by T. W. Brown
Signaling for my group to rally around my location, I decided that there was nothing much that could be done until the smoke cleared. All I had to wonder about now was what, if any, response all of this would bring from either faction in Irony.
It was only a short time before a detachment arrived on horseback. They were from our side and I think they had a difficult time reconciling the devastation with the group of youngsters that greeted them at the scene.
I explained what I had seen and what we did and one of the members of the detachment wrote a note, handed it to a girl on a horse that was pawing at the ground and obviously ready for a good run. Something was said about how they had really blown it by leaving this area exposed. I didn’t bother saying anything about how it wasn’t…we had been here.
We were talking as the smoke finally cleared and allowed us to see the carnage in the gulley. Creepers were everywhere. I guess the explosions had blown limbs off of several. And then I felt my throat seize.
I will never know how she ended up down in all of that, but Mary was dead…and now she was undead. Her body was burnt pretty badly, but I could make out the face well enough to know it was her. One of her legs was gone from around mid-thigh. A handful of her soldiers were in similar condition.
Somebody grabbed my arm as I went to her, but I shook it off and kept walking. I took out a few on the way, but I never broke eye contact with Mary as I approached with my machete drawn. I ended her and the others of her group that I saw before returning to my group. I could feel the need to cry in the back of my throat, but I refused to give in to it just then—mostly out of fear that it would be another one of those sessions that might disable me for the rest of the day.
At some point Betty took charge and the riders all returned to Irony after telling us to hold this ridge at all costs. Didn’t they realize we were already doing that? And as for ‘cost’? As far as I was concerned, one loss was already too much despite the fact that plenty of other people had likely died today.
And so here we are. Betty and I are on this ridge with our group. We can see figures scurrying around Irony like ants that just had their hill kicked. I feel exhausted and dread what tomorrow will bring. If the expressions that I am seeing on the other faces are any indication, then I am not alone.
Today changed a lot of people. I remember reading in my History class about wars. They seemed to be described in such a way that it was nothing more than dates and an estimated number of people killed. That can take a lot of the actual horror out of something so terrible. It makes it seem like any other fact that you learn like “2 + 2 = 4” or something equally mundane.
The reality is that war in any form is a brutal and violent thing. It does not matter which end you are on. There are no “good” guys or “bad” guys. When it comes to killing, it is an act that will stain your soul for the rest of your life. It will change you.
Some of those sitting around in this group are twelve years old. The oldest may be twenty. Killing zombies is one thing, but today, we killed a whole bunch of people. The funny thing is…I have no idea if we were actually facing Major Carson and his men. Not only that, but I have no idea if he is among the dead. Did we really accomplish anything?
Tuesday, March 30th
Yesterday we saw what looked to be the worst day of fighting so far. I pray to God or whatever may be out there masquerading as a supreme being that it was the last gasp. Late in the afternoon there were a series of explosions and black clouds mushroomed skyward.
There looked to be a concentrated effort on three buildings in particular. One of the kids in my group said that one building was the one that had been taken by The Genesis Brotherhood when Dominique established her post in Irony. Even from as far away as we were, the sounds of battle could be heard as an angry buzz. It seemed to grow in intensity for several seconds.
And then…silence.
We have not heard anything from Irony since then. I will wait one more day before I pick a group to go with me.
I must say, this Genesis Brotherhood did not seem like much to me. I think it might be like any other case where people jump on some bandwagon belonging to something horrible. I know that one of the most common symbols that has seen being sported by raiders that roam the wilderness once belonged to a German sect called Nazis. For some reason, there is an element of fear that comes simply from seeing that symbol. Personally, I think that people who etch that sign into their flesh are simply trying to draw on something they don’t even understand. But by using that symbol they are able to mark themselves as something terrible and to be feared. There is a power that they draw from which leads me to believe that evil is something that is tangible and similar to a well. Only, I don’t know if the reservoir that feeds such a well actually has a finite supply. Evil seems to almost re-spawn itself as if by magic.
As for my little detachment, we had to go back to the scene of our battle and put down a few lone shamblers that were wandering the area. The zombies appeared almost like they were confused. They were just shuffling around in that gulley.
I noticed a lot of the group spent most of their time asleep or at least pretending to be asleep. With so many of us here, we are able to keep the watches short. That may or may not be a good thing. I spent far too much time with my own thoughts.
In any case, we will be alert through the night.
Thursday, April 1st
I took five of my group with me and we ventured in to Irony…what remains of it at least. There are still bodies littering the street as I sit in the bungalow that I was given. I have no idea where everybody else is and word about their fate is impossible to uncover.
Right now there are a lot of people helping the injured or dying. Everybody who has been injured is automatically being placed in quarantine since it cannot be confirmed that they are not in some way carrying the zombie virus.
A note about that…
There was a big surprise apparently when this zombie thing began. Some folks proved immune to the bite. However, it was discovered that if you were immune and bitten, you still turned after you died. Also, like most things that can be spread by bodily fluids, you could get the virus if you were exposed to zombie-ick. (That is what folks started calling the dark, tar-like goo that is in zombies.) Because nobody can be certain if they didn’t get a little splatter at some point, anybody on a “death watch” is placed in quarantine.
I would love to see Selina or even William. It would be nice to know that a few familiar faces made it through. Looking at all the clean-up and the number of bodies in the streets, it seems like more horrible news is just a bad night’s sleep away.
Friday April 2nd
Selina is alive and well!
I have to temper my excitement because so many people are walking around in a haze of sadness. It would seem that there were a lot of people getting their first taste of killing in those three short days of fighting. (It is being called the Three Day War just so you know.) While you can live most of your life and only kill a zombie or two, it is unlikely that you can go forever without committing that act. However, killing a living human being is something entirely different.
So, here is the latest news…no, that was NOT Major Carson that I encountered. However, it is suspected that he sent that task force.
Word is that Major Carson has made a run to the south and is regrouping and recruiting. Supposedly, he has a force of three hundred soldiers under his command. Most likely he will be hitting tribal groups and “recruiting” more to serve under his banner. He was last seen heading in the general direction of the Boise Wastelands. That area is a known haven for just the sorts of people I mentioned earlier—the kind who like to carve swastikas into their skin as a symbol of something that I guess I just don’t understand.
I do wonder how this Major Carson will fare with these people…I know from all the reports I have heard that they only “accept” people who are Caucasian. So unless Major Carson has done some racial pairing down of hi
s regiment, I doubt they are “all white.”
Tomorrow there is supposed to be some sort of meeting involving everybody here in Irony. I already sent word for Betty and the others to return early this morning and they should be here any minute now.
Now, back to Selina, I had to get information from her since it seems that she was smack dab in the middle of the fighting. She is awful at providing details, and I had to basically coax everything out of her, but this is what I did eventually learn:
When the executions of the members of The Genesis Brotherhood began and opened the floodgates of war, it seems that Dominique had a few tricks up her sleeve in preparation for a rebellion. Several key buildings were rigged with incendiary devices. That explained all the fires. However, I guess her paranoia did not help those on her side as she apparently did not divulge the locations of all these devices. Some of them took out loyalists to her cause.
Also, it seems that The Genesis Brotherhood had a dozen suicide bombers that were prepared for just such an event. So right after I left, it seems that things got very chaotic in a hurry. With fires burning everywhere, the conundrum for the leaders (like William) was about how much of their resources to devote to battling fires versus battling the enemy. To make matters worse, I guess there was some sort of secret dungeon operated by Dominique’s people. It was packed with a few hundred zombies which they unleashed on the city the first night. And since they knew it was coming, all her people buttoned up tight leaving the citizen army of Irony to fight them.
With all of the insanity and the chaos, it will be several days before an actual accounting of the lives lost can be made official. Riders have been sent out in all directions to try and bring home those who simply ran out of fear. According to Selina, lots of people literally dropped everything and bolted when the fighting began.
The ones who stayed to fight went on house-to-house searches after the main battle was over. And I guess it was easy to pluck any of the members of The Genesis Brotherhood that tried to hide. They all have a symbol etched on their forearm that gave them away.
As for the few supporters of Dominique’s that were within Irony, they apparently fought to the last man (and woman) in a terrible and bloody battle. I think they will actually be remembered in such a way that will probably grow over time into even more than it was despite their deaths and the final outcome. People are openly making quite a deal about them; using words like “valiant” and “brave” to describe those fifty or so soldiers. Perhaps somebody will right their story someday.
Sunday, April 3rd
Stations have been set up in a dozen locations and everybody is being required to be registered. On the good side, there have been some tearful reunions as people read the lists that are posted hourly with the names of those who are alive.
Also, one of the barracks buildings has been converted to a “viewing morgue” for people to try and identify friends and family who did not survive. In addition, the riders who went out to round people up have brought back the heads of a few recently turned undead. Those were the toughest. That is how a few people had to discover their loved ones had perished. That is how we identified William Alexander.
A lot of small speeches were given. Most had to do with strength, unity, and the ability to rebuild. One was basically an announcement that all citizens who had been conscripted into the NAA would be free to leave, but that those who would stay would be compensated and their communities notified. Also, it was promised that any who did stay would be scheduled a two week leave period to visit home before returning to duty.
The word has spread that Major Carson is active and must be stopped. I have been asked to sign on to the administration and act as a diplomat. For some reason, they think that I will be able to influence more people to join the cause.
I sat down with Betty and Selina this afternoon and they both think that I should do it. I think that they are over-estimating what I bring to the table. Still, in two months, I will be on a train that will return me to Corridor 26. I told them that if I went there and had any success, then perhaps it would be worth considering.
In the meantime, I have signed on to a work detail. We are rebuilding Irony. I do believe that this place is beautiful…and it is a marvel to look at with all of its skyways and bridges; with all of the houses built into these trees.
I did do one thing on my own, and I have written it here in case something happens to me. I know that the first place anybody will look is in this silly book.
I sent five of the members of that fifty person unit that I had been given command of on Overlook Hill (I guess it had an actual name) to Oklahoma Confederated Territory and five more to Timberline City up on Mount Hood. I hope the letters reach their intended destinations.
Something tells me that it is going to be a long, hot summer.
Keep going for a sneak peek at the original short,
“That Ghoul Ava:
Her First Adventures”
PLUS!!!
“That Ghoul Ava & The Queen of the Zombies”
That Ghoul Ava
It’s Sunday. I hate Sundays. If cornered, I’d say I hate Tuesdays, too. They’re just such Nothing days. Oh…and it’s snowing; but I love the snow, so it makes today a bit of a wash.
Wait! I’m being so rude. My name is Ava Birch. It’s pronounced Ay-va. I’m not some shiny, white robot in a Disney flick in love with a trash compactor, so do not call me Eee-va. Oh yeah, and I’m a ghoul.
Now before you get all weirded out, I’m not a zombie and I’m not a deranged vampire. I don’t lie in wait for innocent men, women, and children and feast on them. I eat the already dead. And no, I don’t hang out in graveyards and dine on those about to be buried. Do you know what sorts of things they pump into dead bodies? Then I suggest you read Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain by Jessica Mitford.
Ewwwwww!
Ghouls, for those of you in utter confusion or sucked into the strange alternate realities that besmirch a ghoul’s good name, eat the dead. We aren’t contagious. We can’t bite or scratch you and turn you—a good thing for those who have found themselves in my bed—into one of us. (Poor, unwitting necros.) From what I understand—I’ve only met one other ghoul and he wasn’t very helpful—our condition is genetic. Then, we have to die in such a way that enough remains to come back.
I’m sure there are a thousand things I could tell you, but I’m equally sure that, if it’s important, it will come up over the course of events. What you do need to know is that I’m no Betsy Sinclair or Amanda Feral! I’m pretty sure my love of blue eye shadow, 80s fashion sense, and adoration of Poison—the group, not the substance—would prevent me from ever being confused with the likes of them.
Did I just mention Poison? I’ve got to admit, if Brett Michaels ever succumbs to his illness, I may have to rethink my dietary rules. If I could manage to sneak his cold, blue body from whatever morgue he ended up in? Mmmmmm…Brett Michaels.
I had a thing for C.C. DeVille, but he got all clean and sober. That skinny little bastard will probably live to be ninety. That’s a bit too stringy for me.
Anyways, I’ve digressed enough. Back to me. How did it all start? And what were those first few weeks like? Chances are, if you’re reading this, you know tons about zombies, vampires, and maybe werewolves. Unless of course, your exposure to the undead consists of that silly Twilight crap…yuck! Well, I’m here to tell you that the undead aren’t all sexy twenty-somethings or pretty boys with six-pack abs.
I was thirty-two when I went through The Change. It was 1999, and I was not—in fact—partying like the song suggests. That year was terrible. My husband left me for a girl he was having a not-so-subtle affair with from his office. I can’t be too mad; I’d had a fling of my own with a bartender at the restaurant where I was a waitress. Still…I wasn’t gonna run away with him or anything. It was casual flirting that lead to sitting in a car after work passing a bottle and a joint back and forth. One thing led to another, and pretty soon we w
ere doing the ‘back seat mambo’ while Every Rose Has Its Thorn played on the car stereo.
The autopsy on my marriage went something like this: we were married for six years; stopped having regular sex after two; and were down to birthday and anniversary sex after four. Last I heard, Edgar was still married to that sl—. Excuse me, to that sweet girl. They even had twin girls. Good for him…them.
The worst part about the divorce was that I was a waitress. He was/is a rising executive in an advertising firm. I ended up in a rundown apartment complex in Southeast Portland. He has a gorgeous colonial in Tualatin. I didn’t ask for alimony, and since we didn’t have any children…I was pretty much back to square one.
I never cared much for school. I met Edgar at a party thrown by twice-removed mutual friends. Honestly, I wasn’t gold-digger. We met. We hit it off. The freaky sex was fun. Marriage just sorta happened. I wish it was more exciting than that, but real life seldom is.
After we split, I tried to reinvent myself about a dozen times. Somehow, I always ended up waitressing in places with party atmosphere bars, going home—or at least to the parking lot—with too many co-workers or big tippers, and waking up with that gnawing sense of self-loathing.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw a used car. Sure, my Elvira-length, jet-black hair, gray eyes, and, oh yeah, thirty-eight DDs looked good. The time hadn’t run out yet on my hourglass figure, but I could see a few cracks here and there. Crows were definitely perching on the edges of my eyes, and my once-flat belly was developing a bit of a speed bump. Hey! I did say I was thirty-two.
