by TW Brown
Anyways…everybody is scrambling and Antonio is so worked up he is having trouble keeping his Spanish out as he tries to explain what is going on. I bound out of bed, and hit the floor…totally forgot about the knee until the pain explodes behind my eyes and almost makes me throw-up. Guns are being drawn of every sort.
I crawl to the driver’s seat and start the engine while Tim, Rodney, Samantha, Greg, Julia, and Antonio rush outside. I see this quad-runner bouncing over every bump in the field with a beat-up red jeep in pursuit. The quad is zigging and zagging, but it is only a matter of time before the jeep closes the distance.
The person on the quad obviously sees us and is making right for our group. I can’t see anybody except Greg and Tim who have moved in front and are waving their guns—each is holding a shotgun—in a very distinct manner that could not be mistaken for anything but a warning.
The jeep skids to a halt and somebody on the passenger’s side pokes out through a window and takes a few shots—all misses—then whoever is driving turns tail and hauls ass. The person on the quad is now on foot, arms in the air, showing open and empty hands.
That is how we met Meredith Gainey.
Wednesday, March 26
I am convinced that mankind is truly awful. Life as we know it has been nuked and I find that it is not the cream rising to the top, but rather a moldy crust that needs to be cut away.
How can it be that so few good and decent folk survived? Will the dregs of our former society be all that is left? Or, is it simply that, ungoverned, we are barbaric monsters, no better than those creatures we run from? Are they really a depiction of what lies in our deepest, most true selves?
Certainly I have met some fantastic people: Tom Langston, Monica Campinelli, Al Godwin, and Reggie Vaughn. Yet, more often, it is folks like those gangbangers at the hospital, Dewey Morton, whoever those folks were back in Pasco, and now…it seems that the people chasing Meredith are a gang of marauding, raping, pillaging lunatics. A band of men who see women as a commodity and will take what they want, even if it means killing innocent and terrified men, women, and children to get it.
The real kicker? Their leader was the sheriff of Sparrow Falls! These men have been scouring the region since the second week of this nightmare and actively seeking women they deem attractive. They keep them as sex slaves and those who don’t meet their ‘standards’ become servants…or…bait.
It seems this group uses women it has no physical need for to bait zombies away from an objective. To add to the already despicable acts these men (and I only use the term to define their gender) commit, they take women who may have been married—some with children whom they simply execute by gun or zombie—to free for more leisurely responsibilities.
Meredith is recovering from pretty severe malnutrition (being without food and water was the norm as the most passive form of coercion). She was absolutely filthy when she literally dropped on our “doorstep”. She was so covered with blood we initially thought she had been shot. Samantha and Julia cleaned her up and Julia determined she was clean…none of that blood was hers. Julia gave her a sedative.
I guess she related some fairly horrifying accounts to the two while she was being cleaned up. Whatever it was, they’re not saying much. Julia said it was up to Meredith if she wanted the details of her situation known to all of us. All that was shared was the basic information about more bad people doing bad things.
Meredith has slept, albeit somewhat restlessly, for most of the past thirty hours. We have been parked in an apple orchard, and had to take down a couple of straggling zombies. But other than that, things are quiet.
Thursday, March 27
We’ve heard a lot of shooting today. It was a difficult decision to just sit here when the screaming could be heard not too far away. However, we are only seven people (not counting Joey and Meredith). The reality is, we have to take care of ourselves. We cannot save the world.
Meredith is showing signs of improvement. She is sleeping peacefully right now after being awake for a few hours in the middle of the night. Tim was on watch. He said she ate a little, and thanked us all for saving her. Then, she curled up in a ball and went back to sleep.
Julia said that there was no need for her to keep Meredith sedated any longer. It was important that she get up and start trying to function. I like Julia. She seems like the kind of nurse who would do everything to help make you better, but at the same time, get you to push yourself a bit.
This day really dragged. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.
Friday, March 28
It started raining early this morning and now it is pouring. I never used to believe in omens…
Today, Antonio and I decided to go on a supply search. The orchard is proving to be a great place to stay hidden. When the weather turned bad, we put off our mission to hit Spokane on a big scavenger run for at least another day.
There isn’t a lot in the area. But about two miles away is what looked to be a tiny bedroom community. We spotted it when he and I crested this hill at the north end of the orchard. Through binoculars, the place looked like it was empty of anything living. There were scattered packs of zombies, but it didn’t seem like more than a hundred and they were very spread out.
We checked in with everybody and let them know where we were going. Antonio and I set out on foot with a couple of empty packs and the usual assortment of weaponry; a bat, machete, and handguns with several spare magazines.
We had to climb one fence at the bottom of the first hill. It took me a moment, but I eventually figured out that we were smack dab in the middle of a golf course! The lack of a groundskeeper had sure taken its toll. Imagine your favorite local politician being denied his or her bathing and grooming for almost three months…now apply it to a golf course.
We reached the small housing development and quickly selected a target: a three-story affair with a five car garage. We looked around for any sort of wandering obstacles, but this place was on the edge of the development, and there was nothing mov-ing as far as we could see.
A dash across the overgrown front yard, and we were at the door. I tried the door and it opened…but the stench that came rolling out told me that we would be busy. Still, neither of us were prepared for what we would find.
The best we could guess—after the horror of dispatching with what we found—is that every kid in the neighborhood came to this place and tried to hide in this huge below-ground-level game room. A couple of them had to have been infected and, most likely at night, turned. The furniture scattered all down the stairs had kept them from escaping quickly enough. It is clear that they tried; they just couldn’t clear the exit.
The house itself yielded very little. The food had been moved downstairs. What wasn’t spoiled was coated in gore. We went upstairs and used the windows to scout. Antonio came up with a brilliant idea. We found a battery powered mp3 player and a speaker station. Once we knew where we were headed, we opened an upstairs window, placed the player in it…and cranked the music.
Finally, Eminem contributed something to society!
As the undead swarmed the house, we snuck out back, hopped a fence, and ducked inside a replica of an old-style plantation home complete with white marble columns. We found food, medicine, all sorts of things.
With full packs, we headed back to the RV…and made two more trips with almost no troubles. There are always a couple of those bastards that “do their own thing.”
It was on the third and final trip that our luck ran out. We had loaded our packs and were crossing the golf course. We tossed our packs over the wall and were just throwing our legs over…when a gunshot echoed. At first, I didn’t realize what had happened…until Antonio landed face down in the mud.
I rolled him over, his gray sweatshirt was soaking wet, but an ominous dark stain was spreading on his right side. I left the packs and scooped him into my arms. I had no idea where the shots were coming from as a couple more rang out. Something whistled through the l
eaves overhead as I did my best to dodge between the apple trees.
Julia has been in back for the past couple of hours. Rodney came out to say that she thought he was stable and would survive if he hadn’t lost too much blood. We’ve been on the road, crawling along to keep from jolting Antonio when we hit a pothole. Meredith is back there helping. Looks like we got a new member of the ‘family’.
Sunday, March 30
It looks as if Antonio is going to be okay! It was shaky for a while, but, mostly due to Julia, he pulled through. All of us have taken turns sitting with him.
More good news, Meredith is doing great as well. And she adds a lot to this group. For starters, she is probably the best shooter of all of us! Joey seems to follow her all around the RV. And, on the occasions that we park for a couple hours, he is right on her heels…even outside!
I must say, besides the fact that her personality is so warm and inviting, she is extremely attractive…even with her red hair practically chopped off. It seems the man who “claimed” her had a thing for the rough stuff and really got off on pulling her baby-fine red hair. So, she chopped it off with a huge knife that she also used to slit his throat the night she ran.
When we gassed up just before sunset, we found a map that included a street grid of Spokane. We won’t know where anything is, but we will know how to maneuver. That’s something.
Meredith insists on being on a team, and after getting acquainted with her, not one of us objected. Even Tim deferred to her when we were planning. She is the one who suggested that instead of a snatch-and-run operation that we radio-up, and using the map, designated pick-up zones. Each team will place goods in the open along a predetermined route. Then, once we have maximized our haul, we radio for the RV. The first stop will be to obtain the second vehicle.
The teams are: Tim and Samantha; they will be getting the second RV and all the repair, upkeep, and maintenance equipment. Rodney and Meredith; they will be taking a page from Greg Parker’s idea book and seeking gardening supplies. (I wonder if his garden is up and running back at the old compound.) Greg Chase and I will be hitting drug stores and a hospital.
We are as ready as we can be for the zombies. The bigger concern will be what sorts of survivors we will encounter. It just seems unlikely that a city that size will have absolutely no survivors.
The hope is that we can scavenge as much as possible and leave it out in the open. The zombies won’t touch it. But if there are survivors…well…our pick-up site may be empty when we eventually call Julia—naturally she, Antonio, and Joey are staying behind—to make the run.
Monday, March 31
We should simply stop trying to plan anything!
Today began with the RV and our finding a really nice hiding place about four or five miles west of the airport that sits on the city’s edge. A thickly wooded ridge provided a lot of cover, and best of all, very little traffic of the undead variety.
God I hope I live to see the inside of that claustrophobic, smelly, rattling home-on-wheels again. I have no idea how everybody else is doing. Greg and I got separated just a few hours after we reached the city and I lost my damned radio in the aptly named Hangman Creek.
We were all together on mountain bikes for the first few miles. But once we got into the outskirts of the city, we split up. Greg and I had to abandon our bikes a couple of miles from the completely barricaded bridge that takes you into town.
There are some very active survivors in Spokane who, at one time, seemed to have a real grasp on the situation. All the on- and off-ramps have cars, trucks, and big rigs jamming them up. The road, I-90, is almost totally clear going into town! We heard before we saw, a pair of fighter jets scream overhead. They came in low enough that I was certain we had been noticed. But, when we’d heard the distinctive thump-thump-thump of a large military helicopter, we decided that is was best if we hide. Greg and I jammed the bikes between some cars at the mouth of an on- ramp and then ran into a small office complex that was just at the bottom of the ramp, across a deserted four-lane road.
At first I thought we caught a hugely lucky break. No zombies…and we were hidden before that helo made the scene. We ducked into a glass-fronted four-story building. It was easy since damned near all the glass on the bottom floor was gone.
We decided to hunker down and see what gives. Maybe we can find a safe haven. The helo is hanging in the area, obviously looking for us. Then this booming voice from a speaker starts in, “You are entering the quarantined City of Spokane. You are in violation of martial law. Surrender to authorities or you will be considered hostile and shot on sight.”
It only took Greg and I a look at one another to silently agree that there was no way in hell we would be “surrendering” to anybody. After what seemed like forever, the helo moved away, but since it kept repeating its message, I was fairly confident that they didn’t know where we were.
As soon as we decided it was safe—or at least as safe as it would get—we ran for it. The plan was to get across that bridge and then south to the medical district where a couple of hospitals and a bunch of medical centers are.
The hope was that, while it would seem likely that the military would hit these places, that just maybe they hadn’t been picked clean. We could see one of the hospitals from the windows of the top floor of that frighteningly empty office building. There was a lot of zombie activity on the ground. So, while risky, it seemed possible that there would be some goods available to scavenge.
We were staying close to the right side of the road as we approached the bridge. The blockade was unmanned and we had a few zombies to deal with, but Greg and I hit that bridge at a dead run. Scrambling over the twisted metal and jumbled pile of mangled vehicles, we fought our way past the handful of zombies that had seen fit to hang out in what had to have been slim pickings as far as warm bodied victims were concerned.
That was precisely when the second helo—hell, maybe it was the same one—swept in. We were halfway across when the sound of rotors came hard and fast from the north. At first I thought I could make the other side.
Nope.
The last time I saw Greg, he was almost across the bridge…well ahead of me. I did the only thing I could do…I jumped.
Once again I have to say that the movies make that sort of action look way cooler than it is. The impact knocked most of the wind from me. The icy coldness of the water stole the rest. I broke the surface and damn near drowned when I gasped and inhaled a mouthful of water.
There is noise of all sorts now. Helicopter rotors, moaning hordes of undead coming to the source of such racket…oh yeah…and machinegun fire. All I could do is snatch a breath and duck under, swimming for a shore that was becoming increasingly less safe as droves of Spokane’s zombie population were now arriving.
Once my feet could touch bottom, I kept moving downstream, staying underwater as long as possible. I finally saw a gap and made a dash. That damned helo was swooping around as I hit dry ground. Now it was a race to a narrow street where I would be down to only one enemy to face head-on. I could feel the hum in my feet as bullets tore up the grass behind me. I had to dodge a couple of nearby zombies who of course turned in pursuit as I sped past.
I heard the helo roar overhead as I ducked into a parking garage. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I knew that this place was not anywhere I would want to hang out in for long.
A tall blonde wearing nothing but the sagging, unraveling remnants of a dark blue turtleneck sweater was lurching for me from behind a red sportster that had been tee-boned by an SUV some weeks past. I managed to swat her aside with my bat, but there were plenty more hungry mouths coming.
I decided that running up the nearby ramp would only lead to me being trapped on the top floor. So, I spun left and vaulted over a four foot high concrete divider, and back into the open.
A sign above a sturdy looking door hung askew right across the street: Hangman’s Tavern. I made it to the door, which was bl
essedly unlocked, jerked it open and ducked inside. The air was stale, but it definitely smelled like a bar. Light flooded from the back wall which I quickly discovered to be a panoramic façade of huge picture windows that looked out on the creek which provided the establishment’s name. My good fortune held as I saw that a deck was on the backside of this tavern, suspended a good ten feet above ground. That would explain why the windows were still intact.
A dull thud on the door I now leaned against made me jump. I checked, but could find no way to lock the door without having a key. So, after a quick visual inventory, I grabbed a few tablecloths and tied them from the door handle to the banister of the stairs. It wasn’t too difficult of a fix. Next, I piled enough furniture to create a solid obstacle in the entryway between door and stairs. Then, I went up and chanced a look outside.
I still heard the helo, but it was a good distance away and seemed to be receding. Not too many zombies were visible. I imagine most are out front, but there aren’t any windows on that part of the building, just this rear view.
I found a jar of olives and those horrible fake cherries, some bags of peanuts and pretzels, and all sorts of things to drink including bottled water. It has been dark for hours, but I can still hear them out front.
When I went through my stuff, I was really frustrated to discover I’ve lost my radio and my spare magazines. I don’t know how my pack came open or where, but I do know I am alive, and that counts for something. I’ll do my best to catch some sleep. But, now that I’ve been here a while, I’m hearing a sound that has me almost more concerned than the zombies outside my door.
