’t make sense. Two soldiers…just hanging from a tree. No signs of a big struggle…the bodies do not look like anything strange has been done—other than the hanging that is—and they don’t even have their hands tied.

The only thing good about camping here tonight is that Mary says there have not been any walkers on this island for over a decade.

Wednesday, March 10th

I don’t think I slept all that well last night. I heard a lot of hoots and whistles and other strange noises. I was almost certain that we were going to end up getting grabbed by the people who call this island home.

When the sun broke, I felt silly…until we went to leave. There was a sign on the upside-down skeleton of a boat. It said simply: If you return…you die.

I guess Mary wasn’t kidding.

Thursday, March 11th

We have been moving along without any real troubles since we left. Sure, we got a nasty note, but if that is the worst thing that happens to me during this trip, life will be pretty sweet.

Today, it was almost surreal. We had sunshine and blue skies. Mary had us stop early for camp tonight and went down to the river. An hour later, she returned with two of the largest salmon that I have ever seen. We ate so much that I had to unbutton my pants. It has been a while since I felt like this. It was almost like I was…happy.

Until I sat down to write this entry, I think it was the first time in weeks that I did not have my Mama Lindsay on my mind at every single moment (I don’t think that I am exaggerating). I’m not saying that I am over her death…not even close. However, today was kind of nice. And it seems that Selina is the master of dirty jokes, so…that was fun. I have never laughed so hard while being simultaneously embarrassed in my life!

Tomorrow, we are moving up into the hills for a bit. When darkness started to fall, we were able to see several fires start up to the east. Not sure if it is one big settlement, I seem to remember a bunch of people on sailboards, but I was certain that it was several miles ahead. Of course the dam breaking could have caused a lot of people to relocate.

Friday, March 12th

From here, we are actually able to look down into a walled city! You can actually see where the water came so close to their walls. The land is basically a brown, mud-bog up to the slope that the city rests atop.

The big question is what their deal is. They could be loyal to the NAA. After all, the train had to pass within a stone’s throw from their walls. I can’t see them just letting a train pass by without having some sort of interaction with the people.

I know that is how we first came into contact with the NAA to begin with. Back before Dominique took over, Sunset Fortress, Warehouse City, and the entire length of the Corridor were just an independent entity. We did our own thing.

One day, a large regiment of soldiers arrived. The president at the time welcomed them in and there were several meetings over the next year. It was then that the deal was signed that sent some of the citizens from the Corridor to serve in the NAA. That is also when we had three windmills brought in and added to our tiny power grid. Plus they helped with some trenches that acted as an initial defense against hordes.

All in all, it was a decent exchange. And at least early on (from what I was always told) the recruits were volunteers that signed up for service. Some even returned after however many years. I know of one guy who served in the EEF. Also, supposedly, the two people who wrote the actual EEF manual were former NAA that came back to Warehouse City after their time of service was ended.

The town that we are looking into reminds me of stories I heard growing up about such things. While they still have three huge bonfire pits in place that were lit at sunset, they also have lights on inside of several buildings long after dark. While we had power at Sunset Fortress, nobody was so wasteful as to use it for something as trivial as lighting inside the home at night. Everybody made their own candles. That was one of the best uses for the bones of the undead after the body was torched. And there are lots of other things in nature that you can find as well.

Electricity was for important things like the surveillance cameras and motion detectors and things involved in keeping everybody safe. Personal consumption was just not something we used it for.

As I sit here and write this, I wonder what life is like in a place like that. I am tempted to stick around for a day just to watch what goes on, but greater things call me.

Saturday, March 13th

We almost ended up being “visitors” in that town after all.

Just before sunrise, Mary woke me and Selina. A large group of people had apparently left the town and were heading up towards our general direction. We have no actual proof that they were coming for us, but they were heavily armed and had these strange backpacks. Mary said that they held some sort of flammable liquid and that they could shoot a jet of liquid flame that did terrible damage.

That leads me to believe that they are on the side of Dominique and the NAA, but of course that is just a guess. It seems logical, but…who knows.

Once we put most of the day between us and that hunting party or whatever they were, we had actually crested the foothills that border the Columbia River Gorge. At some point we made our way down and into the valley and found ourselves in some very dense forest.

There are visible signs of tribal activity, but we have not seen or heard a living soul all day. As night falls, I went up a tree that gives a pretty spectacular view of the area. There are platforms mounted at three different heights (somebody not only put them there, but they are well-maintained), but not one wisp of smoke or glow of a fire in any direction.

In the morning, we will move out and spend one more day on this side of the ridge before coming back on to the side where the river is. I can’t be sure, but I almost swear I heard what sounded like a train just before my watch was over.

Monday, March 15th

Well, we finally got some of that zombie action that Selina seemed so excited about…until it actually happened. We were coming over the ridge yesterday and spotted a winding opening where I imagine some road used to run.

When we got down there, not much remained of any road, but the forest had not yet reclaimed the land. The saplings that were taking hold were little more than waist high. I imagine that if I have a child and she ever comes this way when she reaches my age that the area we were travelling through will be just another part of the forest.

We were sort of spread out, probably about thirty or so feet between each of us with me in the lead. (That is one of the things that I learned in the EEF…do not stay clustered together when travelling, it reduces the chance of everybody getting hit in an attack.) I was enjoying the sun on my face as we were heading almost directly east at a steady uphill climb that would have us over the final ridge and back alongside the river where we could walk the train tracks if we chose.

The first zombie stumbled out of the woods up ahead of me by a good fifty yards. I signaled everybody to hold up. My concern that this might be the leading edge of a herd prevented me from just walking up and putting the pitiful creature down.

One of the things that have added to just how pathetic the undead are now versus what they probably were back in Meredith’s and Sam’s era is the fact that, unless they are a recent kill, they are naked. Any clothing has long since rotted away or been torn free. A naked zombie is a pretty sad sight. And then there are all the injuries sustained over the years in addition to whatever happened in the attack that infected them to begin with.

The creature did not seem to notice me and just kept trudging along. He had angled slightly and would be heading down the same path that we intended to take. Of course that meant we would have to deal with it sooner or later, but I was being cautious. After what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably closer to ten or twenty minutes, I gave the signal for us to move.

When we had to round a slight but long bend in the road, that is where we came upon our surprise…

There was some sort of bridge that had long since been washed away. However, and this was probably an after effect of the dam breaking, there was a huge build-up of silt and really thick mud judging by the hundreds if not thousands of zombies caught in it; some up to their knees, other to the waist. It was like a sick and perverted zombie farm.

To be honest, I heard something up ahead, but I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. What we had unwittingly stumbled upon was the rear of a herd!

I wanted to run…one of the first rules in the EEF manual states that if the number of undead is overwhelming, you run away. Nothing fancy or extravagant…just run. I guess that is there for a reason.

I glanced at Selina who was so wide-eyed, I seriously thought those orbs might bust out of their sockets. I made up my mind that we were not in any real danger. It was obvious that the zombies could not get free from their muddy trap. That is why I shrugged as if to say ‘what the hell.’

I might be trying to spread the blame, but I figured that if it were too much, Mary would step in and say so; after all, she is older, and more mature. She lived out in the wilderness with her tribe. My assumption was that she had to have encountered her fair share of zombies. I would find out after this little encounter that, despite the fact that they live outside our walls, and that we see zombies wandering, they have trips, trenches and such in place. They seldom actually fight the zombies if and when they encounter them.

A few were still moving and had not gotten stuck. We went for them. Again, I feel the need to say that I did not expect anything too crazy here. And when we had cut down the few and Selina tallied her first kills, I thought we were done. Of course we would just follow the inlet to the water and cross on the railroad bridge.

Heading into the woods that lined the banks of the inlet, that is where we came upon the first few creepers. The first one surprised me. It was in some thick brush and its arm snaked out as I walked past. It didn’t trip me, but it did make me yelp.

I brought my blade down on its head and kicked it once or twice for good measure. I should have been more vigilant after that. I never even thought that the lip where the bridge has washed away—only a couple of feet at the most—would be enough to deter the creepers.

Then Selena shrieked. She had tripped over one that was so filthy that it looked like part of the forest floor. The thing had her foot and was gnawing on her boot in absolute futility.

Of course, if you have ever had a zombie chewing on you, it is hard to be reasonable and rational. You wait for it to break through and reach skin even if you are wearing body armor and the zombie doesn’t have any of its teeth left.

I moved to help her and five more came out from the space between a fallen tree and the ground. One of them was a child that was probably five when she was bitten. I only know that it was a girl now…at the time I had no idea. Besides being naked, most zombies are almost hairless. It has either fallen out or been torn out over time making gender identification more difficult.

The funny thing is, with the society that existed when the zombies came, there was a real problem with obesity from what I have been told. I don’t wish to sound insensitive, but some zombies are unidentifiable unless the actual genitalia remains, and for the men, sadly that is not always the case. Things that dangle are very prone to being ripped off.

Anyways, I moved in and started swinging. It was then that I realized that all the brush around us was rustling. That was when we realized that every single creeper had taken a detour. The woods were literally crawling with zombies.

I screamed for everybody to run. We grabbed Selina and made for the river. It was quickly apparent that we were not going to make it. Just as we had come up on the tail end of the herd, we had also just been encountering the rear of the creeping horde of undead that were all now very aware of our presence.

That left us with one choice—we had to try to wade through the mud. I could not believe how we managed to move as deep into their midst as we did…but we were surrounded and there was no other alternative.

The first two steps were fine, and then I sunk to my knees. I could not get my legs free. I threw myself forward; that was my next mistake. I had seen some of the zombies move across the snow that way. Unfortunately, I sank several inches and now I was worse off than before.

It was Mary that told me to “flop like a seal.” It was slow going, but I managed. I have no idea how long it took, but eventually we made it to the actual stream. That was when I discovered that, despite the fact that they were laced tightly to just below my knees, I had lost the boot on my right foot.

We spent a little extra time cleaning ourselves off…in the FREEZING cold water that comes down the mountains from the snow melt. While we were cleaning up, I believe that Selina made some comment about not wanting to ever see another zombie again.

Tuesday, March 16th

It would seem that we are not the only ones bent on taking down Dominique. Or…maybe they just don’t like trains. Tonight, we are camped on a ridge where we can actually see the train Dominique took out of Warehouse City. We have not been able to get close enough to actually confirm that she is with them, but where else would she be?

The track has been sabotaged far better than any of the petty crap we managed. If we had arrived here any earlier, I might have gotten a better look, but from here, it looks like at least fifty feet of the track is destroyed! That is a feat in and of itself.

Now, it cannot be said that Dominique and her people are not well-prepared because they have soldiers on the perimeter keeping watch while a work crew is busy repairing the damage. Twice I have heard a commotion, but it is too damn dark and far away to really get a good look. If I had to guess, I would say that there are people taking shots at Dominique’s army.

Wednesday, March 17th

Work continued all day. It was difficult for me to stay put. She is right there…I have seen her with my own two eyes.

We moved down early this morning to a better vantage point. Mary and Selina have suddenly started deferring to me for some reason. I actually expected an argument over my decision to move down the hill and set up on a little bluff in some bushes. From that spot we have been able to see everything, but even better, we can often hear.

So, the work crew is made up primarily of people from the sweeps that the NAA performed with actual soldiers overseeing the work. I felt my heart drop a bit. I spotted Betty. It looks like she has been fighting. Her face is pretty beat up. She has one eye completely swollen shut and as hard as it is to actually tell, it is obvious that her nose has been smashed. One hand is wrapped up, but to her credit, she is outworking just about everybody on her work crew.

Once, for a brief moment, I was almost certain that she had spotted me. She was hoisting a railroad tie (all by herself when most people are working in teams) and stopped. She stared right at me. It was as if she could see right into my binoculars and into my eyes. I will swear forever that I saw a tiny smile curve on her lips.

Late in the day, my other suspicions were confirmed…and it almost cost us. Whoever sabotaged these tracks—and I have to assume that is who it was—started firing arrows. The thing is, they did not hit any of the workers; all of their shots tagged a soldier. I almost laughed when Dominique actually sprinted for her little travel car. It was obvious they were going after the NAA folks.

The trouble started when there was a lull in the action and the soldiers started trying to flush out their assailants. A few of them passed within ten feet of where Mary, Selina, and I were hiding out. I knew better than to move, but I had never been through anything like this with either of them and I was honestly worried—more about Selina than Mary, she is the least accustomed to this sort of thing as far as I know.

When they finally gave up, I felt much better about Mary and Selina. Neither had blinked when things got risky.

It was clear as the night came that the train was going to be stuck for at least another day, maybe a couple. I have made up my mind…I have to make my move now. It is not likely that I will have a shot like this again. Who knows what is farther up the line. Also, I cannot count on anybody else creating the sort of problem that offers this sort of opportunity.

Tuesday, March 23rd

I will never be the same now.

I will do my best to relate what happened…what was said. I will do my best not to paint myself as “good” in this, nor will I apologize. I did what I believe (even now…days after it happened) to be the correct course of action.

So, that night when I decided what I had to do, I pulled back with Mary and Selina and explained to them my plan. And actually, I can’t say that I had what could constitute as a real plan. It was simply a choice to act. I told them both that I would not be upset if they chose to stay back and not get involved in what might very well be a suicide mission.

Both of them said that, for their own reasons, they had a score to settle as well. I pretty much knew what Mary’s was, but I would not discover Selina’s until later.

I warred with the decision to simply act immediately or wait. I was afraid that, if I waited, the train would leave and my window of opportunity would vanish. On the other end of things, I knew that the soldiers would be alert for trouble considering what had already occurred earlier that day.

It was Selina who offered to create a diversion. I asked her what she had in mind and she smiled really big.

“I have no idea, but you will know it when you hear it,” was her reply.

She slipped away and Mary and I started creeping towards the rear car of the train where Dominique had vanished. Sure enough, a half dozen soldiers were posted around the car and two more on top. I was actually prepared to call it off and just go for an attempt at assassination the next time she showed her face. I knew for a fact that my main driving force for what I was attempting was the need to try and get some answers from this person who had sent my Mama Lindsay to her death. I did not want to kill Dominique from a distance…I wanted her up close so I could look her in the eyes and ask one simple question: Why?

Just as I was about to give up, there was a loud “whump” and a fireball rolled skyward. There was a brief moment where the darkness was pushed back and fortunately for me, I was looking the opposite direction so I did not suffer from being flash-blinded.

Seconds later, the people surrounding Dominique’s car were running towards the explosion. I imagine it was instinctual, that is the only reason I can think of for them all to abandon their post. The only ones remaining were the pair on the roof of the car. I took one and Mary took the other. I know that my bolt caught mine in the chest, I had to step over his body as I ran to the train car. However, it should be noted that Mary’s caught her target in the left eye! Now, we were a good fifty feet away at least when we took our shot; that is impressive.

I reached the door just as it flew open. Dominique was standing there in almost nothing. (It seems that she had company of the male sort.) I did the first thing that came to mind—I punched her square in the face.

She fell back and landed on her butt, however, to her credit, she had a knife in her hand in the blink of an eye. I don’t know where she kept the thing considering what I had obviously interrupted, but this was a clue I would miss initially. In fact, I was about to have so many revelations dumped on me that it will probably take me days if not weeks to sort through them all.

Mary was right on my heels and moved past me in a hurry. She brought her hand down hard and smashed the (completely) naked man in the temple, knocking him out cold.

Meanwhile, Dominique had scooted away on her butt to get her back against a wall. She held the blade out in front of her, occasionally thrusting it my way despite the fact that I was a good five feet out of range. The she realized who had just barged in and disturbed her “entertainment.”

“Well, well…look who decided to show up,” Dominique sneered.

I looked at her differently. Maybe it was because I was the one standing with her in the sights of my crossbow, or maybe it was the fact that she was obviously at a huge disadvantage, and thus, everything about her that had scared me before just did not exist. Whatever the reason, all I saw was a scared, scarred, and bitter woman.

“Why did you do it? Why did you kill my mother?” I saw no reason to draw things out.

“Why does there have to be a reason?” Dominique said with a sneer that twisted her scar up and made her just a bit uglier.

I realized right then something that I don’t believe I had ever actually known. I grew up around Jenifer my entire life. While she certainly had much more damage than Dominique (at least outwardly), I never saw her as ugly. In fact, there were many that said she was beautiful. But that obviously came from someplace within. It had nothing to actually do with her appearance.

By that very same token, Dominique was a truly ugly person. Looking in to her eyes, all I saw was anger and hatred. I do not believe that she even realized or understood where it came from. It was simply so deeply ingrained into who and what she was that nothing would or could save her.

“You can’t tell me that you killed her just because,” I argued. At that point, I was still making the connection as to what she was. I did not realize that there was every possibility that “because” was her sole reason.

“I warned you about leaving,” Dominique hissed.

“And why was it so important for you to have me?”

“You are a poster girl, Snoe. Like it or not, people see you as some sacred cow that should be treated as something special. With you under my thumb, I could bring all these renegade tribes under my control,” Dominique said with what was probably as close to a level and rational demeanor as she was capable.

“And why would you think that I would ever work for you?” I snapped.

“Because, you idiot, I had your mom. Lindsay would ensure that you stayed in line.”

“So you kill her the day after I escape?”

“About that…I really misjudged you. I was certain that you would behave when I put the terms to you,” Dominique said. “I gave you more…credit.”

I was about to answer when a pounding came on the door. I brought my crossbow up to my shoulder and raised my eyebrows. If Dominique said a word, I would shoot her before anybody ever managed to get in past the lock she had on the door. I honestly think that she did not believe me capable of doing anything as drastic as murdering another person.

“What is it?” Dominique snapped, sounding about as normal as I recall from my encounters with her at Warehouse City.

“Somebody set our oil drums on fire. We lost the entire supply,” a voice reported from the other side of the door.

Dominique glared at me and her eyes asked the question, “One of yours?” I did my best to keep my expression neutral. I didn’t want her to know if I had anybody else with me…or how many.

“And have you found this…saboteur?” she asked, her eyes never leaving mine.

“No, ma’am.”

Dominique’s eyes tightened a bit and I could see that she was not happy with that response. From behind her, I could see a flash of relief cross Mary’s face. I was hoping that my problem of being so damn readable was not an issue at the moment.

“Well then why are you standing outside my door talking?” Dominique snapped. “Find whoever is responsible!”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply.

We waited a moment for whoever was outside to be gone. I lowered my crossbow from against my shoulder, but kept it aimed at the woman who had killed my mother for no apparent reason.

“I still do not see why you felt the need to murder my mom and Phaedra.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dominique seemed genuinely surprised that I could not make my mind think like hers.

“Should it be?”

“Didn’t you read your mother’s journal?” she asked, and then added as what seemed to be an afterthought. “Interesting that I have heard there is a third book…but never seen it”

“Of course I did.” I would not offer her anything when it came to information. Besides, there was no need to discuss anything about Meredith’s other journal; Dominique was no part of it.

“Lindsay Hall and Phaedra Woods were abominations in the eyes of God,” Dominique said.

I cannot really express on paper the manner in which she said those words. It was as if they explained everything. The problem I had was that I really did not understand what she was saying.

Later, it was Mary who would explain to me that the Old World was very biased when it came to sexuality. I just never knew any different. In fact, I don’t know that I ever heard anything as I grew up that made a distinction about same-sex or different-sex relations. Maybe there were just too many other things to worry about for something so trivial to remain an “issue” with people.

“Can that really be a reason?” I asked flippantly. “I mean, if God was so angry with them, wouldn’t he kill them himself?”

“Watch your tongue, child!” Dominique snarled.

So I had found her hot button. Apparently she was still Genesis Brotherhood crazy.

“Maybe you forgot who was holding the crossbow,” I said as I thrust my weapon at her for a little added emphasis. “If there is anybody that should be careful about what they say…I’m thinking it is you.”

“Do you think I fear you…or death?” Dominique laughed. “I have served God righteously for my entire life. Your whore of a mother tried to stop me, but all she did was make me more determined.”

“So that is why you came to the Corridor with your army and started taking everybody…destroying all the hard work that people have put in to make a place that was safe?”

“That place was nothing more than the new Sodom and Gomorrah,” Dominique spat bitterly. There was a glint to her eyes…and something else.

I had grown up around Revelationists. Those are folks who believe that last book in the Bible is some sort of warning. They think we are in some sort of era that they call the “End Times.” Most of them are pretty normal people and you would not know they were Revelationists unless they told you, but then there are the others. They are flat out nuts.

What I was seeing in Dominique’s eyes was something that was frightening. She was crazy. It makes me wonder, did all that time after what happened between her and Meredith just fester in her like a disease? Did she see me as an extension of my birth mother, and therefore, need to take out whatever had built up in her mind and apply it to me?

“So you are saying that everybody there deserved what you did to them?”

In the Corridor, ALL books are precious. The Bible is one of the books in the library. I’ve read it. Now, I doubt that I read it like a person who believes in the stuff written between the covers, I read it as a story. And it has lessons in it about how to treat people and be a good person. I understand those who see more than that…it just was not something that took root in our home.

“So if you are comparing us to a pair of cities destroyed in the book that you profess to follow the teachings of, then did you try to find if there were any who deserved to be saved?” I was pretty proud of myself…until she replied.

“That is why we took the little ones. Children are blameless in the eyes of the Lord.”

She had me there.

“But, according to you…every adult deserved to be executed?”

“You harbored sin within your walls,” Dominique said with a nasty sneer.

“So even the people who did believe in your book…in your God…they fell short. And who are you to make that decision?”

She glared back, her lips pressed tight. I was certain that I had her now. After all, besides the Revelationists, there were all sorts of people who held to a variety of faiths. We had Christians, Muslims, and everything in between. Some were good people, others not…just like every place I have been or heard about in my short life.

“You should be thanking me,” Dominique growled. “I saved you from a life doomed to end in violence. Now, you are free to go forward and carve out a place for yourself without that dyke and her scar-faced bitch of a girlfriend or whatever she might be—”

My bolt hit her in the throat and sent her head rocking back. Blood began to froth around her lips and her mouth opened and closed, emitting nothing more than a series of raspy squeaks. I heard Mary gasp as I moved in and kicked her onto her back. I set another bolt in place and cocked the weapon again.

I stepped over to her and knelt down. I have no idea of knowing what was written on my face at that exact moment, but whatever it was, it made Dominique flinch. I leaned in close and made sure that I swallowed a few times to be certain that my throat would work. I didn’t want my voice to crack or anything when I spoke. I hoped to God that I sounded confident…and not terrified or about to be sick. And rest assured, both of those feelings were fighting for control of my body as I got close to Dominique.

“You killed a wonderful human being who never did anything but show me how to love others. I may not know what I believe in exactly when it comes to God or anything like that, but I hope and pray that there is a Hell. If there is, I am certain that you will be there. Whatever suffering the keepers of Hell have in mind will never be enough, but I will make it my life’s work from this moment forward to wipe your legacy from this world. If I could…I would go back and find the part in Meredith’s book where you show up, and I would erase your name. But since I can’t do that, I will just have to destroy everything you have tried to create.

“So, as you lay here…choking on your own blood and wishing that you were not so impotent…know that I will have your body dragged out to the woods where the animals will eat you…and eventually, they will shit you out, returning you to a state that is more fitting. And for the first time in your life, as you are absorbed back into the soil, you will actually do something helpful as you fertilizer the ground.”

I stood up and watched as Dominique died. I was staring into her eyes when life left them…when that final spark went out. Twice I heard somebody pound on the door, but they never seemed to be that insistent so as to continue in their efforts when they received no answer.

At some point, the man that Mary had rendered unconscious awoke. Looking back on it, I can almost find it in my heart to laugh at the fact that he didn’t seem too terribly surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself tied up.

Mary said something to him and he stayed very still after that. I have no idea how long she left me be while I just stared at Dominique’s corpse. Part of me kept expecting her to sit up and laugh at me for being so stupid as to think that I could kill her. And, truth be told, I think that was exactly what she was thinking right up to the end.

I stood up and faced Mary. Again, I have no idea what she was seeing in my expression, but she stepped back from me. I would like to believe that I looked just so fierce. However, I had only been on my feet for a few seconds when I promptly vomited.

It was as if somebody had suddenly hit me in the gut as hard as they could. I have a brief memory of wishing that whoever had just knocked on the door (and then apparently went away when there was no reply) would barge in and just kill me. I felt a form of sick that I cannot describe; it was similar to when I had killed that first person. It felt like my entire being was rotten and needed to be scraped out and rebuilt from scratch.

“Just take a few deep breaths,” Mary was whispering to me. Although I have no recollection of her taking my head into her lap, much less me ending up on the floor.

I started shaking. If that had been the end of it, I could have walked out the door and we might have been able to sneak out into the woods. All my talk about undoing her legacy would probably have just gone by the wayside. I might have even given up and just wandered out into the middle of nowhere and faded into the shadows.

Obviously the shaking was just the start. I began to cry. For those of you who have never gone into full-blown hysterics, you might dismiss this next bit as me just being a girl or whatever, but I cried like never before in my life. I could hardly breathe, and at one point, I think I might have blacked out for a few seconds. I could not hear, see, or speak. It was something that I pray I never again experience.

It also is what brought about twenty soldiers.

“Madam President?” a voice asked tentatively.

There were a lot of requests from outside for the door to be opened up. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point, Mary opened the door. I am not sure what exactly transpired, but I was briefly aware of people swarming in and then a whole bunch of shouting. Somebody grabbed my weapon and somebody else was trying to yank me to my feet. But then things get strange and I wish I could provide a bit more, but all I know is that several people got into a fight. More seemed to be busy protecting me and Mary than trying to hurt us.

I was pushed back to the floor and the fight continued. To those who died, I wish I knew their names and I wish I could say something to them…a thanks or something…

Eventually I was picked up and physically carried to another car on the train. A woman came in and stuck a needle in my arm. That was actually the first time in my life that I had experienced such a thing. I had never been given a shot of anything before. And I have to tell ya, I am not too sure that I ever want to again.

When I came back around, I was in an actual bed. There was a blanket covering me and I could feel a cool breeze on my face. And then I smelled the very distinct aroma of bacon! I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times in my life I have had bacon.

From what I understand, there was almost a decade without anybody having it. All of the farms and such where animals were kept before the zombies came met with a pretty nasty ending. It was actually the Natives who came on a visit from their walled state who brought back pigs for several of the communities. Sunset Fortress was lucky to receive twenty. The choice was made not to butcher any for the first three years as we grew our stock.

I still remember everybody making this huge deal about bacon. I simply could not relate…and then Mama Lindsay made it for breakfast that first time. I know I am being silly, but after that first bite, I think I would have been building a wall around the first pig farm I found and just lived off of bacon until the day I died.

Anyways, I wake to that smell and when I opened my eyes, Mary and Selina were sitting beside me. But that was only part of the surprise…

“Hey, sleepy head,” Betty said with a snort as she mussed my hair.

I felt a lump form in my throat, but fortunately it seemed as if I was all cried out. Instead, my mouth just opened and not a sound came out, but obviously they all saw what I was feeling.

I was swarmed by all three and we just sat there hugging each other for a few minutes until a voice called out and broke up our little reunion.

“If you ladies are hungry, I suggest you make it to the chow car,” a man said.

“That’s William,” Betty whispered. “William Alexander was the fourth or fifth in command after Major Carson. He will want to talk to you most likely.”

“She is going to need a few minutes to get her head around what we are going to tell her,” Mary said.

“A few minutes?” Selina scoffed. “I haven’t slept yet and I still don’t really know what to think.”

I let all of that stuff just drift back into a dark corner of my brain as I got up. And that’s when the after-effects of whatever they injected me with hit me. I felt like my brain was trying to come out through my temples. If my stomach would have had anything in it, I would have tossed it right there. It took a few seconds to get my feet to move and I had to shake off Selina twice as she tried to help me walk. I wanted to do it on my own. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the gesture, but I simply did not want to be touched at that moment.

Looking back on that decision, I think it was worth the momentary hurt feelings that Selina ended up with when I pushed her hands away. I walked into the “chow” car and discovered that it was full. Every single conversation stopped. Every set of eyes locked on me.

At first, I was concerned. The intensity in some of the looks were very unsettling and I could not tell if what I was seeing was anger or not.

Then…the first person started clapping and stood up. One at a time, everybody else in the room followed suit. There were a few shouts and some cheering, but mostly it was a thundering cacophony of hands slapping together.

When it finally settled down, a few voices called out “speech, speech!” and that sort of thing. I was clueless. First, what was I supposed to give a speech about…and second, but actually a bit more urgent, I had no idea what had prompted this response.

“Snoe will have plenty of time to talk with all of you,” William spoke from right behind me. “But how about we let her get something to eat first?”

The crowd began taking their seats and that was when I noticed that there was a single table where nobody was sitting. That was also when I first took in the scenery as it whizzed past. I was on the train!

When I took my seat, a tiny man whose eyes barely peeked over the table came up. He set a block of wood on the floor and stepped up onto it.

“I hope you like bacon,” the man said with a smile that revealed at least half of his teeth were missing. “And I am making omelets with your choice of onions and peppers with cheddar cheese, or just plain cheese…unless you simply want scrambled eggs.”

It was a lot for me to process and I just nodded like an idiot. The man scanned the others at my table and apparently felt he had all the information he needed based on nods and smiles. Within ten minutes or so, I had a tall glass of chilled apple cider, an omelet with everything, about ten pieces of bacon (which is about seven more pieces than I’d ever had at a single meal), and sliced pieces of pear dipped in sweet cream.

It was amazing.

After the meal, I was given a cloth and towel. In the car I woke up in, there was a basin of hot water scented with rose water. I washed up and slipped into the change of clothes that they provided.

Once I was dressed, I was joined again by Mary. She told me that there were a few people that wanted to sit down and talk with me. She was acting strange and it had me starting to feel a bit edgy. All the warm and fuzzy feelings that I had built up during the early part of the morning were starting to dissolve.

I was led to another car, this one was empty except for a really large table and on one wall hung a map. Now don’t get me wrong, I have seen maps before, but this one was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life.

For starters, it was just the western portion of what used to be the United States. It consisted of Washington, Oregon and the northern part of California, as well as Idaho, Nevada, Utah, part of Montana and most of Wyoming. There were all kinds of symbols and markings on it as well as some colored pins stuck in different places. My eyes immediately sought out my home and I was rewarded with seeing it marked with a pin that had a black flag. There were similar pins at Warehouse City as well as at least a dozen other locations.

Taking what I hoped to be a logical step, I had to assume that there were other secure areas like the one I grew up in. I also had to assume that the ones with black flagged pins were already knocked out.

Then my eyes were drawn to Nevada, more specifically, the area known as Las Vegas Free City. That one had a pin with a blue flag, as did about twenty other areas including one south of Portland somewhere near where Salem used to be and another up at Timberline on Mount Hood.

I had been to that settlement before. It was a very different sort of place. Mama Lindsay said that it was like an old western town from the movies. I thought it was kind of funny, the way people all spoke was different from anything I heard in the Corridor. They seemed to slur their words together and greeted you with “Howdy!” Mama Lindsay said that they had gotten so into the idea of what they were creating that it had become ingrained and that all the children born there knew nothing else which only entrenched their way of life a bit deeper. She seemed fascinated by it. I just thought it was different and strange…and funny.

There were other colored pins and a few with notes, but I didn’t really have time to study it too closely as about a dozen other people filed in and took seats around the big table. I saw one seat free and took it. Mary stood behind me and when I asked her if she wanted me to find her a chair, she said that she would prefer to stand. I think she just wanted to keep an eye on everybody.

“So, we are now committed to a course of action,” William said.

That was how the meeting was called to order. It was also the last time that one person spoke at a time—or at least that is how it felt. There was a great deal of arguing and debate.

What I managed to learn was that the now-infamous Major James Carson was heading up the side of the NAA that still supported the ideas of the now-deceased Dominique DuBois. If what I was hearing could be believed, they were a very small minority.

It would seem that most of Dominique’s military force comprised of people who had been forced into service. They were just waiting for somebody to come in and do something about the person in charge. There appeared to be considerable embarrassment by some for not having the courage to act on their own.

There was also a great deal of fuss being made over how they now had a “legendary” leader. It actually took me quite a while to figure out that they were talking about me. That was when I finally got involved in the “conversation.”

“Hold on!” I said. “Who the heck said anything about me leading anything?”

Of course, everybody looked at me like I had sprouted wings and a second head. By the time I had figured out that whole “legendary leader” thing, the conversation had changed course about a dozen times.

“I appreciate the help you gave getting me out of that place. And I am not entirely sure where it is we are going, but I am not leading anything. I just want to try and find my friends…the people who were snatched away from their homes…and then go back and clear out the Corridor once more so that life can return to some sort of normality.”

There was another round of everybody talking—mostly yelling if I am being honest—and I was basically ignored. The consensus was that my “name” would rally people from all over and we could secure the freedom and independence of all the communities. My problem with that line of logic was that it seemed to me that if you wanted people to be free, then you left them alone and let them do their own thing. The moment you started making big groups and giving yourself a label, that is when things went wrong.

I waited until only two or three people were yelling their points or ideas when I spoke again. This time, I decided that I would do things a little different. I had grown up watching Mama Lindsay take control of different meetings. Rule one…I stood up.

“Everything that you are all saying is fine, but you are forgetting that there are communities all over,” I gestured to the map with my hand, “that have suffered terrible losses. If these other communities with the black pins suffered anything like we did in the Corridor, then there are people hurting, scared…dead. Toss in what I saw when I was with the tribes and I think that the first thing that needs be done is the release of all the people that were taken. And since you folks have the rails, we should load them on trains and start returning people to their homes.”

“That is grand and noble,” a man spoke from across the table. I had heard folks call him by the name of Taylor. “But before we can do anything, we need to secure our borders and unite our forces to have any chance at returning things to anything resembling normal.”

“Okay, Taylor is it?” He nodded. “How would that make us any different than Dominique if we continue to hold these people against their will?”

“If we simply turn everybody loose, we will be easy pickings for Major Carson and his army,” Taylor retorted.

“But there has to be a better way than keeping everybody against their will,” I insisted.

“And perhaps we will give you the chance to show us when we arrive,” William said.

“Arrive?” I wasn’t exactly sure where we were headed. The only thing I had been able to figure out was that I was heading east.

“Irony…” William let that word hang for a moment. “We are a day away from reaching the city that has been used for the past six years as a training depot.”

I let that little piece of information sink in. I was about to see someplace that I had known about all my life but never believed that I would lay eyes upon. As I said, I have seen maps before. I know how long a journey like that would take on foot. I always believed that I had a better chance of visiting the moon.

I was a day away from seeing one of the places that I had read about in both my father’s and my mother’s journal. It was almost too much to take in at the moment. However, that piece of knowledge had effectively shut me up for the time being.

The meeting resumed and more was said. I didn’t hear a word. My mind was reeling with the idea of where I was going. There were people that I knew personally who had made the trip out to Irony. It was like a pilgrimage for some. For others, it was probably nothing more than simple curiosity.

The problem with creating a lifetime of preconceived ideas about a place (person or thing fall in as well here), it seldom lives up to your expectations.

Thursday, March 25th

What a whirlwind the past forty-eight hours have been.

It all started before the sun came up on the day we were supposed to arrive in Irony. The train had to stop because of a medium-sized (two or three hundred) herd of zombies wandering along the track.

Everybody had to climb up on top of the train and coax them in. It was then that I discovered at least one aspect where the NAA had prepared itself very well. The tops of all the train cars are accessible from inside, and up top, there are several long spears lashed down. It was a simple matter of drawing in the walker and stabbing it with the metal-tipped weapon.

I was a little surprised to find Selina up top with everybody after her professed desire to never see another zombie again. She was obviously much happier dealing with the undead from a safer vantage point than literally stuck in the middle of a bunch.

It took about half an hour to get them handled. But it was just as we finished that we got a surprise.

It started as a landslide…or so we thought. Boulders came crashing down the hill and onto the tracks. We could not continue forward until we cleared the tracks. Then a second landslide happened and the way behind was blocked as well. That was far too convenient. Word circulated quickly and everybody came topside with a variety of ranged and hand-to-hand weapons. The nozzles were uncovered and tanks connected by thick black hoses were attached at the base.

A voice finally called down to us after about ten minutes. “You got the president on that train?”

It was William who answered. “If we did, do you think we would tell you?”

“I do. No sense in all you folks dying for her crimes. But rest assured, friend, you will die if you do not hand her over,” the voice called back.

“Can’t hand over what we don’t have,” William said.

“Then you won’t mind if we come down and see for ourselves?” a second voice called.

I heard a muffled argument. That indicated to me that the person who had just spoke—a female—was not supposed to. There was a second round of arguments, and then the first voice resumed.

“We could send down a few folks to look. And mind, we have an even larger number up here in the woods with weapons ready. And if you think that you can just crawl back inside that train and button her up to protect yourself—”

There was a sound that reminded me of a giant rubber band and the biggest spear I ever saw hurtled out of the woods above and a few cars behind me. It plunged into the side of the train car, easily piercing the metal.

“The next one will be tipped with something flammable.”

I glanced at William who had gone into a sort of conference with the folks around him. Honestly, I didn’t see what there was to discuss. The train was stuck and these people had us dead to rights.

“Send down five,” William finally called.

“Fine by me,” the mystery voice answered. “That means it will take a bit longer to search, but it also gives you fewer hostages.”

“Don’t need or want any hostages. But I would like to talk to you in person once you see that I am telling you the truth.”

“One thing at a time.”

Sure enough, five men came out of the woods a few minutes later. They were met by a few of William’s people and escorted into the train. An hour after that, they all emerged. The five vanished into the bushes without a word. The next ten minutes went by slower than any time I can ever recall.

“I am coming down with a group and wish to speak to whoever is in charge,” the voice finally called down.

William headed for the hatch that opened to the car with the big table. Just before he ducked inside, he shot me a look and gestured with his head that I join him.

I grew up pretty quick, and I consider myself level-headed and smart. However, I am also just barely eighteen years old. I hardly think I am the correct choice for negotiations. To say that I was uncomfortable with how things were shaping up would be putting it mildly.

The man entered the car, escorted by at least a dozen soldiers. William made it a point to quickly dismiss them. Everybody sat down at the table and I was very aware of the eyes boring into me from these people.

“I asked to meet with representatives of your…group,” a man whose voice matched the one that had been calling to us from the woods spoke up. “I do not see why this…child is present. If this is your leadership, then perhaps we drastically over-estimated you. Or…have we under-estimated?” That last question was spoken through a chuckle that indicated he had no faith that that was the case.

I tried not to glare. I doubt I was very successful since it seems that I am easier to read than any book. I took a moment to examine this person. He was pretty tall, easily over six feet, and kind of skinny, but not in a malnourished way. In fact, he had his sleeves pushed back and I could see the muscles rippling in his forearms. His blue eyes and blonde hair were giving way to age and that meant he was a survivor from the Old World era. I would guess him to be in his late forties. He had a scar on his forehead that looked nasty and vanished into his hairline, but his hair was so fine that you could follow its path. I might have shuddered just looking at it as I tried to imagine the injury that had left such a mark.

“Perhaps we can get through introductions before the insults and posturing begin,” William said. “My name is William Alexander. Seated around the table from my left is Blake Jones, Gerry Plank, Taylor Charles and Snoe Gainey.”

The gasps were audible. However, now it seemed like the gazes were fixed even more intently on me. I did my best not to squirm.

After a long and uncomfortable pause, the man made his introductions. His eyes never left me the entire time he spoke. “With me are Rhonda Hopkins, Barry Lewis, JT Rose and my name is Shawn Forrester.”

“Now that we have that out of the way, and I assume that you are satisfied the president of the NAA is not with us…” William left that open as his question.

A slight nudge to my side drew my attention away as some of the formalities were being swapped. I was surprised to see Taylor give me a wink. Our initial meeting had left me with a less-than-positive impression.

“These people are going to want you to prove who you are, tell them enough, but don’t give them anything important, you feel me?” he whispered.

Actually, I didn’t. I had no clue what he could be trying to say. How could I tell these people anything important? I was about as far out of the loop as a person could be when it came to the NAA, and I seriously doubted that anything I could say about the Corridor would be useful.

“I mean…” he glanced around as if to ensure that we were still being ignored, “don’t give them any personal information.”

I still wasn’t following. And obviously it was all over my face because Taylor sighed.

“Listen, a lot of these outlying communities have nothing when it comes to anything valuable, to them, information is priceless. Storytellers are like rock stars to these people. If you are going to give them information, get something in return.”

I understood most of what he was saying; I would ask about rock stars later.

“…Miss Gainey?” a female voice snapped me back to what was going on around me. It was the one introduced as Rhonda Hopkins. She was leaning forward and giving me a very intense stare.

Since I had missed what had just been said, I simply folded my hands on the table and stared back. After a second, I arched an eyebrow hoping that it came off as stern…but not mean.

“Very well,” Rhonda said with a sigh and leaned back. “Then perhaps you can at least give us one thing to confirm this claim, it is not like you are the first person to make the allusion that you are the daughter of Sam and Meredith.”

“Well,” I tried to bite back my agitation, but I doubt it worked, “why would I want that kind of hassle to begin with? I don’t know what you think…or what you might believe, but being the daughter of those two has been nothing but a pain for most of my life. I have spent every single minute under some sort of microscope while people wait to see which parent I will end up like. Will I be the selfless helper that so many see my father as, or will I be the selfish, heartless bitch that people claim my mother to be?”

At some point, I had gotten to my feet. I felt my face warm as I blushed and was surprised once more when the comforting hand on my back belonged to Taylor. I sat down and bit the inside of my cheek to try and get my feelings back under control.

“My apologies,” Rhonda said with what sounded like sincerity. “I need nothing further. Nobody except the real Snoe Gainey would wish for her true identity to not be known.”

I was becoming more confused by the minute and pray that someday I will be able to go back and look at this entry and have it make sense. I hate to admit it, but this is when I really feel like I am a child. All of the adults are sitting around and nodding and I feel lost. Taylor has a satisfied smirk on his face and I am sure that he feels like he had something to do with my response.

The rest of the meeting was like any other negotiation. We asked for stuff, they asked for stuff and then both sides came to realistic agreements.

When they left, Rhonda stopped and took my hands in hers. “I apologize for my demands, but if you ever wish to share some of your stories with my people, we will gladly reward you with an abundance of hospitality.”

I guess when you have nothing to offer in the way of material things, kindness and goodness is your best form of currency.

The rest of the day involved the people from our train as well as over two hundred people who just walked out of the woods that lined the tracks literally at the snap of Shawn Forrester’s fingers. As I got ready for bed, the crews were still working.

Thursday, March 26th

We are moving again. It actually took until late into the day before the tracks were cleared. Twice, some of the people came down to where I was working and just stood there staring. It was a little uncomfortable. Mary laughed and started coming over every so often to dab my forehead with a rag.

I eventually grew tired of that game and told her to knock it off. When I asked her why my lugging rocks like everybody else was such a big deal, she just laughed some more.

Selina was nowhere to be found and I was stunned when I discovered that she had volunteered to go with the perimeter patrols and keep an eye out for any walkers. As for Betty, she was right in there with me and never once made fun.

As we started rolling, a crowd lined the tracks. I would guess that there were at least five hundred people seeing us off. If I ever had any doubts about keeping my heritage to myself, this sealed it for good.

I honestly do not understand.

Saturday, March 27th

We reached Irony yesterday and it is unlike any place I have ever seen in my life. For one, the main part of the city is up on a huge plateau at least a hundred feet tall. Then there are the outlying residences. The trees are full of homes and bridges that lead from one to the other.

And the hills that surround the plateau are dotted with watch towers that provide a full three-sixty of protection. The slopes are all gardens…or, I should say, are all greenhouses that are full of gardens. This place has windmills as well as water-powered turbines that provide power to the community.

Also, they have guns. To be specific, these are muzzle-loaded, black powder rifles, but still…guns.

They have a lab and a hospital that are far and away beyond anything that I have ever seen in my life. And then there is the military base.

Set apart from the actual community are a few dozen Quonset huts on a smaller plateau that you can see from the southern tip of Irony. As we pulled in, we saw all sorts of small groups involved in what I had to assume was training. They were running with packs that looked like they weighed at least fifty pounds and climbing walls, fences and all manner of obstacles. It was certainly nothing like EEF training.

When we pulled in, there was a large group of people at the platform to meet us. I could tell as soon as we stepped off the train that everybody (at least the ones I could see) was happy with the absence of Dominique.

Once again I was confused. If all of these people hated her so badly, why didn’t anybody take her down? I cannot fathom why they would tolerate being controlled by a person they so obviously hated. After all, she was just one person.

That was when the commotion ended the happy arrival.

A group of thirty men (I eventually was able to count them, but at the moment it just seemed like lots) were being dragged down to the town square of Irony. Right away, William and a few others stepped in front of me like they were trying to protect me. I had to push through to see and imagine that, once they decided the threat was not to me, they allowed me to actually see what was happening.

“Members of The Genesis Brotherhood,” a woman read from a piece of paper—I will get back to that later—as the group of men were all forced to their knees in a tight group, “you have been found guilty of crimes against humanity. Your actions are punishable by death. Do you have any final words?”

“Under whose authority do you act?” one of the men spoke. “I act under the authority of the Almighty God and I can assure you that my death here in the physical world will be nothing when I am given the keys to paradise.”

“You better hope you’re right,” somebody from the gathered crowd shouted.

“The president will have all of your—” another of the men kneeling started, but was cut off.

“Dominique DuBois is dead,” William announced. “Her reign of terror is over.”

This brought quite a response from all those who heard. And that is when the shooting started. Here is what I know as I sit in this tower with fires burning all around.

It would seem that William and Major Carson both sent messages ahead to the people in their faction. Interestingly enough, both sides had little in the way of a time advantage. Our messenger reached William’s people at about the same time that theirs did, and our train arrived less than twenty minutes later.

The NAA is split—although Dominique’s faction is much smaller—and there is now a fight for control. This does not look like it will be a long war since most everybody on both sides seems to be here. The only person whose whereabouts are unknown is the mysterious Major Carson.

I was rushed back inside the train at first until I insisted that I was very capable of handling my own in a fight. Betty just happened to be at my side when I said this and vouched for my abilities. It would seem I am not the only famous person present.

At some point, I was grouped up with a dozen soldiers and sent down to the military barracks. When I arrived, I saw a lot of familiar faces. I only wish I had time to enjoy the reunion. The best thing was that there was no question which side these people were on. I guess when it is all over, I will have to deal with however many of them I sent to their deaths.

I explained the situation and told them that we were fighting for everything we believed in. I don’t recall every word that I said, and I wish I could. Not that it was anything like the speech that President Jenifer Emory gave several months ago, but it was enough to get people to rally behind us and join in the fight.

Of course there were more people that I didn’t recognize than those I did, and they joined in as well. I have no idea if my words inspired them or they just wanted a chance to get back home. Honestly, I didn’t care as long as we were able to win this fight.

As I sit here now and look at what has become of Irony, I cannot help but feel a sense of guilt. It’s not that I think this is all about me or anything like that, but what if I would have just gone along? Would Mama Lindsay still be alive? How about Phaedra?

My eyes scan the plateau and I try to imagine this place as Sam and Meredith arrived. I try to picture where the house would be that they stayed. I wonder if it is burning, or if maybe it has been replaced by something bigger. This place has certainly changed since the day that Meredith and those women took off for Portland…

And that brings me to another thought…if not for that night, would she have heard the transmission from Vegas? Would she have gone on that particular adventure?

I have heard it said (by some people who I usually consider very smart) that everything is intertwined. They say things like how a butterfly can flap its wings and cause a rainstorm a thousand miles away.

I can barely see the page anymore. The glow from the fires below are not all that conducive to being able to see. I have more rattling around in my head…but I doubt it would be all that interesting.

Sunday, March 28th

Betty and I are now in charge of like fifty kids between the ages of twelve and eighteen. For some stupid reason, William and his inner-circle think that they (and by extension me) are too young for the fight for Irony. Interesting that he was on the detail responsible for many of these kids’ capture. They were all being trained as soldiers, yet now they no longer qualify?

How does that make any sense?

We moved to the eastern ridge that encompasses Irony and set up a line. It didn’t take long for us to see our first action. A group of soldiers were sneaking through the grass just below us. Since I had no way of being able to tell which side they were on, we had to wait until they acted.

When they fired a volley of flaming arrows at one of the buildings, I had my answer. I sent word down the line that we were going to take these people out. A moment later, I would be sharing my nightmares of the first living person I ever killed with all those who had been assigned to me, but I saw something else in those faces as well. Pride. It would never be said that they did not do their part (however small) in the war.

I went down and checked all the bodies to ensure that they were all dead and discovered a single survivor. He had three arrows in him; the worst one was in a spot where I was pretty sure it had pierced a lung. Blood bubbled on his mouth and his breath came in a weak, wheezing rattle.

He asked for water. I gave him a drink and he closed his eyes with a pained look on his face…then he shuddered and died. I looked up just in time to a see another group of soldiers moving in from the south. They were following the stream and making a point to try and stay hidden from view. I had to figure them to be hostile considering where they came from. And since they were just arriving on the scene, I had to figure them to be Major Carson and his men.

I called for a group of volunteers to join me. I explained that I was going to move down the hill. If I could get to these people and maybe take Carson down…or (and I find this to be the least likely of possible outcomes) capture him, perhaps we can put an end to the fighting.

I was a little surprised when I explained my plan and then called for volunteers as every single one of them stepped forward. I decided to split our group in half. Mary took one group and I took the other with Betty. (I have not seen Selina since shortly after we arrived and feel terrible that she was apparently lost in the shuffle and chaos that came with our arrival.)

We did not make an elaborate plan, it was simply a matter of getting on either side of these incoming people and raining arrows down into their midst. I gave Mary a hug and we went our separate ways. I could sense as well as see the varying degrees of fear and excitement on the faces of those with me. We were actually in a war!

I think I warred for a while with that idea over the past few days, but there really is no other way to look at what is taking place here in Irony right now. And the interesting thing to me is the amount of damage that the city has taken in these first few days. Why would you destroy something that you want to keep? After all, I have to assume that both sides want this place. After seeing it, I have to tell you that if you have never been here, you must make an attempt. Maybe I will suggest that when this is all over and the last of Dominique’s people are gone. They should run the train from here down the gorge so that people can see what we are capable of when we work together.

Anyways, we moved into position and I was able to maintain visual contact with Mary as we closed the distance. Once I had us in a spot that looked the best, I signaled for a halt. The trail these people were following would bring them here in about five or ten minutes. The sides were sheer enough that they would not be able to come up and attack us. Also, if they continued forward we had plenty of time to wipe them out, and if they retreated, we could do enough damage to make them almost a non-factor.

I waved at Mary one final time and then turned to my group to address them. “What we are about to do is going to be difficult for some of you. Unlike that last attack, this one will be more personal and the enemy will be in the open. That may not seem like that big of a deal, but unlike last time when the bodies fell and disappeared into the tall grass, these will be out in the open for you to see. I will not think badly of any who opt out now.”

I received nothing back except for some very determined stares and grim expressions. These kids—and that really is what we are since none of us is even out of our teens—knew what was at stake. Maybe they did not grasp the entirety of the situation, but they still had a pretty good idea.

As the group of soldiers came into view, I could tell that they were scanning the area for any signs of trouble, but they obviously did not expect any real resistance. This little trail does not actually get you into Irony and I believe that is why they were using it. From here, they could reach a group of watch towers that provided the best view into the town. If Major Carson—since I had to assume that was who this group was being led by—could take those towers, he would be able to better direct his forces.

I cannot say that I am any sort of expert on strategy, but I had to wonder why William had sent us this way to hold this particular hill. Granted, there was only the one approach, but he had to know somebody would think to use it. While almost everybody was involved in the house-to-house fighting taking place in Irony, this location had to be seen as at least somewhat vital eventually.

A part of me was busy wondering why Major Carson would come up here instead of joining his forces in the town. After all, once he secured this location, what could he do? Provided that he did see something from up on that ridge, he would still need to communicate that information to the people fighting. That was not something done easily. To send a runner would be pointless.

And then I saw the reason.

It took a few minutes to realize what I was seeing, but the men with Major Carson were carrying different parts of some sort of device that looked similar to a catapult. In addition, they were also carrying these small barrels. I would guess each one to hold about five gallons.

Now more than ever, it was vital that I take this person down before he reached his objective. I had no way of knowing what exactly was in each of those casks, but I knew it had to be bad.

When I gave the signal, everybody on my side drew back on their bow or aimed if they had a crossbow. I looked across the way to see Mary give the same signal. When my arm dropped, there was a series of twangs and thrums…and then just the very briefest moment of silence until the arrows reached their targets.

Screams came from below and I gave the order for everybody to fire at will. I lined up my next shot and hit a man who already had three arrows sticking out from his body but continued to stagger in a vain attempt to get away.

I don’t know what happened in those next several seconds, but I saw the soldiers below falling to the ground. I was scanning for my next shot and hoping that I could figure out which one was Major Carson, or that he might already be among the dead and dying, when a ball of fire erupted in the midst of the soldiers.

The whole scene changed as black, acrid smoke roiled amidst the flames. It took me a moment to realize that the ‘dancing’ flames were actually men who had caught fire and were running and rolling and swatting at themselves. Whatever was in those barrels, it could not be put out by any ordinary means. I saw some of the more level-headed soldiers drop and roll. It did no good at all. Eventually they would stop rolling, but the greenish-blue flames continued to burn.

I heard the sounds of retching and was not surprised to see a few of my people doubled over. The greatest problem we faced now was that all this dark smoke made it all but impossible to see. Additionally, at least five more casks went off, adding to the hellish scene and completely obscuring our ability to target anybody.

I yelled for a cease fire since we could no longer be sure of our targets. I split my group in half and had one group head back in the direction the soldiers had come from with the instructions to take down anybody they see that was trying to make a run for it. I took my group and ran to the end of the gulley where any of the soldiers who tried to continue forward would emerge.

By the time I was clear of the smoke and could see again, I was able to make out the faces of the enemy. I felt my heart squeeze just a bit as I saw kids no older than me in the uniform of the enemy. Their expressions were a mix of pain, fear, surprise…and anger.

I was not able to at that moment, but now that it has been several hours, I can reflect on that thought for a few seconds. If somebody on their side happened to be keeping a journal like I am (and it is way more common than I realized), then in their version…we are the bad guys. We assassinated their president, we rolled into town and started executing their religious leaders. (Although I am a bit squeamish about giving The Genesis Brotherhood the same status of being a religion as the more—for a lack of a better word—normal religions.) It really is just a matter of perspective when you come down to it.

So, as I am getting my first up close look at the enemy—just as I fire the first bolt into the chest of one—I hear screams coming from back in the smoke. I also hear what I was immediately able to identify as the rasping moans of walkers. I guess it was just a matter of time before all the commotion brought them down on us.

I told my people to take down the stragglers and motioned for three of my group to follow me. A little further down the gulley, the ridges started to descend. It is there that I was able to cross over and work my way back to Mary and her group. As I crossed the mouth of the scene of our ambush, I could look back for almost a hundred yards before the smoke obscured my vision completely, but coming out of that swirling black cloud were several, perhaps a hundred, undead.

Some of them had flames licking over their skin, but they paid it no mind as they were focused on the dead and dying soldiers that we had shot full of arrows and bolts. The screams were beginning to grow in intensity and number as the zombies started to fall on the first bodies. Since they were still a good distance away, they were nothing more than an afterthought for the time being. If anything, they were doing our dirty work and putting down the remainder of the enemy.

I started back towards where I imagined Mary and her group to be. I am a little bothered that she did not split her forces like I did to deal with the stragglers. If anything, I would have expected her to at least head this way and ensure that any of Major Carson’s men who might try to continue towards their objective be stopped.

As I reached the point where the smoke began to become a problem, I had to put my arm across my face so I could breathe, and that was not very effective. I was only able to go a short ways before I being forced to retreat. The screams, however, were growing in number and intensity. I could go wide, and hope to find Mary or somebody from her group, but that would really just be a waste of precious time.

I fell back just as the first few soldiers emerged from the smoke. These were the ones who were not quiet dead and had zombies move in to take a few bites. A couple showed very little actual damage from the zombies. In fact, the first one that I saw looked like he had a bite on his hand, but I couldn’t even be sure. It was hard to look away from the half-dozen arrows jutting out from his torso.

When a cluster of them emerged, I got an idea. One of them had a cask strapped to his back. I moved around just enough to get a good shot and fired my crossbow. It hit and caused the exact effect I was hoping for…another explosion. I figured that would take care of the zombie problem and maybe even take out a few remaining soldiers if I got lucky.

Signaling for my group to rally around my location, I decided that there was nothing much that could be done until the smoke cleared. All I had to wonder about now was what, if any, response all of this would bring from either faction in Irony.

It was only a short time before a detachment arrived on horseback. They were from our side and I think they had a difficult time reconciling the devastation with the group of youngsters that greeted them at the scene.

I explained what I had seen and what we did and one of the members of the detachment wrote a note, handed it to a girl on a horse that was pawing at the ground and obviously ready for a good run. Something was said about how they had really blown it by leaving this area exposed. I didn’t bother saying anything about how it wasn’t…we had been here.

We were talking as the smoke finally cleared and allowed us to see the carnage in the gulley. Creepers were everywhere. I guess the explosions had blown limbs off of several. And then I felt my throat seize.

I will never know how she ended up down in all of that, but Mary was dead…and now she was undead. Her body was burnt pretty badly, but I could make out the face well enough to know it was her. One of her legs was gone from around mid-thigh. A handful of her soldiers were in similar condition.

Somebody grabbed my arm as I went to her, but I shook it off and kept walking. I took out a few on the way, but I never broke eye contact with Mary as I approached with my machete drawn. I ended her and the others of her group that I saw before returning to my group. I could feel the need to cry in the back of my throat, but I refused to give in to it just then—mostly out of fear that it would be another one of those sessions that might disable me for the rest of the day.

At some point Betty took charge and the riders all returned to Irony after telling us to hold this ridge at all costs. Didn’t they realize we were already doing that? And as for ‘cost’? As far as I was concerned, one loss was already too much despite the fact that plenty of other people had likely died today.

And so here we are. Betty and I are on this ridge with our group. We can see figures scurrying around Irony like ants that just had their hill kicked. I feel exhausted and dread what tomorrow will bring. If the expressions that I am seeing on the other faces are any indication, then I am not alone.

Today changed a lot of people. I remember reading in my History class about wars. They seemed to be described in such a way that it was nothing more than dates and an estimated number of people killed. That can take a lot of the actual horror out of something so terrible. It makes it seem like any other fact that you learn like “2 + 2 = 4” or something equally mundane.

The reality is that war in any form is a brutal and violent thing. It does not matter which end you are on. There are no “good” guys or “bad” guys. When it comes to killing, it is an act that will stain your soul for the rest of your life. It will change you.

Some of those sitting around in this group are twelve years old. The oldest may be twenty. Killing zombies is one thing, but today, we killed a whole bunch of people. The funny thing is…I have no idea if we were actually facing Major Carson and his men. Not only that, but I have no idea if he is among the dead. Did we really accomplish anything?

Tuesday, March 30th

Yesterday we saw what looked to be the worst day of fighting so far. I pray to God or whatever may be out there masquerading as a supreme being that it was the last gasp. Late in the afternoon there were a series of explosions and black clouds mushroomed skyward.

There looked to be a concentrated effort on three buildings in particular. One of the kids in my group said that one building was the one that had been taken by The Genesis Brotherhood when Dominique established her post in Irony. Even from as far away as we were, the sounds of battle could be heard as an angry buzz. It seemed to grow in intensity for several seconds.

And then…silence.

We have not heard anything from Irony since then. I will wait one more day before I pick a group to go with me.

I must say, this Genesis Brotherhood did not seem like much to me. I think it might be like any other case where people jump on some bandwagon belonging to something horrible. I know that one of the most common symbols that has seen being sported by raiders that roam the wilderness once belonged to a German sect called Nazis. For some reason, there is an element of fear that comes simply from seeing that symbol. Personally, I think that people who etch that sign into their flesh are simply trying to draw on something they don’t even understand. But by using that symbol they are able to mark themselves as something terrible and to be feared. There is a power that they draw from which leads me to believe that evil is something that is tangible and similar to a well. Only, I don’t know if the reservoir that feeds such a well actually has a finite supply. Evil seems to almost re-spawn itself as if by magic.

As for my little detachment, we had to go back to the scene of our battle and put down a few lone shamblers that were wandering the area. The zombies appeared almost like they were confused. They were just shuffling around in that gulley.

I noticed a lot of the group spent most of their time asleep or at least pretending to be asleep. With so many of us here, we are able to keep the watches short. That may or may not be a good thing. I spent far too much time with my own thoughts.

In any case, we will be alert through the night.

Thursday, April 1st

I took five of my group with me and we ventured in to Irony…what remains of it at least. There are still bodies littering the street as I sit in the bungalow that I was given. I have no idea where everybody else is and word about their fate is impossible to uncover.

Right now there are a lot of people helping the injured or dying. Everybody who has been injured is automatically being placed in quarantine since it cannot be confirmed that they are not in some way carrying the zombie virus.

A note about that…

There was a big surprise apparently when this zombie thing began. Some folks proved immune to the bite. However, it was discovered that if you were immune and bitten, you still turned after you died. Also, like most things that can be spread by bodily fluids, you could get the virus if you were exposed to zombie-ick. (That is what folks started calling the dark, tar-like goo that is in zombies.) Because nobody can be certain if they didn’t get a little splatter at some point, anybody on a “death watch” is placed in quarantine.

I would love to see Selina or even William. It would be nice to know that a few familiar faces made it through. Looking at all the clean-up and the number of bodies in the streets, it seems like more horrible news is just a bad night’s sleep away.

Friday April 2nd

Selina is alive and well!

I have to temper my excitement because so many people are walking around in a haze of sadness. It would seem that there were a lot of people getting their first taste of killing in those three short days of fighting. (It is being called the Three Day War just so you know.) While you can live most of your life and only kill a zombie or two, it is unlikely that you can go forever without committing that act. However, killing a living human being is something entirely different.

So, here is the latest news…no, that was NOT Major Carson that I encountered. However, it is suspected that he sent that task force.

Word is that Major Carson has made a run to the south and is regrouping and recruiting. Supposedly, he has a force of three hundred soldiers under his command. Most likely he will be hitting tribal groups and “recruiting” more to serve under his banner. He was last seen heading in the general direction of the Boise Wastelands. That area is a known haven for just the sorts of people I mentioned earlier—the kind who like to carve swastikas into their skin as a symbol of something that I guess I just don’t understand.

I do wonder how this Major Carson will fare with these people…I know from all the reports I have heard that they only “accept” people who are Caucasian. So unless Major Carson has done some racial pairing down of his regiment, I doubt they are “all white.”

Tomorrow there is supposed to be some sort of meeting involving everybody here in Irony. I already sent word for Betty and the others to return early this morning and they should be here any minute now.

Now, back to Selina, I had to get information from her since it seems that she was smack dab in the middle of the fighting. She is awful at providing details, and I had to basically coax everything out of her, but this is what I did eventually learn:

When the executions of the members of The Genesis Brotherhood began and opened the floodgates of war, it seems that Dominique had a few tricks up her sleeve in preparation for a rebellion. Several key buildings were rigged with incendiary devices. That explained all the fires. However, I guess her paranoia did not help those on her side as she apparently did not divulge the locations of all these devices. Some of them took out loyalists to her cause.

Also, it seems that The Genesis Brotherhood had a dozen suicide bombers that were prepared for just such an event. So right after I left, it seems that things got very chaotic in a hurry. With fires burning everywhere, the conundrum for the leaders (like William) was about how much of their resources to devote to battling fires versus battling the enemy. To make matters worse, I guess there was some sort of secret dungeon operated by Dominique’s people. It was packed with a few hundred zombies which they unleashed on the city the first night. And since they knew it was coming, all her people buttoned up tight leaving the citizen army of Irony to fight them.

With all of the insanity and the chaos, it will be several days before an actual accounting of the lives lost can be made official. Riders have been sent out in all directions to try and bring home those who simply ran out of fear. According to Selina, lots of people literally dropped everything and bolted when the fighting began.

The ones who stayed to fight went on house-to-house searches after the main battle was over. And I guess it was easy to pluck any of the members of The Genesis Brotherhood that tried to hide. They all have a symbol etched on their forearm that gave them away.

As for the few supporters of Dominique’s that were within Irony, they apparently fought to the last man (and woman) in a terrible and bloody battle. I think they will actually be remembered in such a way that will probably grow over time into even more than it was despite their deaths and the final outcome. People are openly making quite a deal about them; using words like “valiant” and “brave” to describe those fifty or so soldiers. Perhaps somebody will right their story someday.

Sunday, April 3rd

Stations have been set up in a dozen locations and everybody is being required to be registered. On the good side, there have been some tearful reunions as people read the lists that are posted hourly with the names of those who are alive.

Also, one of the barracks buildings has been converted to a “viewing morgue” for people to try and identify friends and family who did not survive. In addition, the riders who went out to round people up have brought back the heads of a few recently turned undead. Those were the toughest. That is how a few people had to discover their loved ones had perished. That is how we identified William Alexander.

A lot of small speeches were given. Most had to do with strength, unity, and the ability to rebuild. One was basically an announcement that all citizens who had been conscripted into the NAA would be free to leave, but that those who would stay would be compensated and their communities notified. Also, it was promised that any who did stay would be scheduled a two week leave period to visit home before returning to duty.

The word has spread that Major Carson is active and must be stopped. I have been asked to sign on to the administration and act as a diplomat. For some reason, they think that I will be able to influence more people to join the cause.

I sat down with Betty and Selina this afternoon and they both think that I should do it. I think that they are over-estimating what I bring to the table. Still, in two months, I will be on a train that will return me to Corridor 26. I told them that if I went there and had any success, then perhaps it would be worth considering.

In the meantime, I have signed on to a work detail. We are rebuilding Irony. I do believe that this place is beautiful…and it is a marvel to look at with all of its skyways and bridges; with all of the houses built into these trees.

I did do one thing on my own, and I have written it here in case something happens to me. I know that the first place anybody will look is in this silly book.

I sent five of the members of that fifty person unit that I had been given command of on Overlook Hill (I guess it had an actual name) to Oklahoma Confederated Territory and five more to Timberline City up on Mount Hood. I hope the letters reach their intended destinations.

Something tells me that it is going to be a long, hot summer.

Snoe’s Journey

Book 6 of the Zomblog series*

TW Brown
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-TW-Brown

*Seriously…this is the LAST one! I really mean it this time.

Zomblog: Snoe’s Journey

©2013 maydecemberpublications

First Edition

Split-tree logo a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications.

Printed in the U.S.A.

To each and every reader…

You have made my dream come true

Author’s Note

I can’t believe that this book is sitting in your hands (whether it is ebook format or the cuddly physical version). This is the series that I honestly never intended to write. I have revealed on more than one occasion that I started the first Zomblog as an exercise to prime the pump for my DEAD series.

Writing is a lot like working out. You need to do it consistently if you hope to improve. That being said, I owe where I have come as a writer to this very series. It was Zomblog that took off after that first KDP freebie weekend. (I still have no explanation for how it gave away 10,000 copies in one weekend with no hype or social media push until well after the fact that it was rolling. And then, it was more just sharing the progress with my friends.)

When I wrote Zomblog: The Final Entry, I was honestly finished. This was not some iconic rock band’s farewell tour where several more “farewells” were planned. However, a few stalwart readers were not finished. I have always said that I write for you, and that is why I returned to this universe; albeit almost twenty years later.

I hope that this final (and I do mean final this time) entry will satisfy you. I feel good about it and am content in the idea that I provided a true “ending” and tied up any loose strings as well as pulled a few obscure threads from the past and wove them in for good measure.

As always, I have some thanks to give. The biggest in regards to this actual book goes to my friend, Erik Rise. It was on our camping trip that he told me about the Native American belief in the Seventh Generation. I should also make it clear that, while I did do my research, I made this into my own thing for the story. I mean no disrespect to the Native Americans or their rich culture if I have mangled their story beyond recognition. I simply fell in love with the general idea and then wove it in to this tale. To each and every one of you who have embarked on this journey, you have my appreciation. I look forward to seeing your thoughts expressed if you take the time and jot a review on Amazon. (And yes, that really is me responding to those reviews, I do not ever expect to be at a point where I hire somebody to do such things for me.) Last but not least is my wife, Denise. None of this happens if it were not for your belief that never falters, even when I think I don’t deserve it…which is often.

Mitakuye Oyasin

TW Brown

October 2013

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-TW-Brown

Email:  twbrown.maydecpub@gmail.com.com

Contents

Chapter 1:  June

Chapter 2: February

Chapter 3: March

Chapter 4: April

Chapter 5: May

Chapter 6: June

Epilogue

Field Report

Chapter 1

Wednesday, June 1st

How in the world did I get put in charge of things? Have these people lost their ever-lovin’ minds!

For the past two months, I have been here in Irony, USA. There have been meetings and meetings about meetings. Personally, I think that I managed to stay awake at least half the time. Why do people feel the need to talk so much? All this time we have spent proposing this and modifying that, we could have found Major Carson and finished him off a dozen times—or died trying.

Betty has been putting me through the paces while all of this has been going on, and as for Selina, she headed for Warehouse City. It seems that she wants to start some sort of recruiting drive. Most everybody seems to think this is going to be some glorious campaign where “good triumphs over evil” like in stories.

I remember very well some stories that Mama Janie told me when I came home from school one day and asked her questions about war. We had been given a lesson in our history class about the United States and its participation in war. I remember thinking that if even some of what we were being told was true, then the zombies should have never stood a chance.

Mama Janie said that wars had a tendency to be “romanticized” the further you got from the era they were fought. I didn’t really understand that part, but one of the things that I did understand was that when you fought living people, it felt a lot different than when you took on a herd of zombies.

I can still see the face of every single living person that I killed. Each one haunts me. Even Dominique.

Honestly, I believed that I would be fine once she was gone. I thought that killing her would bring some sort of peace. It has been exactly the opposite. I killed her up close and looked into her eyes as she died. And now, every time that I close my eyes, her face is one of the first, if not THE first that I see as I try to sleep.

Now I will be involved in something that will put some of those same images into the mind’s eye of who knows how many others. I am preparing for war.

Thursday, June 2nd

Today, we started loading the train. Many people are gathered around watching. I really do not think anybody has a clue what to expect. I know for a fact that I don’t.

Here is something strange…although I will need to explain myself after I tell you. Betty has a boyfriend!

I know!

His name is Paul Decker. He is, without a doubt, the tallest person that I have ever seen. I have not worked up the nerve to ask, but I would say he is as close to seven feet tall as a person could be. He is not tall and skinny either. He is tall and scary. I have even seen children start to cry just because he walked past.

He has a deep tan that I know can’t just be from the sun. Also, he has hair so black that it almost looks blue. His eyes are wide set and his brow looks like somebody shoved extra bone into his head to act as a shield for his dark brown eyes. He has a mustache that hangs down so long that he has it braided. He has little steel balls threaded into it and they jingle and clank a bit when he walks; but only when he wants them to announce his presence. He walked right up behind me one time and touched me on the shoulder making me just about have a heart attack. I never heard even the slightest clink…until he started laughing at my obvious fright.

The first few times I saw Paul and Betty together, I never really thought about it. They were just in the training shack and I figured she was simply happy to find somebody that could really give her a run for her money. They trained with wooden swords until the man in charge told them that they couldn’t anymore. (I guess they broke almost two dozen of the practice swords during their sessions.)

That night, Betty and I were down at the creek getting cleaned up and she took off her leathers. I never saw so many ugly bruises in my life. Her shoulders look like somebody smeared her with blackberry juice.

I did not find out they were actually “dating” until just this morning when I went to her cabin. I woke up early to a thunder storm and could not get back to sleep. I decided that I would bring breakfast to Betty and we could eat on her covered porch and watch the sky light up while sharing muffins with fresh honey and butter.

I should have knocked.

I opened the door and saw things that I can never unsee. Paul’s only reaction?

“Could you either come in…or go out? Either way, would you mind closing the door?”

I left. Oh, and since most of my appetite had mysteriously vanished, I left the muffins, butter, and honey on the porch.

Friday, June 3rd

A delegate from the Confederated Union of Tribes arrived today. She refused to speak to anybody until I was brought to meet with her. I find it nothing short of amazing that anybody can make a trip from someplace so far away by themselves. Not only that, but considering how fast she had to be moving…on foot!

General Carson has been busy. (I guess he gave himself a promotion.) This was exactly as I feared. I knew that all of our days spent talking and arguing were a huge waste of time. While we have been doing a whole lot of nothing, he has been recruiting and campaigning. The message he has been putting out there has been very simple: Join or Die.

I guess he sent an emissary to the tribes. They refused to join him. He was smart enough not to press the issue, but it would seem that the Council of Tribal Chiefs decided they needed to know what they might be dealing with and sent a scouting party out to get numbers.

They stopped after the third group never returned.

I guess I should amend that statement. A few returned, just not in the same state in which they left.

I met with Kai River in the council auditorium. (I had to ask how to spell it when she told me her name. It is pronounced KEY-eye.) It was just the two of us and I had no idea what she was expecting, but I know the look of disappointment when I see it.

“You are the daughter of Meredith? Fellow traveler of the man called Greyfeather?”

I gave her a nod. She sat silently for an uncomfortably long period with her eyes shut. Since she asked for me, I figured it would just be best if I kept my mouth shut as well and waited.

When she started to whisper something, I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. It was a chant of some sort, and I kept hearing one phrase repeated over and over:

Mitakuye Oyasin. (Again, I had to ask…it sounds like mi-TAK-eeyo-AH-sun.)

This is some sort of prayer. I know that much for sure. The thing is, I have no idea what it means and she wouldn’t tell me. Something about it not being her place to share, and that I was to join her and return to the Tribal Council.

I explained that I was already preparing for that trip and that the train would leave soon. She shook her head and told me that I was to send my people south to the former Kah-Nee-Tah reservation. They would be met by warriors from the Confederated Tribal Nation, but that I would be going to the Land of the Seventh Generation. (What I knew as Oklahoma.)

I asked about a dozen questions, but she would answer none of them. I told her that I did not think I could go with her if she would not tell me anything. She simply nodded and told me that it was my choice. I had to come of my own free will.

I will sleep on it tonight.

Monday, June 6th

We have walked for two days in complete silence. So…yeah, I basically agreed to go. Betty and Paul both told me that they had these dreams about me. Neither one could remember a dang thing, but both said they woke up knowing that I was about to leave and that they needed to see me off.

That was strange since I had not made up my mind yet. When I explained that I was only thinking about it, they each said I had to go.

“I can’t explain it.” Betty kept frowning and shrugging; obviously she was at least as confused as me. “I just know that, if we are going to win, you have to do this. I can’t say anything more than that because I honestly have no idea why I feel that way.”

Paul was even more blunt. “If you stay…everybody dies.”

No pressure, Snoe.

I sleep with my journal now. I keep thinking that I will have some amazing dream or vision, or whatever the heck everybody else seems to be dialing in to these days. Nope.

Okay, not entirely true. I did have one dream. But it was something to do with balloons, bacon, a pony, and this birthday cake that Mama Janie made for me when I turned twelve. Pretty much no help at all.

Tuesday, June 7th

We are camped by a river; at the base of a waterfall actually. It seems a bit loud for my liking. Anything or anybody could sneak up on us and we would not hear them until way past too late.

I asked Kai her reasons behind choosing this as our campsite and she finally broke her self-imposed silence.

“You smell.”

Sort of rude, but message received.

After I bathed, I discovered that she had a fire going and a pair of rabbits on a spit. She pulled a pouch from her bag and rubbed this stuff on the rabbits. I have never smelt anything so amazing in my life. It was a real chore not to slobber and drool.

After we ate, Kai took first watch while I climbed up into my hammock and slept. I could still smell the rich, green smells from the rabbit as I dozed off.

If I dreamed of anything, I don’t recall it. When she woke me for my watch, I felt about as good as I have felt in a long time. In my world, that means something bad is about due to happen.

Thursday, June 9th

Nothing.

Not a zombie. Not a crazed lunatic seeking to enslave unwary travelers.

The past few days have been more silence by Kai. Seriously, the girl almost never talks except to tell me it is time to set up camp or wake up for my watch.

One day, I just started talking. I talked about Mama Janie, Jenifer, Dominique, Betty…my dad and Meredith. The first trip I ever took outside of The Corridor. What I thought General Carson was up to...anything I could think of that might spark a conversation with Kai.

She did not so much as glance over at me.

I don’t really think I like her.

Friday, June 10th

Finally, a little break in the monotony.

We were moving along at a good pace. I was feeling a bit grumpy because my throat was killing me. It felt like I had gargled with sand.

I was enjoying a cool breeze that took some of the edge off of what was promising to be a hot day when Kai grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me to the ground.

Zombies.

We watched a few hundred of the things as they just shuffled along right past us while we lay on our bellies in some waist-high grass. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was laying in what must have been a big road at one time.

Having travelled along a few of the corridors in my brief experience with the EEF, I knew well enough to make that discovery without any help. Of course, as I lay there watching the zombies parade by, I was a little frustrated with myself for not actually knowing how long we had been travelling along one. I had not seen any ruins or old crumbling overpasses, but the long, straight swath of grasslands bordered on each side by trees is a real giveaway.

I glanced over a few times at Kai and discovered that her lips were moving in silent prayer. I am pretty sure she was praying since her eyes were closed and she kept saying those words again.

Mitakuye Oyasin.

I sure wish I knew what that was all about.

When the zombies faded from view, we got up and started moving again, Only, Kai had us travel along the trampled grass where the zombies had passed. I wanted to ask why, but considering how much luck I’d already had when it came to asking her questions, I let it be.

The sky was starting to turn beautiful shades of orange, red, and purple when she stopped suddenly. She told me to set up camp and that she would be back before too long.

It was well past dark when she finally decided to show up. And that was when we had our first real argument. It went something like this.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Silence.

“Hello…excuse me…talking here!”

Crickets chirping.

“Fine…I’m done. I know how to find my way back home. I am sick of the silent treatment. You tell your people we will do this without them.”

And then I stomped off. The problem was that I stomped off into the absolute darkness of night without so much as a torch. Not my finest moment.

The moon can be quite a beacon…when it is out. Tonight, it was just stars. And that is why I did not see the steep slope until I stepped off of it and began tumbling down to the empty riverbed below.

I might have cried out once…briefly…in surprise, but I made enough noise to bring a few creepers out of some brush. How could I have been so stupid?

Pulling my belt knife free just as the first creeper reached me, I drove it into the crown of its skull. At this point, a lot of the skulls don’t give much more resistance than an almost ripe watermelon. I kicked the second one away just as Kai slid down the hill like she was on skis. We made short work of the remaining zombies and she even offered me her hand to help me to my feet.

Then she slapped me!

“You are young and foolish.”

I started to say something, although I doubt it was to defend against that statement; I felt pretty young and foolish at that particular moment.

“I do not answer questions because I have not been told anything more than to bring you back to the Confederated Lands to meet with our elders. I was told that you were to be delivered at all cost. I was told that your mother was a fierce warrior and that you should be capable of taking care of your own needs.”

“But why me?” I insisted.

“I don’t know.”

“What do these elders want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place…or at any time during my questions?”

“Because, I think the elders are wrong, and to say so can get me exiled. I think you are nothing more than a half-breed …nothing special.”

“Don’t hold anything back,” I huffed.

“Okay.”

I guess she didn’t understand sarcasm…or maybe she was just looking for an excuse. Whatever the case, she told me what she thought about me. I was full of hate and anger. I was not mature enough for any real responsibility. And apparently, my eyes display nothing but sadness. Once again, apparently I lack any ability to hide feelings or emotions; even from total strangers. I decided to try another tactic.

“Okay, so you have no idea what these elders of yours want with me. But don’t you even have a guess?”

“Yes, but I will not tell you. If I do and you reveal it once we arrive, it could mean trouble for me.”

“I don’t imagine I could give you my word.”

“How much do you know about the history of my people?” Kai sat down on a rock.

“Just what I learned in school. They didn’t really cover much to be honest.”

“Then, if we survive this, perhaps you should try to find a library…some books. When you do, you will understand why I will not simply take your word.”

We made camp, and now I am standing my watch. Something that Kai said has stuck with me since that little exchange. How much of our history has been wiped away? I wonder what sorts of important things are gone. If we are so intent on survival, what are we losing because our focus is so fixed on that one thing?

Saturday, June 18th

I love my boots.

Wednesday, June 22nd

While I would not say that Kai and I have become friends…we actually shared a fun moment today after a particularly nasty afternoon.

So, wherever we are, and I mean that I truly have no idea any more, it is brown for almost as far as the eye can see. The world looks dirty and dusty and is covered in sand. LOTS of sand. If you have ever been someplace like this, then perhaps you can commiserate. I have had sand in places where it should not be…and it is VERY uncomfortable.

So, we followed what I must assume had to have been a road. As we walked along, I honestly could not fathom what form of machinery could carve out paths through mountain in order for a road to be built. This just reiterates my thoughts from earlier about wondering what sorts of things in Old World History have been forgotten. Seriously, there are probably lots of things that people just don’t see as important now that have faded and will never be replaced simply because they will never rate high enough on anybody’s list.

I recall Meredith’s journal mentioning something about one place she visited where they played a game called baseball. I have no idea what that is and I guess I never cared enough to ask. It was a game. But if those sorts of things used to be important…is it okay that we have let them fade from our world?

Tribes along Corridor 26 adopted colors and images from schools, but did they still participate in the games that those images once acted as totems for? I have so many questions. But I doubt many of them will ever be answered.

But back to today…

We were walking along like any other day; every once in a while, we might see a walker, or even a small pack. That is one thing that is very different from back when Sam or Meredith wrote their journals…zombies just are not a big deal unless you are about to die because of one…or a few thousand.

We were cresting a dune when we saw them. Of course we’d heard them for most of the day and I was not excited to discover what could create such an incredible noise—not to mention that we could feel the vibration in the ground from almost a mile out!

This arroyo cut through the area and it was seething…with zombies. It should be noted that we had seen and crossed more than a dozen of those carved out trenches in the past few days. I also have to admit never having seen one before and I initially thought it was some sort of old roadway. Kai explained how these things came to be and I was amazed. For one, considering how dry it is here, for that much water to come at one time with enough power to carve a trench in this hard ground is impressive.

This particular arroyo stretched on in either direction for as far as we could see; and it was wall-to-wall zombies for just as far. There had to be hundreds of thousands; maybe millions.

“So how do we get past this mess?” I admit it was a pretty stupid question.

“They weren’t here when I came, so perhaps they will pass by in a day or so.”

That didn’t really seem like a good plan. The longer we waited, the more likely General Carson went on the offensive against…

And that was when it hit me. Why us? What about our little group was so important? There were other communities and settlements. Hell, if you believed the rumors, Vegas was a walled city with electric power! Of course it was also supposedly one of the most lawless and dangerous places to live, but my knowledge is based solely on rumor. I do know that we stopped seeing any traders or caravans from that area about ten years ago.

I also know that it is rumored that the military moved in and took over the place. Supposedly they built fifty foot high walls and then brought in a bunch of dignitaries that had been sequestered in some super-secret underground complex and then closed the gates. If you believe these crazy rumors, it has also been told that the undead were drawn to the place and that they act as a defensive buffer almost a mile deep all the way around the walls. But then these are just rumors. Back to mine and Kai’s little adventure.

We decided that we would need to head south at some point anyways, so we might just as well turn that way now and try to get around the leading edge of this raging river of undead. And did I mention that a cloud of bugs hovered above this nightmare in such density that it actually provided a degree of shade?

Even from over a hundred yards out, we still had to bat away at the buzzing, stinging pests. I could not begin to fathom what the bottom of that trench must look (or smell) like.

Kai set a pace just a bit faster than a jog and after almost two hours, I was starting to think that we might never see the head of this mob. When we did, I felt my heart flutter more than just a little bit.

We were at the top of a long, gradual slope. At the bottom was a huge lake, but it was about halfway dried up. The zombies were being pushed out into this muddy, gooey, slimy mess. In the middle of the partially dried up lake was…

Even now I struggle to really describe what I saw. It was like a large town built on these big metal barges that were all lashed together. I think that the people out there had to believe they were safe. After all, zombies can’t swim.

What they can do is pile up. I have seen them make it over small walls and fences just because the ones in front start to fall and eventually become a ramp of rotten meat and bone.

There is really no way of knowing how long this procession had been on the move, or what their numbers might possibly be; however, there were enough so that the ones coming kept forcing the leading edge into this lake. The further out they went, I imagine they began to fall. In any case, it is obvious that they began to pile up until they actually reached a point where they could climb on to the barges.

The people out there never stood a chance after that.

I guess the zombies must have just reached the point where they could start to pour onto this floating town in large numbers. As Kai and I crested the horseshoe-shaped ridge that bordered the other three sides of that lake, we heard the first of the screams.

The two of us continued to jog away. Mercifully, as we reached the bottom of the hill going away from that nightmare, the land acted as a bit of a buffer for the sound. It did not take too long before we were draped in blessed silence once more.

I guess we were both wrapped in our own thoughts as we continued along for the rest of the day. And it was probably that reason why we did not actually notice the large red dome until we were almost right on it.

It was just more of the bizarre.

Sitting beside the road, literally all by itself with nothing else—not a sign, or any means of transport to indicate how it got here—was a large, red dome. It had mesh windows on three sides, and a flap at what was the entrance. There was this contraption on the back side that hummed like some sort of engine or something and had six solar panels connected to it; that is why I am pretty sure it was a power supply of some sort. We probably walked around the thing a dozen times before I just decided “to hell with it” and climbed in.

The floor was…squishy? I don’t have a better word for it. When I tried to stand up, I think I fell four or five times before I could actually figure out how to stay on my feet. Then Kai climbed in and I fell over again.

It seemed that the more we tried to get to our feet, the worse the ground pitched and sent us falling. I made it up, and I could not resist. Just as Kai looked like she was going to be able to stand…I jumped. That caused everything to jiggle and shake.

Kai went tumbling and ended up on her stomach. By now, I was starting to get the hang of this thing. The more I jumped and bounced, the more Kai flopped around like a fish out of water.

When she kicked my feet out from under me, I had that single instance where I thought I was going to hurt myself pretty bad. Then I landed…and bounced about two or three feet off the floor.

Now it seemed it was Kai’s turn to make me do some flopping. I had a heck of a time, but I finally was able to direct myself into position so that I could kick her ankles when she came down.

I have no idea how much time we spent in that damned thing. Probably would have wasted most of the night if it wasn’t for the stupid zombie that wandered up and stuck its face in the open flap.

It was as if our laughing switches had been flipped to the ‘OFF’ position in an instant. Then the stupid zombie tried to climb in.

Kai and I had both scooted to the back. All of our gear was sitting right outside…yeah, careless, I know. Don’t judge me.

Just as it pulled itself in, we made our way to our feet, holding each other’s hands. She looked at me and I knew exactly what she was thinking. We both sort of bobbed a couple of times, and then went for the roof. When we landed, the floor was like a wave and it sent that stupid zombie right back outside.

The two of us hurried to the exit, my fear was that this was just the first of a bunch. Maybe that giant mob had caught us.

Nope.

Just the one.

I went over and smashed its head with a rock about the size of a cantaloupe. Unfortunately, the magic was gone. We grabbed our gear and headed on down the road. Just about three hours before sunset, we found this lazy little river to pull up beside. After a good bath, I made the fire while Kai went out looking for rabbit. She was more than a little surprised to return to camp and discover four big fish cleaned, and roasting over the flames.

Hey, in the EEF, one of the first things you learn how to do is to make a travel kit. That kit needs to be small enough to carry on your person and not in your pack. Never know when you might lose your gear.

Kai looked at me funny when she took that first bite of fish. Since I hadn’t eaten any myself, I was suddenly worried that it might be nasty tasting. I don’t really know much about fish other than you eat what you catch. I mean, I know that there are all different kinds, and that some are better than others, but I didn’t even know what I’d caught, so how could I know if it was any good…or even worth eating.

“What did you put on the fish when you cooked it?” Kai finally asked.

“Just some stalks from wild onions and a bit of the sage that grows pretty much everywhere. I always pluck stuff when I walk. Never know when it might come in handy. Plus, I still had a few ounces of salt that I’ve been carrying forever. It was starting to get clumpy, so I figured best to use it now than have it go to waste.”

She smiled and nodded. That was pretty much it, but it was more conversation than we have had since we set out together that didn’t involve name-calling, arguing, or me asking a question and her saying she doesn’t know.

Friday, June 24th

This time of year, you always have to watch out when it comes to weather. I don’t know anything about what causes it or why, but lightning is a nasty, nasty thing. It is one of those things where you have absolutely no control over. And when it comes after a long, dry stretch of days, you can bet that you will see fires popping up.

I don’t know how they dealt with that sort of thing before, but these days, you just hope it does not happen anyplace near where you are, or where you might be headed. And that is why we are having to hook north instead of south right now.

After last night’s storm, we woke up and knew well before we saw anything that there was a big fire nearby. We’d just gotten back into the foothills and spent the night on some sort of bridge that crossed a river that was easily a couple of hundred feet below. There was a long rusted out bus on its side, and that is where we camped. It didn’t smell the greatest, but it kept us out of the worst of the rain.

When I finally dozed off, it was out of exhaustion more than anything else. We’d had to keep at a jog most of the day as we found ourselves running into several small groups of zombies. I guess when they get funneled into an area like this, it is probably not in their nature to go and climb the hills. They stick to where there used to be roads; the ground is easier to navigate.

So we made our way up this particular hill and saw a wall of smoke right in our path. It was a few miles off, but there was no way we could go south. The hills were just too much.

So, north we go.

Monday, June 27th

We are taking a day to sort of recover after some very intense hiking. Oh, and we are in a settlement.

The people seem nice. You always have to be on your guard, but one of the best indicators when it comes to entering a strange settlement is to look for children. Then, observe their behavior.

If they are playing games that involve beatings, hangings, torturing animals or effigies of people…that is usually a bad sign. (And yes, that is actually a tip from the EEF manual.)

We were welcomed and even invited to stay for a meal with the mayor of this settlement. I guess I didn’t realize how jumpy I was until somebody came up from behind. It is pretty embarrassing to respond to an offered berry pie by pulling a weapon.

The good thing was that they totally understood. In fact, they were more than a little surprised to discover that it was just two women. Then they apologized for implying that we might not be capable of taking care of ourselves.

So, once all of the welcoming was over, they showed us the traveler’s lodge where we were able to soak in these huge tubs of hot water and scrub with scented soap and coarse cloths to get all the dirt and grime off our bodies. After that, we dried off using some of the softest towels I think I have ever felt.

Nothing had been said during our introductions, so I guess I thought I might be safe as far as people not knowing who my parents were. Nope.

That evening, I went into a small building. The doors were open and I heard some bluesy guitar playing from within. Inside, I discovered a small stage in the center of a bunch of book shelves that were in a sort of octagon shape in concentric circles. The shelves were lined with hundreds of books. I could tell by the wooden covers on most that they had been produced post-apocalypse. Then I noticed tables setup along the walls. At each table, I discovered teams of two.

Here is what they do. They take books and copy them word for word by hand. I later found out that there is an airtight vault used to store any original copies that this town possesses.

The books are of just about every sort. There are old text books that teach math and science. Cook books that have pictures of food that are simply impossible to imagine ever being able to create…much less how something like that would taste.

And then there is the section simply labeled: STORIES.

It was here that I discovered copies of my father and Meredith’s journals. Somebody had even given them a clever title.

ZOMBLOG.

Thursday, June 30th

So here is what we learned. These people have never heard of the NAA. They have dealt with the occasional raider, but nothing like a concentrated army. They were more than a little surprised to discover that Dominique was not only alive, but actually a real person. It seems that some folks thought the journals written by Sam and Meredith were dramatized.

The revelation that both were real people sparked some interest, but nothing too crazy. Nobody even made the connection in regards to my identity.

There are four other settlements in about a ten mile radius from this one, and they all trade back and forth. This is actually the smallest of the settlements and is like the educational center for the cluster. I guess each of these settlements has a specialty. For instance, this one is all about school.

When I say school, perhaps I should be clearer. This is where people come to learn once they are older. I guess you could equate it to the Old World concept of college. They teach medical and construction courses here. One of the settlements is like the military. Those folks train in survival and combat. The people from that outpost ride the surrounding area and keep it safe. At least that is how I understood it.

When we left, they actually gave us a bunch of supplies. We were nice enough along The Corridor, but I sure don’t recall us just loading up passers-through with food and making sure that all of their weapons were in top shape and cleaned. They even gave me a better sheath for my long blade that I wear on my shoulder.

As we walked today, I reflected on the whole situation. I guess if this were Meredith’s journal, there would have been some suspicion, doubt, and probably a little action. The most action I had during the stay was helping this poor woman who was trying to get her five children to behave while she did some trading with the folks who ran the produce stand. One of the little boys wanted an apple REALLY bad!

So, Kai and I continue on our journey. Funny, but I didn’t see her much at all during our stay. Usually around the evening meal she would just sort of appear. Other than that, I was pretty much on my own.

Each evening, I would ask her if we were leaving and she would say, “Not yet.” Until last night. I asked as usual and she just said, “In the morning.”

And so here we are…back out in the wilderness. Tonight we are camping on the eighth floor of some long building with a bunch of smaller rooms. I thought it might be a hotel, but none of the rooms had beds or bathrooms. Each had a variety of desks full of all sorts of clutter.

The room we chose to camp in has this big desk and what I imagine was probably a pretty nice chair a couple of decades ago. Now it is just disgusting and mold covered. On the desk is a bunch of stuff. There is a calendar with all sorts of cryptic messages that you can still make out. Many are faded or smeared beyond the ability to read, but one day in particular, January 8th, has these words in dark, heavy script.

“POP QUESTION TO PAM!!!!!”

I wonder what she said.

Chapter 2

Friday, July 1st

Today we moved through some sort of city. It was pretty big and looks like the living did as much, if not more, damage than the zombies.

At first, I just thought there might have been some nasty fires. That was apparently a big problem in those early days as fires burned out of control and nobody was available to put them out.

I am still in awe at the amount of power it must have taken to keep a place like this with electricity. That is one of those things about the Old World that those of us who were born into this New World simply cannot relate to in any way. Trying to imagine leaving entire buildings lit up just because they look nice? Sorry, it just does not make any sense.

Many of the buildings in this city were blown up. There are craters everywhere and the few buildings that do remain look to have been shot up. While it is common for windows to be missing in a majority of the lower floors, I did not see one single intact window anywhere.

Skeletal remains litter the ground, most are broken or show definite signs of animal activity. And we did not see one single zombie all day. It is like even the walking dead know there is nothing here.

Saturday, July 9th

Kai said we are about halfway there. Really? Over a month on the road and we are halfway there?

There is a silver lining to that cloud.

Today we are guests at a tribal outpost. I guess the Natives have several between here and their border. We are beside a huge lake where a massive dam is still holding strong. There is this lush, green oasis right in the center of what was once the town of Dillon, Colorado.

I don’t know what I expected. I have met members of the native community at their outpost at Timberline Village. But this is something entirely different. The people are dressed in skins, furs, and feathers. There is all of this color and beauty…and the smiles.

It was almost scary at first. I never realized that a smile could make me so nervous…but a hundred of them? I feel ashamed for how my gut was twisting those first hours.

These people act like the world is a wonderful place. And everywhere I look, I see carvings or paintings of the same thing: a white buffalo.

But back to the silver lining…

We will be on horseback from here on out! I have never seen animals like these before. They are calling them horses, but these shaggy things are about half the size of a horse. They aren’t donkeys, and if they are ponies, they aren’t like anything that I have ever seen.

I took a chance and asked Kai if she could tell me how many days we might still have to travel before reaching our destination. I was stunned when she said we probably had just over two weeks ride ahead of us. Surprised not only by any answer at all, but also to know that we would be there so soon.

I risked a second question and asked why she had not ridden a horse all the way. Once more she shocked me with a response.

“I would need to have one horse that was pulled along since it would do me no good to have a horse and you on foot for the return trip. Also, these are very special animals. They are strong, sturdy, and unafraid of the walkers. We do not like to take them too far away from home.”

Sunday, July 10th

His name is “Mato”. That is Lakota for bear. He is a dark brown with an all-white face on the right side as you look at him. He likes to canter—which is like the horsey equivalent of jogging.

So, if you have never had the pleasure of riding a horse, let me share. First, I have read a few fantasy books. I remember there being a lot of horseback riding in those. I also remember some of them saying things about how some young princess could not ride a horse until after she was wed because then her husband would doubt her virginity.

Okay…I get it.

I hurt in ways and in places that I should not. And when I climbed off of Mato for that first break, it took everything I had to get back on. By the time we stopped this evening, I think I was almost ready to cry. I actually had to ask Kai if we could slow down. I felt every single bump and jostle those past few hours.

And if she thinks I didn’t see that little smirk on her face…well…she is very wrong! And you can bet that I will get her back somehow for this. Sure, I know it is not her fault technically, but she could have warned me or something.

Thursday, July 14th

I guess the Confederation of Tribes is not shy about sending a message. We are on a long stretch of what was probably a major highway. The land is flat and grassy.

That is why it is so easy to see the people lashed to these huge ‘X’ shaped things that line both sides of the trail. This display came into view last night before we made camp. We rode all day long and it still goes on into the distance ahead of us.

Several of the figures are twitching, writhing and moaning…oh yeah, and a few baby cries tossed in for good measure. So that means that they were put here alive and left to die by slow, lingering effects of thirst, or the horror of being attacked by the wandering zombie.

The people on these displays (I am sorry, I really don’t know what else to call them) are set about four feet above ground. That would allow a zombie to do some serious damage to the legs of the person, but leave enough for them to return.

Another observation is that, the ones we first encountered were obviously the freshest. That means that whoever draws the assignment to bring out the person about to be crucified has to travel to the end of the line (again, sorry, but I just have no words for this…and I will get to Kai’s obvious lack of reaction in a bit). I wonder if all roads leaving Oklahoma look like this

I may have mentioned that not everybody ended up turning as a cause of death. There are more than half from what I can see that simply died of “natural” causes—if dehydration can be considered natural.

The birds seem to favor them over the zombies, but the bugs are the other way around. I imagine there is a reason, but I don’t know…and honestly…I don’t much care.

So, I have been watching Kai as we traveled down the Avenue of the Damned (that is what I am calling this stretch). She is not bothered in the slightest. I want to ask her what these people could have done to deserve such a harsh punishment, but this time, I am afraid that she will answer.

I get it, we live in harsh times…but this just does not seem right. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here and ask for help. As it is, even though they want me to come here, I don’t really know why; it may have nothing at all to do with the coming fight.

Once or twice, I have noticed that Kai takes a longer-than-usual look at one of the bodies we pass. Of course that raises more questions, but I just need to keep my mind focused on what I came here to accomplish.

Friday, July 15th

We are spending the night in this huge log cabin. I would have ridden right past it if Kai had not veered off the trail and cut between these small hills—not much more than mounds really.

The cabin is set into the face of the backside of the larger of the two hill/mounds and you have to go down a few steps to enter. The walls are set with lanterns and there is a pretty hefty amount of food stored here. Also, here is something really strange…a fire was already going. It wasn’t anything big, but there was a good bed of embers already in place along with a stack of well-seasoned wood that runs the length of one wall. That means somebody had to be here recently. Kai is not saying anything—big surprise.

After a meal of dried meat, this soft, tangy cheese, and dried berries, Kai explained that we would wait here until the elders arrived.

Sunday, July 17th

A thunder storm came through today. But that was it. I am starting to wonder how Kai expects anybody to know that we are even here. We are not sending up any signals that I am aware of, and we almost never leave this cabin except to fetch water from a nearby stream and tend to the horses.

Wednesday, July 20th

Visitors arrived at some point last night. I say “some point” because I woke to find five people sitting in a circle by the fire. I never heard them arrive, and I didn’t even know they were here until I got up and walked over to the fire. I was just rubbing my eyes and not really paying any attention. I should work on that.

Introductions were made…sort of. Kai told them I was Snoe, daughter of Meredith, companion of Erik Greyfeather, and bearer of the mark.

That last part is what sort of blew right past me. So, there I stood, staring at them and them at me. The silence was becoming so customary that I doubt I even got agitated.

The woman named Angel Snow Owl did all the talking from the time introductions were made, and that is probably why her name is the only one that I can remember. And she is the one who dropped a bit of a bomb on me.

“You have the mark on you.”

When she said that, it was not a question or even a hint of a probe. She was telling me to my face that she had knowledge. The thing was, I did not know what she was talking about. Then she pulled out a piece of very well-protected paper. It was laminated and sealed in a plastic case.

This is what it said:

Brothers and Sisters,

I have met the bringer of death. Her name is Meredith Gainey and she is the mother of a child named Snoe. I have seen it for myself. The child has a mark on her scalp. It is the head of a buffalo, just as I saw in my dreams.

I believe that this child will be the bringer of life, just as she is the daughter of the bringer of death. The child must be watched and kept safe. I have asked a few of our Native Brothers and Sisters to keep tabs on the child. I do not believe that is my path and will be accompanying Meredith on her journey. She intends to see for herself if the rumors of Las Vegas are true.

I will send word to you once I arrive if that is the will of the Creator. I cannot explain it, but I feel myself drawn to Meredith. Perhaps it is because I know that she rides with Death at her heels. You all know that I have already faced Death once, and he was unable to claim me. Perhaps we shall fight again…perhaps he shall win.

Either way, I take this journey knowing something swirls around that child and it is best that she be kept far from her mother. If Meredith were to go alone, she might find a reason or excuse to return. I will not allow that to happen. Meredith cannot be around the baby. Death cannot claim her as a prize until we see the rise of the Seventh Generation. If Meredith seeks to return, then I will try to persuade her. If she will not listen, then I will kill her myself.

The time will come when Snoe is of age. When that does occur, you must decide for yourself. The wisdom of the Elders must make its decision.

I do not believe that she knows her true heritage. Her father never lived with his people after being adopted by a family that was not of our blood. I lived next door to him for over a year, and he never spoke about our people, so I do not think that even he knew. Yet, if you had ever met this man, you would feel the spirit of Black Elk alive in Samuel Todd. He had a way with words, and a kindness in his eyes and heart that surely come from his legacy.

Peace to you all, my Brothers and Sisters. Mitakuye Oyasin.

Erik Greyfeather

I probably looked like an idiot. I know for a fact that my mouth was open. I probably swallowed a fly or two. Since I know that my mother’s second journal was not as widely distributed as her first because it was found so much later, I wondered how so many people even knew about her travels with Erik Greyfeather. So the question that I had was this: Did they know of his fate? I was about to ask when Angel Snow Owl motioned for me to be silent.

She spoke to the others in the language of the Lakota (I asked later and she told me, so don’t think I just knew that or something) and then gestured for me to sit on the floor beside the fire.

Kai and the others got up and went to the back wall of the cabin and began to remove some of the stacked firewood. I was more than a little surprised when they revealed a secret door. They disappeared for a moment and then came out pushing a cart of sorts. In the cart was a man…or what remained of one.

Let me try to describe this for you. He has no left arm and both legs are stumps just below mid-thigh on one side and just above where the knee should probably be on the other. His face is a twisted mask of scars that are puckered and old. He has one eye, and it is a milky white (no tracers!). His nose is more of just a hole in the middle of his face than anything else and he has patches and strands of wispy, white hair.

His lips moved, but I didn’t hear a thing, so I have no idea how Angel was able to relay the words, but the way the man was nodding as she spoke, I guess she got it right.

“Aho Mitakuye Oyasin…All my relations. I honor you in this circle of life with me today. I am grateful for this opportunity to acknowledge you in this prayer…

“To the Creator, for the ultimate gift of life, I thank you.

“To the mineral nation that has built and maintained my bones and all foundations of life experience, I thank you.

“To the plant nation that sustains my organs and body and gives me healing herbs for sickness, I thank you.

“To the animal nation that feeds me from your own flesh and offers your loyal companionship in this walk of life, I thank you.

“To the human nation that shares my path as a soul upon the sacred wheel of Earthly life, I thank you.

“To the Spirit nation that guides me invisibly through the ups and downs of life and for carrying the torch of light through the Ages. I thank you.

“To the Four Winds of Change and Growth, I thank you.

“You are all my relations, my relatives, without whom I would not live. We are in the circle of life together, co-existing, co-dependent, co-creating our destiny. One, not more important than the other. One nation evolving from the other and yet each dependent upon the one above and the one below. All of us a part of the Great Mystery.

“Thank you for this Life.”

There was a moment of silence, and I almost screwed it up by speaking. Luckily, just as I was about to open my mouth, Angel Snow Owl spoke again after a nod from Erik.

“Greetings to you, Snoe Gainey. Daughter of Meredith and Samuel. I am Erik Greyfeather. I apologize for my appearance since I know it can be frightening to many the first time.

“I have waited many years for this day, and I welcome it as I welcome you. I see in your eyes the fire of your mother, yet it is balanced by the compassion of your father.

“I know that you must have many questions, and I am sorry to say that the time for those answers must wait. I have been visited in my dream by the spirits and they all tell me that it is not yet time to celebrate. Death rides once more in the shape of a man.

“You have come home without knowing it, and your people are prepared. We shall answer your call and face this dark spirit by your side.”

With that, Erik reached up with his right hand and took my wrist, pulling me close. He rested his ravaged face on my shoulder for a moment and gave enough of a squeeze that I was able to realize he was hugging me. I should have been terrified…mortified. The man is a hideous wreck. But instead, all I felt was love and peace.

I did not even realize it until I had to wipe them away to clear my vision that my eyes had filled with tears. I can’t explain it any more than to say that I felt at home. It was a sort of peace that I never knew existed.

I was more than just a little surprised to discover that he had been here this entire time; and that, every night after I went to sleep, Kai would go in his little room and visit with him. Sometimes, they even came out so he could get a look at me.

I bet Meredith would be happy that he survived that terrible day. I know from her own words that she felt horrible about what happened.

In the morning, the Elders are supposed to arrive. I guess they will see this mark for themselves and decide what to do.

Oh…and this mark? No, I never knew that I had it. It is supposedly a white, or at least white-ish, mark on the crown of my head. Allegedly it is shaped like the head of a buffalo. I guess this white buffalo is a big deal to the Natives.

Thursday, July 21st

It is still early, and we are waiting for the Elders to arrive. Erik was amused to discover that I have a journal. He made a face that I guess is his version of a smile.

However, the reason I am writing today before the Elders come is because I had a revelation and thought that it was important to write it down.

While I lay on my bedroll last night watching the glowing shapes dance on the ceiling, trying to make sense of what has happened in the past few hours, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I know more about my family and heritage now than I ever did before. I have been referring to the Natives as “them” the whole time.

I am them.

Friday, July 22nd

We are riding west. I guess I will not be seeing Oklahoma…at least not right away. In fact, I may never see it, but that will be okay if it ends up turning out the way Angel Snow Owl predicted.

I should probably put as much down tonight as I can. I don’t know if I really understood it all. Maybe being able to go back and read it later will help.

The Elders arrived almost the moment that I finished yesterday’s entry. There were twenty-seven of them, which, oddly enough did not make this cabin feel crowded at all.

After Angel made the introductions, one of the Elders stepped forward. He gave me a look that made me feel like the wilted carrots on the cart of a vegetable vendor’s cart.

“I will see this mark before this goes any further,” he said with a tone that made it clear that this was a demand and not a request.

“I have no idea what sort of mark you are talking about. I don’t have any mark on me,” I insisted. I had heard the rumor, but I just did not care for his attitude.

Erik made some sort of noise and after a moment, Angel nodded and smiled. “You have a white birthmark that is in the shape of the head of a buffalo on your scalp, just below the crown of your head.”

I guess that would be why I never saw it. Still, I had no idea what the deal was about a birthmark no matter what color or where it might be located, or what shape it might look like.

This Elder, his name was—and I am not making this up—Bill Screaming Eagle, came up and I let Angel fuss around with my hair. I heard the gasp which I guess was the verification that I indeed had some sort of mark on the back of my head.

One by one, all of the other Elders came and looked at my head. I figured it was almost rubbed bald by the time the last few came to see for themselves.

Once that was done, the next bit of formality required that we all sit down and eat together. I guess Erik had everything ready on that front and we sat down to a venison stew, roasted vegetables, flatbread, and this berry spread that I may never forget.

After the meal, they started talking about my returning to the lands of the Confederated Tribes to be presented to “my” people as a sign of something to do with a Seventh Generation or some such nonsense. That was when I put my foot down.

“I’m not going anywhere with anybody,” I insisted. “I came here because the people that I have grown up with, the people who were my people way before you, are facing a force that will wipe them out if I don’t get help.”

This made everybody start talking at the same time. Actually, I was kind of glad to see this outburst. Up until that moment, there had been very little in the way of what I would consider normal emotional responses. Everybody was so…stiff. It was almost like they had turned the knobs controlling their emotions down to zero.

I let them holler and carry on for a bit. Finally, I stood up and folded my arms across my chest until every set of eyes looked at me and every mouth shut. (I learned that trick from one of my school teachers.)

“I have no idea what the heck you are talking about with this Seventh Generation prophecy. But what I do know is that you seem to think I am some sort of symbol. From the bits and pieces that I have picked up from your talking and that little prayer thingy, this is about coming together in peace and love.” I let my gaze drift over all of them as I spoke. I can’t swear to it, but I think Erik was smiling…sorta. “I will go with you, but only after I know that General Carson and this group of NAA lunatics have been stopped. If I know that everybody can go back to living a relatively peaceful life, then I will do whatever you want me to do.”

This did not go over very well. There was more yelling and arguing. At some point, I might have actually fallen asleep. Hey, I was full from dinner and the room was toasty warm. Whatever the case, Angel finally gave me a nudge and asked me to follow her outside.

“We must leave…now.” She only added that last word after I looked at her with what I can assume to be a look that expressed the fact that I was confused.

“But what about this council? Are the Elders against helping? Because I mean what I said when I told them I won’t go with them until I know that General Carson is taken out.”

“And that is where they are split. Erik sent Kai with a message back to the tribes. He is certain that some will come despite the fact that the Elders will not have ruled on it for the next few days at the least.” Angel gave me a quick smile. “He also says that if you are even the tiniest bit as stubborn as your mother, there will be no bargaining from your side. That is why he has taken it upon himself to call on some of the warriors that he knows will answer his call despite any decision reached by the Elders.”

“So we are just going to leave?” I asked. “We are not even going to wait to see what these Elders decide?”

“They will argue for at least a full cycle of the moon. Erik says that they have become complacent behind the walls we built and do not understand how important it is to act immediately when it comes to things going on in the world,” Angel explained.

And so we saddled up our horses and we left. When I say “we”, I mean Angel, me, and three of the people that were sitting around the fire that day I woke to find her in the cabin with company. There was no talking and we rode in a single-file line with me stuck right in the middle. At least I got to bring Mato.

We did not stop to make camp until well after dark. I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. Just as we did finally stop, I had a flash of paranoia. What if Angel was lying to me for some reason? What if she was getting me away from everything and everybody to do something terrible?

Right about then, as they were getting a small, covered fire lit, she handed me a note. I did not even bother to ask, since everybody seems to be able to read my face and know what I am feeling. I will just assume that it had nothing to do with how high I jumped when she tapped on my shoulder to give me the note, gave the briefest of dirty looks, and said, “I’m not your enemy, Snoe. Now take this and read it. It is from Erik.”

I unfolded the note and read:

Snoe Gainey,

You know that I travelled with your mother. What you do not know is that I have had people watching you for all of your life. Many folks, some that you call Travelers, and even some that live in and around the place you know as Sunset Fortress and Warehouse City, have kept eyes on you as you grew older.

There was a man you knew as Captain Vaughn. He was a guardian that has watched over you since the day that Meredith gave you to the two women who raised you.

I was sorry to lose him. Word returned to me that he perished on a mission he undertook with you. I was also told that he is one of the ones we call the elun el nagi, or present in the soul. Some of the undead that you call zombies manage to fight against their new nature. For a reason we can never understand, some of the zombies are so strongly driven by something in their living time that they will not seek to attack humans. The last that I heard, Captain Vaughn had somehow managed to attract a following of thousands of these zombies. He led them out into the desert of Eastern Oregon where they now simply stand until the wind and sun can reclaim their bodies. Even in death, his final act was to somehow see to your safety.

All who watched over you knew that you bore the mark of the White Buffalo, and it was because of that one single thing that it was important to keep you safe. You may not understand it, but you symbolize the peace and a return of our ways to our people.

I will not bore you with my own long studies of the prophecies that said you would come, nor will I ask you to believe in it as deeply as I do. What I will ask is that you draw upon the spirit and heart of your father.

You do not have to believe in something for it to be so. My people…your people…they believe in the power behind what you symbolize. Do not allow any of your own doubts to rob a nation of its hope.

Return to the place you know as Sunset Fortress. It is there that my warriors will seek you. I offer them to you. They offer their lives to your cause. In exchange, I ask that you finish what you feel needs to be done, and then consider all I have said. Act upon what you feel in your heart.

I can only pray that it will be to return.

Mitakuye Oyasin. It is more than what you have heard.

Erik Greyfeather

So, after reading the letter, I don’t feel suspicious about Angel and her group. However, I am really struggling with this idea that I am some sort of symbol. If I was overwhelmed when people started putting me, an eighteen-year-old girl, in charge of things back in Irony…well…this is WAY more.

I am just not sure that I can buy into what they are selling. Still, I do remember some rough times growing up in The Corridor. I remember the community rallying around things, events, and people. I don’t think any who were there will ever forget Jenifer’s speech that July when the early rumblings of all this insanity was just beginning. I know they drew strength from doing so. It was not as if whatever it was they were using to motivate themselves had some sort of physical tangibility, it was simply that the belief in it was enough to push a person to try just a little harder.

Well, I guess none of it will matter right now. I don’t plan on hiding in the background while others do the fighting. And I can’t even say for certain that General Carson will be the final threat. Or that he is all that the NAA has to throw at us.

What I can say is that we have to fight for what is ours and do our best to restore things in some way that will allow as many people as possible to try and live in some semblance of a community.

Saturday, July 23rd

We were back at it before the sun rose. That is a good thing, because some time before midday, the storms came and unleashed rain in sheets that made it almost impossible to see the nose of the horse you were riding.

Poor Mato had his head down the whole day. I don’t know how he walked all day like that. He didn’t seem to need to look up one single time. Even more impressive was when that bolt of lightning hit that tree about fifty or so yards away and blew it to smithereens. Mato did not even hardly flinch. I think his ear might have twitched a bit.

I don’t care if it was supposedly warm weather, after being soaked through like that, the slightest breeze chilled me all the way to my core. However, despite the rain coming down so hard and making such a racket, along with the rolling thunder that never seemed to stop, I could not hear over my own teeth clicking together. Rest assured, my jaw is sore now from that non-stop chattering, and I even bit my tongue a half dozen times or so.

To say that I am miserable right now would be putting it lightly. I really did take for granted the luxury of growing up inside the comparatively safe confines of the walls that protected Corridor 26.

It has made me reflect on what it must have been like for my dad…and for Meredith. And I know that some of you reading this will probably try to see something in the fact that I call her by name, yet I still call Sam my dad. I don’t dispute who gave birth to me, nor do I have any problems with what Meredith did in giving me to Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay. I do believe that, if he would have lived, Sam would have let Meredith go and stayed with me.

I know who raised me, and my mothers will always be special in a way that nobody else can ever replace. There is more to being a mother or father than simply introducing a child into the world.

Sunday, July 24th

We found signs that perhaps there is a large raiding party in the area. This morning, as we started our ride, we noticed a column of smoke rising in the clear morning sky.

We decided that it was pretty close to the direction that we were travelling anyway, so it really only amounted to a slight veering a bit more due west. Of course, we did not know for sure that it was a settlement that was burning until we came to the ridge overlooking the place

Since there is no proof, I can’t be sure, but something in my gut says that this is the work of the NAA. Angel disagrees. She says that General Carson and his people headed towards the Las Vegas Occupied Zone. When I asked how she knew that for certain (I have heard the same rumors since back in Irony, but I was curious), she told me that the Confederated Tribes have eyes watching any and all large settlements and forces.

Almost on cue, three men came out of the brush. They looked just like what few pictures I have seen when it comes to the old time images of Native Americans. They wore simple animal skin loincloth-type things and had a quiver of arrows over one shoulder. Their long black hair was in braids and their faces were painted in blacks and grays.

Angel made us all stop and she went over to them to speak. After a few minutes, she brought them all over to our little group. She didn’t bother with introductions—which I think is a bit rude—and relayed at least some of what they told her.

Just after dark last night, a large band of men on horseback rode into the small settlement. Somebody inside let them in and they rounded up everybody, making them all stand in the rain while they went house to house and took whatever supplies they grabbed. They had a wagon with one of those flame shooting hoses, so the people really had no choice but to let these men take what they wanted.

The problems occurred when some of the men started taking advantage of some of the women of the settlement. That was when the people began to resist. There was a fight at some point that turned into a bit of a riot. That was when the invaders opened up with the flame shooting hose and began torching all the homes.

Besides having the people outnumbered almost two-to-one, they also had far superior weapons. It was a wholesale slaughter. The invaders headed west and have several hours on us, but I guess some of the Natives are tracking them. And no, it was not General Carson and his men, but they were flying the NAA banner.

That was not exactly the news I wanted to hear. This means that there is more than one army out there to worry about. However, if it can be considered good news, the consensus is that this group is actually heading towards where General Carson is supposedly camped out.

We rode into the village and put down a few walkers; probably people who were immune but had been bitten at some point. Then we hauled all the bodies to one of the buildings that still burned. We tossed the bodies into the flames and then two of the men chanted something. I have never heard anything so simultaneously beautiful but sad in my life.

We rode in silence the rest of the day.

Tuesday, July 26th

We skirted the ruins of what was a pretty large city. I didn’t ask, and nobody offered to tell me. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

That brings me to this point; I have asked a few times as we rode along what the name of a particular river might be or what town lies in the distance. The Natives either don’t know, or they don’t care. They say things like, “What would you call it if you were to give it a name?”

What the heck kind of question is that? How am I supposed to know what to call it? As for the towns and occasional cities we see in the distance, I guess I am going to have to wait until I get home. I will find a map and try to guess the general route that we took and find out for myself.

I seem to recall a similar situation between Meredith and Erik Greyfeather. Maybe it is a Native American thing.

Wednesday, July 27th

Today was more what I felt to be in my comfort zone. Yep…zombies.

We were just breaking camp when a single walker just sort of staggered into our midst. The interesting thing about this one was that it was obviously fresh. Oh…and he had a patch on his tattered jacket: New American Army.

I was actually the one to first notice him and was really not all that excited. After all, one zombie is hardly anything worth getting worked up over these days.

Just as I pulled my blade free, I heard something. That damn baby cry. It was in some brush, so I waited for it to come stumbling out…only, it didn’t. However, coming through the trees just to my left were a few dozen more. It was a mix of fresh and some of the more…seasoned versions.

Now everybody was involved. Also, the horses started making a fuss. I saw two of the men rush out to where the horses were hobbled, but I was suddenly finding myself up to my armpits in zombies.

A damned mini-herd had literally stumbled upon our location. It probably could not have been more than a hundred or so, but when you are not really expecting them, it can be dangerous.

We managed to put them all down without anybody getting a scratch and then set to breaking camp. Then I heard it again, from the same location. The baby cry.

I looked around and nobody seemed to be noticing it. Sure, it was faint, but I did not see how anybody could miss that sound. I headed over in the direction I was sure that it came from and started poking around in the brush with my long blade. If it was a creeper, I didn’t need to have it grab my ankle.

Just as I was about to poke this dense copse of brush, I heard a very distinct, “Shhh!” come from the area. I was certain that zombies did not shush each other.

I froze and waited; then I heard a whimper.

I moved some of the stalks of vegetation aside and that is how I discovered Megan and her little sister, Ginny.

Megan is six years old and has wild red hair that is curly in ways I could never do justice with words. The poor girl looks like she got hit by lightning…twice. Her eyes are a deep hazel and she has about nine billion freckles on her face, shoulders, and arms. The missing front teeth only add to her cute factor.

As for Ginny, I would guess her to be about eighteen months old. A zombie got a good nip on her left arm, but she does not seem any worse off than if she were dealing with any other slightly infected injury in need of cleaning and medicine.

What happened next almost derailed everything.

I called Angel over. She took a look, nodded, and went back to getting her horse ready. Everybody else seemed just as oblivious to the little girl I had under my arm who was clutching her fussy and injured baby sister.

“Do you wish to save your people or those two?” Angel finally spun on me when I began to make more than just a little fuss.

“Hmm,” I buzzed through pursed lips. “BOTH!”

“I am sorry, Snoe,” Angel said. And to her credit, she did look truly apologetic. “We do not have the time to try and place these children. That army is just ahead, and we need to meet up with the people Erik has waiting for us. We also must get your own people coordinated and prepared to meet this General Carson on a field of our choosing, not his. One of the first steps is to wipe out all of the tendrils that he has spread out across this land.”

I knew what she was saying, and in my brain, I also knew that these two lives could not be weighed against the hundreds, perhaps even thousands. That did not mean that I could just leave them to the fates.

“I will not be a part of murdering two children,” I snapped in anger.

Looking back, I realize that I was being a bit overdramatic. Children of this age are taught very early on how to care for themselves. That does not mean that they are equipped to do so, but it was not like we were actually killing them; just greatly reducing their chance of survival.

After a considerable amount of yelling, Angel agreed to send one of her men with these children. There was a village (according to her) about two days south from here. This was where I was going to have to trust her at her word. She would not let me accompany them, and if I left, she threatened to simply ride back to the Confederated Tribal lands and tell them that I slipped away in the night.

I told the children that they would be okay and I was more than a little surprised when one of Angel’s men knelt beside the injured baby and applied this mixture of stuff that smelt like sour mud and almost rotten veggies. He said it was a poultice that would help draw out the infection. Who was I to argue?

We resumed our trek and began to see signs of an army on the move. By the time we made camp, we also saw that this much activity was not going unnoticed by the undead. Zombies were in the wake of this army, and they didn’t have a side…they ate whoever was closest.

Just after I had climbed up into my hammock, three dozen more Natives arrived at our camp. I had to climb back down to hear all that was being said, but it seems that the people on my side are definitely doing their part to prepare for war.

According to reports and a very unflattering description that removed any doubt as to who they were talking about, Betty has sent riders in every direction and has even gone to the rails to spread the word. She is making it known that a militant faction from the east (I thought it was interesting the things she omitted…like who started this uprising and the fact that some form of government has been trying to congeal in the mountains of Colorado in some defunct Old World military center) was coming to try and subjugate every tribe, community and independent settler they could find.

I had to wonder how this message was being received. I can only attest to the tribal communities and the Corridor settlements that I grew up around. I am not sure if her message would be laughed at or taken seriously.

I wondered if this was how wars used to be fought. I know from what I learned in History class that it had become too easy over time. War had become impersonal, which was probably why there was so much of it.

Some of the people old enough to remember said that the news was always full of stories about battles and attacks taking place. Supposedly, there were even attacks on just regular people. I think I heard the phrase “nine-eleven” about a million times before I ever asked about it. Hearing the story, I just can’t wrap my head around what happened on that day.

I do know that one thing a lot of the old-timers mention is that it took the walking dead to bring peace to the Middle East. Since I really don’t know what that means other than supposedly they had been in a fight that lasted thousands of years, I can simply assume that is a big deal.

However, we are now on the brink of what I must consider our first real war. Sure, we have had skirmishes with some of the tribes over the years. And then there are the raiders who come along and try their luck. But over the last few years, nothing had really happened. It looked like things were going to settle down and start to fully heal.

Maybe that is the problem. Maybe folks forgot how hard it was to get to this place we had managed to reach. Maybe there is always somebody who just has to have ‘a little bit more’. My hope is that we will end this once and for all.

That thought raises doubts. Can we ever be free of that sort of thinking? When we defeat this General Carson, won’t there just be something new to pop up?

Maybe it is the Native Americans who have it right. They simply turned their back on everything and decided to carve out a life for themselves.

And what about after this war? What then?

Chapter 3

Monday, August 1st

If this does not succeed, I will at least die knowing that I gave it everything I had. My only question is that, if this does succeed, what will the cost be to my soul and the souls of the others who take part in this fight?

My choices are three. First: I can simply forget all of this and ride back to the Confederated Tribes and live my life. I really do not believe that a force could simply come in and take that land. Second: I can gather everybody and say that it is in our best interest to surrender. No matter what, somebody has to be in charge. There must be rules. We can’t live in chaos and anarchy. Third: Fight.

Obviously, I have chosen the third. And after the events of the past few days, there is no going back.

It seemed that I awoke each morning to find more of the Native Americans had joined us in the night. Also, as we rode through the day, they seemed to melt out of the trees and surrounding countryside. I have no idea how it happened, but eventually there was over five hundred of us.

When we caught up with that group of soldiers, I realized just how big of an army we had become. As a whole, we stopped in this huge open area. It looked to have been a giant stadium of some sort. We did not enter the structure, but instead formed up in one of the huge clearings that surround these sorts of things.

My mind still reels at the idea that structures this large were needed to allow people to sit and watch others play a game. You could take every single person and probably even all of the tribes for a ten mile radius of Corridor 26 and not even fill half of one of those stadiums. And to think that there were hundreds of these things around just this country, and that they would fill up every weekend?

Anyways, Angel climbed up on top of a rusting old bus so that all those gathered around could see her. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was gesturing to me, insisting that I join her. When I did, and I looked out at all those faces, I got a chill. They were looking at me, but they weren’t seeing me…they were seeing some sort of symbol…a totem is the word I believe that they use.

“Brothers and sisters,” Angel began, and that is when I realized that at least a quarter of this group were women, “we are entering the Seventh Generation. I have seen the mark with my own eyes, and if we had time, I would invite each of you to see for yourselves. We do not have that luxury.

“On the other side of this dead city is an army. They seek to join up with one that is even larger in order to subject all they find to their will. Some of you may believe that this is not your fight. Some of you may believe that this is the problem of the wasicu…the white man. I tell you that if we do nothing, then we shall eventually see history fold over on itself and be repeated.

“Our forefathers believed that the white man would eventually stop taking. You all know where that ended. And while we have claimed a new land for ourselves, how long do we wait before this General Carson comes to our gates?

“There are many who believe that we would simply trade one enemy for another, but I have seen for myself that the white man can change…the white man can live in peace. We have been speaking the prayer and have perhaps missed the meaning of Mitakuye Oyasin. We have always used it to include only our Native brothers and sisters. Perhaps it needs to include all those who would allow the spirits of healing to cleanse this world and restore its beauty.

“This child,” Angel finally acknowledged my presence at her side, “has lived with the white man all of her life. Her father Samuel Todd is no stranger to you. You have all read his words and those of the Elder Chief, Erik Greyfeather…”

Wait! What?

I won’t lie and tell you that little revelation did not rock me back just a little. He had made it seem like he was alone and not a part of that group of Elders that arrived. It seems that may only be partially true.

“…about this Samuel Todd. He lived his entire life not aware of his true heritage, yet he lived a life that was humble and true to the spirit we honor. Many of you have been living among the white man these past several years. Those who discovered malice and hatred and destruction sent word…and those settlements were dealt with accordingly. Yet, there have been others who have shown that we cannot judge all the same. It is those very people that we come to help now.

“It is those people who may well be the very same ones we need to call upon in our time of need. This is a New World. The time has come for us to claim our place as protectors and guardians of it, and see that the beauty can shine once more as it did for our ancestors.”

I have to admit, most of what she said, I was not sure if she was being nice, or being kinda snotty. It almost sounded like she was asking for some lowly scrub to be allowed to join their little club. That could just be my fatigue talking, though. We had ridden pretty hard the last few days.

So once that was over, we all just stood there. Finally, Angel gave me a nudge.

“What?” I asked, trying not to move my lips.

“Tell them why they need to put their lives on the line. Tell them why they need to go into a fight that is not really theirs.”

Now I was really lost. What could I tell these people? Heck, I had a difficult enough time talking to people that I knew when it came to this stuff. Why was every group or person that I met so insistent that I had something to say worth hearing?

Eventually, I turned out and looked at the faces peering back at me. It was a few seconds into it when it hit me like a bolt out of the blue. Okay, these people were Native Americans, but for the most part…how could you tell? Sure, there were those with the darker features, black hair, and dark eyes. But more of them just looked like…anybody.

“You have absolutely no reason to do this,” I said. “I say this knowing what it feels like to take the life of another living, breathing human being. It does not matter if it is an enemy…and it did not matter what terrible things this person did to those I love. It did not matter if they were simply strangers bent on doing harm to those I knew and loved, or if they were attacking people I had never met and would never see again. The act of killing another will weigh on you…probably forever.

“And that is exactly what I will be asking each of you to do. I will be asking you to choose a side…then, to take the lives of others.

“I ask this with no promise that those you protect may not turn and do you harm someday. All I can hope is that, by helping these people, a gap will be bridged.

“For as long as I have lived, you, the Native Americans, have been seen as this distant group that cares for nothing or nobody except yourselves. We have traded with you out of necessity, and out of the idea that, if we work with you, we will not have to fear attacks from you. Despite your borders having always been closed to those who are not of Native American blood, places like my home, Corridor 26, have been open to you. We have always accepted people who came in peace and wanted to be a part of the community.

“I know that I am supposedly one of you. But my life has been spent as one who you deemed an outsider. If I were to have walked to your fences just a few months ago, you would have denied me entrance based on what you perceived.

“I say to you that, despite anything else, we are people…human beings…first and foremost. If we do not come together, then we will certainly perish alone.

“I do not ask you to fight for strangers, instead, I ask you to fight for a future. Sadly, it will only be through fighting…through violence…that we can hope to bring any sort of peace.”

When I finished, I felt tired all of a sudden. I looked back at the faces staring up at me and wondered if they even spoke English. The faces seemed to hold no emotion. My Mama Janie always said that hatred is not the worst thing to feel for another person, it is indifference. I suddenly feared that very emotion.

It took me a moment to realize that Angel had climbed down. She walked to her horse, gave me a slight nod of her head, and began to ride in the direction that we knew this group of soldiers lay. I did the only thing I could think of, I scooted off the bus/stage and hopped on Mato.

I was afraid to look over my shoulder. I could not hear a sound as I trotted my horse to catch up with Angel. It was probably about an hour before Angel veered her horse over next to mine and reached out to squeeze my hand before moving back up to take a spot in the lead of our single file line…that went on into the distance behind us!

I could not be sure, but it looked like they had all fallen in with us. I had no idea what I said that worked…until one of the women came to me that night. She had written down everything that was said by me and Angel. She said that it would need to be passed on if this day proved to be the start of something that would shape the ways of the Seventh Generation.

I am making myself a promise right now to learn everything there is to know about this Seventh Generation thingy as soon as this is over. I guess I should do that much considering.

So, we rode on through the morning until we actually began to see a haze up ahead in the distance from their horses kicking up dust. Funny, I looked back to my long line of riders and did not see hardly a thing in our wake.

We rode for maybe another hour before Angel signaled that we should stop. About twenty riders came up from various (and seemingly random in my eyes) locations along the line. They gathered in a half-circle, grim-faced and determined.

The gist of it was that she had our group split into three parts. One part would move ahead from each side and we would continue to come up from behind. Once our group could make out actual people, we would urge our horses to about half speed. The hope was that the army ahead would notice us.

Once they were committed to a fight with us, the other groups would come in from the sides at full speed and begin firing arrows. From then on…it was a matter of hoping that we would prevail.

The one thing of concern was the wagon with the flame thrower. That would be tricky. A group of some of the best shots would be firing flaming arrows at that wagon, hoping that it would catch fire and explode.

I felt my adrenaline begin to surge as we watched the two groups take off to either side. Once some signal was given, our own group began its slow charge.

As the smudge on the horizon grew to a shadow, and then eventually a dark blob, I felt a bit nauseous. Before I knew it, the distinct shapes of men on horseback and on foot began to materialize out of that mess. It was almost predictable when somebody from their rearguard spotted us. You could see the cloud around them swirl as they wheeled to meet what they assumed was their main threat.

To their credit, they kept a decent number back in reserve. This is where things start to get foggy. First, it should be noted here that those soldiers never made any attempt to hail us. They came at a charge and it was obviously meant to scare us before our forces slammed into each other on the field.

“You should drop back a little,” Angel said over the pounding of hooves.

“If I am to ask these people to follow me, then I need to be in front,” I shot back, not feeling nearly as brave as that statement made me sound (or look on paper for that matter).

What followed next was even worse than the battle at Irony. The sounds of screaming horses add an entirely new horror to a fight. I had no idea what to do, and that was something that I did not realize until the fight was on.

I could not hope to use anything but a hand-to-hand weapon in this instance. That is a form of killing that takes a quick toll. Not just the emotional aspect of taking lives, but add in seeing somebody get their guts opened up on one side of you while another person loses their arm just above the elbow while you are planting your own blade in the side of somebody’s head.

Mato knew more about what to do than I did, and he was very good at moving me away from danger. It was almost like that shaggy beast was trying to protect me. And that was the case until I was knocked from his back.

If being in the midst of the battle was bad on horseback, it is a hundred times worse on foot. Suddenly, you can’t really see anything. You have horses rearing and stomping all around you. There are bodies sprawled on the ground. I passed by one man who was trying in absolute futility to stuff his insides back into the slit in his belly.

It was also right about then that the arrows went whizzing by just about a foot or two above my head. Our attackers were now caught in our trap.

“Stay low and move to the edge of the fight!”

I spun to find a man about my age looking at me through a mask of blood. I saw more than a couple of gashes on his body, so I was not entirely sure how much of that blood might be his.

“What?” I asked this stupid question as all hell is breaking loose around me.

“Stay low and run for the edge of the fight,” he urged, but this time he slipped past me and grabbed my hand.

We ran, sometimes stopping suddenly as a handful of horses would slam into each other with people from both sides yelling, cursing, screaming, and even crying. Eventually, it actually began to thin out as we reached the edge of the main fighting.

“You did not drop down on your horses when the signal came that the arrows were about to fly,” he said to me once we were pretty much clear of the battle.

I didn’t remember hearing anything…much less a signal.

“I apologize for knocking you off of your horse, but I did not want you to take an arrow,” he went on to explain while I stood there with what I am certain was probably just a stupid look on my face.

We moved along—actually, he moved and I pretty much followed—until we reached a cluster of “my” people. I guess there was a “take no prisoners” policy. Several of the Natives were moving along the downed bodies and finishing them off, and whenever they encountered somebody who threw up their arms in surrender, they administered a quick end.

I did not necessarily like that approach, but I was certainly not going to ask them to stop. I imagine that they have their reasons.

When it was all over, the ground was strewn with bodies. Once again, my expression obviously gave me away.

“What is wrong, Snoe?” the young man, his name is Jimmy Stonekiller by the way, asked.

“I guess I was wondering if one of the few things that I did learn about Native Americans is true…or if it has been forgotten…or…heck, I don’t know.”

I was flustered. Partially because once again somebody could just glance at me and know something was up or amiss or whatever. The other was that I felt like an idiot…and would feel even worse in about three…two…one…

“Waiting to see if we scalp our enemies?”

I know that I gulped. I now that because it felt like I was trying to swallow a whole apple in one shot. I might have also nodded.

“That was not really our thing,” Jimmy said with a stern face. “That was something we learned from the colonials who once used our scalps to gain payment much like an animal pelt. Our people took up the practice as a sort of revenge, but many tribes believed it was bad to defile the body of a corpse. We banned that act when our councils merged and formed the Confederated Tribal Union.”

I am pretty sure that he looked offended. What can I say? They really don’t teach a lot in history classes these days. The number one subject that you need to be versed in is survival.

Once we gathered our own dead, a group was assigned from those who were wounded but still mobile to make a pyre. The bodies would be burned together. Angel said it was done so that those who died in battle together could always remain bonded to one another. It sounds nice…all except for the part about dying.

We got back on the move the next day.

That was when we received a group of riders sent by Betty. They say that General Carson has been located.

Las Vegas was under siege.

Tuesday, August 2nd

So, according to Betty’s riders, General Carson has decided to put all of his eggs into the ‘capture Las Vegas’ basket. His methods are exactly what you would expect. He apparently led a massive heard of zombies straight for Vegas. Even worse, he has three other smaller groups out scouring the area for more herds.

Here is what seems to be his tactic:

General Carson leads a herd of zombies to a settlement and then cuts it off from being able to get any supplies. The thing about Vegas is that it is huge. Walls reach out like tendrils to keep piping that brings in water, as well as large solar panel fields and wind turbine fields, secure.

If the guesses can be believed, General Carson led over a million undead to the long, high walls that protect Las Vegas. The rumor is that he sent riders into Death Valley where one of the largest herds was rumored to be just standing in the sun, baking down to nothing but a piece of walking shoe leather.

This does not bode well.

When the question was asked how he intended to be able to take the city even if it did surrender now that it was cocooned in a rasping wall of undeath, it would seem that he has over a hundred of those giant flamethrowers. The corpses are not much more than kindling.

So, you might be wondering what is keeping the people of Vegas from just tossing over a torch. It would seem that, at the moment, the zombies are being continually sprayed with water from those same hoses.

Wait…it gets better. Do you remember when I saw those gliders during my failed trip up the Columbia River Gorge? They are being used to buzz over the city and drop walkers and these globes filled with some sort of very flammable material.

While Vegas has a decent water supply, and apparently General Carson wants it all intact which is why he has not attacked the pipeline directly, it still can’t deal with the number of fires being started. The best they can hope for is to contain them as quickly as possible. Oh…and the main targets seem to be schools and residential buildings. I guess the NAA doesn’t care much about education.

Hearing this, I know that Corridor 26 was vastly less prepared than Las Vegas. We must have been easy pickings. I hope we do not arrive too late to help.

As we prepare for this journey, the irony is not lost on me. I am on my way to help defeat an army that is camped around a city that my birth mother, Meredith Gainey, was travelling to when she met her demise. I will see the city that Meredith never did.

Thursday, August 4th

Zombies everywhere.

I don’t know if they possess some sort of sense that tells them where they need to go. Heck I don’t know if they actually see or hear. What I do know is that the undead are moving towards Las Vegas.

We are sitting on a hill looking down into what seems like an endless desert. The entire landscape is an unappealing shade of brown and I see no sign of vegetation. It is possible that a road could have cut through here at some point, but any sign of such things have been long since obliterated by time, sand, and more sand.

What you can see is the black forms of singles, groups, and a few smallish (only a few hundred or so) zombies dotting the landscape. The ground shimmers with heat waves and the ever present mirage beckons. There is not one thing about this that feels good.

I asked how far we would need to ride to get to Vegas from here and Angel says at least four days! How can we expect to survive four days in that cauldron? These horses are pretty stout, but you can’t fight against this sort of heat.

Angel said that we will strike out tomorrow. She seems confident that there will be no problems. I have absolutely none of her confidence.

Friday, August 5th

Creepy.

That is the best way I can describe it.

We woke a few hours after sunset and came out of these caves that we had camped in to stay out of the sun. I could smell it before I saw it.

Rain.

The skies are thick with thunderheads that are dumping buckets of water on the ground. Sure, there is a good amount of lightning, but I will take being wet and actually a bit chilled over roasting and eventually dying of thirst.

Mato plodded along and seemed oblivious, even when a bolt of lightning struck close. Jimmy Stonekiller rode up to me around midday and handed me this odd piece of glass. When I just looked at him with my obvious question, he laughed.

“The sand turns to glass when it is struck by lightning,” he told me. “Come…let me show you something even more beautiful.”

I don’t know why, but I glanced at Angel as if I needed her permission. When she did not even look my way, I shrugged and rode with Jimmy. He took me just east of the group. I could already see several horses gathered around.

When I approached, I had to climb off of Mato and squeeze through. What I saw is hard to describe. Try to imagine planting an explosive in some sand. Then, just as it blows up…freeze everything. There is a solid fountain of sand arcing up skyward. It is about eight or so feet tall and looks impossible.

Once again, I am in awe.

If not for the undead stumbling and staggering our way, this would be perfectly beautiful. I tucked the piece that Jimmy gave me into my bag on Mato’s back and made my way back up to Angel.

I glanced back through the sheets of water and was swept up by a feeling that I can’t understand. It is like a mix of deepest love and deepest sorrow all swirled together.

These people are riding with me into battle to save people who may or may not even appreciate it. And as much as I love Mama Janie and Jenifer and all the people who I grew up around, I feel like I have finally found a missing part of myself. I am whole, but I am taking that wholeness and shoving it into a flame.

Saturday, August 6th

We encountered a small band of soldiers riding to join General Carson around midday. They were stuck at what can only be described as a raging river that cut right through the middle of the desert. Now I understand how arroyos are formed.

The sound of the water is probably why they never heard us coming. Not that it would have mattered. They had no way to cross. A few of them even jumped in and were swept away in the reddish-brown slurry in an attempt to escape the slaughter that came quick.

I have to wonder…which path would I take given the choice? The killing was, as I said, swift. Yet, some chose to take a chance and risk a much slower death by drowning or simply being pulverized against one of the large rocks that jut up from the water.

The will to survive is an interesting thing.

Thursday, August 11th

Plumes of smoke from the fires burning in Las Vegas came into view the day after we eliminated that small group of soldiers. It only took us a little over two hours to fashion the narrow bridge that we laid across the water in order to cross. I will not deny that it seemed far too narrow for my liking. Mato did not seem to notice.

Anyways, we resumed our journey, and the next morning, not only could you see the fingers of smoke reaching into the sky, I swear that you could smell it. The city/state of Las Vegas was one more day’s ride away.

I imagine this would be about as close as Meredith came.

Angel said that we would spend one extra day camped in order to come in and strike General Carson under cover of darkness. It seemed like as good of a plan as any.

That night, scouts were sent. When they returned, it was not with good news. General Carson and his army were nowhere to be found.

Vegas is gone.

It was inconceivable to me how such a thing could happen. And since they were not making any efforts to conceal themselves, it was no secret as to which way they were heading.

North.

I wanted to go see for myself, but Angel said we did not have time. If this force could obliterate a settlement the size of Las Vegas, I guess they are even bigger and scarier than we thought.

What I managed to discover from listening to the scouts is that it looks as if the fires inside the walls became too great. The undead are everywhere and one of the walls looks to have been breached.

The bits I heard revealed that Vegas did in fact have a power grid in place. Also, outside of the lands of the Confederated Tribes, this was apparently the largest community known. Again, we can only suppose, because there has been nothing from east of the country in over a decade. It is almost as if a line runs from what used to be Minnesota, all the way down to Louisiana.

The speculations are varied, and most have to do with radiation. Although California had nuclear power plants as well and no such reports ever came from down there. But honestly, considering the fact that we live in a world where travel is kept to a minimum, I could not begin to tell you where fact separates from fiction.

But back to the destruction of Las Vegas. It seems as if one of the walls was breached, allowing thousands of the undead that had been gathered outside the walls to pour inside. Even if there were survivors within, it would not be possible to help. There are just too many zombies.

None of this makes any sense.

If I was leading an army and wanted to conquer the population, what good would it do to just wipe everybody out? Who does this General Carson think he will be leading?

We got back on the move and had no trouble finding his trail. He obviously does not feel the need to cover his tracks. That is the funny thing about being arrogant; you open yourself to being taken down simply because you do not believe that such a thing can occur.

The little history that I do know has more than enough examples of such things. Egypt, Rome, the American Revolution. Talk to enough of the old timers, and a lot of them felt that the United States was on such a course.

When you think about it, humanity as a whole suffered from that same delusion. I can only go by what I have heard, and even by what is in Sam’s and Meredith’s journals. Humanity thought it was invincible…all the way up until the scale tipped over and zombies became the majority.

So we rode hard until we spotted the trailing edge of General Carson’s army. There are more wagons than I knew existed. The best estimate of this force’s numbers put them somewhere around fifty thousand!

When the scouts returned and gave those numbers, I felt my heart sink. All of this seemed to have been for nothing. How could we hope to stand against such a force? At the most, I would put our numbers at maybe five hundred…and that is probably stretching it.

“Do you think we were going to line up on one side of a field with them on the other?” Angel laughed when she noticed my reaction.

“Anything we do is just going to get us all killed,” I said with a sigh. “There is no way we can hope to fight an army that size.”

I wasn’t even taking into consideration the sort of firepower that this army wielded. At that moment, I was just thinking about the numbers…pure and simple.

“You need to have more faith.” Angel touched my cheek gently and gave me the kindest smile I have ever seen.

I still don’t see how, but it would appear that I am the only person suffering from this feeling of doom and doubt. The camp is busy with the normal activity. I even see smiles and hear laughter.

Monday, August 15th

We rode west for two days, staying just far enough away from that massive army to be able to see the cloud that they kicked up. Who knew that many people would cause such a large cloud of dust? We are several miles away and have no trouble following them. Also, at night, they actually cause a glow on the horizon to appear when it gets dark!

Yesterday, we received news that two more settlements were basically plowed under by General Carson. The citizens were given the choice to join or die. Not much of a choice if you ask me.

So now my question is this: when this army rolls into battle, will these people turn on their captors? Why would you fight for them under such conditions?

I guess only time will tell. Angel says that I do not understand. She says that these people have fallen in with General Carson, and it is likely that their families are being held prisoner. That means they will fight for their families, not for the general. That makes them far more dangerous.

We are crossing over some mountains the next few days. I know from hearing Jenifer and Mama Janie talk about it that there are several communities along what is known as Corridor Five. This was a well-travelled area that had a reputation for being fairly dangerous. The communities along that stretch were supposedly pretty rough. Also, if what they said was true, there is a very nasty gang that is known to roam the area.

I guess there was a state prison located somewhere near what used to be the city of Salem, Oregon. This prison supposedly had concrete walls that were thirty feet high. When the zombies came, that place fell to the inmates. If you believe the stories, a lot of them actually went out and brought back their families.

Nobody passes through that area of Corridor Five without paying some sort of toll. Those folks became entirely self-sufficient and did not need to trade or barter with anybody. I guess they have farmland and industry in abundance.

About ten years ago, a group of delegates from that area come to Corridor 26. They came to try and make the same deal that was eventually made with the NAA. They had construction capabilities and when the NAA tried to make a deal with them, the rumor is that they killed all but one of the emissaries. That poor lucky person got to carry back the heads of the others as the answer.

Maybe we should have taken them up on it. All they asked in return was for open trade, for us to support their defense force by offering at least three men or women per year, and that they be allowed to set up a recruiting office.

I guess the stigma of who they were was just too great. The president at the time sent them away and I suppose it was not in the friendliest of manners.

Back then, there were still expeditionary forces under the NAA banner that made regular trips through our area and as far north as Alaska from what I recall hearing. The NAA was seen as a sort of aid, and I imagine that it seemed okay since they were supposedly being run by whatever remnants of the Old World United States government that had made it to that NORAD place and set up base.

I recall this one person that Sam wrote about named Al Godwin. He had been found with cuffs still on his wrists. When things went bad on a run, it was immediately assumed that Al was back to being a bad guy. I know for a fact that Tom Langston never forgot, and when he built the first school house back when Corridor 26 was still being settled, he called it the Al Godwin Education and Community Center.

I know that the EEF manual has a very detailed description of area landmarks in what is called the Penitentiary Zone. You are told to avoid contact with anybody from that area at all costs.

And now…

Now I am heading right for it.

Thursday, August 18th

They are not shy about letting you know what lies ahead.

We are still about fifty or so miles out, but there are signs saying this:

You are heading into land claimed by FreeCon. We do not recognize any authority except our own. Representatives of any so-called government on behalf of a state and a nation that saw us as disposable will be killed. If we wanted to talk with or negotiate with you, we would have done so by now. Leave us alone to go about our business and turn back. There will be no warnings.

Not the most hospitable bunch. Angel and the others did not seem to notice or care.

Monday, August 22nd

I guess I should not be surprised that the Natives have people here. I imagine that means I should get you caught up here with the past few days’ events.

We were riding north. What is it with crucifying people? The side of the road was an alley between rows of these huge crosses containing bodies in various states of decomposition. The only good thing is that it seems they chose to keep them above the reach of the undead, although, judging by the looks, I’d say that might not have exactly been an act of mercy.

I got a good eyeful of what had to have been a torturous ending. The people had what looked like enormous metal spikes driven through their wrists and feet which were nailed to a little wooden wedge. Over time, some of the arms look to have eventually torn away and the body is twisted at an awkward angle that makes me wince and cringe just thinking about it.

I noticed that some of the males have had their privates cut off. There a few other forms of mutilation. I saw a few missing hands, and it took me a while to make sense out what it was that seemed so off, but I eventually figured it out. Some of them have had their tongues cut out.

Of course you really do not get a good look at the damage until you get to the ones closest to the City of the Walls. I’d never seen a real prison before, and I know that my dad was captured by the residents of one out east, but that place just had really tall fences. This place does in fact have enormous walls. However, they have secured a great deal of land around that central facility. They did not play around with stacking cars or any of that sort of thing. They just continued to add on to their walls.

Freetown would actually give Las Vegas a run for its money. I do not know how this place could be here and we not be more aware of its presence up in Corridor 26. This town/city is huge and has a combination of solar, wind, and steam power up and running that would make even Warehouse City jealous.

There are schools, stores, and even a playhouse. I mean a house where they put on shows! Since I imagine there are no worries about the original owners coming around and demanding they stop…or pay up, they apparently turn old movies into live productions.

I may have grown up in the post zombie world, but there are some things from the Old World that are iconic. One such thing is this movie series called Star Wars. Now, personally, I heard Mama Janie talk about it, but I guess you had to actually see those movies to get it, because they just seemed too far out there for me. Space ships and robots? Whatever makes you happy, I guess.

Anyways, the first night in, we were asked as honored guests (I will get back to that later), to attend the opening night stage show of Star Wars. I sat next to this old guy named Mel Tufo. He almost cried when this little blue and white thing that looked like a giant, upside down drinking glass on wheels came out beeping and whistling.

“I wanted to be Artoo when I grew up,” he said to me during the intermission. “I think I went as that little droid for Halloween every year until I was twelve and thought I was too cool to trick-or-treat. I actually met my wife at a Star Wars convention. She was dressed as the Jabba’s Palace version of Princess Leia.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was so sad that I wanted to give him a hug. And then I find out that he had killed his wife and gotten life in prison when he was just twenty-four. I tried to picture this old man killing somebody, and I just couldn’t.

So after the show, there is this group of men and women waiting for us to escort us to some sort of reception area where Angel and a few of the others are supposed to meet with the people in charge. When Angel insisted that I be part of that meeting, there were a few doubtful looks, and even a couple of nasty scowls.

I didn’t take offense. I think it is obvious that I am just a kid running around with a bunch of adults, but I was allowed to be present for the meeting.

So, it seems that the Native Confederation has already made some sort of agreement with not only this group—why was I not surprised to discover that there are other prisons that have become central hubs for civilization?—but a half dozen others. It seems that these facilities actually made an excellent bastion to hold out against the undead. Now, some of them apparently fell to in-fighting, but not as many as one would think.

And here is something that I find interesting. They claim to have an almost ‘zero’ crime rate. Drugs and alcohol? Strictly prohibited! They do say that not all the other prison-based cities have the same rules, but apparently the group that seized power here were a bunch of guys who were die-hard believers in the drug-and-alcohol rehab program.

They live by their own codes. If you have an issue with another, it is settled in an arena. Strictly hand-to-hand fighting, no weapons. Once the fight is over, the issue is considered ‘squashed’. (That is their term for ‘resolved’ from what I could gather.) Stealing is punishable by exile and sex crimes of any nature are handled quickly. If guilty, the person ends up on one of the crosses we passed. I guess the first thing they did once they took this prison was execute every single sex offender. Unlike the prison Sam found himself in, the numbers were not as favorable.

This ‘code’ they live by is a bit odd. For instance, the death sentence can be given for lying, refusing to work, not paying a debt, and accusing somebody of something they did not do. All in all, I find these people to be more than just a bit unstable, but this is their house…their rules.

But that is only one side; some of these men and women travelled to the far ends of the state to try and find their families. The ones that did brought them back here. They also brought people they met along the way.

And now for the connection to the Native Americans.

It seems that a couple of the ‘lifers’ (guys who have life sentences…not an overly clever moniker, but I guess it fits) were Natives. It seems that they were pretty well respected, and when they left to find family out on the Warm Springs Reservation, they became heavily involved in closing off their land. One of them was even there when Erik and Meredith came through.

When the decision came to take Oklahoma, they were a big part of the decision process. One of them turns out to be the person who suggested that they keep ‘agents’ in every known settlement. They put forth the idea that it would be to their benefit to keep an eye on the white man this time, plus one of them was really into the whole ‘Seventh Generation’ story.

His name was Brian Madison, but his birth name was Brian Greyfeather. He was always considered the ‘crazy’ one. By Old World standards, most people thought he was not only crazy, but a bit of a racist. Now, he is one of the head ambassadors for the Confederated Tribes and has what equates to a mansion here in Freetown.

Once this meeting began, things got interesting. It seems they knew all about General Carson. Not only that, but the general sent a group ahead to request passage through their territory, which they granted! They did not care one bit as to what the general or the NAA was up to, as long as it didn’t bother them.

When Angel spoke, this Brian person actually cut her off. “What reason would we have to care what happens to these white people? They rejected us years ago and have had nothing to do with us since we sent somebody to them to discuss the very arrangement that they eventually agreed to with this NAA. Now they are surprised when the snake turns and bites them? Is this the first time that the white man has made a deal and then changed the agreement to suit their greed?”

I looked around the room at the other people of Freetown who were supposed to be in charge. They just sat there…nodding!

This was when I lost my temper.

“So you are just going to sit back and let General Carson do what he wants? And then, when this…snake…when it turns back on you…what then? Using your own logic, is it not just a matter of time?

“You may not have ever been in any sort of agreement with the people of Corridor 26, but we never caused you any harm. The people of that settlement did not refuse to deal with you because you were Native American, they refused because they were scared of you. You are killers, thieves, and drug addicts. They were just normal people who were trying to rebuild their lives after the unthinkable happened.”

“And you think that none of them were…” Brian paused and gave me a hard look. “Killers, thieves and drug addicts? Is not that what you just called us?”

I nodded. Yep, that was pretty much it.

“And yet you come here now and ask for our help?”

I could tell that Brian was getting annoyed and just a bit angry. His face was starting to turn red and one blue vein stood out on his left temple. Interestingly enough, his voice stayed level and even.

“Actually, I didn’t, this was Angel’s idea.”

There was a long silence in the room and I was pretty sure that I had just blown any chance of getting these people to join us or offer any sort of help.

“You have quite the spirit,” Brian laughed. And when I say that, I don’t mean that he let go with a little chuckle as he spoke. Nope, He said those words and then he laughed…long and loud; he even had tears running down his face by the time he finished.

I sat there, glancing over at Angel every few seconds, but she did not seem to want to meet my gaze. I could tell by her clenched jaw that she was not happy. So maybe I didn’t act or behave quite in the manner she wanted, but I really did not care. As far as I was concerned, this little trip was a waste of time.

That was what I thought until Brian spoke again.

“Snoe Gainey, daughter of Sam and Meredith, I see now why Erik had such interest in you. You are a fighter, just like your mother, but have the heart and spirit of your father and his blood.” Brian stood at the table and looked at the others, calling for a vote on whether they should help.

Meanwhile, I was considering the words he had just spoken. He called me a fighter? Wow, I am pretty sure he will take that statement back eventually.

The vote was not even close to unanimous. There was a great deal of bickering and shouting, but eventually, they agreed to help. A few times, I actually thought that there would be a fist fight right then and there.

Still, once the vote was over and the decision made, everybody filed out and went to spread the word. I was still sitting there at the table with Angel and wondering if even this would be enough.

“Erik told me that you have the birthmark…the white buffalo.” Brian was looking at his hands. If I knew him better, I would swear that he was embarrassed. “Could I see it?”

I didn’t see the big deal, nor did I see the harm. I nodded and he came around the table to me. I guess he already knew where to look because he went right to it. That was just a bit creepy.

After the meeting, Jimmy was waiting for me on a bench. He waved, I waved. Then he ran to catch up to me, so I guess the wave was more of an implied “hey, come here” gesture. The gist of it was that he was wondering if we might hang out and eat together later.

I don’t read a lot, but I have read enough stories. Honestly, I don’t know how I was ever born, because the world was in a tailspin when Meredith and Sam met each other. To be honest, the last thing on my mind is getting involved with somebody.

Sure, he’s cute, and I absolutely like the idea of having a guy in my life at some point. Right now is not that time. How am I supposed to be romantic or anything like that when I have all of this insanity unfolding around me? THAT is the part of the stories in books that I do not understand. Yes, I know we could all die at any moment, but right now, those odds are a little bit higher. Romance is not a priority.

So, now that I am pretty sure his feelings are hurt, I feel like a total bitch. I just don’t want some guy thinking that I need to be saved or anything like that right now. Also, and this is a big part, I want to show all of these people that seem to think I am worth following (for lack of a better term, because, as far as I am concerned, Angel is leading this thing), that I am worthy.

Tuesday, August 23rd

I have to admit, I thought that we were living well on the Corridor. We had nothing on this place. There are stores that sell candy…JUST candy. Heck, candy was an event and an occasion back home. Not only that, but they have huge fields and stuff with all sorts of animals like cows and pigs and chickens and turkeys (which I had never seen before, much less eaten).

I saw one place that sold dresses. Even crazier, I saw women walking around wearing dresses! Nice ones, too. I owned one, but I only wore it on special occasions. Here, people just walk around and shop. There are three libraries, for crying out loud! And they have a newspaper.

This all makes me wonder about what it is we were doing, or thought we were doing on the Corridor. Until now, I thought Warehouse City was like, super advanced.

That brings me to the next part…this place has an armory. I have not been allowed to go inside, but Angel just came back from the place and she was smiling.

We leave the day after tomorrow. I guess these folks take a few days to mobilize. I am trying to be patient. It does me no good to want to hurry. But my fear is that we will arrive and there will be nothing left.

I hope that all the people who stayed behind in Warehouse City have been hard at work shoring things up. And certainly they could not believe that this was over just because Dominique left that day.

There were breaches in the walls that needed to be fixed. And that was my other thought. The Corridor had grown complacent. We had those watch towers along the way that had been built as Warehouse City was connected to the Sunset Fortress, but both of those locations were just a hub. The people that called those two places home just sort of sprawled. It was like everybody was afraid to live close to one another. Maybe there was some sort of residual fear from how things happened when the zombies first came.

Yet, now, what I see is a huge community. And make no mistake, they have walled off an enormous amount of land. But these people did it in a square that seems to have expanded outwards. As I walk around, I see each section as it was added, centering on the actual prison.

There are huge, steam-driven construction cranes working right now on the next expansion about a half mile out from the last wall to have been built. The work is non-stop, but there are numerous diversions for people to engage in when they are not working.

I actually saw a small stadium for sporting events where they were playing baseball…in front of spectators. I know it was baseball because some nice man told me when I asked. This place is almost like looking into what the world that my parents must have known. Only, from what I heard, waste was a real common practice. Not here. They have compost centers, open bazaars where people sell the clothing they no longer want. Where I lived, if you outgrew something, you usually salvaged any of the material and used it in the making of your next set of clothes. Once the material was absolutely useless and threadbare, it was either turned into rags or brought in to be shredded and pressed into something that you used in your woodstove.

Wednesday, August 24th

Today, I had a cupcake…it is like a cake, only small, round, and wrapped in colorful paper. It was heavenly. Am I that sheltered?

Thursday, August 25th

I should feel sorry for General Carson…but I don’t.

We left Freetown this morning. The Natives who have travelled with me this far were a little annoyed at first. The Freetown Army just rolled out in a massive cluster of men, wagons, and weapons. So much for single-file.

Our scouts have told us that the general has been making it a point to roll over every single settlement and tribe they encounter. They are leaving nothing in their wake except death and destruction. Finally, I heard voices that echo my own thoughts.

Some of the Natives were riding right behind me this morning when we passed through the still smoldering ruins of a village. There were bodies strung up from poles and trees, as well as a litter of corpses just strewn about for the animals to pick at.

“How can this crazy white man hope to have anybody left to rule?” I heard from right behind me.

“He is a white man, he does not care how many he rules…as long as he is ruling someone,” was the response.

Friday, August 26th

We caught up to the trailing edge of a herd of undead that had fallen in behind the general and his army. So, today, I was treated to seeing the difference between my Native army and my convict army.

The Natives rode in fast, quickly taking down zombies and then pulling back once they were the focus of the undead. The convicts charged in like lunatics. There was a great deal of yelling, cursing, and laughing.

The real difference was the final outcome. Both sides put down hundreds of the walkers. But not one single Native brother or sister was hurt or killed. If the report that I heard was accurate, the convicts lost thirty-seven members. The crazy thing is that they didn’t even seem bothered by it.

Also, they have three who have been bitten and are already showing the tracers in their eyes. They left on horseback right after the fight, riding hard for the general’s direction. I don’t know what they think to accomplish; three zombies against an army of thousands?

Saturday, August 27th

We should reach Corridor 26 tomorrow. We are currently camped just past Corridor 205. At last, I am once again on familiar ground. It feels strange. I want to be excited, but with all of the damage and destruction that I have seen on this ride, I have a hard time holding out hope.

Angel told me that she expects this fight to be very costly and she wanted my promise that I would return to the Confederated Lands with her no matter the outcome. I think she is as nervous about that as I am about the fate of all the people at Warehouse City.

Tonight, she sat down and shared some stories about the struggle of the Native Americans. I feel foolish for being so ignorant, and after hearing some of the stories, I guess I am not surprised that anybody who is not Native American is choosing to let that part of history fade. Only, as long as there are Native Americans alive, that is not possible.

This is a people who believed until the end that there would always be enough land for everybody to live peacefully. Yet, there were those who saw the White Man as a human locust. I simply do not have enough knowledge of history to say one way or the other, but I do have enough knowledge now to say that the idea of reservations is reprehensible. I do hope that, once this is over, there can be some sort of bridge built between the White Man and the Native American.

If we do hope to outlast the zombies, there are a lot of bridges that need building. If I am truly some sort of symbol, then I want to survive this coming battle if for no other reason than to start a process that will urge everybody to see value in one another no matter the differences.

It is not like I feel that I have any answers. I just think that perhaps I have been given a rare opportunity. For whatever reason, people listen to me like I have something worth saying. For the first time in my life, I might actually be grateful to be the daughter of two well-known individuals.

Sunday, August 28th

Too much rain to do anything…we can barely see five feet in front of us. Trying to attack an enemy now could be a disaster. At least that is what everybody is saying. Personally, I think we would all have the same handicap.

Chapter 4

Thursday, September 1st

Sunset Fortress and everything around it…all the homes, workshops and meeting houses…gone. We are now moving around on the flanks of General Carson and his army.

So here is what we ran into once the weather cleared enough for us to move out. There were more undead to deal with. I think they are simply drawn by all the activity, because there was not all that much noise. In fact, we did not know the fate of the Sunset Fortress until we came within sight of it.

I know that it had been hit pretty hard when the NAA first attacked, but when I say gone, I mean that it has been reduced to a pile of rubble. There are signs that something heavy was here and Brian says that his scouts report that a sort of ramming device was used.

Angel’s scouts were busy and were not able to get to the scene in time. I guess they had more troubles with zombies than Brian’s men. Still, there have been no casualties from the Natives while Brian lost three of his patrol. There are a lot of walkers in the area. In fact, never in my life have I seen so many here around Corridor 26. They have always been out in what we consider the ‘wilderness’ areas; more of a problem for the local tribes than for us.

What we are sure of is that General Carson faced some sort of resistance here. That would indicate to me that Betty got the word here and something is in place. From what I see, it looks like this was mostly a harassing gesture. I saw breaches in the walls that were from the first NAA attack. It looks like nothing more than a sheet-metal fence was put in place and that would not have held against any serious zombie threat, so I feel safe in assuming that Warehouse City is where the people of Corridor 26 are going to make their stand.

The general seems pretty arrogant. He has made no effort to set up any sort of rear guard. Perhaps he suffers from that ‘bully’ mentality. He thinks that he is the biggest and baddest, so he simply does not worry about anybody threatening him.

Friday, September 2nd

We have a prisoner.

Saturday, September 3rd

I am afraid that all we have done may be for nothing. In the distance, black clouds billow skyward as Warehouse City burns. Thousands of undead have streamed in through several places in the barriers that were breeched with the use of massive explosive devices.

The prisoner actually told us anything we needed to know, but, as he reminded us time and again, we would be helpless to stop it. Had we arrived a week earlier, we might have been able to harass the general’s forces, but even then, it is unlikely that we would have been able to stop him.

Besides our being seriously outnumbered, General Carson has mastered the art of using the undead to shield his flanks as well as to act as fodder when he attacks. At least we know why there was no real sort of rear guard. We had to keep our focus on the zombies, that effectively kept us from doing anything resembling an offensive.

Brian and the Freetown Army lost almost a quarter of their numbers by simply charging in and thinking that they could use the undead in the same manner and to the same effect as the general. Of course, had Brian waited until the interrogation was over, it is likely that he would have acted with more caution.

It seems that the NAA has been very busy these past couple of decades. They have created a sort of human-zombie hybrid. We don’t really understand it because the soldier that we captured only had a very limited knowledge, but they have somehow managed to utilize people who show immunity by “half turning” them. (That is the way the captive described it, we are really quite clueless as to what that means.) I guess they keep a heavy rear guard of these “Anomalies” (again, his word). The zombies that they lure in arrive and then find nothing that they are interested in because I guess these anomalies can actually walk amongst the undead without being attacked.

They use these anomalies to lead the charge once they breach the wall as well. And that was the next piece of disturbing news. Any prisoners that are captured while they march on an objective are kept in cages. When the attack begins and the walls are breached, a pair of Anomalies cuff themselves to a prisoner and use them as live bait to draw the undead. Once they clear the fence or whatever, they literally cut the prisoner loose—usually by lopping of the hands.

How can we fight this?

Sunday, September 4th

I will never be able to give Mama Janie her proper burial. The building—along with almost all the others that make up the core of Warehouse City—has been burned to the ground.

General Carson has left his calling card. The death and destruction are so overwhelming. I see familiar faces amidst the bodies hanging from anything that could be used to string people up. Men, women, and children…he does not seem to care about life on any level.

So, after spending the day cutting people down, it seems that there is going to be a meeting called in just a little while. I imagine that it will be everybody telling me that my cause is lost and that the chase is over.

I am sitting here against the only partially burned base of a tree. I remember this tree from when I was little. It had the most perfect branches, almost like it grew for the sole purpose of having swings hung from its lower boughs. I think every child in Warehouse City has come to this tree and used the swings. It seems that the general has some sort of intel, or that this was a cruel coincidence, but it was here that most of the children were hung.

I know that I will not be able to do anything to this bastard by myself, but I will not be walking away from this. I fully expect Brian and his Freetown force to pack it in, and no doubt Angel will not agree to continue to chase this army with the scales being tipped so far out of balance when we lose two-thirds of our men. She is not going to allow her people to be slaughtered, and if I am being honest, that is exactly what will happen if we try to fight General Carson after Brian’s people go home.

However, that does not mean that I will be giving up. I have no idea what I am going to do, but I won’t just walk away again. I did that once…and if I am going to die, it will be doing everything that I can to kill General Carson.

Monday, September 5th

Shows what I know.

The meeting was more of a gathering. Everybody came to the town square and Brian got up on a platform that had been used as a gallows. When Angel joined him, I was ready to hear them talk about going home.

Nope.

“You see what has been done here,” Brian said, his voice calm, but with so much power behind it that it gave me chills. The crowd was absolutely silent so that everybody could hear. “To my Native Brothers and Sisters, I say that this is why we have separated ourselves from the White Man. But, to you, the White Brothers and Sisters who stand beside us, I say that you can no more paint every white man and woman with the same brush as you can the Native, Black, Hispanic, Asian…or any other race.

“I am proud to stand here with you and say that the dawn of the Seventh Generation has come. The signs long ago foretold have been revealed, and now we must bring about the change in this world that allows for the spirits of nature to breathe new life into this world. For that to happen, the perpetrator of the horrors that we have all seen here must be brought down.

“While we can never assure that there will not be another demon to replace this one, it is my sworn duty as a believer of the prophecies of the Seventh Generation to do all in my power to nurture beauty and put an end to the ugliness of the Old World. I call on all my Native Brothers and Sisters to clasp hands with those not of our blood and stand together to bring the return of beauty to this world.”

I just stood there, staring up at him in amazement. And as he spoke, Angel nodded her agreement! Looking around, I saw other heads nodding…Native, White, Black, and everything in between; we became one tribe in that moment. That is what I feel in my heart.

Thursday, September 8th

For some reason, the general has gone west. He is following the trail that still remains from where the old highway cut through the mountain range that lies between the area once known as the Willamette Valley and the Oregon Coast.

I do not know of any settlements along this route. That is not to say there not tribes that might dot the way, but nothing resembling the Corridor settlements. Speaking with Brian and Angel, neither of them know about anything substantial, so this is a mystery.

In other news, Jimmy and a scouting party returned just before dark this evening. They found Betty! In all the insanity of the past couple of days, she slipped my mind. I feel awful. And here is an even sweeter bit of news…Selina is with her.

I guess they are spending the night at Warehouse City and will be catching up with us as soon as possible. I imagine that Betty is heartbroken. I understand exactly how she feels. I have had a while to process things with having lost Mama Janie, Jenifer, and even Phaedra, a while ago.

Friday, September 9th

We are looking down into a small village. From here it is difficult to really know exactly what is going on, but we all agree that several of the “Anomalies” are down there with a legion of undead.

Right now, we are completely surrounding the village. We might be too late to save the people down there, but not one of those freaks is going to escape.

They want to capture at least one of the Anomalies. I have no idea why. It is not like we can do anything with them. We have no lab, no way to really examine them. If it were up to me, we would simply kill them all and move on.

Saturday, September 10th

I guess we know why I am not making the decisions. The Anomaly that we captured is a woman. Her name is unimportant and I don’t plan on learning it. She is a monster…much more of a horror than any zombie. However, the one thing that they could not engineer out of these freaks is the sensation of pain. An Anomaly is very much alive, despite the fact that you would not know it by looking into its eyes.

It stares at you with angry black orbs that have only the slightest ring of white around them. They have a body temperature that matches their eyes: cold. This one felt as if it had been at the bottom of a mountain lake. Her skin was an unnatural shade of blue and her lips were almost purple. Her hair was brittle and looked like it would break if you touched it and her tongue was gray. Her blood, that was the creepiest part…it was almost green with hints of blue, but her veins looked black and seemed to stand out from her skin.

At first she acted like she could not talk…wait, I should back up a minute. It was how we found her that I should start.

When morning came, we moved in on the village. I don’t think anybody actually got any sleep, though. The screams lasted all night, and more of them were from children than adults.

As we moved in, we cut down anything that looked like a zombie. There were heavily armed escorts scattered about; obviously General Carson considered these things to be somewhat valuable. We did not bother to take any prisoners when it came to the regular soldiers, but we do now have one of their flamethrowers and some top-of-the-line crossbows. Also, we found vials of this oily substance on several of the soldiers.

We would later discover (while questioning the Anomaly) that it is some sort of paralyzing toxin. They like to take their prisoners alive to use feeders for the Anomalies. Yep, they eat the living as well, but they prefer their victims not to be squirming. Like I said…monsters. Zombies simply do what they do and have no feeling about it. They are no more evil than a snake or bear; they simply act according to their nature.

These Anomalies know exactly what they are doing when they eat a person…alive. And they enjoy it.

No, that is not an editorial…that is straight from the mouth of the monster. I heard it with my own ears. And we didn’t even need torture to compel such a statement.

It seems that all of the Anomalies are volunteers! These…people, if that is what you can call them, were all immune and offered themselves willingly to be turned into a weapon. And really, what else could you call them? They use live humans as bait and draw hordes of the undead to a target location for General Carson.

I probably don’t need to tell you, but in case you wondered…this is a program that Dominique began. It seems that she has had her plan in motion for quite a while.

As for the actual “useful” intel that we gathered regarding the general and his army…they are heading to a facility on the coast near a settlement situated near what used to be the town of Tillamook. It seems that town used to be famous for, if you can believe this, cheese. I guess there are stranger things to be famous for.

They converted the cheese factory to a “weapons” depot. I guess they are creating an army of these Anomalies. General Carson is heading there to oversee the final stages. If what we heard is even remotely true, then we have to act now.

Here is a very stripped down version of the plan as we were able to get it from that horrible creature. I guess there are less than a hundred of these Anomalies. (I am proud to say we have removed one quarter of their number if that is the case.) The general is set to “convert” a hundred and forty-four thousand.

It seems that this group is…wait for it…an extremist faction of The Genesis Brotherhood (how does an extremist group have an extremist faction?). They believe that all of this is some sort of biblical prophecy and that they are the “chosen” of God. First off, I can’t believe that there are a hundred and forty-four thousand living people that were immune. Shows how sheltered we have been in our little corner of the world.

They have been engaged in this plan since the beginning. I bet Meredith would be very disappointed in herself for not finishing them all off. I know she thought she did…but I wonder what she would say now? These people were scary back then. They have become worse than I think even she could have imagined.

They have been breeding and indoctrinating these children since Day One. Did I fail to mention that the one we captured was about my age?

These people really and truly believe the stuff coming out of their mouths. They believe to their core that they are right and acting on behalf of some divine will. We, the living, breathing remnants of mankind, are now nothing more than a fungus that must be at last scraped away.

Once this army of Anomalies is complete, I guess even General Carson’s days are numbered. He will be nothing more than a hammer to be wielded by these things. And the millions or billions of zombies will be the nail.

They will be sent to known locations where large herds exist and lay siege to every settlement, town and city. And the Confederated Tribal Lands are tops on the list.

These Anomalies will be taking to the rails, east to some of the most populated regions from the Old World. They have been using balloons and even sent some of the early Anomalies out to gather the locations of herds that number over a million. If they can mobilize those herds, nothing can stand before them.

It would seem that, like the undead, the Anomalies can travel in the areas that people cannot due to existing levels of radiation and toxic air from things like chemical plants and refineries that burned or blew up way back when the whole apocalypse began.

This “little” invasion was simply a test. The loss of Dominique was barely even felt. It is General Carson and his council that are the real danger. It was just a “lucky” coincidence that she and the general met.

So now, we have no choice. We must destroy the general, his army, and this facility. If not, then it really is the end…for everybody.

You see, here is the kicker…General Carson is the head of the Ultimate Doomsday cult. They are not actually seeking to conquer…they want to eliminate ALL of humanity. These undead from the East? They are apparently just as radioactive as the areas that they would be coming from. Even if someplace like the Confederated Tribes could mow them all down (and there is no way that they could even hope to bring down ten percent) the resulting corpses would contaminate everything…the land, anybody who tried to dispose of the bodies. Oh yeah, and you can’t burn them or else the radiation goes airborne.

Once they are confident that they have wiped out all of North America, the army would move south. And from there…they even have a plan that includes going overseas.

What brand of crazy even conceives of such things?

And here is the most disturbing revelation we discovered; these Anomalies want this because they see this as the “next step in evolution”! They believe that it is time for an extinction event and that they are destined to take their place as God’s new chosen people.

I may not be religious, but I have at least read this book that these people claim to be acting on behalf of, and I am pretty sure that the God of those pages is not in cahoots with these lunatics. We have to stop them…once and for all. If we don’t, then, this will truly be the end of humanity.

And in case you were wondering…no, we didn’t leave any of those things alive. And the one that we questioned actually died from the processes used during questioning (none of which involved a head wound). Interesting fact: it did not open its eyes after it died.

If there is a Heaven, if there is some sort of Final Judgment…I wonder how that thing is faring. I am guessing that ‘surprised’ does not even come close.

Monday, September 12th

We have been moving through the mountains. The only problem is that we are coming into contact with increasing numbers of the undead. We are having to fight our way through.

Of course, this slows down our progress considerably. We have had to move off the main trail and travel along animal trails and less accessible means. Once again, my main concern is that we will be too late. Delays have already allowed Warehouse City to fall and who knows what else.

Also, we can see smoke rising up ahead. Most likely, another small village or community has been wiped out. My real question is how long it will take them to notice that the Anomalies that we encountered are gone. If they are as important as the one we questioned made it seem, you would think that the general will be checking out what might have happened.

So far, the reports we get from our advance scouts is that there is no sign of anything except the previously mentioned growing number of undead that lie up ahead. The word has been given that if any sort of detachment comes back, take no prisoners and kill them to the last man or woman.

I really have a feeling that this is the final chance. We must not only take out this threat, we absolutely must ensure that we leave none behind. All it takes is one seed to sprout a garden full of weeds.

Part of me wars with this decision. I realize that it is what we must do, but that does not make the idea of wiping out so many human beings one that is easy to live with. And as for the Anomalies, there can be no denying that we are advocating genocide. These things are a new breed…race…whatever. While there are so many things for the good that could come from working with them, we can simply not risk the possibility of any of them surviving in their current state.

All of my life, I have wondered about how much of who I am comes from my birth parents. There are actually books on the subject. Granted, they are not easy to find, but they do exist. There is this whole idea of ‘Nature versus Nurture’ that I guess has been debated for decades. While there are many things about the way that I am that comes from being raised by Mama Janie, there are other things that are vastly different; things that people comment are ‘obvious signs of being Meredith/Sam’s daughter’ or something similar.

These things, these Anomalies are something that would probably make for some interesting research by people that are into that sort of thing. It is almost a shame that the opportunity will never arise.

Also, I just went back and looked at what I wrote this evening. I have refused to acknowledge these Anomalies as actual people. I refer to them as ‘things’ or ‘monsters’ when I talk about them. Maybe that is how I will cope with the fact that I will be part of absolutely wiping out what amounts to a new species.

Tuesday, September 13th

We have come out of the mountains and see a walled town or fortress in the distance. There is no doubt that General Carson is there.

We have had a huge meeting where the plan of attack was laid out. The biggest problem is that we have to surround this place and basically put it under siege. That means nothing gets in or out.

I am really out of my element at this point. They talked about all sorts of things. The biggest thing that I took away was that we did not stand a chance in what Brian referred to as a “stand up” fight. He said that our only real chance, and he admitted more than once that it was slim, would be to use their own methods against them. Only, we will not be giving them any time to consider surrender (mostly because that is not an acceptable option). Tonight, we will be using all the resources we have to light the horde of zombies milling about their walls on fire. Just before dawn, the signal will be given and we will fire as many rounds of flaming arrows as possible into the zombies at General Carson’s walls.

Once that fire gets going, we will adjust fire and begin shooting over the walls. Admittedly, there is not a lot of hope that we will be able to start any significant blaze, but if we get lucky…

Teams are in place with horses to deal with any attempt to break out. The real problem/concern is still that Anomaly facility. If the maps we have are accurate at all, then that building is well within those walls that stretch for two miles on all four sides.

Four square miles never seemed so big.

And that brings us to the simple fact that we have nowhere near the numbers to actually completely encircle that place. We are spread far and thin. This does not bode well if General Carson reacts quickly and sends out a full-scale charge with all the forces that he has at hand.

We are counting (hopefully not incorrectly) on his arrogance. The belief is that he feels like he can’t be touched and will probably respond initially with a smaller force. Any whittling down that we can manage will help in the end.

So, now for some truth.

I believe that we are destined to fail. This may never be read by a living soul. Very unlike Sam and Meredith, it is likely that this journal will be stomped into the ground along with my body when the massive army of General Carson and his Anomalies come out in force to deal with us.

I guess that is why I can write these things down. Perhaps if I actually thought that anybody would read this, I would try to be more positive and upbeat.

I do not believe that I am the only one who feels this way. There is a somber feeling in the camp tonight. Thankfully, we are not allowed to light any fires or even torches. We are hoping to have absolute surprise when the attack begins in just a few hours.

So, tonight, I am sitting on a large, flat rock. The moon is dazzling and more than enough light for me to see these white pages and fill them with my ramblings. And really, that is all that this has ever been. One person’s rantings, ravings, and musings.

Part of me, albeit a very small part, wanted to seek out Jimmy Stonekiller this evening. After all, if this is to be my end, why not spend it with somebody. Honestly, it was just a fleeting thought. My mind is far too jumbled with the thoughts of all the things tomorrow might bring.

Seriously, I am sitting here on what may well be the true eve of destruction for all mankind. Yes, if General Carson destroys us, it is possible that somewhere, there will be a force…a settlement perhaps…that can stand against him.

With that thought going through my head, it is too difficult for me to even consider being intimate, much less close, with somebody. That might just be me, though. I have noticed a lot of “pairing up” taking place this evening. It started just after the last meeting. Maybe those folks know something that I don’t.

In the distance I can see a soft glow where that fortified town sits. I know that General Carson is in there with his army doing who-knows-what. I wonder if they would even care if they did know that we were out here.

Not that I think I will be getting any sleep, but if this is to be my last night, I think I want to spend some time taking in this world. The moon…stars…even the sounds of distant animals. All of it deserves my attention. I need to have some moments of peace to just take in anything beautiful that I can.

Wednesday, September 14th

The actual attack has been delayed by a day.

Riders came in the night. It seems that Betty went on a recruiting drive and rounded up every single tribe that she could find and that she and Selina have been busy gathering an army of their own. Granted, not everybody they met was enthusiastic about joining. I guess that most people really are hardwired to be against the idea of war. Still, when faced with elimination, more will step forward than do nothing.

But that was only part of the good news, and now we are busy planning a new strategy. It is mostly the same one, but we will be waiting two days unless the general makes any move to leave. I just found out that a half dozen small groups have made the attempt to leave the walled town from various exits and fallen unwittingly into our hands.

While the numbers are only a few hundred total (including a dozen Anomalies), that is still a chip in the wall of bodies that the general has to throw at us, and you never know when that chip will turn into a crack.

Do I dare to hope?

Thursday, September 15th

It almost seemed like a dream. Happy moments are things to cherish these days, and seeing Betty climb down off her horse with Selina made me feel very happy. Both of them were exhausted, both of them look like they have been dunked in a barrel of zombie guts…but both of them are alive and here with me.

I did not realize until I saw them just how lonely I felt. Sure, I am surrounded by all these people. But none of them see me as who I am. They all see this person that they want me to be. Many of them probably have walked away rather disappointed.

Betty is probably the first real friend that I ever had. I mean, sure, there have been people that I have hung out with, people that I did stuff with as a child. But everybody knew me as Sam and Meredith’s daughter. I never knew if they really liked me.

With Betty, I have found a friend who could not care less. Seeing her huge frame almost fall off that horse, and then to hear her curse and swear at anybody who reached in to help her up…that made my cheeks ache.

Of course, we had to talk about all of the serious stuff, but after that we just laughed and joked. It was the first moment of normality that I think I have experienced since the NAA originally showed up and attacked the Sunset Fortress.

As for Selina…she has turned into a bit of a bad ass. She has weapons hanging off of her everywhere. It is a wonder that she can walk toting that much hardware.

So here is the update.

I guess General Carson and his men arrived at Warehouse City and did not even bother with a siege. He came at night and just laid into them with his flamethrowers. A lot more people actually got away than those that were killed and/or captured. I guess almost half the people took off the day that they saw the smoke rising from the direction of the Sunset Fortress.

What nobody could have expected was that the tribes in the area would come to see what happened, and then throw their lot in with us. It seems that Ethan Lind has had a change of heart.

Ethan sent word immediately and made it very clear that there will be no trade or exchange with any tribe that did not answer the call. I guess that the tribes have some sort of agreement that they call “The Doomsday Pact” which states that if a situation ever arises again with the dire possibilities as when the zombies first came, that all differences would be suspended until the issue was deemed resolved.

I asked Betty what that meant as far as numbers and made her repeat it. Seriously, I had no idea that they were so numerous. Over twenty thousand souls are a day away from joining us! While we will still be outnumbered, that difference is not nearly as vast any longer. Heck, a few more groups try to ride out and fall into our clutches, this might almost be a fair fight. Of course, you have to take away their vastly superior firepower…but heck, beggars can’t be choosers!

Sunday, September 18th

The air is dense with smoke; oily, thick, foul-tasting black smoke. There are screams echoing in the gloom and now a fog has settled in, coating everything with a chilled dew that, if the temperature continues to fall like it has the past couple of days, may actually turn to frost.

To say that things have gone poorly would be an understatement. The nicest thing I can say is that we, or at least many of us, are still alive. As to what degree we inflicted casualties on our enemy, I don’t think it was anything close to what we suffered.

We have had to pull back into the foothills. The only thing in our favor right now is the fact that there are fires burning out of control within General Carson’s walled city. The town known as Tillamook is burning. And with it, that cursed factory.

So, here is what happened:

Ethan arrived the next morning along with people from Corridor 26 and even a few small settlements along the way. We had to actually pull back to this little bowl-shaped valley on the other side of the last foothills before you reach the flat, marshland that leads into Tillamook.

Angel and Brian met with Ethan and several others for almost an hour before coming out to address everybody. Since this was largely about deployment of forces and strategy, I was not included. That was fine; I would have had absolutely nothing to offer. Once they finished, they undertook the task of dividing all of the people into various groups with specific assignments.

I actually joined a team that rode to the ridge and kept an eye for any sort of movement that could indicate that the general might be heading out. Once the battle began, our group—about a hundred of us, all on horseback—was to watch for any sign that General Carson might try to break out the Anomalies and get them clear of the fighting.

There were three other such groups. We were placed at the main compass points surrounding the area. I was given the east side. That put the foothills and eventually the Coastal Cascade Mountains on my back.

From where we were, we could watch a lot of the deployment positions of our troops. What we were not seeing, and that should have been a clue or a warning, was any signs of movement from within the walls.

Just as the sky began to lighten and reveal the dark gray cloud cover that has been parked over us for the past three days, the signal was given: a lone flaming arrow shot straight up into the air. Seconds later, it was raining fire within the confines of the walled city/compound.

Not more than a minute later, the gates on the east (facing my direction) and the south flew open and these huge machines came roaring out, belching steam and making this horrific noise. As our people regrouped and commenced their charge, sirens began from within the walls.

What happened next was the first surprise of the day. Pouring out of the open gates were thousands of the undead. They followed the machines out into the open terrain and were promptly lit on fire by nozzles mounted on those huge steam driven behemoths. That put many of the horses in a tizzy. They have been trained well when it came to zombies…not so much when those zombies are on fire.

Things would only get worse.

Many of the Natives, rather than attempt to fight their animals, leaped to the ground and began to try and cut a path through the flaming sea of undead. The Freetown army were all on foot, so they were already almost to the fence when the next set of sirens began to sound.

When those sirens came, the walls were suddenly packed with bowman who began firing these arrows that were tipped with something that made them explode. It wasn’t like they were huge explosions, but when the arrow has already pierced your skin, it doesn’t need to be much to cause amazing amounts of damage.

Even from where I was positioned, I could see men falling, some clutching their bellies, others missing an arm or leg. The zombies began to fall on these people in droves. Between the flaming zombies and the damage already inflicted, we lost a lot of men in those few minutes.

At last, a large group of the Natives made the gate. They disappeared through the wide open entrance…and a moment later, a grate of some sort slammed down, effectively cutting them off from us. I could hear the screams from here. I don’t know what happened to them, but not one man ever exited through those gates again.

I made the decision to come down and join in the fight. We were supposed to act as a sort of rear guard, but when everything seemed to be falling apart, I saw no other choice. We charged down, and that is why I had to rely on what I heard versus what I saw for everything else. I can’t vouch for the accuracy, but I will relate as much of the other stuff that I heard as possible in these few pages.

I wish that I could do better. If anybody is reading this and the struggle endures because we have failed, I hope that you find at least one thing…one tiny snippet that helps you in your struggle. Lord knows, if anybody is reading this and the fight continues, then at least there is some hope. Seize it and do not let it fade, no matter how grim things look.

So, here are some of the events as they were related to me: A group from the Freetown contingent fought their way to one of those steam-powered machines. Two of them climbed up and discovered a hatch. You had to turn this big wheel to get the thing to open, and then, once you did, you found yourself in a very dark and confined compartment with a handful of zombies and four Anomalies who were busy operating the thing.

Both of those men ended up being bitten, but they did manage to kill the zombies inside as well as the Anomalies. The problem they faced after was having absolutely no idea how to make the machine do anything. I am sure that, given time to study it, anybody could get it to do what needed doing. Unfortunately, the two men did not have that kind of time as the zombies outside overpowered the other men that had helped them get to the thing in the first place.

Zombies were seen pouring in the hatch as the one man from that group who survived managed to fight his way out. Fortunately, he is also immune to the bite, so the few injuries that he suffered were painful and unfortunate, but not fatal.

One of the groups of Natives riding in on horseback was just about to go through the gate on the south wall when that barred portcullis dropped and cut them off. They could not see too much because it opens right at a T-intersection, so all they could see were the walls of the two buildings that made a sort of avenue and the long warehouse-type building that was about thirty feet inside and created the ‘T’.

What they did see were (their estimate) well over a hundred people on the roof of the buildings on either side. They were waiting, and as soon as the portcullis dropped, they let loose with four flamethrowers. Men and horses went up in flames. The scream of a man is awful, but if you have never heard it from a horse, then consider yourself lucky.

One of our groups that was on a slight bluff and responsible for firing volley after volley of flaming arrows said that they fired over a thousand. Perhaps it was the sheer quantity that gave us any results. I only wish we had a couple thousand more. I don’t think we really and truly realized the logistics of what we were undertaking.

Seriously, when you look at a thousand arrows, you really do believe that is a lot…until you run completely out. And it is not like you can just hack off a tree limb and whittle one real quick. From what I have heard around camp, we were completely out of arrows within the first hour. There is not a single one to be found here.

One of our groups made a run for a bunch of the general’s men who charged out from an opening that seemed to just appear. And that was when we discovered that they had these little escape tunnels, or whatever you want to call them, located all over the place.

I don’t know how many other of these tunnels there are, but within minutes all of our people who were close to the walls and preparing to climb them were suddenly cut off. The slaughter was on a massive scale, but I was told that a lot of prisoners were taken as well. Nothing good can come from that.

So, here is the more personal news on the day. I can’t find Selina. It is rumored that Jimmy Stonekiller was with the group caught on the other side of the portcullis on the south wall, and Brian was seen falling under about fifty of the undead when one of those explosive-tipped arrows caught him in the thigh. Supposedly it practically blew his leg off just below the hip, so he would not have survived if anybody would have been able to get to him.

His second in command was also lost in the battle. While the Natives suffered about thirty percent casualties, the Freetown Army lost close to ninety percent. They are now being led by a man named Michael Rouse, a nerdy looking fellow who looks like he would be more comfortable anywhere but here at the moment. I have been told that his biggest asset is the fact that he has an amazingly analytical mind and will be vital in the planning of our attack.

You read that correctly. We will attack again just before dawn. This is one of those times where it will be better for us to die to the last man trying and hoping for that one stroke of luck than to simply give up.

On the plus side, we still have three functional flamethrowers and will be using them on the eastern wall. That is about the only part of the plan that I know so far. Angel had me with her when the meeting began, but a messenger came and said that Betty had arrived, otherwise I would have had to mention her AND Selina just a few paragraphs ago.

She looks like hell and took a few nasty cuts. She has one slice that starts on her left cheek (it could not have missed the eye by more than a half inch) and comes down to the corner of her mouth. It almost looks like she is smiling on one side of her face in a very creepy and over exaggerated way.

When I saw her, I felt like I was going to cry, but the strangest thing happened: nothing. I could not manufacture one single tear. I might be in shock, or maybe I am just to haggard to cry. I feel like I have been awake for about a month straight.

When I told Betty about the fact that Selina’s group was missing and presumed lost, she wanted to turn right around and go out looking for her. She said that she last saw her in a skirmish over on the west side of the town.

Once I got her to see the reasoning in how it would not be a good idea to go down there at night, in this thickening fog, with zombies milling about and goodness knows what else, she demanded that her group be sent that direction tomorrow. I don’t see any harm in that.

So, the two of us have been sitting on this ridge, blankets wrapped around our shoulders, hot fermented cider to sip. The landscape below us is a mix of blobs of orange and yellow light that ebb and pulse. Some eventually die, but others remain and even grow stronger.

Tuesday, September 20th

I am camped in a small grove. There are probably a few thousand others here. We have been blessed with torrential rain, fog so thick that you cannot see your hand if you extend your arm fully, and wind that seems to sap every ounce of strength from you the moment it whips up and begins to buffet your tired, wet body.

I have no idea where Angel, Ethan, Betty, Selena—or anybody familiar for that matter—may be holding up as this new band of storms rage and pelt us without mercy. What I do know is that we have at least been successful on one front.

The Anomalies will no longer be a threat…unless they can reproduce their work and rebuild their numbers someplace else. And for that to happen, they (General Carson and his ilk) need to escape here alive. While that still remains a possibility, it is at least much less of a certainty after yesterday and today.

Yesterday morning came, and with it, some of the worst of the fog. We used that to our advantage. Actually, I need to be more specific; the Native forces used it to their advantage. Most of the damage dealt yesterday was their doing. Ethan and the tribal army were not even able to enter into the picture until well after midday because the fog stuck around so long.

Well before dawn would come and provide a very soft glow to the fog, Angel and over two-thirds of the Natives slipped away and into the dark. That would be the last time that I saw Angel, but whatever she did, an hour later, there were a series of huge explosions. Angry orange exclamation points flashed in the grayness, and within twenty minutes, a large stretch of the horizon to the west of our main camp was providing a beacon. That was apparently the signal, because ALL of the remaining Natives—including the group that I was part of—climbed on horses and went galloping off making these loud, undulating whoops that gave me chills.

Fog does strange things to sound. One moment, you hear what sound like distant and muffled cries, the next instant, it is almost as if it is right on top of you.

I was with a group that had drawn the task of making an assault on that south gate. I have to admit that part of me almost hoped that the Natives had not been able to get that gate open. However, when we arrived, it was wide open and the rooftops were clear of any threats.

We rushed in and went right to work. Our task was to start as many fires as we could. I was just about to enter one building when I noticed something; there was a flamethrower still up on the roof to our left. I went that way with a couple of others, climbing quickly. The large barrel was at least half full!

I pushed it to the other side of the roof which gave me a shot at lighting up what looked like a large apartment complex. It was shrouded, but I could see small squares of light from a few dozen windows. The jet of flame cut through the swirling mists. Within seconds, a good fire was blazing on one section of the building.

People came pouring out…and I felt my stomach turn. I am just thankful that I could not really see. However, I could hear very clearly. The sounds of women and children shrieking in pain were added to the unfolding chaos as our people went on a rampage.

I could hear the sounds of what had to be fighting coming from much further in and had to attribute that to the Natives who had gone in earlier. It sounded terrible, but nothing compared to what I was hearing at that exact moment.

When a battle is fought, you are prepared (as much as you can be) to take the life or lives of others. I have already struggled with what had been done up to this point. I guess I just never considered the fact that I might be taking the lives of women and children, but then, if this place is a walled city, why wouldn’t it be full of them?

Had I dehumanized the enemy so much that I never took into account that these people I would be fighting might have families? But the bigger question is what difference could that make with what we know about the plans of General Carson and his people? The Anomalies have been men and women, so that distinction has already been wiped from the table of consideration. Also, my army has both men and women.

I guess I had kept my enemy as generalized as possible to help myself deal with what needed to be done to achieve our objective. The screams that came from below tore something inside me that will probably never be able to mend.

It was also in that moment that I realized fully what I had committed to doing. It is one thing to say that you will do something, but it is quite another when it comes to actually doing it. God help me, but I aimed that nozzle at another section of that building and lit it up. I swept the area until the nozzle sputtered and went cold.

From there, I was part of moving from building to building. We knew what we were looking for. Our number one priority was to seek out the Anomalies; if nothing else, we wanted to be sure that not one of them made it out of here alive.

The one thing that was going in our favor up to this point was the lack of any zombies. Then we found the warehouse—for lack of anything better to call it. This long, windowless building sat all by itself in the middle of a large muddy field. I guess that is what drew me to it.

And that is where we discovered the “zombie storage” facility. (I would discover later that four more identical buildings would be located by other groups.) That is the best way to describe that place. The warehouse-style building was about thirty feet tall with a flat roof. The roof was corrugated metal and had openings spaced all the way down the middle. I would guess the building to be about a hundred yards long and about fifty yards wide. It had huge double doors at either end.

We had an idea what we would find inside well before we looked. There was a nasty funk in the air that was made worse by the fog. It seemed like that stench coated your skin, your nostrils, your mouth.

Yep…nasty.

I still do not know why we actually opened one of those doors. I guess we thought that the zombies would be secured, penned behind a fence or something. We just did not think it through. With having the Anomalies here, why would they need to worry about such things?

Fortunately, they must have depleted their reserves. I imagine that there had to be close to a few thousand undead still inside this particular location. I would also guess that it could hold close to ten thousand or more if stuffed full.

In any case, we were able to close the door before the occupants were drawn to it. Somebody came up with the idea of climbing up on top, which is when we discovered all the hatches on the roof. From there, we tossed in a few Molotov cocktails and then left the building to burn.

We reached what somebody told me was a golf course. I knew what one was, but I had never seen one. They mostly look like a park. I don’t really see the point. However, it was what was on the other side of the park that offered the payoff.

We discovered the lab.

Of course that is not an accurate statement. The building was a raging inferno. Obviously it had already been discovered. However, we did arrive in time to help mop up the last of the Anomalies that were trying to escape. I have one particular moment that I want to relate from that event. It will probably make me seem like a monster, but I have learned something in my time with the Natives.

These past days, I have learned a great deal about the culture and heritage of the Native American. I still struggle with identifying myself with them because I have spent my entire life in ignorance; yet, the fact remains, I carry that blood in me.

One of the things that I learned—mostly from listening to Brian—is that our people have been sort of ignored in society. I guess there was a time toward the end where they were known mostly for casinos. Not sure how those two relate, and he did not elaborate. Anyway, one of the things about history is that those who write it often tend to leave out any culpability that their ancestors may have had in any wrongdoings.

I guess a lot of people grew up with very minimal understandings of the Native Americans. Brian admits that his people…our people…have some blame in this problem. The Native community really sort of isolated itself from mainstream society. They grew up with a deep mistrust of the “white” man and did not attempt to ever bridge that gap.

It is for that reason that I am sharing this moment. As I have said, if this mission fails, it is unlikely that anybody will ever read these words anyway, so I am really not risking that much. And considering how polarizing Meredith was when compared to my dad, I figure it probably won’t do me any real serious harm in the forum of public opinion.

We were in this large, paved lot, several of the engineered freaks had poured from a single steel door and were huddled close together. The building was burning so hot that it was quite uncomfortable to be as close as we were, but it seemed that the Anomalies were having trouble deciding whether they wanted to die at our hands or go up in flames. We made the choice for them and charged.

It was not really much of a fight. None of them had any weapons and most seemed very disoriented. Some of them actually tried to go back inside the burning building.

I waded in to a group of three and quickly cut the first two down. The third dropped to her knees and threw her hands up in the air. I looked at her, momentarily transfixed by her black eyes. She looked like she was crying, but nothing resembling tears could be seen. That only made her seem even creepier.

“Please!” she begged. “I never wanted this…my father made me become…this!” She indicated to herself with both hands.

I believed her. That is the part that hurts. I really do believe that she was telling me the truth. Only, I had already made up my mind. I raised the dripping blade that I held in my gloved hand. She was still screaming “Please, no!” when the blade came down with a dull thud and a jarring crack on the top of her skull. Her eyes never changed from their horrified expression, even as she slumped over on her side, shuddered twice, and was still.

The slaughter continued for quite a while. When the roof collapsed and it was obvious after several minutes that nothing else would be coming out, my group and several other individuals that had gathered to help with the executions moved across a wide avenue and into what looked like a small housing section of the compound.

We used anything we could to set fire to, anything that would burn as we moved towards the wall. From there, we would just follow the wall until we reached a gate. That was the plan…until we discovered an open trap door.

It was easily as wide as the double-doored entry gates set in the walls. A set of stairs led down into the ground with torches set into sconces on the wet, dripping cement walls. We figured this to be one of the passages that would lead to one of the openings that they had used on us the other day.

Nope.

And it was down those stairs that we discovered this community’s version of a fallout shelter. This is where I am sure that I damned my soul for eternity if such things are possible. If there is a God, I am certain that he washed his hands of me at that moment.

We discovered a set of wooden doors and kicked them in, thinking that we would just find more of the same corridor that we had been traveling down. Instead, we discovered a large auditorium-sized room. It was full of more women and children, as well as the elderly…probably a few thousand total would be my guess.

They looked at us and there was fear on the faces of many, but more were simply indifferent. It was like they knew what was going to happen and did not care. We pulled the door shut and tied it off to keep those who actually tried from escaping—that number was frighteningly low—and then poured out all the rest of our flammable oil, making sure to coat the door heavily.

We backed all the way to the stairs and grabbed one of the torches from the wall and tossed it. The flames started slow, but just as we made it back to the surface, there was a ‘WHUMP’ sound and a blast of heat, smoke and fire exploded from that opening.

A few minutes later, we saw three places where smoke was rising from a pipe in the ground. We shoved anything we could think of into those vents. By then, the screaming had started.

We were almost to the gate when a contingent of the general’s men found us. They were probably coming because of the black smoke rising from those vents. I imagine that those soldiers were very aware of where their families were kept—supposedly safe.

That would certainly explain why they fought so fiercely, but, for a change, the numbers were on our side. We took them down and moved on. Now that we were out of flammables, we were just trying to escape with our lives.

What I can’t adequately describe here is the degree of death and destruction that was happening all around me…us. Screams came from everywhere, fires burned out of control and unchecked. The sights, sounds, and smells will haunt me forever.

Eventually, we made it out an open gate and back out to the marsh plain that surrounds this settlement. Of course there were skirmishes everywhere. I wanted to help more, but you sort of found them by accident in the fog. Seriously, you would be moving along and then fall over two, three or a dozen people fighting it out.

I have no idea how many people got separated from us as we moved towards the direction of where we figured our camp to be. And no…I was not leading. A few of the Natives acted as tentacles, feeling the way out for us. That led to at least one small chuckle for the day.

When we reached the crest of one of the foothills, we actually came up out of the fog. We could turn and look back at what looked like a sea of clouds as the fog was sort of smashed up against the base of the Oregon Coast mountain range. I turned and realized that we had come out very close to what we had determined to be our rally point and base camp. So I asked the young man who had led us here if this was some sort of special skill inherent to the Native Americans, and he looked at me for a moment with a very stern face, and then, in an equally stern voice he said, “No, this is a special skill inherent in a person with a compass.”

I only felt a little stupid, but he smiled and so I felt a teensy bit better. Of course that story has now managed to make it through the ranks, so you can only imagine the amount of smirks and ribbing that I am at the receiving end of from the Native men and women here in camp.

It was late in the day, as the fog was finally becoming less dense, when a group of men and women came in to view. They were headed right towards us at a dead run, so we were fairly confident that they were some of our own. It was when the hundreds of dark shapes came into view hot on their tail that we knew we had trouble. There were a few angry comments about these careless people bringing who knew how many of General Carson’s army right to our camp.

However, we had enough time to set up a decent ambush. I did not actually recognize anybody in that group coming straight to our camp, but I did recognize some of the clothing with the colors and symbols of the various tribes that Ethan brought with him.

I was positioned close to the middle of our ambush, so I was able to get a good look at some of the people in pursuit of the folks from the tribes. They just looked like normal people. They didn’t have horns or evil grins plastered on their faces. They were just…people.

We let them past some determined ‘point of no return’ before we sprung our trap. Once again, I was hand-to-hand with men and women. Living people. I looked each one in the eyes as I took his or her life.

Of course, once the ambush occurred, the folks that had just moments before been running for their lives turned and joined in the killing. While we certainly took casualties, it was a very lopsided affair.

I killed three men and two women.

Eventually, we made our way through the carnage and spiked the head of all the downed bodies. No idea if any were immune and having the potential to turn. I did that task on what amounted to autopilot.

As night began to fall, singles and small groups filtered in. I watched and waited each time. And each time I was disappointed that none of the faces were familiar. Eventually, it was too difficult to stay awake. I fell asleep sitting beside a large fire.

When I woke, it was to a camp buzzing with activity. My body ached just about everywhere, and a certain feminine function chose today to begin. It was just the start of a miserable morning.

The fog yesterday was patchier, but it was still bad enough to hamper visibility to a high degree. There was a gathering and it was quickly decided that we would stay together as a single force. We had no idea what we might be facing from the general; that turned out to be practically nothing as we made our way to the marsh plains and began to circle the compound.

The first thing that we noticed was that all of the entry gates were still open. Nobody had bothered to shut a single one. Also, there were a few fires still burning, but the rains had knocked most of them down. However, there was a lot of smoke mixed in, and that might have actually been most of what was contributing to the fogginess.

We entered through the northern gate and began to search every single building. It was late in the day when the first survivor was eventually discovered. Of course, nobody had mentioned a thing about changing our policy of zero survivors. When our group made a discovery of a half dozen men hiding in the ruins of one of the burnt out buildings, they were promptly executed. I showed up just as the last one was being beheaded.

So, a word on that; I realize that we could have done things differently, and I am sure that future generations may condemn our actions, but I stand by them. One of the Natives asked me later if we should change our policy and I really did think it over for a moment before saying no.

We made our way through the town. The smell of burning was almost enough to overwhelm the stench of the dead. We checked around the area of the lab and could see the remains of hundreds of bodies in the ruins. We also found a considerable amount of horse activity and signs that somebody had been sifting through the ruins.

By nightfall, we were cold, wet, and miserable, but fairly confident that there was nothing left alive in that compound. With that, we sent out scouts in all directions. We still needed to account for what we all agreed was a considerable remnant of General Carson’s army.

“So, what does this General Carson look like?” one of the Natives asked. “How do we know he is not dead out in that field somewhere, or maybe among the bodies in the compound…perhaps even burned up in one of the many fires?”

As for what he looked like, I had never asked Betty, so I really did not know. But when it came to him being alive or dead, I just knew. I wish I could make it more concrete than that, but I was certain that General Carson would be obvious when we saw him, and he would not have been hiding in one of those buildings. That actually seemed to be a satisfactory answer for the man.

So, tonight, we wait out this storm and hope that our scouts return with some good news. As well as things went (by comparison to how things started) the past two days, we can’t stop until we have destroyed utterly General Carson and his army.

Monday, September 26th

We have been riding hard the past few days. One of our scouts came back with word of a large encampment to the south. It seemed that General Carson was following the coastline and headed towards the California border, but yesterday, he did a hard left turn and is now moving directly to the east.

Our original theory was that perhaps he was headed for those ships they supposedly have waiting. But when he changed directions, that went out the window and we have no idea what he is planning. We do know that he has chosen to move fast. We found a whole bunch of his big machines and flame-throwing wagons. Of course he had made sure to destroy them, so even if we had been inclined to try and add them to our arsenal, they would have been useless.

However, he has been making it a point to swerve every so often and destroy a village or settlement here or there. Honestly, I never knew there were so many. I guess we just never put out feelers far enough. If we do manage to survive this, I will be making it a point to try and start bringing these far flung pockets of humanity together in some way. Even if only for trading purposes, there has to be an advantage to having a larger network.

Yesterday, we came to this bit of an oasis. We have been travelling into a more arid and desert-like region the past day or so, and this grove could be seen for quite a ways, but what drew our attention were the large number of birds circling in the sky. That is always a giveaway that there is either a concentrated amount of zombies…either that, or corpses.

It turned out to be the latter.

Strung from the trees were perhaps a hundred men, women, and children. Also, there was a large sign:

Snoe Gainey,

Perhaps these strangers mean little or nothing to you, but the next time it will be some much more familiar faces staring down at you from the noose.

You have made your point. I am not foolish enough to fight in a battle that I cannot be absolutely certain that I will win. You have proven a worthy adversary. In two days, you will come to a bowl-shaped valley surrounded on three sides by the fingers of the foothills that are at the base of the mountains that you can see in the distance.

I will meet with you and whatever council that you have to discuss terms. Perhaps we can put this behind us and move forward. Perhaps we can have peace.

General James Carson

Yeah…I’m not buying it. After a very brief conference, we decided to split our group. One half of our army is now being led by a Native woman named Kelly Redhawk.

Kelly was the choice of the Natives, which shows how much I know since I don’t even recall having ever seen the woman before. She seems more like a friend of my Mama Janie in that I would expect her to be more inclined to share recipes than wield one of those wicked looking blades that she has on each hip.

Even more out of character for a person who would be leading an army was the constant smile she wore. It was as if she were out for a stroll in the woods instead of being tasked to ride hard and fast to get wide of our location and be able to swoop in from the north and hopefully catch General Carson unprepared.

Whatever the case, we are now riding east with the idea that perhaps the last battle is just ahead. Since I am not sure if I will ever be able to write in this journal again, I can only say that I hope somebody is reading this and that we did in fact defeat the general.

As the clouds start to give way and the moon lights up the world in a silvery hue, I am here with my thoughts and my memories. I am thankful for the life that I have had up to this point and hope that others will have the opportunity to live free.

I think back on some of the stuff that my dad wrote and I wonder how he would feel if he were here beside me right now. I wonder if he would take up this fight, or if he would simply look for someplace else that was quiet and peaceful. Not that he was a coward, but he certainly had no love of fighting and killing.

He made more than one comment about wondering if we, humanity, were even worth saving. I think we are, and I believe that if he had seen what became of Corridor 26, Warehouse City, and the Sunset Fortress settlement, he would have been happy.

On the other hand, I think of Meredith. She has to be where I get my ability to engage in this bloody war. I think she would be right here beside me, ready for the morning and looking forward to wiping General Carson off the face of the earth. For all her faults—selfishness, self-absorption, and any other you care to attribute to her—she was still a strong woman. I often think that is why so many people disliked her based solely on what she wrote and never having met her in person. They saw traits that were (or are) just not okay when demonstrated by a woman. Sure, things have changed a great deal since the fall of the Old World, but there are still those who consider woman as weak, frail, and dependent. Meredith was none of those things.

Tonight, I will sleep under the moon and stars…and hope that it is not my last night among the living. However, if it is my fate to fall tomorrow, I hope I do so in a way that will make my parents, Sam, Mama Janie, Mama Lindsay, and Meredith, all proud of me. I hope that those who threw their lot in with mine and joined in this battle will feel that their choice was not made in vain.

Chapter 5

Saturday, October 1st

So much loss…so much blood. The sky is thick with birds who now feast on the fallen. I am numb. Alive…but numb…oh so very numb.

Sunday, October 2nd

Betty and I found Selina today. She was nailed to the wall of a dilapidated building. I don’t know how it did not collapse when whoever did this drove those enormous spikes through her wrists.

Ethan’s head was found on a series of posts along the side of the wide trail that was once a highway, but is now a rolling, sand-covered rut that leads deeper into the desert where the day feels like you are standing in the largest bonfire ever and the nights are so cold that you are certain that your teeth will eventually shatter from chattering so hard and for so long.

Sleep is something that happens by accident now as my horse plods on, nose to tail with the one in front of it. I don’t know the name of this horse, and I refuse to give it one after losing Mato. And no, I do not want to go into detail. It was horrific and still makes my heart hurt to think about.

While our own force has almost quadrupled in size, and that of General Carson is reduced to these bands of stragglers that throw themselves at us periodically, I still just can’t bring myself to relate the events of last week. I know that I must, and sooner rather than later in case something happens to me…just not now.

One interesting note, they told me that I would still feel my hand despite it being gone…they were right. It itches like crazy where I think my palm should be.

Monday, October 3rd

We have them. There is no escape and every single one of them will die. There can be no other way for this to end. And now that I know what General Carson looks like, I want to be the one to personally remove his head from his shoulders. For Selina, for Ethan, for Angel…for all the fallen.

Saturday, October 8th

It is finished.

Friday, October 21st

They say that time heals all wounds. I doubt that very much. There is a pain that I feel to the depths of my soul that I do not believe will ever go away.

I can’t go an hour without crying. All that numbness that I mistakenly cursed? I would give anything for it to return, because, in its absence, I am now overwhelmed with pain, guilt…and grief that I have no way to escape. It comes when my eyes are open or closed, whether I am asleep or awake.

I wonder not for the first time if it would have been better for me to have died in all the chaos. The memory of who I was would certainly be a much stronger image than this shell I have become.

The Natives have been holding some sort of ceremony for the past three days, dancing and chanting for the souls of the dead. I wish that I could find the beauty in it that I know everybody else sees, but it is little more than a knife that twists and scrapes against my spirit.

Betty has not come around for the past few days, and I can hardly blame her. I am terrible company.

We are camped beside a river. There is a cliff and a waterfall that drops a couple hundred feet. I could walk out and just step off that ledge, vanish in the mist, and end all of this pain.

I am a coward.

Saturday, October 22nd

Riders came just before sunset. They asked for me. Betty came and told me I need to pull myself together because they demand to see me in the morning.

Actually, Betty said a lot of things. None of them were very nice, but all of them were true. I owe it to all of those who survived. I need to be seen as the person that they think I am whether I feel like it or not.

After I my cheek stopped stinging from Betty’s well-placed open hand slap, I have decided that I have a lot that needs to get out. If I continue to keep it inside, it may very well tear me open and destroy me.

So…here it is:

We got word as to the exact location of the general’s encampment from our scouts and sent the word to the other group that we would attack just after sunrise. The thought being that it would be during that time that the general’s forces would be breaking camp. They would be at their most vulnerable. Once we arrived and were able to get a look, it was clear that our plan had a slight flaw.

General Carson was certainly no fool and had camped at the top of a gently sloped hill with a table-top mesa. That made it impossible for us to approach without being seen well in advance. There was discussion about hitting them just as they came off that hill and so we adjusted our plan. The word was sent, but it must not have made it. We had already moved around and were in a perfect position to hit General Carson from the south just as he and his men came down. Even better, there was some pretty nasty brush in the area that would hamper any attempt to flee.

And then the group to the north struck. We heard rather than saw as they began their assault, charging up that long slope. The sounds of battle could be heard…screams, yelling, and more screams.

We did the only thing that we could: we waited for them to come down off that hill. To rush in to that attack would have been suicide on a massive scale.

I won’t lie, I cried as I listened to our people being slaughtered. One can only wonder what they felt at the end as they realized that no help would be coming. I wonder how many times I was cursed in those minutes that felt like hours.

I will say this. Their deaths were not without some upside (and I apologize a million times for that statement, but it is true.) General Carson would stay on that hill for one more day. That would change everything.

I am certain that he believed that he’d slain us all and that his worries were officially over. When they rode down off that hill the next day, a single man was at the head of that column. Using binoculars, I got my first look at him, but it would not be my last.

From what we understand, his intentions at that point were to return to the NAA central base at the defunct NORAD site. He would get the science team back to work on creating more Anomalies. All of the prisoners would be kept alive. They were told that they would feed these new Anomalies so that their last act, like it or not, was serving the will of the NAA and the twisted Genesis Brotherhood version of God. (Note: I added the ‘twisted’ part.)

As the army came down off the hill, it took all our reserve to wait…then we heard it. There was a cry that came from the north on the other side of the general’s troops. And then…thunder.

Only, it was not actual thunder, but instead, the pounding of a hundred thousand horses as they galloped down from the top of a distant foothill. A line of Native Americans on horseback that seemed to stretch for eternity came pouring down on the general and his army.

Every able-bodied citizen of the Confederated Tribes that could ride a horse was charging into battle. It was such a sight that my entire group stopped and watched in awe as what began to look like an endless wave of horsebacked warriors came at full gallop.

I did not even realize at first that the general and a select group bolted and headed away, leaving the bulk of his army to be slaughtered. In fact, I had finally shaken off the shock and surprise and was racing to join in the battle with my little mini-army when I noticed.

For the briefest of moments, I paused. It was very brief, but it was enough time for General Carson to disappear over a distant ridge. I decided that his fate was a forgone conclusion and could be delayed if even for just an hour or two. I dug my heels into Mato’s ribs and drew my saber.

That poor army never even saw us coming. They were fixed solely on the horde screaming and whooping as they charged in from the north. When my group struck, it was actually very anti-climactic. We just began cutting them down from the rear.

That was when I learned the dangers of overconfidence. I was so intent on hacking and slashing everything in front of me that I never saw the man spring up at my side. He drove his hand axe into Mato’s side. Even over the sounds of battle, I heard as well as felt ribs snap.

Mato screamed and reared up before toppling sideways after his rear legs were slashed by the same man and a long sword that seemed to have magically appeared in his hand. I hit the ground hard and had the wind knocked out of me. I could do nothing but gape uselessly and stare up at the man who was about to kill me.

He raised his sword high and was about to bring it down when something long and pointy came exploding through his chest. That was when I was reunited with Betty. She was covered in blood, and her nose might have been busted, but honestly, and she would be the first to agree, it was so hard to tell.

She reached out with her blood slicked hand and pulled me to my feet. I started to hug her but hesitated because of all the gore. So she snatched me forward and gave me a huge bear hug that left me looking almost as bad as her.

We waded into a nasty fight to add our weapons to the cause. Perhaps I should be clearer; there were battles all around us, none of which looked to be favoring General Carson’s flock.

We managed to catch our breath for a second and I told Betty that I had seen the general and some of his men take off. I pointed which direction and started that way, but she stopped me.

“He won’t get far,” was all she said.

Just then, I saw two figures charging up behind Betty, each with an axe raised high. I did not even think, I simply stepped past and swung my sword. It was a very clean kill; one that you could be proud of in a perverse way. Two heads flew away from their bodies and rolled into the muck being created in the sand by all the spilt blood.

However, the two bodies continued on another step or two before falling at my feet. Blood spewed from the neck stumps of each, splashing my boots in bright red arterial fluid. The coppery scent was overwhelming…or maybe it was amplified by my feeling of sudden dread and horror.

The bodies could not belong to a person any older than ten or twelve. But it would get worse as a dozen of their “friends” rushed to try and get revenge. These children all had looks of hatred that had no business on the faces of people so young.

Betty turned, and I swear that she paused for just a fraction of a second. That was enough for a little girl whose fierce snarl revealed the gaps where two baby teeth had fallen out and not grown back in with permanent ones yet to stick her dagger into Betty’s left thigh. Betty howled in pain and snapped back into combat mode. The spear she was holding whipped around and caught the girl square in the nose.

I have heard that you could kill a person by shoving their nose up into their brain. I had always dismissed it as a wives’ tale…until that moment.

That single moment seemed to put a pin in the bubble of hesitation for both of us. We swung with ruthless efficiency, and when it was done we were surrounded by the corpses of a dozen or so children between the ages of eight and maybe fifteen. I know that none of them were close to my age…that much I am sure about.

I wanted to get away from the scene of our battle. It was as if I was afraid that others would see and be disgusted by my actions. I was actually embarrassed to be victorious. I think Betty felt something similar because she just grabbed my arm and shoved me forward.

We ran from one fight to the next, but the numbers were simply too great for the army of General Carson to stand up against. I saw flashes of more young faces as the fighting continued, but I always made sure to veer away from those conflicts. I honestly did not know if I had it in me to do something like that again.

I truly believe that I would have just stood there if another confrontation with anybody so young would have happened. I do not think that I was alone. I may have been imagining it, but it looked like Betty and I were not the only ones giving any fight with children involved a wide berth.

Twice I was on the receiving end of a cut or slash. The first was a slice I took that could have ended me. It caught me just below the right collar bone. Had I not jumped back at the last instant, I do believe that woman would have decapitated me. Betty cut that one down before she could come back with a return swing. The second one is what put me out of the fight.

Betty and I saw a cluster of what had to be tribal members. They were dressed in this hideous burgundy and gold with huge eagles embroidered into the backs of their leather tunics. We veered that way to avoid a handful of children who were being cut down by three men who all looked like they were crying as they swung these huge hammers that required them to be wielded with two hands.

As I got there, one of the enemy soldiers had just tackled this man and was about to plunge a nasty curved blade into his chest. I came in low and kicked the person in the head. When the face turned my way, I paused. It as an Anomaly and those black eyes caught me by surprise. I had thought we were done with them. I should have known a couple would escape.

Anyways, my pause gave her time to swing that blade at me. Like an idiot, I threw up my hand. I remember looking down and seeing that blade stuck just past the halfway point in my wrist. I wanted to scream. After all, just because the message of extreme pain had not reached my brain yet did not mean that I should not just get the preliminaries out of the way.

Then I had the dumbest thought. Oh…good, at least it is not your writing hand. Seriously, that was the first real cognizant thought that I had…until the pain actually hit.

That was where my time in the fight ended for that day.

When Betty reached me, I am certain that I was in shock. I don’t recall much, so this next bit is second hand information. She yanked off her belt and slapped a tourniquet on my arm just above the wrist.

“It’s a nice, clean cut,” Betty marveled. “That blade had to be sharp and sturdy to do such a tidy job.”

Tidy? My hand is gone and she is talking about the amputation being tidy? When did the rest of that cut happen? I swear it was only halfway a second ago.

Now, if you believe Betty, I yelled at her and made a fuss. Since I have no recollection of that incident, I am going to deny everything.

She scooped me up and carried me through the battlefield. Several people say that she was actually running. They say that I looked like a child, and many people believed that Betty had actually snatched up one of the vicious children that were apparently all over the battlefield.

I ended up in a tent. Somebody came over and gave me this vile tasting paste that I had to eat. I don’t remember a thing after that until I woke up in a bed, all bandaged up.

I was expecting to have some time to recover, but the army was on the move. They had the wounded in wagons because they feared leaving anybody behind until the general was eliminated.

The second day, we came upon the location where the general intended to make his last stand. He must have sent his actual army ahead and then sent all of the ‘civilians’ into battle against us. The best guess is that he probably did this after the first night of the attack. With the fog, not to mention all their little secret passages, it seems like the logical conclusion.

The general had strung out a wall of bodies between us and them. Yep, you guessed it…all of the prisoners. Each one had a person behind them with a blade to their throat.

It did not work quite as the general intended. Without exception, our people were yelling for us to just kill them and finish this. And with that, the final battle began.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point of view) I was forced to sit up on a high ridge as the battle raged. I watched through binoculars, and it was a strange…surreal experience. Almost as if none of it were real.

It was often difficult to tell who was who. War looks a lot different from far away.

As the fighting continued on through the day, I searched until I spotted the general. I felt a lump in my throat when I finally managed to put eyes on him. He was systematically fighting his way to the edge of the battle. I knew what he was doing and I was helpless to stop it. Sure enough, he broke free with about a hundred or so others and raced away once more.

I guess we just got too caught up in what was happening down there and that is how a small cluster of zombies managed to sneak up on us. When I say ‘sneak’, I mean stumble along like they always do, and when I say ‘us’, I mean the large group of the wounded that had been left at the top of the ridge along with a few small reserve forces.

I heard the first scream from just behind me and only a stone’s throw away. I turned as I saw a relatively fresh zombie fall on a woman on a cot just inside the flap of the tent that had been set up and was actually awaiting fresh patients from the ongoing battle.

Looking around, I spotted a small hand ax in a stump that was probably being used to chop down kindling from some of the larger pieces of wood. That was when I really noticed that we had set up camp. Not just a stopping place for the day. This was obviously where our group felt we would be finishing this once and for all.

I knew from some of our talks over the several days that this had stretched that the plan was to make camp once we finished this ordeal and let everybody heal up. There was a possibility that we would not move until spring if we found a suitable place. That meant that whatever they were slipping into my tea was doing a heck of a number on me if I was so out of touch with what had been happening. Betty would later confirm that the Natives had some pretty strong herbal medicines and that most of the injured—me included—were sleeping several hours at a stretch.

So, back to the undead attack…I made my way to the axe. Walking seemed a bit tougher than I recall, but I reached my destination…and then had to catch my breath. Shaking off the wooziness, I grabbed the weapon and headed into the tent, or rather I started that way. Actually, several of the men and women who were in position as reserves came running to our aid. It seemed that every time I would reach a zombie, somebody would step in front of me and put it down.

I have no idea how long it took, and I really did not do one single thing to help other than stumble from place to place and watch the less drug addled people dispatch with the walkers. However, I was able to notice that ALL of these zombies were relatively fresh. Also, there was something else that my brain was trying to get me to see through the haze, but it wasn’t clicking.

That got me to thinking, and once the commotion started to die down, I sort of stumbled over to the other side of the ridge away from the battle. I felt my throat tighten. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t…I was too terrified. I guess we had been hit by the leading edge of the horde being led to us by a bunch of Anomalies.

Click!

The fresh zombies were all missing a hand!

I stumbled over to a few of the warriors that were already cleaning their weapons after this little battle. I told them what I saw as I pulled them over to the ridge. Coming out from these huge boulders were the undead and their Anomalies, leading them along like a bunch of wanna-be Pied Pipers.

They had used a deep gulch to hide their approach. Were it not for the fresher ones that hit us just a bit early…it might have ended in disaster for us.

In the end, it was rather anticlimactic as our people began to gather torches by the armload. They had those of us amongst the injured that were able light them up and pass them forward. I think I mentioned before how flammable the older zombies tend to be.

The cloud of smoke that rose off that herd was putrid, but the alternative would have been so much worse. The men and women who were able-bodied all mounted up and took off after the Anomalies. I guess General Carson had instilled a certain degree of arrogance in these things.

The look of surprise was quickly replaced by fear when our riders came over that ridge and barreled into that fleeing group of freaks. The best anybody can guess is that the plan was for the general to engage our forces and keep them busy while this other group came from behind. They obviously did not count on our making camp and leaving a decent amount of warriors in reserve on our flank.

As dusk began to creep in, the fighting came to an end. Not a single survivor remained. And already scouts had been sent to track down the general and his final few remaining followers.

By that evening, having not taken any more of the mysterious herbal concoction that had kept me loopy for the past few days, my stump was beginning to throb. I chose to grit my teeth and bear with it. And that was also the first time that I was awake when they changed out my bandages. It was really quite gruesome looking.

I was told that I needed to rest and that I should not be up and around, but I refused, and instead started doing all I could to help around the camp. There were plenty of those who were injured far worse than me.

The next day, I went with Betty to patrol the area. Mostly it was just to get up and move around. I was getting really sick of doing absolutely nothing. It was not like I could do anything. Truthfully, I was as helpless as a kitten. But being with Betty is about as safe as you can be. Also, I did not expect us to actually run in to anything.

While we had a large force out after the general, that little zombie surprise attack had us a bit nervous. That was when we found what had once been a pretty decent sized town. Of course it was falling apart, and many of the buildings showed obvious signs of past looting and vandalism. Cryptic messages in faded spray paint could be read on some of the walls.

We were not about to go poking around inside any of the buildings. For one, they looked as if they would fall over the moment that you touched one of them.

I still can’t get over the idea of this many people living and working here even after travelling with our large army. I went up on a hilltop one evening just to see our camp and how it was so full of activity. I try to take that image and superimpose it on a city like this and I simply am unable to fathom such a thing.

Anyway, we were moving down what I imagine was some sort of main street. So many crumbling signs that made me curious. One in particular that made me wonder what must have been happening to the world in those first days that a place would have to proclaim that they had “Live Nude Girls”. It still has me scratching my head. Seriously, the alternative would be super creepy.

It was just a few buildings down from there that we made a terrible discovery. We found Selina (and several others I should add) spiked to the wall of a building. The ground was black with dried blood and flies were thick on the corpses that had turned an ugly shade of gray. To make it worse, birds were perched on many shoulders, pecking at the tender bits of the face. Most were missing one or both eyes.

It took me and Betty a few minutes to ride down the length of the building and observe all the faces. Most were not people that either of us recognized, but a lot were, and seeing Selina die in such a terrible fashion was heartbreaking.

A few of the bodies had slipped. In other words, the weight had become too much to the point where the spike held, but the flesh and bone gave way.

We wanted to return right then, but decided that it was important to search the area for anything else. That was when we discovered the heads on sticks. It was Betty that recognized Ethan first. Honestly, I could barely make out that it was him even once she pointed it out to me.

We returned to the camp and revealed what we had discovered. We had the word spread in case anybody wanted to go and check to see if a missing loved one might be among the dead.

I was not actually all that surprised when nobody wanted to come. Instead, a group of us went the next day, gathered the spiked heads, laid them inside and then burned the building. I think most everybody had come to grips with the thought that missing meant the same as dead. Nobody wanted to see one of their loved ones in the condition that we described.

We were just returning from that detail when a group of riders came from the south. It was one of our scout teams…and they had prisoners.

When they arrived, I started to scan faces. Funny, they didn’t look all that tough or scary. They looked tired and beaten. They were dirty and scraggily.

They were all bound with hands behind their backs with a stick slid into the crooks of their bent elbows. Within just a couple of hours, a structure was built. It was really just a series of long poles about as big around as my waist (I later discovered that they were just telephone poles that came from nearby) that were mounted on these tripod looking things. The horizontal poles were about eight feet high. Each of the prisoners was then hoisted up until their feet were a foot or so off the ground.

There was a lot of screaming. The fact that it did not faze me in the slightest is something I should probably be concerned about. I still refuse to apologize for feeling no remorse or shame because of our actions. Call it torture or whatever you like. And yes, I have heard things like “two wrongs don’t make a right” and “do unto others” while growing up. First, this is so much nicer than what they had intended on in the “do unto us” portion of their plan. Second, I will admit it right here…I wanted them to suffer for a bit. Maybe Selina’s and Ethan’s deaths are still too fresh for me to think straight, but I do not believe I will ever regret our actions.

They were left that way for the rest of the night. After the first hour, once the screaming and crying subsided, I began to notice some of the Natives wander over. Some of them would take a knife and make a single quick slice on one or more of the men and women hanging. I walked over to get a closer look; also, I wanted to find the general for myself.

As I walked the length of these prisoners, I noticed that several of them now bore a dozen or more slices to their arms and legs. I wove past some as it was being done and started to hear the Native making the cut utter a name. So, my best guess is that this was a symbolic sort of revenge for a lost friend or loved one. I don’t really know for sure, and I have not gotten around to asking.

Anyways, I was well down the line when I saw his face. He was a mess. This man had very little resemblance to the man I saw leading his army. This person looked only a couple of years older than me! I stood there staring up at him for a few minutes and eventually realized that he was looking back at me.

“Why?” I blurted. I could not help myself. There had to be an answer.

“These things saith he that holdeth the seven stars in his right hand, who walketh in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks;

“I know thy works, and thy labor, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars: And hast borne, and hast patience, and for my name’s sake hast labored, and hast not fainted.

“Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love. Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent.”

“What does that have to do with anything!” I wanted to slap him, and if I could have reached his face, I would have.

“He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God…these things saith the first and the last, which was dead, and is alive, I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan.

“Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death.”

“Let me know how that works out for you,” I snapped, and then I turned and walked away.

This next part is probably not my proudest moment. Not the action, just the way in which I did it. I stopped suddenly and spun. General Carson was still watching me. I drew my knife and approached. I made sure that my eyes never left him. I stood by his feet and laid the razor sharp blade against his upper thigh. (Did I fail to mention that they had all been stripped naked?)

I honestly thought he would show some sort of reaction. Instead, he just glared at me with his lips pressed together. I made the first slice.

“Selina…”

“Ethan….”

“Angel…”

“Brian…”

“Janie…”

“Phaedra…”

And then I just started listing every single name I could think of. When I finished, he had over three dozen slices on both legs. Blood was dripping on the ground in a steady patter. He never cried out. I turned to walk away and he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Thou sufferest that woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols.

“And I gave her space to repent of her fornication; and she repented not. Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds. And I will kill her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.

“But unto you I say, and unto the rest in Thyatira, as many as have not this doctrine, and which have not known the depths of Satan, as they speak; I will put upon you none other burden. But that which ye have already hold fast till I come.

“And he that overcometh, and keepeth my works unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations: And he shall rule them with a rod of iron; as the vessels of a potter shall they be broken to shivers: even as I received of my Father. And I will give him the morning star. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.”

I could hear him all the way back to my tent. Even worse…a bunch of his little minions joined in on this little chant. I knew that it sounded familiar, I just did not know where I had heard it before. It was actually Betty who clued me in.

“He’s reciting Revelations from The Bible,” she told me.

I wanted to ask how she knew. After all, we were friends and I had never once spoken with her about her belief system. I was stunned when she told me that she had been a Revelationist for a few years. She said that she was lonely and at a point in her life where she did not feel like she fit in anywhere. She decided to check out the various religious groups in Warehouse City. Something about the Revelationists rang a bell for her.

Eventually she found that she wanted to be more involved in the safety and security of the city she called home. I was surprised, but I also was raised to understand that just because something is not my particular brand of happiness does not mean I should have a problem with others. I still remember how surprised I was when Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay told me how their relationship was something that was a problem for other people back in the Old World. I didn’t get it. I mean, who cares. I guess that is one of the positives of the outcome from humanity almost being wiped out. People have bigger things to worry about than who loves who…or is it who loves whom?

Oh well, the mystery about the stuff General Carson was spewing was solved…and I really didn’t care. I would find out how brave he was when the day of his execution came.

So the prisoners were left to dangle for the next couple of days. A few died from exposure that first night, so we built fires all long where they hung to keep any of the others from taking the easy way out.

By the second day, a few of them were almost touching the ground with their toes. Shoulder sockets were not meant to maintain that degree of stress for so long. I guess that was the signal.

That evening, a few of them were cut down. Some were killed actually quite quickly. A sharp blade across the throat was the easiest any of them would have it. I guess anybody who could remember a particular person from the battle was given the right to choose that person’s form of death. That was why some were killed so mercifully. Nobody claimed them.

Now, there were a few deaths that I had to turn away from. Having a rope tied to each arm and leg and then the horses sent charging off in four different directions was nasty and never ended the same way twice that I could see. I know one man was dragged behind a horse…that lasted a while and I didn’t much care for it. There were simple beheadings and a few cases where the person was stretched out and staked to the ground. The person who had chosen that individual would sit on their chest and eventually plunge a knife in their chest or cut their throat when they were done saying what they wanted to say. A modified version of that was when they would place a flat piece of wood on the staked man or woman’s chest and then begin to pile rocks until the person could not physically take another breath. I saw a few cases where a fire was built on the person’s abdomen.

Like I said, I do not condone any of that stuff, but I do not condemn it either. These lunatics were set on bringing the end of humanity. However, I think some of those hanging from the poles and witnessing this were having some real issues with what they were seeing. I admit that I had to slip away more than once to be sick. (The burning of a human being is very gruesome to watch and to hear.)

I was only a little surprised that members of some of the tribes that came with Ethan started to participate. That night at dinner I saw more than a couple pull up one of the Natives who had performed an execution that day. I had to imagine that it was a Q & A session of some sort. The next day, I would be proved right when I saw a few of them perform an act they had witnessed the day before.

Just before midday, Betty came up to me.

“You realize that they are waiting for you to take part in this, don’t you?”

Actually, I did not know that. Why would they be waiting for me?

So that night at dinner, I stood and went up to the bonfire. That is sort of the signal that you have something to say to the entire group. I was more than just a little surprised when the entire camp went silent. It only increased my anxiety when everybody started crowding in. I knew for a fact that, unless I yelled at the top of my lungs, I would not be heard by those in the rear. I would have to rely on the word being passed back. I remember briefly wondering how mutated my message would be after it was relayed from mouth-to-ear down the line. Oh well, it could not be helped, so if you ever come across something that quotes this speech, check the accuracy because I took the time to write it down first and used it as I spoke that night.

“Brothers and sisters, for the past two days, we have been administering our own personal form of punishment or vengeance against those who killed our friends, family, and companions. Each has his or her own reason for doing what they do. I have watched every single one. I admit that I have had to turn away at times, but I never left. I felt it was my duty to each of you to stand in support of your action whether I understood it or not.

“I have been told that many of you are waiting and wondering when I will take part. I have an answer. I will be last. I claim the man known as General Carson before you now and say that he will die at my hands. But he will be last because I want him to watch all those he led to this ending as they perish. I want him to hear their cries and their renunciation of their actions under his leadership. I want him to suffer a thousand deaths, but in the end, I can only offer one. So I do the next best thing. He will watch until he is the last man hanging.

“Rest assured, brothers and sisters, we are together in this final endeavor. General Carson deserves far worse than we will ever be able to give, but I believe that if the Heaven and the Almighty God that he proclaims to serve does exist…then what we give him here will only be the beginning. When God…his God…rejects him for what he has done, then and only then will his true suffering begin.”

There was silence. No, I did not expect any applause. And when one of the Natives stepped forward and took me in a hug, I figured that was good. But then he began to sing in the sweetest, yet most masculine voice I have ever heard.

The earth is our mother,
we must take care of her.

Hey yanna, ho yanna, hey yan yan.

Her sacred ground we walk upon,
with every step we take.

The earth is our mother,
she will take care of us.

And then, he began it again, but the words were picked up and sort of washed like a wave through the crowd. By the third time through, I actually had the lyrics down and joined in. Soon, some drums began a steady, syncopated beat, and then some sort of flute drifted in as well. It was such a magical and beautiful moment that I did not want it to ever end.

The next few days were more of the executions. Also, we were hit a few times by some wandering dead and some of our scout teams returned with a few stragglers of General Carson’s army. To say that some of them reacted poorly to what they saw when they were brought in to our camp would be putting it mildly. Sometimes it was difficult for me to hear. One woman begged and pleaded, insisting that she had been forced to serve by her parents.

I guess she could have been telling the truth, but we were committed to our cause by this point and could not waver. That probably seems cold and callous. I am sure that some of you reading this may already be putting me in that same box that Meredith was stuffed into by legions of readers who hated her. I can’t worry about that.

Eventually, the day came and General James Carson was the last man. In case you are wondering, we made sure that he stayed alive. Sometimes that was almost as much of an ordeal as the executions. He resisted us at every turn once he realized what was happening.

That day, I stood before him. Of course, by then, his voice was gone. He had gone on a rant for almost a full day and night reciting the entire Book of Revelations from start to finish and then repeating. I admit that I was impressed that he knew it word for word. I even checked. It took me a while, but I eventually found a bible. He did not even know it, but I sat just behind him a few yards and followed along. He did not miss a single word or phrase from what was marked as a King James Version. (I actually wonder if he was named for this James person.)

When I came up to him that morning, his mouth was moving, but all that I heard was a rasping noise. So, if he had any last words, words of wisdom, curses on me and any of my possible future offspring, or pleas for mercy, they were wasted and unrecorded.

The night before, I spent a lot of time trying to decide which manner of execution I would inflict. There were so many to choose from. I decided that he did not deserve any sort of ceremony. I had him brought down and bent over a tree stump. I selected my best blade and stood over him. I did not feel the need to make another speech or any sort of statement. Quite honestly, I don’t think he deserved any of that nonsense. I brought the blade down in one very deliberate swing. His head came off and rolled to the ground, coming to rest a few feet away, his eyes staring with an empty gaze directly at me. I hope that his brain worked long enough so that I am the last thing he ever saw.

What you need to remember is this: were it not for what we did and what we do now, you very likely would not be reading this. If General Carson and his splinter group from the NAA managed to succeed, everybody would be dead and the Era of the Anomalies would have begun. I may not have made a big enough deal of the fact that this group—this ‘extremist faction’ of The Genesis Brotherhood (an already extreme group in their own right)—were prepared to end humanity. That means YOU.

It is always easier after the fact for people to judge the actions of others. Funny, I went back the past couple of days and read Sam’s and Meredith’s journals. Something stood out that made me bristle at the response that Meredith has received all these years.

I considered copying it here, but instead, I will simply say that everything that you needed to know about her was written on the evening of Friday, June 20th in my dad’s journal right after his death. She told you exactly who she was, so any of her actions, including when she gave me up, should not have been a surprise.

Looking back on some of my own words, I do not have that luxury. You know why? Because, I still do not really know who I am. I wonder how many of you will forget that I am still just eighteen. Sure, I have ideas about who I want to be, but those change about as often as the weather. I am still trying to find that answer.

Also, I only very recently discovered that I am part of a culture that I have not yet really been able to absorb or understand. I’m not saying that being born with Native American blood in my veins makes a difference in who I am, but I should at least try to find out a bit before I go one way or the other.

I have so many questions…and I am going to spend some time looking for answers. And I may not find ANY of them, but at least I can look.

I have no idea if I will continue this journal or not. Right now, I just want to be able to relax. Not think. Not act.

I have to be honest, I set this book down for most of the month while I tried to process everything that had happened. I only missed it for the first couple of days. I know that Meredith set hers down once, but she said that it was a form of therapy for her to write everything down. For, me, that comes from talking to these people that surround me…Betty…

I was sitting on a rock with Betty this morning and she asked me why she had not seen me with (and this is a quote) “that stupid book?” I shrugged and she just nodded and told me that I didn’t need to try and be anybody except myself. I don’t think I am the journaling type.

So, what does that mean? That means that we are done. If you have found this…if for some strange reason it was copied and made available to others like my dad’s and Meredith’s, then I applaud your stick-to-it-iveness if you have read this entire thing. I hope that it provided you with something useful…at the very least, a diversion.

A snowflake fell just a moment ago. I believe that I will go sit with Betty and watch to see if others will soon join. It seems we will be camping here until winter has passed. Travelling through any of the mountain ranges now would be folly. This location is not bad. We did move just a bit after I did away with General Carson.

Chapter 6

Tuesday, November 1st

There are a few inches of fresh white powder on the ground. Life has slowly returned to something like normal. I feel refreshed.

Last night, I went for a walk with Jimmy Stonekiller. We talked about stuff that I imagine normal young men and women our age talk about. He seems nice. I think I can actually enjoy that now…the part about him being nice.

Lately, the evening fire has been a time to share our stories. I have discovered that the Native Americans are not the only ones who tell a good tale. Last night, one of the women from a tribe located along Corridor 26 told her story. I look at her now, and it is not difficult to see the young girl that she spoke of in her moments before the fire as she shared a piece of her life.

Her name is Rindy, and she is a member of the Aloha Warriors. (She pronounces it A-lo-a and makes sure to correct any who mistakenly call it A-lo-HA. She tells you very curtly that she is not from the island paradise of Hawaii.

Hers rang a bell for me, and so I sat with her today and asked her to tell it again. So here it is as she told it to me. I call it, Yes, Rindy, there is a Santa Claus.

Rindy Farmer peeked out from the shadowy doorway. This house had been a good find, sitting all by itself on a hill looking out over a vastness that everyone was pretty sure must be somewhere in Wyoming. A steady rain continued to fall, adding to the gloom felt by everybody the past few days. Nobody could be absolutely certain, but the general consensus placed it to be sometime in December. This would be the third Christmas since them. Most folks called them zombies, not Rindy. That was the nickname she had given her little brother Zimbalist—named after some long dead television star that her dad liked when he was little.

When her parents brought him home the first day and told her the name they had picked, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. From that day, he’d been ‘Baby Zombie’ to her. He was dead now.

Both times.

Same as her parents.

At age twelve, Rindy Farmer had been trapped in a bathroom while her mom, dad, and little brother clawed at the door. Then, the soldier came. His name was Morgan, and he had shot each of them in the head.

He saved Rindy.

Over the next two years, she traveled with Corporal Morgan. He taught her to shoot. He also taught her not to shoot. Noise always brought more of them. That was why he also taught her how to use a knife, a spear—for jabbing, not throwing—and a bow and arrow. He showed her how to search a room and then secure it after ensuring an escape route existed.

He taught her other stuff, too. He taught her how to tell if a can of food was bad, how to make fire with a flint and the blade of her machete. And he taught her how to hide.

“Never trust anybody,” Corporal Morgan said time and again. “Especially men.”

“You’re a man.” Rindy had pointed out the obvious the first time.

“Yep,” Corporal Morgan agreed. “And my daughter was about half your age.”

“They got her?”

The corporal nodded. “But not everybody had daughters. Some men will see you differently.”

Rindy knew what Corporal Morgan wasn’t saying…was too embarrassed to say. The past few years, she had seen gruesome examples of exactly why he had given that warning.

Two hundred and thirteen days ago, Corporal Morgan died. Then, he sat back up. Rindy put him down. Then, unlike with her brother and parents, Rindy was able to take the time to bury him. Afterwards, she had been alone for almost a month. Just like when she travelled with Corporal Morgan, sometimes there were others; sometimes not. One morning, twenty-six days after she buried Corporal Morgan, Rindy discovered a motel all by itself on an empty stretch of what was left of a highway. That wasn’t a very big deal. The big deal was finding Marjorie, Brad, and Amber.

Marjorie was only a few years older than Rindy. She was Brad and Angie’s big sister. She was also very pregnant. She and her brother and sister didn’t have a Corporal Morgan. They had found out the hard way that they couldn’t just trust anybody. Especially men.

Brad, age nine, and Amber, age seven, didn’t talk anymore. Marjorie told Rindy that they had seen things. Rindy didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. The four of them lived in one motel room together for a week. Rindy didn’t like staying in one place too long.

One morning, she woke up, ready to say farewell to Marjorie, Amber, and Brad. Only, Marjorie wasn’t there. She checked in the bathroom…empty. She went outside, peering through the dusty plastic blinds first just like she’d been taught.

In the room just to the left, the door was open. Rindy peeked inside, finding Marjorie on the bed. Something was sticking out between her legs. It looked like tiny feet. Marjorie was dead…she didn’t have a Corporal Morgan. Rindy covered Marjorie with a blanket and left the room closing the door behind her.

Just leaving the two little ones wasn’t a choice. After all, where would she be if Corporal Morgan had just left her behind? So, she went into the room and woke up Brad and Amber. After breakfast—the last can of beef stew—Rindy explained what happened and held them as they cried. It was okay to cry, Corporal Morgan said. Holding everything in wasn’t good for you. When things happened that upset her, he always told her, “One good cry…get it all out and move on. It ain’t like the old day when you had time to let one tiny problem own you for weeks.”

Rindy let them cry. It was obvious that they needed it, because they cried for a long time. Then something strange happened, Brad stood up and asked, “Can we leave? I don’t want to stay where my sister died.”

Little Amber got up next to her brother and wiped her red, runny nose with her sleeve and sniffled. “Me, too.”

Rindy helped them gather their few belongings and they began walking up the long, empty road. Two days later they met Ryan and Penny; they were both twenty-five. Ryan was a cook and Penny was a dancer. Rindy tried not to giggle when Amber asked if Penny could teach her to dance.

The two had met at a FEMA evacuation center. One night the soldiers in charge simply up and left. Ryan said it got bad fast. A couple of men were ‘hurting’ Penny when he found them. He had a .22 pistol and shot one of the men. The other man walked away. That night Ryan and Penny left the FEMA center. They’d been on the road ever since.

The five of them travelled together. Twice they thought they’d found a place to hold up through the winter. Once, a large gang rolled into the area. Nobody wanted to wait to find out if they were friendly, and they slipped out under the cover of night.

The second place, a non-descript house in a partially burned down development seemed perfect. Even though many of the houses had burnt down, the whole community was behind a waist-high wall. A stone’s throw away, a river swept past. Ryan said it was the Platte River. The blessing became a curse when a terrible storm thundered through. For three days they watched as the river flowed over its banks, creeping just as slowly and steadily across the flat plain as any zombie. Every hour it came closer to the houses. Eventually, water began flowing down the razor-straight grid of streets.

They travelled for two more weeks when they found the biggest, most amazing house Rindy had ever seen. It sat on a hill looking over a valley that stretched off to the east and west. The valley was bordered by enormous rocky cliffs to the north and the south.

Unlike many houses these days, this one still had most of its windows intact. It stood three stories high and had a huge fireplace inside that seemed bigger than Rindy’s bedroom in her old house with mom, dad, and ‘baby zombie’. The only disappointment proved to be the pantry. Easily the size of a small apartment, it was full of bags and bins. These people had obviously not believed in food out of a can. Not a single box of macaroni and cheese. There were a variety of herbs and spices…all rotten and useless.

Looking around, they found a large plot that Ryan said was a garden. Of course it was dead and full of weeds, but Ryan said it held promise. It looked like they had found not just their winter home, but maybe a place that they could stay. At least that’s what Ryan and Penny kept saying. Rindy wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like staying any place too long.

The days grew shorter, colder, and gloomy. Rindy continued to teach Brad and Amber the things Corporal Morgan taught her. Sometimes Ryan and Penny watched, whispering back and forth. For some reason, watching her, Brad, and Amber train seemed to make them sad.

One morning, Rindy was out early before the sun came up. She’d made herself a breakfast; roasting a chunk of pumpkin and eating it with her fish that Penny caught and smoked a few days before. She liked going out early by herself. The first day, she’d come back with three rabbits. That had been quite a feast. She hadn’t been out twenty minutes when she saw it: an enormous deer.

An hour later, she, Ryan, and Penny were hauling the field-stripped carcass back to the house. While Rindy and Penny went to work cutting it up, Ryan and Brad went foraging for some editable winter greens. Ryan was really good at identifying plants.

Late that afternoon, Ryan and Brad returned. Ryan was very excited. The two had gone off searching for some greens and hopefully a few herbs he could use to spruce up the night’s meal. They found a road, mostly washed out. Curiosity getting the better of them, they’d followed it. It was Brad who found the sign: Elkhart 2 mi. A town was a mere two miles away!

“You know what that means?” Ryan asked.

“That we’ll need to be more careful and keep our eyes open for roamers and stragglers,” Rindy said.

“Gloomy much?” Penny snorted.

“It means that we might be able to salvage some useful stuff,” Ryan ignored Rindy.

“It will be like a shopping spree,” Penny said, sounding like she’d just won the grand prize on a game show.

That night, everybody sat around the fire, eating venison, a bitter salad that Amber took one taste of and refused to take another, cups of steaming hot water from the creek nearby, and the big surprise that Ryan had kept hidden and sent Brad for once dinner was done…apples!  One of the houses on the outskirt of the newly discovered town had a pair of apple trees in the yard. They were kinda shriveled, but everybody snacked away with ear-to-ear grins.

“You went into town?” Penny asked.

“Naw,” Ryan shook his head, “just this one house on the outskirts.”

That night, the rest of the talk centered on the possibilities of what they might find. The next day, Ryan and Penny left early with empty backpacks. They were gone all that day and night. The next day, they came back with full packs and huge smiles.

“We got the makings of a regular feast,” Ryan crowed. “Just in time for Thanksgiving.”

“Did you find turkey?” Amber climbed up onto a stool next to the counter as Ryan and Penny unloaded their packs.

“Nope, but we got venison, just like the pilgrims ate, and…” He produced two bottles carefully wrapped. “I found corn syrup.”

“Ohhhkay,” Rindy raised an eyebrow.

“The perfect sweetener, along with some cinnamon and ginger I found. I think I can make something close to pumpkin pie. Just without the crust,” Ryan explained.

This made everybody smile. The next day, while she was out in the morning, Rindy bagged five quail. To make things even better, she found a nest with seven newly hatched eggs. She bundled up the chicks and returned to the house.

“You’re lethal with that bow and arrow,” Ryan said. Rindy scowled and Ryan raised his hands. “Young lady…sorry.”

“That’s pretty close to turkey,” Penny offered. “But what’s with the little peepers?” she asked, tilting her head at the cluster of chicks Rindy arranged carefully in the empty kitchen sink, nestled in a ratty sweatshirt.

“Maybe we can raise ‘em and use their eggs,” Rindy shrugged.

“That’s not a bad idea at all,” Ryan admitted.

That night, they decided it was close enough to Thanksgiving. The meal was great, and everybody loved Ryan’s pumpkin custard. None of them could remember being that full—that satisfied—in a long time.

“All we need is the Detroit and the Dallas games and it would be just like old times,” Ryan said as he undid the button on his pants and stretched out on the couch.

“You were into that?” Penny scoffed.

“I’m a guy aren’t I?”

“I miss the Black Friday shopping with my sister and a few friends,” Penny admitted sheepishly.

“You are one of those people?” Ryan sat up so that Penny could sit at the other end of the couch. Amber had taken to following the woman everywhere and climbed up to nestle under her arm.

“And I suppose you were the type that did all his Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas?”  Amber’s head popped up. “With Santa Claus?”

Silence.

Everybody looked at each other, hoping they would speak. Rindy watched Ryan and Penny raise eyebrows at each other and shrug.

“Well…” Ryan began, drawing that first word out. “Now that we have a house to live in…I don’t see why not.”

Rindy felt her mouth fall open. What could he be thinking?  Her eyes burned into the side of his head until he finally glanced her way. What? Ryan mouthed. Rindy’s eyes flash from Amber and back.

“Won’t the monsters get him?” Amber looked up at Penny with the sincere concern that only a child seemed so adept at expressing with just their eyes and their hands clasped delicately under their chin.

“Ummm…well…no,” Penny answered, caught off-guard. “His reindeer are too quick, and will protect Santa.”

Rindy stormed out of the room, heading upstairs. She heard more talking followed by squeals of laughter from Amber as she stalked into the room that she’d claimed. It caught the rising sun in the morning—when it wasn’t obscured by clouds. It helped her remember something that Corporal Morgan used to say a lot. “If you see the sun come up, then you’ve made it through the hardest part.”

Laying on her bed, the food in her stomach suddenly felt like a lead ball. It didn’t matter that Ryan and Penny were older; Brad and Amber were her responsibility. She couldn’t have little Amber’s hopes riding on some imaginary character from a world that was long since dead. Those days were gone. If this were that old world, Amber would be at about the age when Santa ceased to exist.

“Hey,” Ryan stuck his head inside the door. Rindy rolled onto her stomach, turning her face away from him. She had started crying for some stupid reason.

“What’s so wrong with letting Amber have a little piece of childhood?” Ryan asked. He sat down at the foot of Rindy’s bed. “It can’t hurt.”

“Yes,” Rindy insisted. “It most certainly can.”

“How?”

“When none of her Christmas wishes are there on whatever day you decided is Christmas Day…”

“You know what she asked her?”

“What?” Rindy rolled over, curious.

“Candy and a Barbie.” Ryan laughed.

“In case you haven’t noticed, nobody makes that stuff anymore.”

“Actually,” Ryan smiled. “I found a bunch of hard candy in the grocery store. I’m pretty sure that some of it might still be edible.”

“After over three years?”

“It’s not like hard candy spoils. As long as no holes were made in the package, it should still be okay. And after this long…even if it’s stale, who’d notice?”

“And the Barbie?” Rindy prodded.

“A bit more difficult,” Ryan conceded. “But there has to be one in that town, if not in the store. We may have to wash it up a bit, but that is no biggy.”

“I still don’t like it.” Rindy scowled.

“Keep up that attitude and Santa won’t bring you anything.” Ryan laughed again and left.

Rindy laid on her back staring up at the ceiling. There’s no such thing as Santa Claus, Rindy thought. Still, she couldn’t help but let her mind wonder a bit. Had it really been over a decade since she sat on Santa’s lap?  She’d been six—only a year younger than Amber is now—and it would be the last year that she believed. All thanks to Richard Gulley…the stupid boy that sat in front of her in Miss Miller’s class.

A dress she thought. How wonderful would it be to wear girl’s clothes again?  And strawberries. Take that, Santa. Rindy drifted off thinking of pretty dresses and bowls of red, ripe strawberries. As she slept, she smiled.

The next morning, Ryan was gone. He must have gotten up awfully early. Rindy was awake an hour before sunrise and already fitted out to do some hunting. Penny was a whiz at curing and drying meat. It would be wise to stock up now. Better too much than not enough. Corporal Morgan taught her that.

When she came back from hunting, nobody was outside. That wasn’t such a big deal considering that it had been raining all day. Rindy was soaked and couldn’t wait to warm up in front of the fire.

As soon as she opened the door, she went on her guard. It was silent. Drawing her machete, she crept down the entry hall. She could see the flickering glow of the fireplace and hear the occasional pop of burning wood.

Reaching the end of the hall, she paused and took a deep breath. She couldn’t smell anything. At least not anything dead. Cautiously, from a crouch well below eye level just like Corporal Morgan taught, she peeked around the corner.

“Surprise!” Penny, Amber, and Brad yelled.

In the corner, a huge pine tree reached almost up to the twenty foot high vaulted ceiling. Sparkling decorations of all kind glittered in the light of the fire. Underneath it was a dozen packages wrapped in…

“We found some fancy dresses in a box. Fortunately, the woman must have been huge, so there was plenty of material,” Penny laughed.

“Penny said that a Christmas tree would help Santa Claus find us, “Amber squealed with delight.

Rindy glanced at Penny and Brad who stood behind the excited little girl with dopey grins on their faces. She slid the machete back in its sheath and walked the rest of the way into the room. “It’s really nice, Amber,” she said, trying her best to sound enthusiastic.

As soon as she was able to pry herself away from the happy little girl, she went to the kitchen to clean the two rabbits she’d bagged. She was just finishing wrapping up the waste and cleaning the area when she heard Penny scream.

Drawing her blade, Rindy rushed towards the commotion. She heard Amber’s crying above everything else and it wrapped around her stomach like an icy fist. Reaching the door, she skidded to a stop. “Step away from him,” Rindy said, surprised at the calm in her voice.

Everyone was gathered around Ryan. He looked up at her, the knowledge already in his eyes. His face was waxy and covered in sweat. Rindy only glanced briefly at the left arm wrapped in bloody rags.

Penny was verging on hysterics, which in turn amplified the stress to both Amber and Brad. Rindy took a deep breath, the smell of death tickling her nostrils, fouling her mouth with its rank familiarity. She walked down the stairs, and as she reached Brad, she guided him over next to his sister. Then, with a gentle nudge, she sent Penny to stand beside the children. With very little effort, she’d managed to get the three in a group and place herself between them and Ryan.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Rindy whispered. Then, louder, she said, “Everybody go back inside.”

“What are you going to do?” Penny sniffled.

“Inside,” Rindy repeated, keeping her eyes on Ryan.

“Go!” Ryan added, looking past Rindy.

The two waited, Rindy never taking her eyes off Ryan until the door closed with a loud, ominous click. Once they were alone, he unslung the pack from his shoulders and held it out to Rindy.

“Found a couple of Barbies and a surprising amount of candy that wasn’t ruined,” Ryan said, then coughed. “Also, found a little .22 pistol that you could probably teach Brad to shoot, earrings for Penny…she said she’d never owned diamonds before, so I figured—”

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Rindy snapped, cutting him off. “Is this supposed to make Christmas better?  You going off and getting yourself killed to bring us things?”

Ryan hung his head, instantly taking the steam out of her anger. “I just wanted everybody to have something special,” he rasped.

“And so your present to me is…what?” Rindy waved her machete in the air and pointed it at his injured arm. “I get to watch you die, then put you down?”

“Jesus, kid.” Ryan looked up.

“I’m not a kid,” Rindy snapped back.

“Well maybe you should try it every once in a while,” Ryan said with a warm smile. “That’s why I did this.” He shook the pack that Rindy still hadn’t taken from him. “It makes me sad to see somebody so young…who never had the chance to be a teenager…act like a freakin’ soldier. And the way Amber looks up to you…well…I just wanted her to have a moment of childhood before you turn her into a Rindy action figure.

“I just wanted to give her a Christmas morning, one last visit from Santa Claus before she’s drafted into your army.”  Ryan slumped and the pack fell from his hand.

He seemed to melt as he slowly sunk to the ground. He lay still for a moment. Rindy grabbed the pack and removed it from between her and Ryan. Her eyes stayed fixed on the prone figure in the mud at her feet. The first sign came from the left hand: it twitched once…twice…then curled into a claw, digging furrows in the saturated earth. The head began to rise; the familiar, dry, rattling moan escaped its lips. The face that looked up at Rindy was a lifeless, slack caricature of Ryan.

With one swing, she brought the machete down smashing through the crown of the skull with hand-numbing finality. The body collapsed to the ground as she wrenched the blade free. “There is no such thing as Santa Claus,” Rindy whispered.

That afternoon they stood over the grave that Rindy dug by herself. She’d also dragged the body, dumped it into the hole, and covered it alone. When she was done, she went inside and gathered everybody. Penny had found a bible, and read Psalms 23. Then, each of them said something nice about Ryan and returned inside.

That night, she and Penny wrapped the items they had found in the pack. Together, they agreed to wait a week to celebrate Christmas. It just didn’t seem right to skip it after Ryan had gone through so much to make it happen.

The night they declared as Christmas Eve, Penny recited as much as she could recall of T’was the Night Before Christmas. She and Rindy tucked Amber in, then went downstairs and set out the rest of the presents. Penny went to bed, leaving Rindy alone in front of the tree. She sat for a while listening to the rain. With a yawn, she got up ready for a little sleep before Amber woke the house.

Rindy Farmer peeked out from the shadowy doorway. This house had been a good find sitting all by itself on a hill looking out over a vastness that everyone was pretty sure had to be somewhere in Wyoming. A steady rain continued to fall adding to the gloom felt by everybody the past few days.

Maybe tomorrow would help pull them out of it. Before closing the door, her eyes tried to find the outline of the marker where she buried Ryan. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered into the darkness. As expected, Amber woke everybody bright and early. Rindy rolled over, the chill in the room cold enough to turn her exasperated exhale to a visible fog.

“Rindy!” Amber burst into the room, a ball of child-generated electricity. “Santa came!  Come look!” Then the child dashed out. The sound of another door being flung open was followed by “Penny! Santa came! He came!”

Brad stumbled into Rindy’s room. “We’d better go downstairs before she explodes,” he yawned.

Rindy sat up and threw the covers aside. Instantly her body was pebbled with goose bumps. She looked out her window, but it was so fogged over that she couldn’t see. All that she could tell was that the sun hadn’t risen yet. The faintest hint of light was barely discernible.

As quickly as possible, she pulled on a few layers of clothes. Finally satisfied she went out into the hallway. Amber stood at the head of the stairs dancing excitedly from one foot to the other. She was barefoot, and wearing the long flannel shirt she normally slept in.

“C’mon, Rindy!” she pleaded, darting to her and grabbing her hand.

Penny and Brad came in their wake as they headed down the stairs. Rindy was already trying to figure out how to get this done as quickly as possible in order to get in some hunting. Christmas or not, they needed to continue stocking up on food.

Reaching the landing halfway down the stairs, Rindy froze. She could see outside through the giant picture window. The ground was covered in a blanket of pure white. A wave of warmth hit her, drawing her attention to the fireplace where, mysteriously, a raging fire roared. But that was only the first surprise.

Spilled out across the floor were brightly wrapped packages complete with bows and dangling tags. Three red stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, giant candy canes poking from each one. Rubbing her eyes, Rindy continued down the stairs in slow, halting steps. She glanced back at Penny who was wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Brad scooted past, joining Amber in the final dash towards the sea of presents.

As Rindy reached the final steps, Amber hurried back to her, a Barbie clutched in one hand. The other hand shot out holding an envelope. “This has your name on it!” she giggled, then ran back to join her brother who was wading into the pile.

Rindy looked down at the tiny, waxy envelope in her hand. Her name was written elaborately across the top. A picture emblazoned on the front showed a cluster of bright red strawberries. She shook the envelope, hearing the whispering rattles of the tiny seeds inside.

“This one’s for you, too!” Brad came up to her with a package wrapped in blue foil with a silver bow. The tag that dangled from it was in the same script with her name.

Sitting on the stairs, she opened the package to discover a beautiful black dress. Her eyes began to water a bit. She blinked to clear them and noticed something written on the back of the tag. She picked it up and read: Yes, Rindy, there is a Santa Claus.

I think that may be one of the sweetest, saddest things that I have ever heard. I hope you don’t mind that I shared it with you.

Epilogue

Thursday, June 14th

The ground is clear of snow, but there is plenty of mud. I am not sure which I like least. The progress of rebuilding the barricades around Warehouse City is going well. Betty has really stepped in and taken charge.

It took the first several days to take care of all the bodies. We performed an elaborate ceremony with help from the Natives, complete with the fires, singing, feasting and ceremonial dancing. I did not hear any complaints.

The people are trickling back in from all around. Many are having a tough time making eye contact. There are some who recall how I left here so long ago.

I have spoken with Erik Greyfeather (he arrived via wagon about three weeks ago) and have agreed to come to the lands of the Confederated Tribes next spring. I can’t say if that is where I will call home, after all, this is where I was born, grew up…it is what I know.

Many of the Native Americans will be leaving in a few weeks. They want to ensure that the mountains are at their safest. I guess it is not uncommon for a freak snowstorm to rear its head as late as May.

I will miss having them near.

As for me, this is my last entry, one of the librarians for Warehouse City has insisted that I give my journals over to be copied and placed in the library beside my dad’s and Meredith’s. I don’t see what all the fuss is about, but I have agreed.

So I guess this will be our farewell. I wish that I could get to know each of you who picks this up and reads it as you have come to know me. This seems like such a one-sided relationship. And I thank you for even considering that anything I had to say was worth your time.

So, since you are reading this and it is safe to say that enough time has passed, I guess I can admit to you here that Jimmy Stonekiller has asked me if it would be okay for him to stay behind when the rest of the Natives return home. I told him I needed to think about it, but I already made up my mind. I am going to say “yes” to him tonight when we go for our walk.

Also, I have been bursting at the seams since Betty told me, maybe if I write it down, it will ease my desire to blurt it out.

Betty is pregnant. I will be Aunty Snoe!

And last, we have received word from a delegation from the former leading faction of the NAA before Dominique assassinated their president. They were a little late to the party with their offer to help us defeat “this unsettling rebellion”. However, both sides will be meeting, along with a contingent from the tribes along Corridor 26, Freetown, the Native Americans, and some large community from Alaska. It looks like we will be forming some sort of North American Defense League. One of the first orders of business is to actually open our borders and get some transit between the communities.

It will no doubt run in to some snags...but guess what! They didn’t ask me to be a part of any of it! Well, Jimmy will be knocking on my door soon, likely hoping for an answer. Time to go…I guess this is farewell.

And from the

Zomblog universe…

Submitted from the field by correspondent Joshua Macer

Sunset Fortress Colony—You know, you would think that writing about your past would be easy. I mean hell, come on, no one knows you better than you do right? But damn, it’s just not my thing I guess.

Since this whole mess started, I have never really jumped on the bandwagon with the whole journal thing. I know, I know, with Sam and Meredith’s (I actually met her once, long ago) books it became the thing to do for a lot of people. I just never could get into talking about my life. But hey, I am by no means knocking those who have done it religiously (and I guess I’d be a hypocrite since here I am, sitting here doing the same thing).

I started reading their journals once, years ago. Truthfully, I couldn’t even finish reading them. I mean, these are shit times we are in, folks. I have been living in those times since the whole damn mess started, so why would I want to read about someone else living it? But I am smart enough to know that everyone needs a distraction and some form of hope, especially in these times. Those two, whether they meant to or not, became heroes to people in a time when they really needed them. And that I can truly appreciate and respect. Maybe it’s because now that I’ve grown older and I guess more internalized, as my old shrink used to say, I feel like I should at least try to leave behind a record of myself in case something happens to me. Ha, when something happens more likely.

I am by no means a hero, but it just seems shitty to me to die and fall away into oblivion with not a soul even knowing that I had ever walked the Earth. Enough of the world’s population has passed like that since the dead rose. I have no illusions, but I at least figure that now I can write about me and have someone not read my book. Well, I guess I better start by telling you about myself.

My name is Captain Josh M. Ross, age forty-eight, and I am the second in command of the Sunset Fortress Colony’s Escort and Expeditionary Force. I am a survivor, always been one, always will be I guess. Well, until I die that is.

I have made my peace with death a long time ago. To anybody that might actually be reading this, the world wasn’t always so shitty. I guess I felt that it was though. Before the dead rose, I had spent ten years in the U.S Army Infantry. I did three tours to Iraq, and one tour to Afghanistan (those were rough places even before the zombies started coming to “life”). I suffered from PTSD from the things I lived through during that time (not nearly as much as I do now). I had spent so much time in combat, and had to kill so many enemies and seen so many good people die while at war that I thought I could handle anything. I thought that I had seen the worst of people and the world. It turned out that I was wrong, dead wrong. So much for thinking right?

After getting out of the Army, I couldn’t handle being a civilian. I sure couldn’t come to grips with everything I had seen and done. I could never turn off my training. I didn’t think life could get any worse for me than what it had been. Damn, if only back then I had the slightest idea how wrong I was, I may have actually been a bit happier. All of my training and all of my skills I had acquired in the military, and I wasn’t prepared. I don’t think anyone was ready for what happened when the world turned upside down and the dead first started to rise. Who could have possibly been primed for what happened? No one knew what to think, or what to do.

Those first days were very confusing. I had heard bits and pieces on TV and the radio about some kind of virus or something. The media was putting its spin on things telling people to stay calm and that things were under control. According to them, it was probably another new strain of the bird flu or something like that. I didn’t go out of the apartment that I rented much in those days. I spent most of my time indoors reading and avoiding people. I enjoyed the silence that my solitude brought. But all that night I sat up in my small living room and listened to the sirens in the distance and what had to be gunshots. I didn’t sleep at all that night. My PTSD was on overdrive.

While I was eating breakfast that following morning, I watched all the news reports about those suspected of being infected going crazy and attacking people. They were acting like they were high on bath salts or something. Later that day, the president made an appearance on television and issued a nationwide curfew for dusk. Anyone spotted outside after it got dark would be shot on sight. Things got very real very quick after that. In the army, we would always bullshit about the possibilities of the zombie apocalypse and how we would survive during it. Who in the hell would have known that some of those things would actually save my neck?

I was lucky initially. I already had a small arsenal in my possession that I had collected over the years, along with supplies in case of trouble. I was what you could call a small time “prepper”. I had the training that would help me survive in austere conditions without the burden of having been sent to the meat grinder like the majority of the armed forces did at the beginning of the undead rising. Not many soldiers survived the initial wave of the infection.

Many survivors took to trying to loot and scavenge houses for supplies. Not me, as soon as it was apparent beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going on, I had my bug out bag ready to go along with my AR-15, three pistols, a Mossberg 500, and plenty of ammo to last a while. I headed for the main highway and away from populated areas. I figured that since most people had tried to evacuate to “safe zones” (ha, yeah right) and left their homes behind, that most of the things I would need could be found packed conveniently into their vehicles for me. That worked out wonderfully. I was often finding weapons, ammo, foodstuffs, and survival gear. I would bag and stash what supplies I could find off the highway at randomly marked points to try to keep it away from animals or other people. Every now and then, I would encounter survivors. Some were decent folks who I would help if possible. Most of them looked like scum, though, so I kept my distance. I survived living alone by myself for at least half a year.

At first, killing zombies, especially the child ones, seemed…I don’t know…unnatural. But it eventually became very easy to stop thinking of them in terms of having once been living and more in terms of just nightmarish monsters. Screw the cold detachment the military taught me. I actually began to enjoy killing the nasty sons of bitches. My weapons of choice were, of course, my guns. Ah, I miss the hell out of guns and ammo. I found this very mean looking and sharp as hell hand-and-a-half sword that I took a liking to. Oh, and I can’t forget about my big ass machete. I still to this day call it my BAM (big ass machete, get it?). Sometimes I would get caught up in the moment and shout out “BAM!” while slicing zombie brains. Hey, I guess you guys can maybe figure out that I may not have been completely straight in the head. But all things considered, I think I did alright.

One of my favorite finds while on my own came in the form of an RV that I stumbled across. Somehow whoever had been driving it had managed to pull it off of the road and well back into the woods. It was hidden well enough that I had passed through this area multiple times and had missed it up until now. I had always wanted my very own RV. I figured why the hell not, here is my chance.

I drew my .45 as I crept cautiously toward the side door of the vehicle. I turned the knob on the door. Immediately the stench of death and decay assaulted my nostrils and I instinctively took a step back. I barely had time to register the huge shape framing the doorway. The shriek of a crying baby from inside froze me in my tracks. That almost got me killed. When I say the huge shape, I mean really huge. This zombie had to have weighed well over five hundred pounds when it was alive. Tattered skin hung from gashes in its fat rolls. Lurching forward to try to grab me, the behemoth toppled forward out of the door. The undead blob crashed into me, knocking me to the ground and the air out of my lungs. My pistol went flying out of my hand and underneath some brush. I will never forget the stench of that thing on top of me. Its greenish-grey mottled face stared blankly at me while its teeth clicked menacingly together in supreme effort to tear into my flesh.

My lungs burned with the aching need for air, and my vision began to darken around the edges as I struggled to keep the thing from biting me. I was able to tuck my legs up over my stomach as much as I could and kicked as hard as I was able, but the damn thing barely budged. I kicked and kicked for what seemed like an eternity. With a grunt I pushed one last time. The undead mass reared back barely, but it was enough. I rolled out, coming unsteadily to my knees. Sucking down a deep ragged breath of air I fumbled for my machete. My hands felt like lead weights, and my head, like it was stuffed with cotton. Finally, I was able to yank it free from the leg sheath.

I lunged awkwardly at the zombie with my machete, thrusting upwards under the zombie’s chin and into what was left of its brain. It shattered through the back of its skull, tangling in its lanky hair. Satisfied I had killed the son of a bitch for its last time, I twisted and yanked the sharp blade back out. Black viscera and brain matter oozed into a small puddle on the ground. God, these damn things stink to high hell. I hardly ever retch from the stench anymore; but, man, it never gets any easier having to smell these damn things.

Exhausted, I fell back, panting. That was entirely too close of a call for my comfort. But it was worth it. After killing the fat zombie, clearing rest of the RV was a breeze. There was an elderly looking female zombie buckled into the passenger seat, whose pawing arms dropped as I dispatched it with ease. It felt like Christmas when I “acquired” my new RV! I lived very well in that thing for a long time. The vehicle became my favorite camp. I thought it was the perfect spot to avoid trouble. I was wrong.

All of my weapons expertise and carefulness didn’t save my ass from making a cherry mistake: I became predictable. It was about thirteen months after the dead came back to life. Up until this point, I pretty much still kept to myself. I was still a loner just like before, except this time there were much fewer people around, well alive ones anyways. Truthfully, that suited me just fine. The only problems I had had up until then had been with the undead. That was about to change.

I had a routine (the Army always taught to change up your routine so the enemy couldn’t predict your next move) where I would scavenge during the day, then set up camp before dark off of the highway in the wood line, normally in my RV. Earlier that day, I had seen smoke in the distance. They were probably just campfires from traveling survivors passing through, I had thought. I was so used to things being fine how they were that I wasn’t much worried about it since it still looked a good distance away. I had spent about a day and a half away from camp trying to avoid a small zombie herd that I stumbled across while scavenging. I was so exhausted that I didn’t reset my standard noise trap (they were old cans and bells on fishing wire) around the perimeter to warn me of any comers dead or living. I was too tired to care.

I went into my vehicle and lay down. Before I knew it, I was dead asleep. I had no idea I was surrounded until they were already on top of me. My side screen door banging closed startled me awake. I barely had time to raise my head up before something smashed into it, knocking me unconscious.

I finally gained consciousness after God only knows how long. All I knew was that it was dark outside. I was more than a little bit unsteady, and by what I could see and defiantly feel, I was pretty confident I had gotten the shit beat out of me. I lay where I was for a while trying to recover a bit and take assessment of my situation. It seemed pretty grim.

I was chained to the ground in what I guess was a crude attempt at a tent. I could hear rough voices and laughter in the distance. I was able to look through a slit of the tent’s fabric and see a faint orange glow from what had to be a fire. I saw chained near the fire what looked like a small, naked zombie. Something about that sent chills down my spine.

Instinct and training finally kicked in and I felt around for what had me chained down. I finally found it and was able to wrap my throbbing bloody hands (maybe I had fought back…who knows) around the stake that was holding me chained to the ground and pull. Nothing gave way. My fingers began dripping fresh blood as the effort of trying to pull out the stake ripped away skin. I pulled for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, it gave way and I tumbled out the back of the tent and into the crisp night air. I waited a few moments to make sure I was not heard. Knowing I needed to get out of there, I crept slowly to the opening of the next ragged tent. I peeked inside.

Faint light from the fire outside and an old fashioned oil lantern illuminated a small shape on the ground and a larger more menacing one above it. A large man with a scraggly ponytail and a greasy matted beard was fumbling to pull his pants off while mumbling to himself. He was obviously drunk, I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I knelt. Next to him on the floor I saw a bloody and bruised girl that couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old staked to the ground in the same manner as I had been. What was once probably a very pretty face was now so swollen that she looked almost alien. This man wasn’t the first one to be here by the looks of it. What remained of the girl’s clothes were in shreds and barely covered her frail body.

The man finally freed himself from his clothing and stood over the girl leering. As he knelt to get on top of her something snapped inside of me and the desire for me to escape was washed away in a torrent. I had never felt such unbridled hate before. I sprang to my feet and lunged at the sick excuse for a human. Knocking him over, I clamped my hand over this monster’s mouth. I still have his teeth marks on my palm from how hard I did it. With my free hand, I stabbed the stake that had held me in my tent into his temple with every ounce of energy I possessed.

The stake crashed into his skull and shattered out of the other side of his head. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the tent. The man fell on top of the girl with the stake still buried in his head. I pulled him off and threw him to the side. My adrenaline was pumping so hard I thought I might vomit.

Trying to calm down, I went to check on the child. I could see for the first time how badly the girl was injured. My heart almost broke. Where her hands and feet should have been there were only bloody stumps where they had cut them off. Her entire body was a map of bruises, cuts, and blood. Worst of all, on her left arm there was a small perfectly round bite mark that had to have come from the child zombie chained outside. The wound looked to already be festering. I had seen enough to know that the poor child was about to die. Worse, she would come back as one of the undead. From what I had witnessed, I don’t think that would save her from the perverse hands of these people. There was no telling how long she had been at the mercy of these savages.

I knelt down beside her. I could hear faint wheezing from her. She looked up at me with her one frightened eye that wasn’t swollen shut. I could already see the black tracers floating in her eye that showed the advance stage of her infection.

In a hoarse whisper she managed to say what sounded like “Please don’t let them hurt me.” I winced at the knowledge that something so small and frail could have endured so much.

“Oh, Sweetheart, I promise no one will ever hurt you again.” Even if I died there, I would make sure of that.

Lifting her up as gently as I could, I laid her against my chest. “It will be okay,” I remembered saying as I took her head and twisted her neck.

There was a gasp and one finale exhalation of labored breathing and resistance gave way to a loud crack. Her body shuddered once and then moved no more. No one would be able to hurt her again.

I remember sitting her down gently and closing her good eye. With tears in my eyes, I stood up, steeling my resolve. I was going to kill every one of those people.

Behind me, I heard the tent material rustle. As I turned around, I saw a mousy little man at the flap of the tent smiling maniacally at me. He raised the pistol that was in his hand—it was my own pistol—and fired three times. As I crumpled to the ground next to the girl I had just tried to save I thought I could hear shouts and gunfire from nearby. I didn’t care. All I cared about was feeling that I had somehow failed that little girl. I remembered thinking vaguely that I was going to die and being disappointed that I didn’t kill more of the raiders.

I woke up in what looked to have once been a parking garage. The sounds of more voices than I had heard in a long time sent waves of nausea over me. I heard a gentle voice, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. I tried to sit myself up and immediately regretted it. A wave of darkness swept over me and I almost vomited all over myself.

A woman with brown curly hair and a beautiful, kindly face placed her hands on my shoulders. She looked down on me and smiled. “Welcome to the waking world, I’m Melissa.”

Trying to remember my name was surprisingly hard. It finally came to me. “I’m Josh. Where am I?” I croaked. I almost didn’t even recognize my own voice.

Her warm tone washed over me, “We have taken to calling this lovely place,” she gestured around over-dramatically, “the Sunset Fortress. One of our scouting and foraging parties happened to come across your captive’s camp. They got into a skirmish with a raider group that had been harassing us for some time. There were no survivors.”

At least someone killed them, I thought.

Melissa continued, “While they were searching the camp, they found you…shot three times and almost dead. They almost killed you, thinking you to be one of them.”

I shook my head with such force I blacked out a little. “No!” was all I managed to say.

Well, that’s really it. It’s not exciting, I know. But it’s the truth, and it’s how I came to be here. It was worth it all to become a part of something bigger, a member of a group, a family. I only hope that more people can be blessed to find such light in dark times.

3 years later.

Captain Ross scowled as he headed down the hall and into his room. He was more tired than normal after leading an escort group guarding a large trading caravan heading to Corridor 205. His briefing to the commander took longer than normal. There were some things of note he felt he should share. Among the most unnerving was news that Dominique DuBois, the one and the same from the journals, had pulled a coup and taken over the NAA.

Needless to say, Lindsay wasn’t pleased to have to take that news to the president. Before heading to confer with the president, Lindsay had ordered him to take a month’s break from patrol to train more new recruits. If the NAA came with ill will, Sunset Fortress would be ready.

Shit, I am finally starting to feel my age. he thought as he stripped off his gear and hung it on his wall racks. Something about yesterday just didn’t settle right with him. Yes, they had lost some people to those rotted out bastards, three to be exact, but that’s a pretty common and sad part of this life. He had been seeing more and more of the NAA around, especially at the entrance to Corridor 205’s tribe camps. Yesterday, they actually stopped his group and made them submit to a search.

He lit a few of the candles that he had placed around his sparse living quarters. Exhausted, the captain slid onto his couch and stared into the flickering light of the candle closest to him. Laying back into the comfort of his seat, his mind began to wander, and soon he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the past and of how much he had changed since the dead rose over two decades ago.

Hell, he thought, the whole world turned upside down. As the hordes of dead rose…society fell. Evil people could finally do what they wished unchecked; good people began to rebuild and try to make sense of this bloody world. His mind snapped back to the present.

The only good thing during the trip was that he was actually able to get Snoe Gainey’s autograph in a copy of the journal for his friend Amanda. She has been a huge fan of Sam and Meredith’s journals for as long as they had been out. She threatened bodily harm if he wouldn’t ask for it.

Ross had always shared some unspoken bond with Amanda since he first met her all those years ago while still recovering from the raider group that almost killed him. She helped keep him from going on a suicidal zombie-killing rampage after Melissa had been taken down when a herd had passed through. They had only been married a year, yet he had never loved someone as much as her. So he gave in and promised Amanda that he would get the autograph. And the captain kept his promises.

Dammit though, he thought. Asking one of my own people for an autograph embarrassed the hell out of me! He prided himself on his professionalism, and yet there he had been standing in the doorway like a groupie at a concert. He would give it to her when she came back from her week out at the farms.

The next month or so passed uneventfully for Captain Ross. Everyone knew that there was a large group of NAA less than  half a day away. EEF scouts have been watching them for over a week now. That evening, he lay in bed sleeping fitfully. It was still a few hours before dawn.

Shouts from down the hall along with the dulled sounds of explosions brought him out of his reverie. What the hell? Ross thought, jumping up and out of bed.

Throwing on his uniform, he grabbed his crossbow, ammo, and sword. He strapped BAM to his leg, ran to the door, and threw it open. Chaos greeted him. People were running down the hall, some carrying children. Screams and cries echoed throughout. Some of the children were covered in blood.

He grabbed the shoulder of one of the people running by. He recognized her as one of the women who helped Amanda handle the gardening fields.

“Hey, settle down for a second,” he said as she started fighting.

“Get off of me!” she shrieked, pushing Josh back into the wall.

Annoyed, Josh grabbed her by the wrists. “Dammit, Sarah, I’m not going to hurt you! It’s me…Josh! Look at me dammit. What is going on?”

“Captain?” She looked wild-eyed and fearful, like a trapped animal. “I-I’m sorry. Please let me go…they’re everywhere. The NAA attacked! They didn’t even ask for anything, they just keep firebombing us.”

A large explosion in the distance shook them both hard enough that they fell back into the wall together. Hysterical, she wrenched her arm free and took off yelling back that she needed to find her daughter.

Heading into to the Ops Center, Ross demanded a quick status. The report was not good. The NAA had breached one of the older sections of wall to the northeast of the perimeter. Undead and NAA alike were beginning to pour in.

“Dispatch whatever remaining forces we have available to meet me there,” Ross barked to the radioman.

Sighing, Captain Ross began his run to where the breach lay. Bodies of both human and undead were strewn about. Some were dismembered, while others were burning. It must have taken a hell of an explosion to blow a gap big enough in the concrete barriers. Two walkers were knelt over, feasting on one of his new recruits, a youngster named Johnson. He was still alive, his screams piercing the darkness.

Drawing his sword, Josh ran forward and slashed into the first zombie’s skull. It exploded like an overripe melon. The gore soaked the captain’s face. Kicking the other zombie in the temple caused it to topple off of Johnson. Flipping his sword around in a two-handed grip, Josh thrust down with all of his might and pierced the monster’s half-eaten face right through its black glassy eye. He yanked back, pulling his sword free.

Looking around, Josh checked to make sure there were no threats nearby. He knelt next to the fallen recruit to check on him. His intestines lay strewn about the ground; Johnson was nearly dead. One of the first instructions of the EEF is to not allow the infected the chance to turn.

“I’m sorry,” Josh said. In one fluid motion, he had unsheathed BAM and split his skull.

The sound of rubble collapsing was the only notice Josh had that he wasn’t alone. Four NAA soldiers were running in through the gap. Seeing an easy target, they took aim at Josh and fired their crossbows. Three of the bolts ripped into him. One pierced his chest right about his left breast. The next went clean through the shoulder, and the other lodged in his chest, piercing his right lung. The impact of the bolts knocked the captain to the ground. Josh brought his own crossbow up shakily, aimed at the first soldier, and fired. The bolt caught the NAA soldier in his open mouth. His head jerked back and he crumpled down.

Breathing was getting harder. Josh could taste blood. More and more NAA had poured in through the breach. So many soldiers had gotten inside of the walls that they now began shoring up the wall to prevent further walkers from coming in. Most resistance stopped before it even began. Apparently President Jenifer had ordered the gates open and to stand down.

Josh had slowly backed against a crumbled section of concrete into a half sitting position. All his energy was gone; all he was able to do was stare into the sun and try to stay warm. He had never felt such numbing cold before. Each breath was agony and blood bubbled from his mouth with each exhalation. He knew his time was almost up. He could feel it.

After those four soldiers attacked him, no one else had paid him any attention. A shadow moved in front of him, blocking his view of the sun which caused the cold to worsen. Josh shifted his head. A surprisingly young man looked down at him with a sneer.

“I am Captain James Carson, by order of President DuBois, all dissenters and resistance will be punished by death.” Without another word, the NAA officer leveled his crossbow at Josh’s head and squeezed the trigger. The bolt went clean through his head and he knew no more.

The next day.

Captain James Carson, commander of the NAA force that had assaulted the colony reclined on the couch in one of the officer’s quarters that hadn’t been torched in the attack. Victory had been swift and decisive. The resistance had been minimal. The people of Sunset Fortress hadn’t expected an attack from them. The captain was quite certain he would receive a promotion for his leadership here.

He had checked to ensure that guards were in place, and gave the order for those under his command to enjoy the spoils of today’s victory. He had ordered his troops to shore up the breached areas of the walls and get rid of any zombies that had come in.

Everyone here was so full of themselves! That had to be why the president had ordered this place to be taken care of. Always one to support morale, he allowed some of his officers to pick among the most choice and stubborn women to teach manners to. The beautiful brunette that he had chosen lay naked and sprawled out on the floor, her face a swollen mess, blood dripping down from off of her large breasts.

Sarah. She had finally said what her name was when he had grabbed her chin to have a look at her and threatened to kill her if she did not answer. She had proven to be a most enjoyable distraction. That was until she had gotten out of control and bitten his neck, taking a chunk of flesh. He had no choice but to put her down like he would a filthy zombie.

After he had killed the girl, he finished having his way with her anyways; she was still warm after all. It did not concern him in the least. He could never tolerate disobedience. It was no more than these people after deserve being traitors to the president.

Settling in for the night, he grabbed the book off the table in the living area and brought it to the neatly made bed. He had set a fire in the small wood stove in the bedroom. He lay down and opened the book and started to read about the man named Ross that he had killed earlier. About halfway through the book, he grew tired.

Well, Captain Ross, Carson thought, you’re dead now. No one gives a damn about you or who you were.

He tossed the book into the fire. Carson smiled as he stared into the fire, watching the pages curl and blacken. Not only a worthless adversary, but a worthless writer as well. At least the journal will provide a bit of warmth, Carson thought as he drifted off to sleep.

More Titles From May December Publications

The Ava Series by TW Brown

That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures

That Ghoul Ava and The Queen of the Zombies

The Dead Series by TW Brown

Dead:The Ugly Beginning book 1

Dead: Revelations book 2

Dead: Fortunes and Failures book 3

Dead: Winter book 4

Dead: Siege and Survival book 5

Dead: Confrontation book 6

Dead: Reborn book 7

The Fervor Series by Chantal Boudreau

Fervor book 1

Elevation book 2

Transcendence book 3

Providence book 4

The Highway to Hell Series by Alex Laybourne

Highway to Hell book 1

Trials and Tribulations book 2

The Immortal War Series by Suzi M

Nemesis book 1

Lamia book 2

The Tower book 3 coming soon

The Master’s & Renegades Series by Chantal Boudreau

Magic University book 1

Casualties of War book 2

Prisoner of Fate book 3

The Monster Squad Series by Heath Stallcup

Return of the Phoenix book 1

Full Moon Rising book 2

The Zomblog Series by TW Brown

Zomblog book 1

Zomblog II book 2

Zomblog The Final Entry book 3

Zomblog: Snoe book 4

Zomblog: Snoe’s War book 5

Zomblog: Snoe’s Journey book 6

Special Editions by TW Brown

DEAD: The Geeks

DEAD: Vignettes

DEAD:Steve’s Story

DEAD: Special Edition Compendium 1

DEAD: The Geeks 2

DEAD: Vignettes 2

DEAD:Steve’s Story 2

DEAD: Special Edition Compendium 2

Zomblog: Compendium 1

Stand Alone Titles

Agape by Bennie Newsome

Cryptic by DA Chaney

Dakota  by Todd Brown

Dead Men Tell No Tales by Jeffrey Kosh

Elena by Duncan Lloyd

Eat Wild, Eat Healthy, Eat Green by Donna Johnson

Five by Jeffrey Kosh

Goddesses of Lilith by Tracy Ford

Gruesomely Grimm Zombie Tales -1 by TW Brown

In The Arms of Nightmares by Robert Dean

Legacy of the Dead by RD Teun

Stories Around the Campfire with Uncle  Eric by Eric Pollarine

The BoogeyMann by Bennie Newsome

The Book of Joseph by Erik Rise

The Exoterrestrials by TW Brown

The Post-Apacolyptic Cookbook by Donna Johnson

Whisper to a Scream by PS Turner

Anthologies

A Clockworks Orchard: Rivets & Rain

Chivalry is Dead – all male authors

Dear Santa

Eye Witness: Zombie

First Time Dead

First Time Dead 2

First Time Dead 3

Four in the Hole

Fresh Blood

Hell Hath No Fury…all female authors

Midnight Movie: Creature Features

Midnight Movie: Creature Feature 2

Realms of the Undead

Say goodnight to the Bad Guy

Spiders

Vampires Aren’t Pretty

Wake the Witch - our charity anthology – 100% goes to Red Cross

Zero

Zombie: Lockdown

You can find our titles on Audio as well.

Find them on Audible.com

The growing voice in horror
and speculative fiction.

Find us at www.maydecemberpublications.com

Or

Email us at contact@maydecemberpublications.com

Welcome to MY world...

A few minutes with author TW Brown.

Tucked away in the Pacific Northwest with my wife Denise, a Border Collie named Aoife (pronounced EYE-fa), a guitar collection, and an increasing number of aquariums sporting a variety of fish (cichlids are my new favorites), I live for football season when I can cheer on the Oregon Ducks and be disappointed by my Seattle Seahawks once again. I am a fan of Cookie Monster, KISS, and Dr. Who (along with most things British).

His blog can be found at: twbrown.blogspot.com/

You can contact him at: twbrown.maydecpub@gmail.com

You can follow him on twitter @maydecpub
and on Facebook under Todd Brown, Author TW Brown,
and also under May December Publications.