Zomblog

by T. W. Brown

  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 leaves 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 mo
uth 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 blessedly 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.

  Lots of sporadic gunfire.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, April 1

  I awake with a shudder…and I must’ve yelled because my daughter Beth almost dropped the tray she was carrying with my favorite breakfast: Four eggs over easy, a half rack of thick maple-bacon, fresh grated hash browns with minced garlic, seven grain toast, real butter and marmalade, an ice cold glass of milk, and a steaming cup of fresh ground Millstone Morning Blend coffee, black.

  “Ummm…good morning?” Beth’s raised eyebrow was about as much concern as a teenage daughter can show a father and maintain her aloof image.

  “I had the worst nightmare,” I sat up, rubbing my hands together. “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “You better be kidding,” she placed the tray on my lap, adjusting the legs so I wouldn’t bump it with my clumsy moving about.

  I thought it over. Birthday? No. Father’s day? Nope, that’s in June. Damn.

  “You win,” I stabbed an egg yolk so I could swab my bacon through it.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Megan will be thrilled. You really don’t know?”

  “She’s picking up the last of her crap?”

  “Dad!” Beth walked to my closet and pointed to the tuxedo hanging on the door.

  “She died?”

  “Have you been drinking with The Muses?”

  “Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to cut me some slack. I had the worst damned nightmare last night.”

  “You’re getting married in six hours. If I were you, I’d eat breakfast and take a shower. We can’t share this story with Megan until your guys’ tenth anniversary.” Beth walked over to the window and opened the curtains. The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes.

  My bed shook, spilling breakfast all over. Beth fell, bouncing off the foot of my bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

  Two hands reached up and grabbed my bedspread. The skin was waxy and gray. Beth stood up, mouth open in a rattling moan of the undead, staring at me with black bloodshot eyes…

  * * * * *

  I hate nightmares.

  I woke up…for real. There was still the echo of a rumble in the air. Cracks ran through the huge windows in the back of the tavern and the sky was glowing, but it wasn’t da
ylight.

  After several more explosions, things settled down. The absolute quiet was shredding my nerves. I sat in silence for almost an hour until the sun rose. It took that long to realize I didn’t hear any more pounding outside. Still, I think it best if I wait the day out.

  If I’m being totally honest, that dream hurt me deep in my heart. I keep thinking that maybe I should’ve put a gun in my mouth a long time ago. My body aches all over, and now…so does my soul.

  Wednesday, April 2

  From my window view, I watched a trio of those huge, double-rotor, cargo helicopters fly back and forth several times today. I don’t believe that the military has total control of Spokane. Not just because of the zombies, but those birds took a lot of gunfire. At one point, a pair of fighters came in low and I heard explosions, but could not determine how far off they were. It was enough to rattle the walls here, but the windows are still holding.

  I’ve been debating going out onto the deck. My visibility is pretty limited. If I can get out and look around, I could see more of my surroundings. However, once I break the glass, I risk exposure. And, while I know I have to leave this place soon, I just don’t have the heart to fight…to run…to kill.

  Today…I vow to stick to just drinking water. I might have failed to mention that I polished of a bottle of Jack that first night…two more since.

  Thursday, April 3

  Water seems to be a magic elixir. With my system flushed of alcohol, I am beginning to feel much better. That said, I still haven’t figured out a plan. I sure miss my friends. Strange how when you are around something so much that it is so damned easy to take it for granted. I guess that’s just human nature.

  I imagine that, provided everybody else did better than I, they have written me off for dead and moved on. It is obviously a bad idea to hang around this area. There is constant gun-fire…explosions…screaming. If a city of this size is so chaotic, just how terrible was it in the major metropolises? Is our military taking orders from a central government? Or, is it every province for itself? Are we fighting back…or are we just fighting?