Zomblog: The Final Entry

by TW Brown

  Today I wandered the halls of this school. I half-expected the person to be hiding out here. The building is well-barricaded with a reinforced fence that goes all the way around. There is a courtyard with a barbecue pit that had warm, smoldering coals in it.

  Tomorrow, the plan is to grab a few things; perhaps fishing gear and some canned goods from one of the grocery stores. Instant coffee wouldn’t suck, either. Now there’s a sentence that I never thought I’d utter.

  One last thing…I will get a map of Nevada. I’d love an atlas, but I’ll settle for one of those foldy things. As long as the resident or residents of this place leave me be, I will be gone tomorrow.

  Sunday, June 27

  I met the Keeper of McDermitt. He’s not at all what I expected. His name is Michael DeNoma, and his story is…

  I can’t explain it. He and I have an indirect tie. He was in the prison in Pendleton where Sam and the others stayed briefly after their capture. I was floored when that bomb dropped. But I am getting ahead of myself.

  I was leaving. It was around noon when I had my things on a line and had thrown the end over the wall when I heard a quiet voice tell me to “be careful, there’s a few roaming around outside today.” I almost broke my neck, it whipped around so fast.

  When I laid eyes on him, I almost laughed. This was no action hero or Road Warrior wanna-be. What I saw was an incredibly overweight young man with crazy orange hair and the scraggliest wildman beard—also orange—that I’ve ever seen in my life.

  His more-than-ample belly sagged over the folded down waist of his jean shorts. His skin was ghostly white except for his glorious farmer’s tan.

  When I didn’t speak right away, he brought up the sword he carried in his left hand. His expression switched to that of concern, like perhaps he thought that I would attack him. One thing that I learned over the next few hours was that this guy could never sit down at a poker table and hope to win.

  I thanked him for the warning and turned to go. That’s when he called out.

  “Wait.”

  Just a single word, but there was so much in it; pleading, longing, lonliness, sorrow. All the worst feelings that a person can feel existed in that single word. So…I turned back to face him.

  After a brief exchange, we decided to go back to the high school. We started talking while he pulled out his secret stash of junk food. (At least it explained the obesity.) He showed me how a lot of the stuff still hadn’t even reached the expiration date. Ah, the marvels of science.

  We ate, drinking a bottle of Dr. Pepper that had a funky aftertaste, and talked. Actually, he did most of the talking. That’s when I discovered that he’d been in prison. When the inmates took over, he was one of the “freaks” who survived. When the opportunity came and people were given the option to stay or go, he left. He wanted to save his mother. He didn’t.

  After that, he travelled. Sometimes alone and sometimes with others. He heard the Las Vegas broadcast one night and started heading that way. When he reached McDermitt, he expected the same reaction he’d gotten in Burns. That’s when he heard the screams coming from within the walls. He cursed his poor physical fitness because, by the time he was over the wall, the screaming had stopped. It only took him a moment to discover the source…a crowd of those things hunched over a body pulling out strands of insides and ripping off hunks of meat.

  Something in that moment broke him. He didn’t have the nerve to simply offer himself over to the mob, but he made up his mind that he was done with running. He searched every residence and business for survivors. After three weeks, he was certain that he was alone.

  Everything fell into a routine after that. He called it his daily cat-and-mouse game. The booby-traps came after that first winter. Three men showed up and just started to ransack the place. He didn’t have the nerve to confront them, but they broke into the town’s iconic White Horse Inn. They drank too much, too fast. The former citizens took care of the problem from there.

  He went to work the next day rigging traps. He was often surprised at what he came up with. Everything evolved to what it is now from that day.

  I’ll leave in the morning. I asked Michael if he wanted to come along. He said no. His only reason was that he just didn’t see the point. Did it matter if he died on the road, or in this dead town? At least here he would be relatively comfortable and never worry about food. I guess he doesn’t expect to outlive his resources. Looking at him, I’d say that is a good guess, but he has defied the odds so far.

  Monday, June 28

  Back on the road.

  As I head south, the left side of this sometimes invisible highway is dotted with more than the occasional body hanging from the big powerline structures. Many of them are still moving. However, several of the bodies finally succumbed to the strain. There are piles of bodies, and even the assorted head or two, strewn about. It’s gross.

  There are signs written in a strange language along the way. It took me most of the day to remember where I’d seen that type of writing before. It’s the Natives. I saw the same sort of stuff when I was at Warm Springs with Eric.

  I stopped around midday at some ransacked, old casino. You might say that I hit the jackpot. It had shade! The sun is blazing. I’ve drank a lot of water. Since I’m alone, I will be changing my travel times from morning to late afternoon and early morning. The heat is just too brutal for travel.

  Thursday, July 1

  Cody survived! And my stupid dog is back. My stupid, wonderful dog.

  From what I gather, (Cody scribbled this down for me on a few scraps of paper) he escaped because of the actions of Eric. The big idiot sacrificed himself so that this young man could have a chance. Cody was able to run, and followed the stream until he lost his footing on a slippery, flat rock. His ankle made a loud popping sound that he could hear above the noises of the water, moaning zombies, and Eric’s screams.

  He tried to stand, but couldn’t. All he could do was drag himself with his hands—the one missing two fingers sure didn’t help—down the stream. Twice, he went over small waterfalls. Both times were incredibly painful; the second time, Cody lost consciousness. He has no idea how he didn’t drown or end up eaten.

  By that night, his foot was almost black and swollen so bad that he had to cut off his shoe. He couldn’t walk, and kept hearing zombies groaning, crying, and crashing through the brush. He managed to climb up in a tree where he stayed for two days.

  Then he got sick. He doesn’t remember much over those next couple of days. The next thing he does remember is Sam curled up beside him. That explains where my dog went, but I don’t know whether to be proud of him…or jealous.

  When he recovered, Cody said he started off in search of me, and it was Sam who led him in the correct direction. Sam walked and Cody followed because he didn’t have anything better to do and he liked having a dog around. Talk about making a girl feel special.

  He didn’t enter McDermitt. Sam skirted it and wandered around most of the day until he picked up my trail again.

  So…here we are…one big, happy family.

  Friday, July 2

  Reached the empty—for the most part, but I will get to that in a minute—and surprisingly intact town of Orovada. This place was worth a day long stop. Had I known we were so close, I would have pushed through yesterday. I guess I don’t even think about it anymore, but remember all those signs that used to tell you how far to the next town? Most of those are gone. For whatever reason, they are basically extinct.

  This place couldn’t have been home to very many people before. There are a couple of small schools and a lot of farm equipment. Also, a family of five.

  Yes, today we met Jack Billings, his wife Candela, and their children, Enzo, Monica, and Lupe. They were not only friendly, and insisted that we stay for a few days and refresh ourselves, they requested that Sam be allowed to hook up with a pair of his bitches that are due to go into heat any day now. Jack said he was starting to get concerned about the gene po
ol of his dogs. (If there are less than fifty running around this town, I’ll pitch a tent and call it home.)

  Everywhere you look, dogs of all shapes and sizes are sprawled in the shade. Looking around, it didn’t take me long to come up with a million questions. But I settled on two.

  How in the hell are you surviving out here in the middle of nowhere? Take your pick, zombies or raiders, you should be easy pickings.

  Jack showed me an impressive array of booby-traps, but that still didn’t really assure me of anything. He explained that the Santa Rosa Mountains on the east acted as one buffer, the inhospitable and empty terrain was helpful, but the military presence in Winnemucca to the south was likely the biggest factor.

  I was so caught off guard by that statement that I didn’t remember to ask my second question for a few minutes. To his credit, Jack just sat at the table with his hands folded neatly in front while I processed this news. Eventually I asked the second question, but only because I still needed a moment to deal with the answer of the first.

  How do you keep all of these dogs fed? He told me something about plentiful game and that the dogs helped ensure that nothing ever went to waste. He mentioned some process with bone meal, but I wasn’t hearing much of what he said.

  Once he finished, I was prepared to dive in and find out about this military presence in Winnemucca. Before I could, he asked me where I was headed. I figured his honesty deserved mine.

  Las Vegas.

  He said that he figured as much. Then he went on to tell me that most of the military in Winnemucca escaped from Vegas about eight months ago. My ears perked up at the use of the word ‘escape’. What I heard has me more curious than ever before.

  The power was, in fact, on in Vegas. Another faction of our military is still there. It seems that two units falling back from California—one from Sacramento and one from Los Angeles—both retreated to Las Vegas. The one from Sacramento went through Reno where they initially planned to stay but were forced to retreat again. It was during that retreat that they ended up meeting the other unit.

  Both were led by colonels who were activated by the National Guard in the first week of the outbreak. It didn’t take long for a pissing contest to start. The Sacramento group’s colonel was technically senior. However, the Los Angeles group had already secured Vegas to a certain point and had power running from the hydro-electric dam nearby. They’d established a secure perimeter and were actively expanding it. At some point, the pissing contest erupted into a fire fight. Several soldiers from both sides ran for it when one of the main walls was blown.

  They quickly decided that none of them cared a lick about whose colonel was senior. They all stripped off their rank insignias and headed north. Cutting through the Nellis Air Force Range, they cleaned out every depot and kept going. Somebody suggested Winnemucca because it was fairly remote and had a water resource. It didn’t hurt that there was an ample amount of farm land and a fair distance between there and Vegas.

  By the time they arrived, most of the locals were gone, or dead, or deadish. They did find some survivors, and over the past several months have been securing the town.

  Of course that begged the new question. Why were he and his family here?

  There had been survivors trickling in to Winnemucca on a surprisingly regular basis. At one of the meetings held for all of the citizens, the idea of trying to start settling the surrounding areas came up. Nobody even considered Orovada, but Candela, Jack’s wife, is from here. Good reason as any I guess.

  The idea sounds okay, but there is a part of me that can’t believe that this will end successfully. There are simply too many of the walking dead and not enough of the walking living. Compounding the problem, not all of those still alive are what can be considered ‘good’. I give humanity a decade at the most.

  My God. Is that why I, for all intents and purposes, abandoned my daughter? Did I do that because I know in my heart that she’s doomed? What does that say about me as a person? Am I really the heartless bitch that so many people believe me to be? (Hush! That was rhetorical.)

  Saturday, July 10

  Today was bittersweet. I left Jack and his family in Orovada. I also left Cody. He wanted to stay. He wants to help the Billings family. Also, I think he has a bit of a crush on the thirteen-year-old, Monica. I can’t blame him.

  The good thing is that my trusty dog Sam came with me. He didn’t even seem to look back as we hit the road. I gave Cody a hug, but I don’t know why. I didn’t feel any particular attachment to him. I think I may be losing my ability to care about anybody. After all, none of them are permanent fixtures in my life.

  My Life.

  What will it amount to? I’ve all but conceded that life is hopeless. The undead show no signs of falling over. I took out a couple in the past week that could’ve been around since this nightmare became real. They didn’t smell much worse than some of the folk I’ve travelled with when we were forced to go for days and weeks without cleaning up. They were a little dried out, but still completely mobile. The ancient Egyptians couldn’t preserve bodies this well! I may not know much about science—specifically Biology—but I do know that these things should have decomposed months ago into puddles of unmoving goo, or dried up like a corncob left in the sun. Simply put: they should not be!

  Yet, there they are. I left one about a mile back in the middle of the washed out highway that I have been walking on all day. I couldn’t tell if it was a little girl or a little boy. I also couldn’t tell you how many bullet holes were in the body. I can say that most of its permanent teeth were broken and that it still had several baby teeth when it died. I know this because of how empty the mouth was. Funny, the things we observe now.

  Sunday, July 11

  I slept in a giant earthmover last night. I found it to be strangely comfortable. I watched a summer storm pass through, enjoying the lightshow while I played my iPod (thanks for the charge up, Jack). Laura Gibson goes well with thunder and lightning.

  I was thinking back to when all the girls and I left Irony in search of our own adventure. Did we really stop at an adult bookstore to load up on vibrators and such? While I’m on the subject, I’ve been ‘tending my own needs’ for quite some time now. When I get to Winnemucca, I may have to get just a bit slutty.

  Why do guys think that they have the market cornered on sexual urges…or playing with themselves for that matter? Fellas, let me tell you something, women love sex. And if more of you did it right, you’d be more aware of that little fact.

  Monday, July 12

  Well, I’m in Winnemucca. It’s pretty much like Jack said. The outer-perimeter security is highly impressive. They’ve got fences and moats and towers (oh my!). There are a lot of civilians mixed in with all of the soldiers and everybody seems to be working and doing their share.

  The best thing that this place has going for it besides the people is the wind and solar power setup. They don’t use it for trivial things like lights. In fact, all the fixtures and such have been removed. What the power is used for is keeping the wells pumping. Everybody gets a warm, five-minute shower every other day. Also, some of the juice is used to keep the electrical fence hot. The biggest draw on the power comes from the five greenhouses (a dozen more are under construction) that keep these people well fed and something about a factory, but I didn’t really pay attention.

  This place has a police force, a fire department, and what has to be a first…a college. It’s broken into six specialized trade schools. There is medicine, agriculture, construction, and military/security. The other two are a streamlined K-12 setup. They’re segregated. Boys at one, girls at the other.

  When I arrived, I was taken to a quarantine room and given a full visual lookover, then a physical that included all of the standard bodily fluids, pokes, and prods. I can’t say I was treated roughly, but there certainly weren’t any kind words or smiles.

  I’ve been interviewed three times; twice on video and once on audio recording. There wer
e various questions, but I noticed a core group that was repeated just using different words. If nothing else, this place is very thorough

  When I made it clear that I do not plan on staying, nobody tried to convince me otherwise. I was told that I am welcome to stay for however long I wish, but must sign up for the work pool each day. The good news is that if I work for five days, I get a two day weekend. I was strangely impressed by that.

  This place has actual entertainment. In fact, when I first came through the final security checkpoint I could see a softball game taking place off in one of the open fields. I’ve been told that there is a library, a movie bar—apparently there are several booths with big screen televisions and you can check out a movie.

  Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am watching everything with a suspicious eye to the point where I refused to let them isolate me from my dog. I told the nice soldier that we were a package deal. If one of us were infected, both were. Some gruff-sounding sergeant told the guy escorting me that it was okay. So, I’ve been present for all of Sam’s checkups as well. Tomorrow I will be allowed out. I was even given a work detail.

  Sanitation…hmmm…

  Tuesday, July 13

  Today I swept floors, hauled trash to a burn site, sorted trash that could be sent to the compost yard, mowed lawns with a push mower, and hung clothes to dry. I met a lot of people, but couldn’t tell you the names of most. There was one girl, Ronni. She is sixteen, and perhaps even more of a hard ass than I am.