by David Achord
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Back when everything went bad, and maybe even for a year or so after, this river had zombies in it,” he said with his mostly toothless grin. “You see, zombies can’t swim. They’d somehow get in the river, I don’t know how, I guess because they’re stupid, and they’d float around until they’d swallowed a shit ton of water, and then they’d sink like a rock.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep. They didn’t die right away though. They don’t need to breathe for some reason. They’d slog around underwater and sometimes when you were fishing you’d hook one. Boy howdy, you do that and you had problems.”
“Humph.” Most of the time that’s all you needed to do with Lee, grunt or something and he believed you were deeply interested.
“Yep. But, you know what?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Rivers and lakes are bad for zombies. Think about it. They get waterlogged and sink. Then, the fish and turtles come along and start nibbling on them. Before they know it, they’re mostly eaten up.” He chuckled. “So, all of the fish and turtles in here have been living off zombie meat. It took us a minute for us to realize that, but by then, we’d eaten so many fish, if it was going to kill us, we would’ve already been dead. Or infected. But, the digestive system of them fish and turtles somehow neutralized that infection. Ain’t that something?”
I nodded at his profound wisdom. He grinned.
“Every once in a while, you’ll see a body floating by, but they’re mostly gone now.” Eventually, he ran out of things to talk about, and so we fished in silence for almost an hour before he cleared his throat.
“Me and Jinni know,” he said.
Jinni, Lee’s girlfriend, was a pale redhead with a bunch of freckles and a few missing teeth of her own. I’d seen some good-looking redheads in my time, but she wasn’t one of them. She was nice, but she was a talker too, even more so than Lee. Get those two in the room and you may as well shut up and make yourself comfortable.
“You know what?” I asked.
“We know about you and Sandy.”
The words hit me like a kick in the nads, but I acted like I didn’t hear him. He wasn’t fooled though.
“Don’t worry, nobody else knows and we ain’t telling.”
“Alright,” I said. Lee felt the need to explain.
“It goes like this: back when all of this shit started happening, I was married. Her name was Babette and she had the nicest set of titties you ever saw and a big sexy tattoo of a rose right above her cooter. That rose turned my crank like you wouldn’t believe. But anyway, we lived in a trailer about five miles from here and we had a meth operation. Not to brag or nothing, but I’m one of the best meth cooks around these parts.”
He stopped talking when his line went taught. After he’d reeled it in, he decided it was too small and threw it back before resetting his hook.
“So, anyway, there we were, out in the country, away from them zombies, and there wasn’t any law to be afraid of anymore.” He wiggled his line a little bit. “Gavin found us one day, him and Shane. We were starving to death, but we were smoking so much of our product we didn’t even care. Gavin took us in and got us back on our feet. Jinni was already living here. For some reason, I took an instant liking to her and she liked me too. I took her fishing one day. I got us in a boat and took it over to the channel. I dropped anchor and we smoked a joint. Before you know it, the two of us were naked and going at it. After that, we started seeing each other on the sly.”
“Did Babette ever find out?” I asked.
“Ah, no. About three months after we moved here, she overdosed and died. Now, don’t get me wrong, when she died, I was sad, but on the other side of the coin, it meant that Jinni and me could be together out in the open. No more sneaking around.”
“So, you and Jinni have been together ever since,” I said.
“Yep. She got me off the meth too. All we do is drink and smoke weed now. She’s been good to me. So, what I’m saying is, there for a little while me and Jinni were in the same predicament you’re in now.”
“I ain’t in no predicament,” I spouted.
Lee chuckled. “Yeah, okay. That’s probably what I would’ve said if Babs hadn’t of died. If she lived, she would have caught us eventually. People don’t think they’ll ever get caught, but they do.”
We fished in silence for several more minutes before Lee spoke again.
“So, you didn’t ask, but I’m going to tell you anyway; me and Jinni don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to see her anymore.”
“You don’t, huh?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, we just think if you don’t give her up, you’re in for a lot of heartache.” He looked over at me. “Me and Jinni like you, True. You’re a good dude and she’s using you. Jinni said it best. She said Sandy has an itch she can’t scratch, so she uses you.”
“She ain’t using me,” I said.
“If that were true, True, why is she with Blake, huh? She met both of you at the same time. If she was in love with you, why didn’t she dump Blake for you? Why is she pregnant with Blake’s child? She may tell you she loves you, but she don’t know what love is, bro.” He took a deep breath. “I’m the first to admit I’ve been a racist most of my life, but Jinni and me are proud to call you a friend and we don’t like to see you hurtin’ over a woman who ain’t never going to do you right.”
It took a minute or so before I glanced over at him. He was looking back expectantly.
“Feel free to tell me what you think,” he said. “If you’re mad at me, just don’t hit me. I ain’t got that many teeth left.”
He grinned in hopes I really wasn’t about to hit him.
“Well,” I finally said. “You and Jinni don’t have anything to worry about. We’re done.”
Lee nodded. “Good for you, brother.”
We fished through the night. We finished the bottle. Lee even brought out some smoke, which he shared and I was appreciative.
We fished until sun up and caught enough crappie to feed everyone for lunch and dinner. I skipped breakfast and went straight to bed. I wasn’t surprised to see the new sheets had been put on my bed.
“It ain’t going to happen, girl. It’s done,” I mumbled to myself before nodding off into a deep slumber.
Sandy gave birth to a little girl seven months later. She was a little thing with a wisp of blonde hair and her momma’s bright blue eyes. I didn’t have to be a DNA expert to know I wasn’t the father.
They named her Prairie. They said they named her that because of her hair. I reminded myself this was as good a reason as any to pack up and leave, and even though we didn’t get back together after, I still stuck around, and I was a willing participant in Gavin’s marauding activities.
If someone were to confront me about it, I might’ve said I was an unwilling participant and never murdered or robbed anyone, but that would’ve been a lie. I wasn’t a religious man, but I seemed to remember some scripture saying something about if you dig the pit, you’re going to fall in.
My pit was about as deep as you could dig it.
Chapter 6 – Mount Weather – 8 A.Z.
I thought I had lost it, or someone had stolen it. At first appearance, it looked like nothing more than a well-used, spiral-bound notebook. A thick one, the kind a college student might have. But, all you had to do was read the first few pages to realize it’s much more than that. It’s my history, in a manner of speaking. I found it in the flexible document holder behind the passenger seat of our semi.
Since the last entry was a few years ago, I’ll try to bring this journal up to date. Here are some summations of various significant events.
February, 3 A.Z.: We had a short warm spell, and then a big ice storm. Lots of trees fell, including one on the main guard post, injuring the sole guard on duty, Bret Conway. Luckily, he only sustained a mild concussion and a broken arm. It was a huge mess, but maybe it was an ome
n. We rebuilt the guard post to modern-day requirements, using lots of steel and concrete.
July, 3 A.Z.: In an effort to secure the area within the one-hundred-mile radius of Mount Weather, we once again attempted to make a foray into the District of Columbia. It was bloody. We expended a lot of ammunition, and in addition, lost two of our own. He was a young guy, nineteen and full of juice. The truck he was riding in got stuck, the driver tried to simply run over the dead zeds, but even with a four-wheel-drive, you can get hung up. He got out and attempted to work one of the bodies loose. One of them was still alive and grabbed him in a death grip. Before he could get loose, he was waylaid by other zeds. His buddy jumped out and tried to save him, but he too was mobbed. The rest of the team could not rescue either of them in time.
December, 4 A.Z.: We lost three more in a boating accident. They were fishing on the Shenandoah River and somehow their boat capsized. For some reason, none of them were wearing life preservers. We emphasize safety, but unfortunately, some people don’t listen. But, there is good news, we had four new births, including one on Christmas Day. I guess there was something special in the Mount Weather water back in March.
May, 4 A.Z.: The entire month of May was filled with beautiful weather. One of our main goals is to expand our farms. This year, we expanded our crop acreage by five hundred acres. In addition, we remodeled 12 houses. This included fixing the plumbing, restoring power, and fortifying them to withstand attacks by zeds and small arms fire. Whenever we got a house ready, we’d move people into them. Two things draw people to us: the vaccine and electricity. Some of them bristle at the rules they have to abide by, but so far, it is working out.
July, 4 A.Z.: We were having a good summer. Four new families moved in back in June and we got them set up in houses. Unfortunately, they weren’t pulling their weight. A meeting was held to discuss how to resolve the issue. There was a lot of, shall we say, spirited debate. That’s the euphemism the politicians used whenever they had a shouting match. After that much-spirited debate, nothing was resolved. So, Fred and I resolved the matter in our own special way and we had a little chat with them. One family moved on and the other three straightened up. After that, the president would come to us from time to time with special situations that could not be resolved hospitably.
October, 4, A.Z.: We found a family that’d been slaughtered by zeds. There were six of them living in a house near Manassas. It was a fortified house, but somehow the zeds had caught all of them outdoors. The scout team tracked them down and killed them, but it gave us all a harsh reminder that one had to always be vigilant.
April, 5 A.Z.: The previous winter was cold and uneventful. We had suspended long-range scout operations due to a lack of fuel, but then, one sunny day, two men drove up to the main gate driving a tanker truck full of diesel. They went by the names of Johnny G and Roscoe Sidebottom. Roscoe, I swear that’s his real name, was the brains behind a group of survivors who lived in Marcus Hook, Pennsylvania. Roscoe was in his sixties with a shock of gray hair and thick bifocals. Johnny G was a plain-looking, nondescript man in his forties. One of the amazing things they had accomplished was to get a gas power plant back online and then they used the power plant to get an oil refinery operational.
Their generous gift came with a price though. He sat us down and proceeded to talk us through a presentation of the Marcus Hook operation and concluded by telling us they were in desperate need of manpower and food. The food was not a problem for us, but manpower was another issue entirely. Nobody wanted to leave the comfort of Mount Weather or the surrounding houses.
May, 5 A.Z.: The satellite feeds are monitored constantly by two siblings, Garret and Grace Anderson, and they discovered a large wildfire in the upper Michigan peninsula. It had been a rather dry winter and somehow a fire started. Whether or not it was by human hands is a mystery. The result was not good. The sky was hazy and overcast throughout June and had a sooty smell to it. It was hard on our crops, which resulted in a diminished harvest that year.
October 30th – the present: We are now in the 8th year of the apocalypse. Mount Weather still uses the Gregorian calendar, but long ago, back in Tennessee, we’d decided to reset the calendar and use November as the starting month for year zero of the zombie apocalypse.
Tomorrow is Kelly’s 28th birthday. As her birthday approached, she got it in her head she wanted to have a child, which was a total reversal from the previous five years. I did not argue and gave it the good old American effort whenever I got the opportunity. We were successful and now she’s expecting.
Officially, my job title is Assistant Director of Operations. The Director of Ops is my mentor and boss, Parvis Anderson, Grace and Garret’s father. In layman’s terms, I’m his lackey. There is no clear job description. In fact, I take care of whatever Parvis deems necessary. We have multiple ongoing projects, and I’m often tasked with making sure they proceed in a proper manner, which means I’m constantly putting out fires.
This journal would not be complete if I fail to mention President Abraham “Abe” Stark. He was originally the Secretary of Defense back when it all went bad. When President Richmond was murdered by his lover’s jealous husband, Abe moved quickly. He executed what amounted to a bloodless coup and became the de facto president. There has been no election since, so suffice it to say, democracy has been stuck in a closet and it is unknown if it will ever be brought out again.
I can’t say I particularly like the man, but I have a grudging respect for him. He is a no-nonsense man, smart, driven, overbearing at times to the point of dictatorial, but he has a clear mission; rebuild America. For him, the end always justified the means. Having said that, every decision he has made has been for the betterment of Mount Weather, and for the betterment of America.
Now, even though our research and logistics team keep fastidious records of events, incidents, and facts, I am going to memorialize some of those statistics in this journal which I believe are important.
The population of Mount Weather is capped at one hundred forty people, with another four hundred people living within a hundred-mile radius. Weather can sustain far more than this, but we consider new arrivals who need to be housed until we find a place for them and, of course, newborns. Residents of Weather who have babies are not required to relocate, unless they request it or if they are troublemakers. So, the permanent population consists of only select people.
87% of the Virginia population are under the age of sixty. 15% are under the age of twenty. Our birth mortality rate is slightly under 20%, which is excellent, considering the extreme shortage of modern medical care. Having children is encouraged at Mount Weather, but even so, our medical abilities have limitations.
Speaking of power, we now have a second hydroelectric dam operational. Captain Seth Kitchens is heading up this project. Even though he was a military lawyer back before, he has found his niche in hydroelectric energy.
We have four major communities outside of Virginia who have joined us: Oak Ridge in Tennessee, Marcus Hook in Pennsylvania, and two Ohio communities, one in Dayton, one in Cincinnati. There are other, smaller communities here and there. We have friendly relations with most of them.
Our resident computer experts, Garret and Grace, have spent numerous hours over the years compiling data from satellite surveillance. They have located what they believe are fifty-seven significant survival settlements across the United States.
The original mathematical projections, compiled during the first year of the apocalypse, put the surviving American population at thirty million, with a loss of twenty million during the next five years, for a net figure of ten million. We have since revised that number downward to between two and four million. Our surveillance of other nations has not been as detailed, but we’ve spotted multiple settlements throughout the world.
We’ve made significant strides these last five years, but it always seems to come down to zombies, the infected, the zeds. Whatever you want to call them. We kill them, and k
ill them, and kill them, and yet, we never can seem to kill them all. They’ve gotten sneaky too; not as easy to trap and kill them as they once were. They now know when they’re outnumbered and will flee. They know how to mass an attack. They know how to flank an opponent. And, of course, since their bodies have started healing again, they are stronger now. Not as strong as a healthy adult, but strong enough. Plus, they don’t feel pain.
In spite of them, or perhaps because of them, we’ve become a people of survivors. It hasn’t been easy, and there are setbacks, sometimes perilous setbacks, but we have survived.
Chapter 7 – Pittsburgh
Jorge Garcia walked into the cafeteria and sat beside me as I wrote. He and his family came up with us from Tennessee. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the spiral binder.
“It’s a journal that one of my friends started long ago. After she died, I’ve been sort of keeping up with it.”
Jorge looked at it closely. “Oh, yeah, I remember that thing. That thing’s going to be an important history book one day.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, maybe. How’re you doing?”
“I’ve been reading up on Pittsburgh,” he said. “Did you know the city only had three hundred thousand people living there? It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“The surrounding metropolitan area boosted the population to over two million,” I said. “It won’t be easy.”
Jorge’s expression went from pleasant to crestfallen. “Holy hell, man,” he muttered.
“It’ll work out. You don’t normally get up so early,” I observed.
“Couldn’t sleep. Last night’s chili did a number on both me and Brenda. We farted all night long. I’m telling you, man, it was awful.”
I laughed again. Brenda was a pretty Hispanic girl who showed up at the front gate a couple of years ago along with her little brother. Jorge was working guard duty at the gate and was immediately smitten. Her parents and five brothers had been attacked on the road by a horde of zeds. She and her little brother were the only ones who had survived. They’d almost starved to death before one of the outlying families found them and brought them to Weather.
