The Zom Diary

by Eddie Austin

  Bryce calls out, startling me from my silent and attentive state. “Hey! Hold tight, we’re coming for you!”

  There is a faint reply from somewhere up ahead. Our pace increasing, we round a huge oak and run right into the back of the zombie mob.

  They begin to turn as we approach, and we both open up -sometimes taking the same head shot. The press of bodies comes at us, and we both begin to back up, careful of our footing, as they shamble closer. Bryce calls out again, to me this time.

  “They’re coming around our side, watch your back!”

  As if on cue, I feel a hand grab at the back of my jacket, pulling me back. I act out of instinct, slamming my left elbow back and connecting with the thing’s jaw. It keeps pulling at me with a relentless grip. I spin and hold it now at arm’s reach by its neck. My rifle’s weight pulling down fiercely on my right arm as it dangles from the shoulder strap. I begin to yell.

  “Move right!” Bryce shouts.

  I do. The thing’s appearance is that of an awful disfigured woman, almost sexless from erosion of the flesh. Its head explodes, leaving me holding a jumble of bone, flesh and black sinew, the neck slipping through my grip.

  I wipe my hands quickly on my pants and immediately wish that I had not. I swallow back some bile and stand next to Bryce, back to back, picking off the last of the things.

  “Why aren’t you helping out?” I call out hoarsely.

  The reply comes from the branches of the tree directly in front of us, moments before a figure climbs down and begins walking over.

  “Because I’m out of fucking ammo, that’s why.”

  She is short, dressed in camo and has bright red hair tucked up into a boonie hat. Bending down, she rolls a zombie over and picks her rifle up from where it had fallen. Bryce gives us the all clear.

  “So who fired the shot we heard?” I look toward the other trees.

  “It was my suicide round. I used it when I heard you guys.” She smiles. “Hey, Bryce!”

  “Molly. Glad to see you’re still among the living. You know I hate the whole suicide round thing. Is anyone else with you?”

  She shakes her head. No.

  “Let’s get out of these woods. Are you hurt?”

  She pats her chest and looks down at her boots; a real smart-ass gesture, circumstances considered. She shoulders her AK and smiles, “As far as I can tell I’m all here. And what’s here is thirsty. You guys got any water?”

  Bryce passes her a canteen and tells her to keep it. We start back for the truck.

  Along the way, she tells some of what has transpired over the past few days. Her voice is smoky and cracks from time to time. She must have been without water for some time.

  “The whole run went to shit at the clinic. Larry got bit after we let the whole goddamned town out of where they had been holed up; who knows for how long, probably since the start. After losing him, we got surrounded in an apartment building, and Sean got bit by a shut-in we disturbed in a bathroom. He distracted the lot, pulling them from the doors while we escaped out the back way. I hope he didn’t suffer.

  “It took us forever to make it out of town on foot and then, once we made it out here, I thought we were home free. Then a few days ago, that mob caught up with us and we holed up in this house. John got bit and turned quick, like right before our eyes.

  “Me and other John made a break for the trees and got caught up here by another group. He got bit along the way, but we both made it up into the trees. My water and food ran out yesterday. We’d been keeping each other’s spirits up, you know, trying to ignore them. He stopped answering me this morning.

  “So, here I was, this fine morning, out of ammo, thirsty as hell, and starting to think that last bullet was sounding like a good idea.”

  “Stop it.” Bryce seems genuinely appalled. “That’s never an option. There’s always hope.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. I watch her now as we make our way through the grass and over the hill. She is filthy, but I can tell that beneath there somewhere she has a nice figure. She looks too young to have such tired eyes and deep lines in her face. I wonder if one of those guys had been her boyfriend. She doesn’t seem too upset; though. Just another day in the country.

  Back at the truck, I hand her an old plastic gallon jug filled with water. She said thanks and takes a huge pull on it. Bryce offers her some food. She takes it and eats greedily.

  The sun is getting low, and I suggest spending the night in the garage or house. Molly doesn’t like the idea, saying that she wants a shower and a real bed and that we’ll be better off picking a new spot or making for Salem. Bryce tells her of his plans to go back and clean out the clinic.

  “Damn it!” Her cheeks flush red and she throws her hat on the ground unleashing a short mop of red curls. “You have a one track mind, Bryce. You know that?”

  She bends and picks up her hat. Bryce has not mentioned that Larry made it back to town. I begin to wonder why, but loose the thought as the exchange of voices escalate in intensity. Bryce’s voice thunders,

  “This trip can’t be a waste. I know it’s hard losing your team, but the community comes first. We need supplies, that’s why you were out here. Look, I’m glad you’re alive.” He pauses, and almost to himself whispers: “I wish you were glad too.”

  “What does that mean?” She speaks softly now.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I am starting to feel a little uncomfortable; like a new acquaintance at a table of people who have known each other since childhood and only talk about old times. I light a joint and break into their conversation.

  “Hey.” I reach out a hand to the girl. “I’m Kyle, nice to meet you. You’re welcome, by the way. Are we going to make a decision here soon, it’s getting dark.”

  She doesn’t take my hand but turns to Bryce instead. “Where do you find these assholes? It’s so nice to meet you. Is that a joint?”

  She holds out her hand impatiently and then comes over, practically prying the thing from my fingers, she takes a huge pull before offering it back. The end is soggy and wet with her saliva. I eye it warily and hand it back to her. Without pause, the two start bickering again, about plans and about who needs to mind whose business. Whatever animosity exists between Bryce and Molly, I don’t care to stand here while they work it out. Bryce promises me that he can’t sense any zombies at all and since he can detect them from quite a distance, I decide to enjoy the last of the daylight by myself. Bryce says he will honk the truck’s horn if there is trouble. As I walk off, rifle slung on my shoulder, I can hear them argue about where to spend the night.

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  Passing over the hill, I make my way slowly back down to the trees. The grass is high and still green despite being dry. The woods, however, are dank and moist, almost like the old oaks exude their own misty breath. I walk on into darkness beneath the branches, which are warring with the yellow sunlight that is starting to make its way into the depths of the dense growth. As the sun sinks lower, it casts bright dapple-patches of gold and red on mossy trunks and pierce the dark with shafts of light that look so substantial I catch myself ducking under one as I pass.

  Not far into the woods, one of these beams of light, no thicker than a half dollar, shines directly onto the forehead of one of the wasted zombies. It sits, back propped against the trunk of a tree, nasty splatter at head height on the trunk, where its brain mess has been evacuated. Its appearance is amazing.

  I move carefully, afraid to make a sound. I reach out and touch its wrists, move its arms, carefully, so they rest in his lap. His legs are spread wide, one knee bent -foot at an awkward angle. I grab his heel and straighten his leg. He looks peaceful, and the spot of sun has move down his face by this time, to rest on the hole where his nose used to be. This light illuminates the thing’s eyes, like a jack-o-lantern perhaps. They glow with an eerie grey blue light…Lord.

  I crouch there watching motes of dust pass through the beam of light and surrend
er to the absolute absurd beauty of the moment. A branch snaps somewhere deeper in the woods, breaking my reverie, and I bid a fast and silent farewell to the thing.

  Walking back out of the woods the way I came in earlier with Bryce, I catch a glint of metal in the leaf litter beneath the tree that served as Molly’s companions resting place. Bending over, I can see that the glint belongs to a pair of golden aviator sunglasses. They are bent, but I am able to twist them back into shape. I pocket them.

  I’m still not ready to head back to the truck yet, and after six years of almost complete solitude, I find myself a little overwhelmed by my new companions. I climb one of the trees on the edge of the small wood, and sit facing the sunset. I slip the glasses out of my pocket and put them on. The lenses are amber colored and accentuate the golden effect of the sun. I think about Molly; this new person, yet another intrusion into my rapidly shrinking solitude. I have never known anyone that has killed him or herself. That in itself is odd, I suppose. And, in all of my days wandering around the farm and wasting time, I have never thought about that option for myself. Considering the state of affairs, this surprises me.

  Why not take the easy way out? Well, I guess I’m not looking to get away from anything. I like this ruined world. It suits me. The idea though, of keeping that last round just in case I find myself at the bottom of a well; no options. Sure, it makes sense.

  The sky is now a wild purple color, and the sunlight creates a suffusion of yellow. It reminds me of one summer when I was a kid. Some volcano erupted in the Philippines and sent a column of ash, miles into the atmosphere, staining the light of our fair world like a cathedral window. I wonder if it is a volcano now or just the waste from industry’s last gasp before diving off the cliff of eternity that stains the sky? Cities must have burned. Reactors melted down around the globe. Maybe Iran finally nuked Israel. Shit, who knew? The effect was brilliant, from my perspective, either way.

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  Dropping from the lowest branch, I wince as my ankle sings out quiet messages of pain. Why the hell am I out here with these people? I should be sleeping this one off in the barn. I grit my teeth, and limp back over the hill and see Bryce and Molly loading packs into the bed of the truck. The scavenger party’s effects.

  I make my way over. Bryce sees me coming and looks pleased, I can guess who won the argument. He slams the tailgate and rests on it, surveying the yard and speaking in a quiet voice.

  “Hey Kyle, looks like we figured out a plan. We’ll stay here tonight and head into town tomorrow. The clinic was set up as a shelter for the townspeople and apparently, it’s still packed with supplies. Once Molly gave me the run down, it was easy to convince her it was worth it.

  “Don’t let her get to you. Remember, she was really still a kid when things got bad. You can’t blame her for having a chip on her shoulder.” He leans in and whispers in a conspiratorial tone. “I wouldn’t give her any alcohol if you have it. She gets trashed and violent.”

  I hear a door slam and Molly’s voice call out, “You two done making out? I want to get set up for the night.”

  “Fuck you Molly!” Bryce sings out cheerily.

  She gives him the finger.

  I turn back to Bryce and ask where we should sleep.

  “She says the house was trashed at some point in the past, some hold-outs got surrounded and it didn’t end well for them. Our people were staying in the garage. Unless you want to sleep out here in the truck?”

  “Maybe, let’s see the garage.”

  I was right about there being a loft, and aside from some normal garage smells, oil and car fluids, it looks clean. There are blankets laid out in two piles where people have slept. I nod to the pallets and ask Bryce if she was with one of the guys that died. He chuckles, but there is no mirth to it.

  “John and John,” He begins, and pauses, furrowing his brow. “I never thought it was odd that they had the same name. Anyway, they were lovers. Homosexuals. I think that’s why Molly liked having them on her team, no leering lustful eyes.”

  I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and Molly stumbles into the loft, a huge smile on her face. She is carrying a massive bottle of whiskey.

  “Ha! Look what I found, and it’s all mine, you greedy fucks!”

  She is true to her word. I offer her my weed, even some ammo, but she won’t give me a sip. Not a damned drop. I sit on the floor, back to the wall, blanket wrapped around me. As the last of the light fades, I can still see her sipping her bottle with a huge grin on her face.

  Chapter 13

  I am up early the next morning. The sun is just starting to shine through the slats of the vent above me; the only opening to the outside world up in the loft. Molly is passed out face down in her pile of blankets, bottle laying on its side inches from her fingers. The cap is missing and some of the whiskey has spilled onto the floor and blankets.

  Looking about me, I see that Bryce is absent. His blanket and rifle are missing as well. I stoop and grab the bottle from the floor and walk back to my things. Rummaging around in my pack, I pick out a water bottle that is half empty. I drink it, and then fill it with about ten ounces of the good stuff.

  I cap the small bottle and put it in my bag. Walking softly, trying not to make any boards creak, I replace the whiskey bottle where I found it on the floor. I did rescue her after all.

  I grab my gear, check my rifle, and walk out.

  Bryce is rummaging through the dead men’s packs, and I join him at the tailgate of the truck. He looks neat and freshly shaven despite having spent the night on a hard wood floor in an abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere. Some people have a talent for tidiness, I do not. Bryce looks up from the pack.

  “Good morning!”

  “Yes, it is.” I set my pack and rifle in the bed of the truck and fish out the bottle of whiskey, taking a quick sip.

  “You know you have a drinking problem, you know that, right?”

  “It’s my apocalypse, too, Bryce. You enjoy it your way and I’ll enjoy it mine.”

  “Fine. Just don’t get too plowed. I need you to drive. You don’t want Molly to catch you sneaking her booze either.”

  I take a big swig and resist the urge to wince, it is rough stuff.

  “She owes me anyway.”

  “I hope she’s as grateful as you hope she is.”

  I take another swig; the bottle is half empty.

  “What’s her deal anyway?”

  Bryce looks thoughtful, like he is choosing his words carefully. I’ve notice that he uses this reluctance when talking about subjects that make him uncomfortable. Perfect politician—careful with his words when they matter, and always judging for opportunities.

  “The best way to get to know someone is to ask, but seeing how she can be a little hard to ‘get to know’ I’ll let you in on what I know, which is not a lot.” He glances back towards the garage then looks me in the eyes, lowering his voice, “She was just a kid when things went down, maybe fourteen. The cities were rough at the start, obviously, but especially in some areas and especially for a girl with nobody looking out for her.” He motions for the bottle of whiskey. Swallows. Continues.

  “L.A. was bad. Really. Once it was obvious that things weren’t going to get better, and that law was over, well, people took advantage of what they could. Looting, settling old scores, things that evil people pursue when the curtain drops, when the lights go out. Eventually most of these folks would have turned on each other, or starved when the steaks and beers ran out, or perhaps some are still out there, in smaller bands. I didn’t stick around to find out. There were camps,” he lowers his voice further, “rape gulags; women were herded into tennis courts and warehouses.” He stops speaking, and shrugs.

  “So you rescued her?”

  “No. I never knew her before she showed up in Salem. I wanted to help those people, the ones I did see, but it wasn’t possible. You can’t just walk up to a mob of armed men and make demands.”

  I nod. I h
ave been taking small sips and the bottle is almost gone.

  “So how did she get away?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t shared that with me, and frankly a lot of what I just told you are things that I know, but we all pretend not to know, if you understand what I’m saying.”

  “So she just showed up one day?”

  He nods, and lets out a deep breath, “Yes, she crawled up to the gate one night, half-starved and dehydrated. We nursed her back and got her to talk again. She was a little feral there for a while, but one of the women in town was a counselor, and she had seen things like this before. We tried setting her up with a homesteader, and it just didn’t work out, she, well she’s got issues.”

  “Oh? I thought growing the community was a top priority, wouldn’t you try to get her hooked up with someone and raising kids?”

  “Well,” he looks frustrated, and, as if, perhaps he is worried he is saying too much, “Who would want her? All those men having her, and there is no reliable medicine. If you catch something, it’s permanent now right? Or fatal.”

  I feel like the town gossip, and like I’ve heard too much. I guess it is my fault for asking. I decide to keep my curiosity under wraps from now on. I chuck the empty bottle in the bed of the truck and grab my rifle. I hit the clip release and pull the drum out. Laying a handkerchief on the tailgate, I start to thumb the rounds out one at a time. Sixty-seven left. I grab some spare ammo from the pack and carefully load the drum again. I put it back and feel a small click as it seats into the rifle. Bryce seems happy to be done with the conversation, but I wonder at the implications all the same.

  Molly has been through some awful shit, and now she is like some kind of diseased outcast in town? No wonder she leads these runs for supplies. She must be one tough mother to last this long, and all on her own. Good to keep that in mind. She is attractive enough, I am surprised no one has fallen for her, cooties or not. Bryce clears his throat and nods toward my gear.