The Bath Salts Journals (Volume 1)

by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  The army guys at the checkpoint looked at my pass and then at Mike. I said he was with me, and they waved us on. I don’t get an escort because unlike other civilians, the army knows I can take care of myself. And if I run into any looters, they’re more likely to end up the ones in the body bags than me. Hey, the army’s happy to let me take care of any looters and zombies I run into outside of the safe zones. Lets them concentrate on other things.

  As we rode out, Mike turned and smiled. “I’m with the band!”

  It was so lame, I laughed.

  The road was clear. There were some burned-out buildings. Most of the cars had been towed away for scrap and no one was really living down this far south. Most communities tended to be up north, close to the airports where the army had made their bases. There were also fewer highrises up there since people tended to live closer to the ground now that electricity was a pretty hot commodity. Elevators in highrises are not a big power priority.

  I saw some dogs that ran away from us. Poor babies…a lot of animals had been abandoned by heartless dickwads and left to roam and be zombie chow. Fuckheads, fuckheads, fuckheads. Soldiers and families were taking in what tame animals had survived. They were great for early warnings of zombies and as therapy. Petting animals lowers your blood pressure. There’s nothing in the world quite like hearing Crypto purr in my ear as she nuzzles in closer to sleep.

  We didn’t see any zombies. We both saw some army patrols, but they let us go on after checking my pass.

  I had received some intel that my destination and the surrounding area had been cleared. There should be no overt threats outside or in open areas of the building, which is good because tall buildings are such a nightmare to clear—those damned stairwells and the rooms. Also, no one wanted to live in midtown. It was too close to downtown, which was still very “hot” because of all the massive skyscrapers and underground pathways, and no one knew quite what to do yet. They had sealed all of the subway entrances leading to any safe zones because there were probably still zombies wandering down in the tunnels. There were also the zombies coming out of the lake, which is enough to give night terrors to anyone who wasn’t used to it.

  It had taken a couple of hours—thirty minutes by bus back in the day if there were no traffic jams—but we soon stopped in front of a building. The bushes were all overgrown, and I could see that some of the upper floor windows had been smashed. The driveway was getting overgrown and one of the big trees had fallen and was resting against the side of the building. There was police tape over the doors, and on one of the intact ground windows by the front door some soldier had spray painted “CLEAR MARCH 15 UNIT 25.” We put the bikes down and I pulled out my crowbar while Mike held his machete. I threw a couple of rocks at the front door and hollered. Nothing. I put some more rocks in my pockets as we slowly eased into my building.

  The glass wall around the foyer had been smashed and I guess looters had run off with some of the paintings and statues. There were a lot of leaves and garbage on the carpet, but no obvious tracks. I chose the north stairwell to go up. It had a better exit strategy than the south stairwell. I almost moved along the southern corridor anyway to check my mailbox. Force of habit.

  We red-light, green-lighted our way up the stairs to the ninth floor. The stairs were empty. When we got to my floor, I eased the stair door open, tossed some rocks in, and quickly shut the door. We stayed in the stairwell but didn’t hear any movement on the other side.

  We went through the door, Mike naturally moving to the left while I swept the right. The hall table had been tipped to the floor, and the rocks in the vases scattered, but there was nothing in the hall.

  Now, the thing the army doesn’t tell anyone and what they don’t want people knowing is that when they “clear” an apartment building, they don’t actually clear it like most people would think. They check the basements, common areas (i.e. gyms), and then the halls and stairwells of each floor and that’s it. If any zombies are making noises behind any doors of a unit or the door is unlocked, then they will go in and clear that unit. Luckily, the army makes a lot of noise when “clearing” buildings, and they knock on every door and check to see if it’s locked, so survivors and zombies are usually easily found. But if a unit is a private residence, the door is closed and locked, and there are no noises, they’ll just leave it. Fighting in close quarters in apartment units can be a nightmare, which is why they are having trouble with downtown. They could lose a lot of people (and they did in a couple of cities), so this stopgap measure is used instead. Only buildings in safe zones are thoroughly cleared.

  Also, some government-type lawyers are worried that if the army enters somebody’s house/unit/whatever and that person is still alive and comes back, they could possibly claim the army and government looted their place or entered unlawfully or some crap. That’s bullshit, and I can’t believe that in this day and age, with fucking ZOMBIES rising, the government is still worried about that kind of shit. Besides, as far as I have seen, the army only requisitions stuff from stores. Most residences don’t have the quantity of stuff needed. So unless they have probable cause/a really, really good reason, the army won’t enter a locked private residence.

  My door was undisturbed. The stain on the floor was still there from when I poured paint to cover my first zombie kill.

  I unlocked the door and we tensed. I knocked loudly but didn’t hear anything on the other side. I pushed on the door and I felt so relieved, my pathetic security measure drawer was still there. The floor was covered in dust, so no one had been in. I pushed the door open more and we went in.

  It smelled musty. I’m pretty sensitive to smells, and that was the first thing I noticed. That, and the dust which really made me want to break out the vacuum.

  We closed the door behind us and moved into the living room. Everything was still covered in the sheets and that damn dust! At least no pipes had broken, nor had the ceiling caved in. I looked automatically at where Crypto’s bed used to be, but there was nothing there. She was safe and far away.

  “So…this is your place, huh?” He swiped at some dust bunnies with his foot.

  “Yes. At least there are no meth head squatters.”

  We moved through, checking to make sure there were no surprises in the bathroom, bedroom, or closets.

  Finally, we met back in the living room.

  He looked at me. “Why are we here? It’s not to really grab any of your stuff, otherwise we’d have brought a car.”

  Silence. We knew why we were here.

  “I just needed to come. I needed you to see me where I used to be. To know I wasn’t always like this. You need to still accept that this is part of me now, but I’m still who I used to be. I needed to do it. This is my way of caring for people.”

  God, I’m so eloquent.

  He started tracing swirls in the dust with his feet. I’m just going to lay it out.

  “I know, it’s a total guy thing, ingrained or something that you need to protect me. I get that. But you have to realize that there are other ways to do that. You don’t need to be the big hulking guy standing next to me, scaring away the baddies. I can do that myself. I admit—I need protection from me. I need someone to be the human part. Well, to help me be more human, emotional, what have you. Sometimes I feel like a machine. When I’m with you, I don’t. I feel more like I did before the zombies. I can’t believe I’m talking about feelings and shit.”

  This is so awkward. I don’t even know what I’m saying. At least I’m not covered in blood. Why isn’t he saying anything? Mother of fuck, if this devolves into rom-com territory, I’m jumping out the window. But wait, don’t rom-coms usually tell you what to do in this kind of situation? Minus the zombies anyway. Am I supposed to profess undying love or some shit (haha, undying! Zombies!)? Is he? I never watched those kinds of movies!

  He starts out low. “Every time you go on one of your little ‘assignments,’ I’m scared. I hate that shit. I’m scared, I don’t know if you
’ll come back. You’ve been on what, one? Two? I’m terrified the whole time. Who’s watching your back? Will the other guys just cut and run and leave you there if shit starts going down?” He ends in almost a scream.

  I sort of waved my hands uselessly. I don’t know what to say. I’m just no good at these kinds of emotional outbursts. I usually keep my feelings under serious control. This is horrible.

  “THIS IS HORRIBLE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I want to keep doing what I’m doing, but I want to stay with you too, and I don’t know why I can’t do both! What am I supposed to do? What if I just go crazy homicidal rage one day because I don’t have an outlet? But I need to have you and everybody at home! I need to know that this is the new way I can care for people. I can’t just be domestic goddess now; that world’s gone. I’m doing what I’m doing so I can take care of you in the only way I know how now! I need to do that! I can’t just be that girl like I was before, new guy every month, no emotional bond, wham bam, see you later! I need you to keep me here! To keep me on this reality, plane of existence, whatever! To help me stay grounded. This is horrible!”

  Well, if there weren’t any zombies nearby before, there would be now, I was shouting so loudly.

  He stared at me. “You’re crying.”

  “What?” Oh God, there’s shit on my face. I only cry when I get mad. But I don’t really feel mad…

  He pulled some tissues out of his pockets and patted my face dry with them.

  “I don’t know what to do either.”

  At least we agreed that neither of us had any idea what was going on. Or what to do.

  I sat on the floor. He sat next to me. He pulled his gloves off and mine too. We just kinda sat there, staring at our entwined hands.

  He sighed. “Do you want to try again?”

  “…yes.”

  “It’s okay to show some people feelings sometimes, too.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “I know. Try it sometime, zombie-bot.”

  “Fuck you. With a bag of rusty carrots. Up the dickhole.”

  He laughed, stood, and pulled me up. “You always have to be worse, don’t you? You know how I feel. I know how you do, too, even though you try to hide it. I know you’re not always so cold.” He winks.

  Fucker.

  “So, since we’re both in agreement, let’s try again. But please, show some, I don’t know, emotion. I know you’re pretty good at protecting yourself, so I’ll try not to be so RAWR MAN. But we can do this. And I will tell you if I think you’re getting too far from me and everyone else.”

  “And I’ll tell you when to back off from being all alpha male. And I’ll try. I think I can do it now. I can be with you, really with you. Not just you know, in one way, but a real kind of connection thing. This’ll be hard for both of us. But…it will all be worth it. I will be less of a bitch and you can be less of a dickhole.”

  He grabbed me.

  April 17

  I’m noticing that with the lack of cold, lack of hunting, lack of an exercise regime, and the change in diet, I am becoming soft again. By the time we left our compound, we were all lean and sinewy people. Here in this new community, we are becoming more like our old selves. This both makes me happy and nervous.

  I don’t really want to go back to the way I was. I feel I was a little bit of a lazy person. I also feel that this change in me means that I am finally more relaxed, and I’m not as on edge as I was.

  Notwithstanding the surprise zombie attack at the theatre two days ago, I am finally feeling freer to be more like I was before all of this started. There is a certain sense that we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Life is continuing around us. We are seeing people getting married, having children, starting new lives. It is in some ways a beautiful thing to watch.

  Our show is continuing on nicely. We open in five days, and the lights are up and running. The band is sounding fantastic, as are our performers. It all looks great. David and Loren are still fighting over most creative decisions, but it’s all for the betterment of the production. I think they will be fine in the end. Their arguments are nowhere near as nasty as they were before. I think that being called out by a toddler certainly helped them both calm down a lot.

  April 18

  Dan came over to me rather nervously today. I sensed he was having some sort of problem and I asked him what was wrong.

  “Clara asked me out to dinner,” he told me, looking rather embarrassed.

  “And?” I asked him.

  “I kinda want to say ‘yes,’” he said. “And then I feel guilty about wanting to.”

  “Oh,” I replied to him. “You think you’re betraying Olivia.”

  He nodded and looked bad about the whole thing.

  “You know she’d want you to be happy. She wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life as a hermit. She’d want you to go out and meet people, and have a full life, even if it was without her,” I told him. I know that this is true. I hope he takes my advice.

  I have to remember that although things are so much better for everyone now, they are far from perfect. Things are being rationed for us all since Canada doesn’t grow or breed every animal or plant we have come to rely on for food and other things. There is a coffee shortage, and if any of us coffee drinkers see anyone waste the beverage, there is hell to pay for that person. Also, we are still rationing things like tissues and toilet paper—basically any paper product. The lumber industry is still miles away from being up and running as well.

  Fuel is a concern for everyone. We only have a finite supply, and it is clear that this is only to be used in emergencies. We are walking everywhere, and there are friends and neighbours helping those who are unable to. This is a vast improvement over how things were before, if only in the fact that it is forcing people to get to know each other and be more neighbourly. I like that we have banded together.

  Oddly enough, it seems that we’re communicating and connecting more with each other now than when we had the internet and cellular service. We have our landlines operational; however, this is not the case for every city or even every country. I know that there are people out there trying to get it all operational once more, and that will be great for us since we all have friends and family in other countries and we are anxious to know if they are still alive.

  What’s strangest for me is how little I miss television. I used to watch shows for hours, but now that there is literally nothing on the air, I couldn’t care less. There is the odd hour where I am saddened that I will never know the fates of certain characters I watched for years, but that is such a minor problem in my life. I will survive. It’s almost as if every show has become a modern day Edwin Drood, where the author must leave their work perpetually unfinished.

  April 20

  Opening night is in two days!

  Last night Dan had dinner at Clara’s home. He seemed so awkwardly nervous about the whole ordeal. Originally, he had thought to have her over at his house, but thought it might be better if he didn’t have Mike and Xuân looking over his shoulder all night.

  He came home this morning looking happier than we have seen him look in months. I think he really likes her. She is a sweet person with a quirky sense of humour. I think she’s a good fit for him. David and I knew her from before; I remember liking her then, and my opinion hasn’t changed.

  Today we had our tech run where we ran the show with full lights and sound. It was an absolute disaster! Neither my brother nor my husband was happy with how things went. Lighting cues were called at all the wrong times, actors flubbed their lines, the pit had trouble following what was being sung, and the actors couldn’t be heard above the music. I just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry. I can’t remember the last time something went this poorly. On the bright side: it can’t get any worse.

  After the run, my brother looked as if his head was going to explode.

  “That was D-R-DREADFUL. Capitalized, underlined, full stop,” he said. “I’d rather wa
tch someone refinish a basement than watch what just happened on that stage.”

  I have to say that I agree with him completely. It was absolutely awful. We have less than two days to get our act together. My husband, my brother, and the technicians are staying at the theatre tonight until they have everything on their end running smoothly. We are so emotionally invested in this project, I don’t know what we’ll do if it doesn’t work out.

  April 21

  Xuân came up to me today and gave me some news she’d heard in the market. Turns out that people are starting to worry about what direction our leadership is going to take.

  “People are freaking out that we have lost our democracy,” Xuân said. “They say that it’s great the army stepped up and helped fix things, but a military dictatorship is shit for the long run. We need a say in who is in charge. Even if everyone who runs for office is totally full of crap, at least we get a say in what kind of crap we put up with.”

  “So how are they proposing we go back to that?” I asked.

  “No one’s sure,” Xuân answered. “I heard that some people in a settlement in Ottawa are meeting to speak with the people in charge. Hopefully, that will give us a timeline. It’s not like we can rise up. We’re out-manned and out-gunned. Furthermore, why would we? I understand people are worried about the future, but why the fuck would we bite the hand that’s feeding us? Are we enslaved? Are we being abused in any way? Shit. We have food, water, power, healthcare, freedom to do what we want, and safety. Maybe if we still have no say in our leadership down the line, then I can see issues forming. Hell, I’ll lead the charge myself.”

  I have to say, she has a point. I am not comfortable with the idea of the army controlling the country indefinitely. It does not seem right to me.