by TW Brown
I don’t feel blessed, I feel bloated. I’m not glowing, I’m gassy. I’m not cute-as-a-button, I’m constipated-as-a-cheese-taster. And I’m not expecting, I’m exhausted.
I wore a tee shirt today that had “GO AWAY!” printed on it. They thought I was kidding. Lindsay said that she had just the cure for my tension.
This evening, when I returned from work, she and Janie had managed to not only have an actual bath tub brought to the apartment, but filled it with hot, bubbly water. I TOOK A BUBBLE BATH. Janie came in at the end and worked my hair. After, Lindsay spent over an hour giving me a pedicure. My toenails are pink! (Not my choice of colors, but they were so sweet I couldn’t refuse or complain.)
I now have shaved legs (and underarms), newly trimmed hair, pink finger and toenails, and am tucked into a big, cozy bed with a bowl of hand-churned vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. For the first time since January 20th of last year when I saw my first walking corpse, I feel like a woman. Feminine.
It can’t be as simple as a bath, a pedicure, and a bowl of ice cream. Can it?
I still want this child out of me, but tonight, I feel indescribably calm and at peace. Please let it transfer to a night’s sleep where I actually manage more than an hour-long stretch before I’m awake.
Saturday, March 7
The patrol lost somebody today. A lady named Shannon. Jobs were put on hold so everybody could attend the service. I went just to see everybody in one place and get an idea of the numbers. Maybe it is because I’ve been out on the road so long, but it sure looked like a lot of people. I didn’t really know the woman. Even when I saw a picture, she didn’t look familiar.
That’s when it hit me. Everybody looks so very similar. Not like related or anything. It’s just that haunted, hunted, and tired look. There is a gauntness. I’d been sitting on a chair at the service when the realization came. I’m sure that if anybody was paying attention to me, they’d think me to be perfectly rude.
This is the world my child will know.
Sunday, March 8
Today I watched morning break. The green hills in the distance had pockets of fog trapped in the folds and crevices. It looked like the mountains had steam coming off of them. It was beautiful. I realized that these people, as “free” as they think they are, they’re prisoners. Nobody here is any more alive than those horrid creatures outside the fence. They wake, they work, they eat, they sleep. It’s worse than before this apocalypse, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.
If I survive long enough, maybe I’ll come back here. If it’s still standing, I’ll check in on my child. See if he or she wants to come with me out into the world where you are alive every single minute of each day. If that child reads this, please understand I didn’t abandon you because I don’t care. But I am more convinced than ever that staying here would kill me.
Tuesday, March 10
Thought I was gonna have the baby today. I spent nine hours with Dennis checking me and listening to mine and the baby’s heartbeat. I really had my hopes up
Aaarrrgghhh!
Wednesday, March 11
Hmm. Learn something new every single day. Monica came to me with a job offer. It is a position in the communication center where they monitor the airwaves. The shift would be the same hours, so no change in my schedule.
I accepted.
Tom took me on a little tour this afternoon. The place looks busy and just a bit hectic. Even when nothing is happening, those folks look like they’re doing stuff. They write down everything that is heard. That includes the Las Vegas transmissions.
I’m curious what else they have records of. They have files on “groups of interest” which includes The Genesis Brotherhood, Gypsy Militia, Sunset Transit Fortress, several roving bands, one military outpost which was been dark for five months…and Irony, USA. Things keep getting curiouser and curiouser.
What worries me is that this place stays locked. Two armed guards are posted inside and outside. And there is a door nobody but Tom, Monica, and some other guy I don’t know, go in and out of.
All this on my first day of orientation. If I picked up this much unsettling information in that length of time, what in the hell will I find once I start working there every day? All of this stinks of cloak-and-dagger. Secrets. Isn’t this what got us in this situation to begin with?
Thursday, March 12
I was searched when I left the Comm Center today! What the hell is that about? I will talk to Monica. It’s not like they stripped me down or anything. It was a lot like a police pat-down. (Yeah, I may have had one or two of those in my younger days.)
I was put at a bank of scanners and told to write down the digital readout numbers anytime it locked onto a frequency, even if no message was heard. The coolest thing that I heard was at noon. Somebody broadcast Hells Bells by AC/DC, Zombie by The Cranberries, and Death on Two Legs by Queen. I guess whomever this mystery Dee-Jay is, they transmit three or four times a week. Once, they broadcast the entire War of the Worlds radio program that Orson Wells did way back when.
This person is my kinda survivor. They may be locked away just like we are here, but they sound free. Nobody has ever heard a voice. Just the songs or whatever.
Friday, March 13
The things you learn by just sitting quietly and staring intently at an LED readout. It seems that this place knew about the folks at the Sunset Transit Center before I arrived; just not where they were located. They usually try to pinpoint groups by listening to their chatter and picking up on locations either by the monitored group naming landmarks, or, by them saying it outright.
Today, I listened to somebody calling himself “Bug”. “Bug” was in contact with “Pepper”. At one point, I heard Bug say he would “circle back on two-one-seven and rally at BHS.” This is a small group with primitive commun-ications equipment. They probably think they are miles ahead of everybody else. The reality is, places like here and Sunset use frequencies that nobody else is on. They change often just in case somebody does find them. The only way this place keeps tabs on Sunset is because of all the scanning gear.
If these folks wanted, they could ruin some of the groups out there. However, the agenda here is to lay low and amass food, supplies, and weapons. Pre-zombie, we would be considered a Superpower. I just wonder how long it will take before they start branching out and absorbing some of the “satellite” nations.
I did ask about The Genesis Brotherhood and was told that they broadcast almost around the clock! Mostly it is fire-and-brimstone preaching. When I heard that some folks here even have meeting’s scheduled around specific preachers’ sermons, I was a bit disturbed. I haven’t spoken to anybody yet about why. I’ve added this to my list of things to discuss with Monica when I get a chance.
Saturday, March 14
Today was lousy. It poured down rain all day. It was windy, which only adds to the misery. The Comm Center was quiet. Partially due to nobody out there doing much talking. But also due to three antennae that were damaged because of the wind. And yep, you guessed it, crews are working on the problem right this minute.
Janie and Lindsay had an actual argument today. Huh, lesbian couples argue just like regular married folks. Who knew? It seems that somebody was feeling unappreciated while somebody else felt like all their hard work was taken for granted, blah, blah, blah. I walked in, heard the tones, saw the body-language and turned right around and went down to watch a movie. I feel better every day about my choice in parents for this baby. Those two are like any couple that I’ve ever known.
Tuesday, March 17
No matter what happens, no matter what I see in my travels out there, I can never get used to the sound of another person dying a terrible, painful, violent death. A small herd—by small I mean only a couple hundred—surprised one of our farming groups. We lost four people today.
I learned a couple of things today. For all the aspects of this place I don’t agree with, there is one very good aspect. These people genuinely
seem to care for each other. There is a cloud of sadness over the compound today. Also, I now know how this place remains populated, and the real use for the Comm Center.
My shift was going swell. Bug was out again. He was really excited because he found some onions growing wild. I was wondering just how bad it had gotten for people that onions were being spoken of like gold when the radio-operator tasked with staying in touch with anybody outside called for room silence. He flicked a toggle and put the incoming message on speaker.
Two people immediately started writing furiously, and I was told to be ready with ten radios for a response team. Somebody must have sent for both Tom and Monica during the initial insanity because they came running into the room, Tom looked like he’d been in bed and wasn’t even wearing shoes. I felt more in the way than anything else. That, and helpless. All I could do was listen to the panic, fear, and dying. I was so relieved that it wasn’t Lindsay’s group. Is that wrong?
The first report I heard was that “several walkers are converging from all sides!” That got me thinking back to that attack in the field that almost got me killed and ended with near starvation in a school gymnasium. Is it possible that the zombies are learning? I’ve seen too many of them stuck in seatbelts, or pawing at a window while a big rock sits a few feet away to be totally convinced.
There was a long period where the radio was silent. Then, it got worse. When you are worried about someone, you might think silence is the worst possible thing. Wrong. Somehow, a radio was keyed, and there was the sudden wave of sound from a terrible fight.
Gunfire came in bursts. There were people shouting things like “I need ammo!” “Who just got bit?” “Put her down! Don’t let her suffer!” All of this mixed in with moans, groans, and the eerie cries of the undead. Later, I heard that a lot of the compound rushed outside because they could hear the echo of the distant gunfire. Those folks knew it was our people. Each one wondering if it was their friends, family, or loved one. At least they couldn’t hear the screams. It had been awhile since I’d heard that particular sound. The pure and unbridled shrieking of somebody who is seeing parts of their body torn out and feasted upon. The sound of somebody who, at that moment, wishes for death to hurry so the agony will cease.
Nobody noticed, but during the madness, a contraction hit me, hard. I made it to a chair and worked through it. Suddenly, I felt like it would be terribly inappropriate to express any reaction to the pain, seeing as how a group of people were fighting for their lives and some had already lost that battle. Eventually, they spaced out like they always do, leaving me feeling disappointed and frustrated. Only this time I was able to add guilt to my catalog of emotions because of my self-centeredness while others were, at that very moment, having it much worse.
I made it back to my feet in time to listen as the response team arrived. They put down the rest and suddenly it was quiet. I mean just like that. Silence.
Tom and Monica came to me with a pair of files. It was a log of activity from a couple of roving bands. I was asked to start trying to raise them. I was given very specific instructions as to what I could say. It was also made clear that I was to say nothing outside of the very defined parameters. I would attempt to arrange a meeting at a location from a list provided.
Using their known frequencies, I was able to schedule both meetings. Tom is actually going in person to meet the group scheduled for tomorrow. However, this evening, Monica went into the private room and, as I was going home, a six-person squad was leaving. Putting two-and-two together, our people are putting guns in place in the event this meeting doesn’t go as planned. Didn’t we leave this crap behind? I of all people understand the need to withhold trust. I understand being cautious. But damn, if you are that worried, why even bother trying to bring them in. Has it really come to the point where we need to set-up an ambush team?
Thursday, March 19
Eleven new residents are now part of the Community. I take back all I said about how gaunt, scared, and vacant the folks here look. I couldn’t tell men from women in this group except for facial hair. And the smell! Oh. My. God. The zombies smell better than these people.
I had a friend who travelled overseas. He said that we Americans have no real concept of poverty or suffering. He told me that what he saw made him have a new appreciation for his life and the comfort in which he lived. I think I understand that a little better now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still leaving as soon as I’m able. I simply realize that I have had it much better than probably a lot of survivors out there.
The first few months, before everything really started spoiling, food was not hard to come by. Times have changed that now. Yet, I’ve always managed. I mean, really, I’ve had ice cream for crying out loud. How much suffering have I really endured.
Dennis certified all the newbies as being clean—at least of zombie markings. Right now they are all being treated to warm baths in a few hot tubs. I saw a couple of them actually bursting into tears at the sight of steaming water and clean towels. Talk about making a person feel self-conscious about how fortunate they’ve been.
One of their party is pregnant. There is a certain icky-factor to it though. She has no idea who the father is or if he is one of the group that is still alive. That, and she is fifteen. Or, at least she claims to be. Maybe it’s just me, but that little girl doesn’t look a day over twelve.
Something else that isn’t sitting right. The other three women in this group are not currently pregnant. But I overheard Dennis telling Monica that at least two “show signs” of having been so recently. Only, there aren’t any babies.
Friday, March 20
The second group was brought in today. They only had four people in their little band. All were male, one was a boy no older than seven. It was almost comical seeing the little guy packing a pair of .22 caliber pistols on his hips. They didn’t look too rugged. In fact, while they were happy to be here, they certainly didn’t look overwhelmed by the surroundings.
One of them is a real-life doctor. I think Dennis was happier than any other resident. Today was cloudy, rainy, and a bit cold. I don’t believe anybody noticed.
Tuesday, March 24
I no longer trust my body. It seems that every single day I think I’m going into labor. Doctor Gene Cameriski has checked me out and says I can have the baby any day. I told him to tell the baby that. He promptly placed a rolled up piece of paper against my stomach and, using it like a megaphone, said “Hey! Baby! You can come out any day!”
I thought Janie was going to pass a lung she laughed so hard. Dennis looked nervous at first, like he thought I was gonna bite Doctor Gene’s head off. Do I really come off like that? I mean, am I that grouchy, cranky, mean, and bitchy?
I went with Lindsay to a movie today. She worked her normal shift, but got off early because the field workers filled the truck faster than expected. (We have a lot of squash and potatoes now.) Janie said that it would be nice if Lindsay and I got to do some bonding. So, voila! A movie. Today was some French film called Amelie. I’d never seen an actual foreign film until today. It was pretty good.
Wednesday, March 25
A fight broke out today. My first thought was that it was probably the newcomers. I couldn’t have been more wrong. First off, it was a couple of females. For another, one of them was Crystal Johnson. The rumor is that it was about Crystal sending an unruly student home.
I’ve said it before, but this place is becoming too much like the society we once knew. What’s next? Parents fighting at a little league game? Road rage on the jogging path? This place is striving so hard to be civilized, it’s bringing everything along without trying to weed out the bad stuff. And I don’t think they even notice.
Thursday, March 26
Very proud of myself today. Thought I was in labor again. But, as always, it was just another biological practical joke.
Doctor Gene came by the living quarters today and gave me an exam. I won’t deny that having a man poking around down
there in my bedroom is a bit weird. He did say that the baby is in position. Once again I heard the dreaded words, “Any day now, Meredith.”
Monday, March 30
I was sent home today. The consensus is that they would rather me not go through another stressful event this close to delivery. Their reason? The Sunset Fortress underwent an attack today that lasted over three hours. I was doing fine until I heard Jenifer’s voice.
“They’ve got flamethrowers over here!” she screamed. I heard orders being given to “Take out the flamethrowers! Take out—” Then there were screams. Terrible screams. I couldn’t tell if they belonged to a man or woman. The battle continued, and I started to cry at some point. Then, while trying to stop, I hyperventilated. The poor people in the Comm Center were in mid-crisis when the pregnant lady passes out and slides out of her chair onto the floor.
I’m not very popular right now with my co-workers. On the positive side, while Doctor Gene was checking me and listening to heartbeats, all that doctor stuff, I hear this voice, “Tell Jonathan to come get his stupid dog!” Jenifer was okay! And Jonathan! And Coach! At least I didn’t have to wonder. That might’ve driven me over the edge.
