Tomahawks & Zombies

by Joe Beausoleil

  The joke is that if these assholes would have just asked, I would have given them almost anything. Now that I’m alone I have more than enough to spare. I would have traded stuff just to know what the hell is going, any news or rumours that they heard in their travels. But no, they want it all, to them it is easier to kill me than ask. Fuck em’. Now he is nothing more than a smear on the black top. I’ll have to wash my grill, it’s a new paint job. On second thought, let their flesh be a warning to other douche bags that want to jack me for what I have. I should have got out and scalped them the way Jake scalped that mustang. Damn that was funny when he cut that guy’s rag top. He’ll think twice about talking about wagon burners. If that bastard out lived Jake then there ain’t any justice in the world. I know there ain’t or this nightmare wouldn’t be happening.

  I should turn back and kill every one of those parasites. If Jake and Dave were here, we’d do it together. Teach them a lesson but now I am alone. Sometimes the numbers are just too much in their favour. I eased up on the gas, having to go easy on it, speeding eats through it fast. I keep on driving my hands gripping the wheel tight with frustration.

  Around one corner was a deer. At dusk, just like back home they like to come out, I see those eyes reflect red off my headlights. I slowly come to a stop, as the doe passed into the other side, I wait, knowing a buck and maybe even a fawn will follow. Sure enough they do. It seems like the world has changed only for us. For everything else it goes on. We aren’t as important as we thought. We were the ones on top for so long. I don’t think the deer care there is a shift in the natural order? They have predators, why shouldn’t we? I slowly watched them disappear into the woods. Reluctantly I drive on.

  Next day. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter.

  I pulled over in a spot off the road a ways; maybe an old logging road? Near Dinosaur, Colorado, just outside Utah. I used to love Dinosaurs when I was a kid, maybe that’s why I came this way. They had their time, we had ours. Wouldn’t it be something if they came back. Eat us all. I parked by a fast-moving stream, it’s cold but the water only has thin ice on the banks. The sound of the water is relaxing, calming, but after a night I moved my camp back, the sounds would cover up anyone or anything approaching. I just need to stop for a few days. Put the world on pause.

  I sit by the rocks, splash my face with cold water, fill a bottle for drinking, tried to spear fish, oh and I write in this journal which is what I’m doing now. It’s kind of like camping on a long weekend, but it’s not a relaxing trip. No beer, no boats, no girls. Nature sucks without the necessities.

  So many rules to stay alive.

  I can’t have the fire too high or too smoky, I can’t fire the gun for target practice (I’m low on ammo anyhow), I can’t make any noise that will travel. I’m tempted I don’t sleep outside but preferring the safety of the truck. I’m a lot more tense now that I’m alone. No one to watch my hairy back, no one to talk with, and no one to make things seem even the least bit normal. What was once dark humour shared between friend is now just dark thoughts. I’m tired of seeing corpses everywhere.

  Next entry, I figured with the days I missed writing it must be February 13. It’s all relative if it’s the 13th for me who is going to correct me if I’m wrong, it’s not like I’ll be late for work after a long weekend.

  I set up tripwires along the most likely paths that someone or something will take. Nothing fancy, just some fishing wire at ankle level tied to a couple of empty pop cans filled with rocks. I like this place, it’s as good as any. Think I’ll stay for a bit so any heads up is better than nuthin. They trip the line I’ll hear it, know somethin’s up. If I plan to stay longer I’d dig a spike pit on the main path. Something a human might or might not see but the undead would walk right into. Too much effort and I don’t want to get too comfortable here. If I make it too safe I might get tempted to abandon going home and just live out here. Come to think of it that’s not a bad idea. Good night stupid journal.

  Feb 14

  Nights are the worst. At the slightest sound I instantly wake up, my heart thumping in my chest, hand reaching weapon. Wish I had a shotgun, it would be good for night time not much aim needed. What do I do when I hear a sound at night? Go out in investigate? I don’t think so. I crouch down and hide behind the seats, shitting my pants as I strain my ears to hear that sound again. Was it closer this time closer? Any sound, or just the hint of a sound and I’m instantly on edge, the adrenaline pumping, this happens four -five times a night, it’s not a restful sleep. With the bandits, you can’t even trust those that are still alive, at least zombies don’t think and plan, at least zombies don’t turn on their own or I haven’t seen them do that. I dreamt of Jake and Dave as zombies when I wanted to dream of women on beaches. I try to think of them (girls) as I go to sleep, big, soft tits but somewhere in the night it all falls apart.

  Feb 15

  I’m going to explore the area around my camp. It’s a good idea to know what’s around the general area. There is nuthin to do around camp, may as well take a look around. I’ll go upstream first come back for lunch.

  I’m back at camp, sitting by the fire. What a shit show today was. I hadn’t gone more than twenty minutes into the bush when through the grey branches of the tress I saw it, neon blue floating past. Confuses I went parallel to the movement and in a clearing I saw it.

  A moose with part of a track suit hung up on its antlers. It plodded along quickly soon disappearing into the bush. I followed its hoof prints travelling the way it came. It lead to the river, my river. A bridge above had its guardrail dangling over the side, peeled like a banana. There I saw it, a yellow school bus on its side, mostly submerged in the water. I approached. On the snow covered rocky bank was a corpse, neon blue track pants, no jacket. It moved, broken badly, but its eyes were locked on my as it reached out for me. It was beaten up pretty bad, looks like it went after the moose and got an ass kicking. It couldn’t get me but I didn’t like it looking at me. I grabbed a big boulder and crushed its ugly face.

  Moving close to the bus, the side with the door was out of the water and open. Jumping from boulder to boulder I made it to within just a few feet of the front window. A hand slapped the window, then another and another; small hands, tiny bloated, water-logged hands. There were people in there, school kids. They weren’t alive. Arms reached up through the open side door reaching at the sky, trying to get out. They couldn’t get out.

  After the shock of seeing this, I remembered this was upstream from my camp. I washed my face with this water! I’ve been drinking this water! I stuck my finger down my throat and forced myself to puke. I’m not sure it would help or if the contaminated water would harm me. Best to get it out, it couldn’t hurt. My lust for exploring the area was now zero. I headed back to camp. Rinsed my mouth out with copious amounts of vodka, and then poured a stiff drink.

  Feb 16

  Hour spent studying the map, going over the route Jake and I planned. Even though we were rushed having other things on our minds, I think this route is the best, direct but clear of major cities, and hopefully bottlenecks. Ambushes can happen anywhere as I’ve already seen. Those hicks could learn a thing or two from the Mexican cops. Mexico seems like a million miles and a lifetime ago. Damn, all I wanted was to drink and chat up girls. We should have tried to make it to Cuba.

  Feb 17

  I was thinking about Jake while I was sitting by the river. Technically if I fired before he changed, then my best friend is the first person I killed and then to kill again so soon, it was so easy. Just hit the gas and bare down on that stupid prick trying to kill me. Splat. I want to think of other things but I can’t. Scenes just keep playing over in my mind unless I keep myself busy. If he had changed then that red neck was the first real person I killed. I don’t know which way is easier to live with. That’s my thought of the day.

  Entered a small town today. There were quite a few boarded up homes. A body lay on someone’s front lawn, a broken TV beside
it. Looked like a good place to stop as any. The house across had plywood over the front door, something painted on it. I walked over weapon ready (weapon always at the ready) to check it out.

  Don’t enter

  2 infected 4 bodies.

  I went next door. There was a note nailed to the door frame.

  Jim,

  We had to leave. I tried calling your cell for hours, lines jammed. The Papworth’s son was bit, I helped tie him to his bed. They boarded up their place and left. They just left their son. Almost everyone in the neighborhood is leaving too, most heading north, some heading west on the rumor of a safe zone (Camp Saint Teresa). It’s getting crazy out here. Gary across the street shot a looter last night. The kids and I are stopping for more supplies then heading to the cabin. Meet us there. I hope you get this.

  Love Sally.

  That sounded better than a zombie in a house. The door was unlocked. I slowly opened it. When nothing happened I went in. I wasn’t going to stand around in the street all day.

  I rooted through the kitchen. Most of the food was gone. Everything in the fridge was rotten but the liquor cabinet was fully stocked, so that was good. I walked around the house drink in hand. Nothing was disturbed, sure they packed in a hurry but no one had been in here since they left. I went upstairs. Found the bedroom with photos of the family on the night stand; Good looking wife, cute kids. Lucky guy. Looking out the window to survey the neighborhood, it was clear of the undead. If it wasn’t for the boarded up and broken windows, the abandoned SUV with the doors open sitting on someone’s lawn it would look like any normal neighborhood. I looked across at the Papworth’s house I couldn’t see him but I imagine that boy is still tied up, or maybe he got free. Either way I’m not going over to find out.

  Feb 18

  Drove around, exploring the area, looking for more fuel. There are some small towns nearby.

  If the town isn’t overrun with the undead, or totally deserted, then they are on guard. They don’t want you there. They can’t trust you and they don’t want to share what they have. The ones alive can be more deadly they the undead. When I see a sign for a city or town I look for a way around it. One of the small towns I tried to explore was blocked off. A big sign threatening that they would shoot anyone trying to get in. That made my choice easier; I hit reverse and headed back to my camp. The blockade was a cheap plywood wall I could have easily drove through.

  Feb 19

  I count the inches on the map and try to figure out how many kilometers left. I think a mile is 1.4 Kms and each square is a hundred miles. I suck at math. I’ve started talking to myself. Out loud.

  I checked my tin can alarm earlier today. I have this feeling I’m being watched. The hair on my forearm is standing up. I feel eyes on me. Did those bloated grey bastards from the bus get out?

  Jakes back!! He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I still don’t fully believe it, I’m drunk but have been drunk for days so this can’t be a hallucination.

  February 19

  I’ll trust Ron’s date as the date was the last thing on my mind.

  I’m back. It’s a long story. I’m hungry, exhausted, and cold but happy I’m alive to tell it.

  When I came down the path calling his name, Ron was ready with a hockey stick, the blade gleaming with a skate blade. Hey he figured out a way to attach it. At least he didn’t go all Emo - cutting himself and writing poetry while I was gone. He’d better make me one of those, it looks deadly. He was staring at me like he saw a ghost. I guess he did see a ghost. I convinced him that it was me, the regular me not the undead me before we swung his new weapon. He lowered the hockey stick, face numb, not believing what he was seeing, which was me wrapped in blankets wearing oversized clothes.

  We sat by the fire. Ron stared at me for a long while not saying anything, just twirling his machete in his hand as I stared at the flames.

  I’m glad Ron actually kept up with my journal. He was more than happy to give it back and I was happy to get it back. He told me he didn’t want to read what I read, didn’t want to relive it. I’m glad he didn’t, I’m sure I called him a dick a few times when he acted like a dick. He told me not to read what he wrote, threatening to toss the whole journal into the fire. His penmanship is a travesty anyhow. I’m sure his grammar is crap, nevermind run-on sentences, it would be more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll respect his wish.

  I’m here by the fire now but I waited to approach, to make sure he was alive and to reduce the risk of him mistaking me for the undead and shooting me. Another cold night was nothing, not after everything I’ve been through. I’ll write it down now. It’s a long entry as it covers many things I’ve seen and done on my own over these past days.

  After drinking my willow tea I fell into a deep sleep, that opened a door to horrible nightmares, to visions, a door to the dream world. The Windigo chased me. It hunted me down. It stalked me. I tried to outrun him but he drove me from the woods and onto a frozen lake. It was toying with me, making it a game. I could hear him right behind me but I dared not turn back. It let out an ungodly howl as it grabbed me by the ankle. Its grip was electricity coursing through my marrow. It pulled me down. I tried to kick free but its icy grip was crushingly strong. I clawed at the ice trying to pull myself away. A crack like thunder filled my head as the ice protested over our struggle, it could not hold. The ice broke and we crashed through, the water colder than its death grip. Still fighting, we sunk into the cold darkness. It engulfed us. Bursting through the surface, gasping for air, I managing to pull myself up on to the ice. Rolling on the blue grey surface I scurried away from the hole, exhausted and scared the Windigo would follow. I lay there freezing and shaking, my eyes fixed on the black hole in the ice.

  The first drops of rain fell on my face, I opened my eyes and was back in the world. The sky above me was grey and moving fast. Still confused about where I was I managed to sit up. Darker clouds on the horizon coming my way. In the distance lighting cut a jagged scar across the sky.

  I needed to find cover and soon. I wrapped my blanket around me, machete, and half empty bottle of water. That’s all I had with me. I found my hat on the ground, a bullet hole in it. What the hell? With those belongings and the map in my back pocket, I managed to crawl to the edge and throw myself off the platform.

  I had no idea how long I was out for, lost in the dream world of nightmares. The camp fire was long since burnt out, the ashes blown, scattered by the wind.

  On shaky, weak legs, I walked in the fields towards the safety of the trees parallel to the highway. I knew most of them would be around the towns, cities and roads, places where they changed and places where they knew there was food. No way could I outrun them.

  Halfway through the field I came upon a body tangled in barbwire, a girl in a business suit. I gave the body a wide birth, keeping my eye on her as I passed. Once I hit the tree line, I pulled out my machete cutting down a thick branch to make a walking stick/spear. I was so fatigued that I needed something to keep them at a distance if they approached; the machete is frighteningly close and personal. It’s great when you are pumped up on Red Bull but otherwise, you tire fast. One or two of these things can be handled the problem is they come at you in hordes. I didn’t know if I could manage a few swings.

  Knowing Ron’s route, if he bothered to keep with it, gave me a direction to travel. The difference was Ron had a SUV and I was on foot like the undead. On the ground I’d have to make my way. The undead are slow but I was weak and tired, if they saw me and followed I’m not sure how long I could go before collapsing or giving up. They just keep going, mindlessly on and on. They don’t miss their moms, they don’t miss their homes, and they don’t miss their friends. On and on they march, like locusts eating everything in their path. Best to stay out of their path.

  The skies opened up just as I found shelter in the trees. A cold sleet fell; sticking to my eyelids and soaking my blanket making it feel like a hundred pounds. There were a few of them on the road nea
r a pile up of cars. I never really watch them before, not for this long. I always looked for them, just their presence and went the other way; there was no need or time to study these things. To be honest I didn’t want to, it would be acknowledging them for what they were or are and not just things to avoid. Passing them at forty miles per hour is different; you’re isolated from the outside world. No threat as long as we kept moving. We’d only near them when we had to gas up with my friends watching my back. Now on the ground with them I’d have to learn about them if I wanted to get out of this situation.

  With no one to hunt they seemed to move aimlessly and slow. No purpose, their movements uncoordinated, swaying and staggering like a drunk. They paid no attention to the storm standing in the rain. One seemed to be trying to open car doors, as if they somehow remembered the movement, one managed to get inside and sat at the wheel. Like a kid pretending to drive, it rocked the wheel back and forth. Don’t get me wrong they weren’t mimicking their past lives, it’s just those awkward movements made sense as if something, maybe things they did every day was imbedded. Muscle memory maybe?

  As it got darker, they seemed to move less. I’m believe they are cold blooded like reptiles, the sun and its heat is needed for them for move or move more. Do their hearts still work? Windigo’s heart is encased in ice, blue and hard. Is this what it is, battling ancient legends, myths, fairy tales? Damn us all if it is.