Brown T.W.

Zomblog

Zomblog

Book 1 of the Zomblog Trilogy

TW Brown

Cover art by Whitney Phu

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Dedication

For Denise, my wife and my strength

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

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Author’s Note

Let me introduce myself…

No writer of zombie fiction can pen an acknowledge-ment 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, Rhiannon Frater, 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

Email:  twbrown@maydecemberpublications.com

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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..

Chapter 1

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.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

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 back peddle. 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 dev-astated 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

* * * * *

Chapter 3

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 unspeak-able 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 was nothing mov-ing 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.

* * * * *

Chapter 4

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 hap-pening. 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 overprepared with contingency plans on Samantha’s rescue and it was no problem. Maybe we should overplan 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...

* * * * *

Chapter 5

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 boombox 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 Camp-inelli, 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 obser-vation 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.

* * * * *

Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

Sunday, June 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go figure.

Monday, June 23

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

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

Weird. Cat-Zombie. Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, June 25

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

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

Friday, June 27

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

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

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

Too bad.

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

Saturday, June 28

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

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

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

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.

* * * * *

Chapter 7

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 laying 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 Whitefoot. 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 Huckelberry 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.

* * * * *

Chapter 8

Friday, August 1

Huckelberry 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 curried 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 pro-nounced. Travelling half the night on a winding road, only to discover that it fades into what can, at best, be described as a two-rutted dirt trail was very frustrating.

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

Friday, August 22

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

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

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

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

Saturday, August 23

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

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

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

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

Sunday, August 24

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

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

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

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

We actually had to convince her to come with us!

Tuesday, August 26

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

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

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

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

Thursday, August 28

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

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

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

She taunts them!

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

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

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

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

Evening

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

Saturday, August 30

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Chapter 9

Monday, September 1

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

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

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

Tuesday, September 2

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

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

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

Wednesday, September 3

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

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

Thursday, September 4

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

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

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

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

Friday, September 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, September 6

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

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

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

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

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.

* * * * *

Chapter 10

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 unphased 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 multi plex 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 uncharacter-istically 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 restrengthen 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.

Meredith Gainey

is a survivor…and determined to retain that status as the zombie apocalypse wipes out most of humanity. Un-able to accept an existence behind walls and fences, she finds herself in constant danger…and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Book 2 of the Zomblog trilogy

It has been over two years since the dead began to walk. The shattered remnants of civilization continue desperately to try and rebuild society...for better or for worse. As far as Meredith Gainey is concerned, they can do it without her help. It's all there, and it only serves to prove Meredith's point that maybe the world would be a better place without humans. As always, she documents her travels, allowing you to see the dead world through her eyes.

This is Zomblog: The Final Entry

The unthinkable has happened.

The dead are walking!

Humanity’s fragile thread may be reaching its bitter end.

Individuals and groups struggle to survive…some at any cost. Will there be anybody left?

Or, is this just…

The Ugly Beginning?

Book one of a 12 book series

DEAD: REVELATIONS

THE SECOND BOOK

IN THE 12 PART

ZOMBIE EPIC

Steve…the Geeks…and all the rest continue to learn on the run.

Gruesomely Grimm Zombie Tales Vol 1

For the

Not So Young!

Follow the Grimms Fairy Tales #1-25… but with Zombies added to the mix

Campfire Stories with Uncle Eric is a sextuplet of twisted tales to share at night…campfire optional.

So call over some friends and take turns reading these horrific tales.

And something from the May side of

May December Publications

Abandoned and scared, but less alone than he could have ever imagined, Sam awakens to the screams of the other children on the island of Fervor, and the absence of all adults. To make matters worse, despite hearing this chaos in his head, he finds himself deaf to the normal sounds around him. His only answers are now being provided by a strangely charismatic boy named Francis who is about to lead Sam to a gathering that will alter his life. Why have things changed so drastically on the island, who is responsible for these changes, and what does this mean to the remaining inhabitants of Fervor?

Dakota Riley is a member of the Seattle Drug Task Force. During an investigation into an international drug smuggling ring, he loses his best friend and partner. To add insult to injury, he is assigned an African-American rookie, Marc Bradley. Seeking revenge rather than justice, Dakota ditches the rookie...and almost gets himself killed. After leaving the hospital for a 'forced' vacation, Dakota and Marc head to Marc's hometown of Charleston, South Carolina. A day out on a fishing boat goes wrong when a mysterious storm arrives. The boat is destroyed, and the two men wash ashore...in 1861, just prior to the start of the American Civil War.

Anthologies from MDP

A Man of Letters by Eric Pollarine

A Soldiers Lament by Patrick D’Orazio

Blackout by Amber Whitley

Childish Things by William Wood

Feral by Rebecca Lloyd

One Nation Undead by Mike Harrison

Shear Terror by Chantal Boudreau

That Ghoul Eva by Marianna Mann

…and more!

LOOK CLOSELY

THESE ARE DRAWINGS, NOT PICTURES

To have your pet art done

Contact Denise @ dlbrown@maydecemberpublications.com

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and speculative fiction.

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Or

Email us at contact@maydecemberpublications.com

TW Brown is the author of the Zomblog series and the Dead series. He is deeply immersed in the multiple sequels of each franchise while trying to balance the duties of husband, father, friend, and band member as well as keeping busy reading and editing the numerous submissions for a variety of upcoming anthologies and full-length titles for May December Publications. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association, and has had short stories published by Pill Hill Press , Living Dead Press, and in the NoTreeBooks.com anthology, Vampires, Zombies, and Ghosts, Oh My! And more.

You can contact him at twbrown@maydecemberpublications.com or visit his website at www.maydecemberpublications.com. You can follow him on twitter @maydecpub and on facebook under Todd Brown and also under May December Publications.

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Brown T.W. Zomblog