The Zom Diary

by Eddie Austin

  The kettle, looking more like a witches cauldron than ever, I fill with water and set over the fire. I dump my pack in the big room alongside my other gear and light one of the kerosene lamps that always hang over the table. It pops to life, and the room looks more cheerful.

  I gather bandages and a clean rag and set them on the table, bulldozing soap-henge for more room. Lastly, I pull a cleanish t-shirt off the line, hung wall to wall, and sit.

  The couch is comfortable and warm. I feel my mind drifting off, listening to the hiss of the lamp and the distant snap of fire outside. I catch myself falling forward.

  Staggering up, I grab the rag and walk out to the fire. It’s burning high now, and the kettle steams. I pause to feel for any zoms out in the distant dark. Nothing.

  I kneel by the blaze and warm my hands, dipping the rag and cleaning the blood from my blistered fingers. I think back on what happened as the fire tries to hypnotize me. What happened back at town?

  Stetson was always on gate duty, had there been an attack? What happened in my head that let me push him (no, it, he’s dead now) away? Are my abilities changing? I have a lot of questions, but no way of knowing right now, and the dull stomach ache that comes with blood loss re-orients my priorities. And where the hell is Bryce? I feel dreadful.

  The water is hot now. I pour some into a bucket and carry it inside where I can see. Setting my dressings and water by the couch I unwind my old bandages, wincing.

  I count four lacerations on my right arm and one on my left wrist. I soak my arms and ignore the sharp pains. Taking the hot rag, I clean up and dry off my arms. I wrap them in bandages then wipe my face. It stings. I fetch a small mirror and look at myself in it. My right eyebrow is missing, singed, and there is a small cut under my other eye. I clean it carefully and put a band aid on it. I look like hell.

  I dump the kettle outside and force myself to drink a big jar of cold water, even though I feel queasy. I keep it down and suddenly realize how tired I am. I bolt the door and kill the kerosene lamp, barely making it to bed before drifting off. In my dreams, I’m juggling magnets and not having much success at it. Stetson’s there and tells me to keep at it. He’s eating a pear and humming.

  Chapter 25

  I wake to the nagging sensation of someone pressing their ghostly finger tip into the base of my brain, again. That and crashing pain.

  The light is odd. It’s dim, but the arrangement of sun patches is all wrong for morning time. Rather than bright yellow streaming in from the east, I can only see deep orange patches drifting in from the western window. Have I slept the whole damned day?

  Yes. It seems likely. I feel like I could sleep for another day.

  The cranial sensation continues to nag, and I do my best to ignore the sound of the thing’s hands slapping against the barn’s outer wall. Duty calls.

  I hobble over to the back area of the loft, my wide open dojo space and crack the hay door. My piss rains down the thirty some-odd feet, a golden shower for the back yard.

  The pounding sound of leathery hands continues to drum the walls behind me, the pressure intense in my mind. So tired.

  I climb down the ladder and pull my .38 out of its holster, walking past the table and the bloody yellow rag mess I made of the big room last night.

  The pounding ceases, and I hear it following me over to the small door of the entrance way. I flip up the bar and open the door just enough to peer outside. The thing is trying to negotiate the first stone step with some success, but keeps slipping down. I shoot it in the head and close the door. No one I know.

  I relax now that the pressure is gone, and walk back to the big room. Tossing the .38 on the couch, I climb back up the ladder and crawl back into bed.

  “Good night.”

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  A noise. A strange keening gurgle, it startles me awake. Awake. The sun is in the proper position now for an early morning. It’s bright and lovely. The noise happens again, and I realize that it is coming from my intestinal region. I’m hungry.

  Getting up from my mattress on the floor, I feel lighter than I should, tall and full of energy. I cross over through the loft and relieve myself out the window. I jump up and grab the rafter beam that crosses the peak of the roof and start to do a few pull-ups. I drop when I feel the cuts open. Too soon.

  Barefoot, I seek my pants and boots. Climbing down the ladder, I notice that my vision is clear and my mind free from any zombie intrusions. I smile.

  Passing the table, I reload the .38 and grab a handful of loose rounds from a bucket, dropping them in my pocket. I throw open the door and greet the morning.

  Stepping over the crumpled form of the zombie I pause to look at it. Ashen skin covered with dew. He looks like a Compton gang-banger, decked out in colors and wearing an undeservedly peaceful expression. I look closer noticing teardrop tats and golden teeth. He’s a long way from home.

  I pump some water, rinsing my hands and face. My stomach growls again. Good Lord! I am so hungry. Pausing to start the fire in the pit, I continue on out and into the orchard. Reaching up and pulling down a pear, I chew absently. Juice runs down into my beard. I grab another and work on it as I make my way to the smoke house.

  I can see a multitude of strips, hanging like mummified bats in a smoky cave. The smell is strong of char, but certainly not unpleasant. I harvest a few strips of meat and start to chew. I beat dewy tracks back to the yard.

  I pump a little water into the kettle, eyeing the corpse sideways. I’ll deal with him later. Breakfast first.

  I set the kettle in hot proximity and tear the last long strip into small pieces, tossing them into the pot. I hop over the steps again and return from inside with the can of tomatoes and the small can of mushrooms. I sit and open them, giving each the sniff test. They pass. I add them to the pot. Once the fire burns down to coals, I’ll fry the last of the eggs.

  The sun streams down upon me, and I pause to look up into the sky. Bright blue. So lovely. Growing up in a cold and grey climate makes one appreciate these things. My arms itch, but I resist the urge to mess with the bandages.

  Just as the stew starts to bubble, I begin to hear the soft scuff of footsteps in the distance. Someone coughs.

  I jump up and look back toward the noise. It’s Bryce. He raises his hand when he sees me, and I walk over to greet him. He looks troubled.

  “Hey stranger.” I call to him.

  “Hey,” he eyes my bandaged arms, and then I see his gaze wander over to the steps, “you okay?”

  I wave for him to follow me back to the fire.

  “Yeah, I’ll live. Have you eaten yet?” And. “What the hell is going on in town, I saw what’s his face, the gate guy, the one with the cowboy hat all dead and he was trying to eat me a day or two ago.” This all comes erupting from me in a quick rush.

  He coughs again and follows me, but doesn’t answer my question. Ducking under the long wire of the fence that runs beside the drive here, I pause and hold it for him, so that it doesn’t catch his pack as he follows me under.

  He’s wearing his usual recon gear except that the pack looks stuffed to bursting. His AR-15 has been swapped out for a hunting rifle with a huge scope. I ask, “What is that? A 30-30?”

  “No, It’s a .308. I figure if we’re out in the open, a scope might come in handy.”

  “Sure, lots of fun, too, I bet. Not the most practical gun.”

  He grins, “Yeah, it’s nice to do some scoping once in a while. You could find out, if you ever want to do some wall duty. We could seriously use you.”

  We reach the fire, and I offer him one of the chairs. He sets his pack on it and leans his rifle carefully aside. Instead of sitting, he points to the steps.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It woke me up yesterday. I was beat, so I just left him ‘til I felt better.” I shrug and peer into the kettle. “Maybe we can drag him off after breakfast.”

  “Why not get it out of the way now? We’ve got a lot to talk about, and
it’s distracting to me.”

  “I guess so. Want to grab a leg?”

  We walk over and each grab one of the thing’s ankles. I nod out toward the orchard. “There’s a spot off that way where we can leave him.”

  Our shoulders bump into each other occasionally as we drag him in a wide arc around the fire and our food and out towards the dumping grounds. With someone helping, the trip goes much faster than normal. Bryce gasps when we come to the edge of the pit.”

  “Holy shit!” he looks over at me, a strange expression on his face, re-evaluating, “Kyle, there must be a couple hundred bodies here.”

  “It seemed like a good spot for them, out of the way. I’ll fill the trench some day if I get the chance.”

  “This is more than we’ve dealt with in the past two years back in town. It’s just… It’s just a lot.”

  “I’ve burned some more and left others to rot if they were too far away to drag here. Not like I’ve had much of a choice in the matter, they just come.”

  “I guess.”

  We flip the body into the tangle of limbs and rotting fabric. I’m glad Bryce hasn’t noticed how decomposed some of the bodies are. Not all of them were zombies.

  Once we get back to the barn, I pump some water and we wash our hands. I kick dirt over the black patch in front of the steps, and it’s as if nothing ever happened. Bryce offers to check the stew while I go grab eggs and a frying pan.

  Walking back through the entryway, I smell the fresh paint and smile. It reminds me of my childhood and watching my dad paint the rooms in our little cabin out in the woods. Strange. I hadn’t thought of that place in years.

  I step down into the cellar and grab the last four eggs and a bottle of fresh pear cider. On the way out, I collect two tin camp plates.

  Bryce is sitting, hands on his head and leaning back. I set the stuff down and take a stick, raking the coals flat on one side of the fire. I balance the pan on a flat rock, and roll some deer grease around in it before I crack the first egg.

  “You picky about your eggs?”

  “No, however you cook them is fine.”

  The eggs bubble and snap on the greasy pan. “So, why aren’t we talking about your man from town? Something happened right? I’ve been curious ever since I saw him out on the road. What the hell was his name?”

  Bryce sits up and leans forward on the seat, eyes narrowing. “Yes, Dan. He was really out here? The wall crew took him out a couple of days ago, I hate when they have to do that to one of their own, it’s terrible for morale... When did you see him?”

  “A couple of days ago, he had already turned.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, if he was out here, then how did he get back to town?”

  I open the juice and take a sip before passing it to Bryce. “It was the day before yesterday. I was poking around some houses a couple of miles from here, toward town. When I was done I headed back here, and felt a zombie behind me, so I waited for it on the road.”

  He sets down the juice. I flip the eggs. Before I can start, he spoke, “And that was Daniel?”

  “Yes. I was worried for you guys when I saw him like that, but I couldn’t come to see what had happened,” I raise my bandaged arms for emphasis, “I got hurt pretty bad.”

  “I can see that, are you ok?”

  “Yeah, just a few cuts. It’s probably too late to stitch them up now, I could have used you. Anyway, I went to shoot him and my fucking AK exploded. Knocked me down, cut me up and I was pretty dazed. Then-”

  “So, how does he end up in town the next day for us to shoot him?”

  “Let me finish. I was laying there, about to be lunch, when something—shifted in my head. Next thing I knew, he’s running the other way headed back to town, and I crawled home and patched myself up.”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Incredible. I wonder if any of us can do that? But what about the fire? I hurried when I saw all that smoke.”

  I place two eggs on a plate for Bryce and plop some stew next to them. It is pretty thick by now. He says thanks and bows his head for a moment before eating.

  “I checked the houses, and they were bare. Plus they were rotting and full of dead folks, so…”

  He pauses and looks up from his plate. “So you torched them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kyle, you damned near burned down the whole county. There is a burnt patch all the way to the road. It follows it for a mile. What if it had spread to town?”

  “Oh.”

  “You just let me decide when to burn down a neighborhood. What about the copper pipes, timber, tiles, doors, nails? We need those old houses to build new ones.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s ok, I guess. Just be more careful. You’re going to need a day or so to heal before we head out. If you’re still up for it?”

  The eggs are good. The stew is a little bland. I finish my bite. “Hell yes I’m going, just give me today and I’ll be fine. So, come on, tell me what happened in town.”

  He sets his plate down. There is still a half eaten egg left. “The ‘prophet’ betrayed us. I thought it was odd when he volunteered for gate duty, but I’m always asking him for help, and he seemed eager.

  “He must have drugged Daniel and then opened the gates. I don’t know why. We’ve never been on the same page, but this? We woke up three days ago to the sounds of screaming and fire.

  “It was going to be a market day, and there were people staying over in the apartment building, getting ready for trading to start. Instead of customers, a score of zombies appears, stumbling from alleys and around corners. All this in a place that they thought was safe, that I’d promised them was safe. Not everyone was carrying heat, and there were children.

  “Daniel went missing at some point, a few people died and a kid got bitten. The building behind Silas’ place where the prophet lived burned down. I guess he told his lady friend to set it ablaze when the chaos started. Thank God we got it put out before the whole place went up.”

  “Holy shit! Did you get him?”

  “No, but supposedly he’s headed this way. She won’t say much beyond that, that and we’re all going to be sorry. When I saw smoke out this way I thought maybe it was him, setting more fires. I think she’s sadder that he left her behind than for the others and that kid. Wretched bitch. She’s in a cell back in town.”

  “How’s the kid doing?”

  Bryce looks down now and picks up his plate starting back in on the stew.

  “Not good.”

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  After a while, I gather the plates and toss them into the empty kettle. I walk it over to the pump and clean up. From the fire, I hear the snic of a lighter, and the scent of cigar smoke drifts over on a breeze. I put the dishes away and set the kettle next to the fire. Bryce is smoking a cigar; he pulls another from his breast pocket and offers it to me.

  It’s some Dominican brand I’ve never heard of, with a dark wrap. The taste is nutty and reminds me of a cedar chest. I let smoke wind its way out from the corners of my mouth.

  “Thanks, this is nice.”

  Bryce blows a thin ring of smoke toward the fire. “You’re welcome,” and “thanks for breakfast.”

  We sit and smoke, waving away a brave horse fly that pesters us, before I smash it on the side of my cheek with a powerful slap.

  “So, what do we do?”

  Bryce thinks for a moment, drawing on his cigar, “We wait a day, and once you are better, we go after him.”

  “You don’t sound worried that he’ll get away, and I can already guess where he’s headed. The desert?”

  Bryce nods and taps his cigar, knocking off a clot of ash. “That’s where he’s headed. The Witch filled us in on that part, and I confirmed it for myself by tracking him here. She was hysterical when we cornered her. Scratched Molly’s face bad. She was blabbering about astral projection and how this life is a shell covering over the true reality around us. Kept talking about a dark king.” />
  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “That first day I met him outside your place, he was talking at me about a dark king and about the desert. I just thought he was strange.”

  “Well, he’s been saying stuff like that to all of us for years, no one paid it much attention or could say what it really meant,” he spits, “but before I kill him I’m going to ask.”

  I nod, rolling the dead fly between my thumb and forefinger before dropping it on the ground. “Right. It’s settled then. I’ll pack my gear and get ready this afternoon. We’ll head out tomorrow.”

  “And you are sure you’re up to it?”

  “Yes! Dammit! I’ll be fine. My ankle is better, and these cuts aren’t going to stop me. Just a little shock and loss of blood, no biggie. I’m good now.”

  Something stirs to life in the back of my mind, and I look up at Bryce. There is a knowing look on his face.

  “I was wondering when you’d notice them. I felt it a while back, but wanted to see when you felt them.”

  “Yes, just now. I guess I don’t have your range. Feels like more than one, off that way.” I point toward the road. “Maybe a half mile away?”

  Bryce gets up and grabs his rifle. “Closer than that. Should we go deal with them?”

  “Yeah, hold on, I’ll get something.”

  I walk inside and through the open door to the big room. Pausing at the wide door to the storage area, I grab the old .22 LR that I had used before when the barn was surrounded. Filling a ten round clip, I pull back the slide and flip the safety button. Maybe I’m a little gun shy after the AK incident, or just being smart about my ammo situation. No matter. It will do.

  Bryce is filling a water bottle at the pump and looks up as I shut the door.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s go get them.”

  I walk over to the old electric fence and duck between the long wires. Bryce follows. After a moment, he remarks about the buildings here.

  “Do you use all these?” He gestures wide at the outbuildings.

  “Some. That’s my smoke house; new venison in there now. Closer to the spot where Bill’s house burned down, that’s my garage. The rest I use for storage or are full of Bill’s old farming equipment. I spend most of my time at the barn.”