Journals of the Damned

by GJ Zukow

fish that were slowly, methodically eating it. I think I’ll stop putting fish on my menu for the time being.

  For the next few days I’m going to concentrate on getting together my equipment and weapons for my foray into the nearby town.

  12

  Another pain filled two days has passed. Agony is now a familiar friend. I've almost forgotten what it’s like to feel normal.

  I decided to get my ass in gear. The sooner I get my feet taken care of, I figured, the better a chance I have at surviving.

  It was the pain that spurred me into action, or the hope of being able to be rid of it anyways. My right pinky toe isn't as bad as my left. The right toe seems to be sheared off cleanly, almost at the joint, while the left is a jagged mess with the remainder of the bone sticking out. I have to try and amputate both of them as best as I can.

  After I had packed my gear up into the ol’ backpack I went about choosing some weapons from the “Reds’” cache. (It was Jannie that introduced me to the slang word to reference the infected ones.) Along with my snub nose .38 I grabbed up a sawed-off shotgun and an AK47. Both the AK and shotty were considered illegal, but what cop was going to arrest me? The shot gun was illegal because it was sawn off just before the pump, and used with buckshot it makes a nice room clearer. Even if the shotty don’t kill a zed outright, it’ll definitely knock a group of ‘em back and down so I can shoot their fucking asses in the head with the AK. The AK was modified to fire on full auto, highly illegal. Plenty of ammo and clips. There were other guns there to choose from, but I didn’t want to load myself down with a bunch of stuff. Besides I thought, if this wasn’t going to be enough firepower then I would probably need a tank. That and the fact that every step brought a huge jolt of pain to begin with.

  I padded my feet as much as I could, even using a pair of the Red’s work boots that were three sizes too big for me. I started by filling them up with rags and cotton balls to lessen the shock of walking.

  I really hadn’t thought about the lack of a vehicle here. I found a key chain with some car keys and there were oil stains on the driveway and in the garage, but there was no car. There was doubtless a car or truck hidden somewhere, the crazy bastard had more than likely stashed it somewhere nearby. I hadn’t seen anything of it in my explorations of the immediate surroundings. I’m sure the fuck hid it in some remote location, camouflaged of course, to keep his prey from being able to easily flee. Instead of taking the time to wander around the woods aimlessly in the hopes I spot it, I could just save myself some time and head on over to a neighbor’s house. One of them was sure to have a car I could find the keys to or hotwire or something.

  Nature was quickly reclaiming what was left of the now unused dirt road. Saplings and brush were growing in it. In some places I could only determine where the road used to be by looking at the relationship between the old growth of the forest and the shorter, younger growth that was taking back the road. In another year or two the road would doubtlessly be completely obliterated and impossible to find. As I trudged along, the pain in my feet grew worse and worse. By the time I reached the nearest neighbor my left foot, especially, was screaming out in pure agony.

  With an amount of relief I saw the house had an attached garage. Even if there turned out not be any car there I was glad I at least found a place I could rest up and check the status of my feet before moving on. I had only hiked about a mile and a half, but by the time I reached the front door I was huffing and puffing and covered in sweat.

  I beat on the door, the banging seeming loud and out of place here, and waited for a minute or two, gauging the area to see if it attracted anything. Nobody answered the door, I would have been surprised if anyone did. Nothing came crashing out of the forest trying to eat me either.

  The screen door was locked, as was the front door behind it. Even in civilized times locks only serve to keep honest people honest. Not that I was a thief or anything but locked doors are only a nuisance to me now. A quick slice with my nice sharp bowie knife (also allocated from the dead Red’s bunker) gave me access through the screen door to unlock it. A quick strike with the shotgun’s butt shattered the decorative window placed, conveniently, in the center of the hardwood front door, allowing me to simply reach in and unlock it.

  After I entered I closed the door behind me and waited. I waited not only to let my eyes adjust to the gloom of the house, but to listen for anything unusual. It seemed all clear. My feet were howling in pain but I decided to make a speedy search of the house before I got caught unaware from any crazy shit that might happen. There was an underlying scent of rot hanging in the house, but I didn’t consider that anything unusual. The house had been closed up for the better part of two years now and it would be only natural for the smell of the rotting food and consumables to linger in the enclosed space.

  There was a nice family portrait hanging above the fireplace mantle. Two beaming parents and their healthy child. My stomach turned a bit as I recognized the little girl in the picture. Her parents I’m sure I’ve never seen before. I know the face of the little girl though, I buried her head just the other day.

  A wave of anger mixed with sadness rose up in me and I sat down on the family couch and softly wept for a moment before moving on.

  My suspicions about the child were confirmed and explained a bit when I searched the kitchen.

  On the refrigerator door was a hand written note, in the girls own writing.

  “Dad, I don’t know where you are and it’s been a week since you came home. I hope you’re OK. Mommy’s upstairs and I’m afraid of her. She got the Scarlet real bad since you left. She didn’t move all day yesterday but I had to lock her in the bedroom because she tried to hurt me today. I’m going over to Mr. Kolinsky’s like we discussed. Please come back. I love you, Kimmy.”

  My eye’s teared over again and it took some will to halt it. I knew now how the little girl ended up in the bunker. Her father had, in all probability, died in the insanity. Mommy though was a possible problem, I couldn’t account for her and she could very well be upstairs still. Which she was.

  I wasn’t sure undead mommy was going to be found upstairs though. I had made a lot of noise and that always alerted the zeds. The undead never worried about being stealthy and clumsily bumped or bashed anything that got in their way.

  On alert, and as silently as I could, I crept step by step up the stairs, heart pounding, feet throbbing, waiting for any sign of danger.

  All was quiet as I spied the bedroom door that must contain mom. The door itself was solid, not like most of the interior doors in a lot of houses. Most houses nowadays have those cheap hollow doors that you can punch through in, at the most, a couple of swings. These people must have had some money as most of the items in the house were of quality. Still, there was evidence someone, or something I should say, tried like hell to bust out. The door itself was intact but the frame had started to come away from the wall, cracking the drywall and plaster around it. It’s a god damned good thing the zeds are so stupid. Just by looking at the knob on the door I knew all the bitch had to do was simply turn the lock on her side of the door. That and actually turn the knob itself.

  I listened but I didn’t hear anything. I tried the door and it was indeed locked from the inside still. There was one of those holes in the knob, one that was designed so that you can sick a coat hanger end or one of those funky jimmies in the hole to pop the lock. It was no big deal at all to grab a metal coat hanger from the hallway closet, unbend it and go back to the bedroom door. It took only a second to pop the lock and the door swung open.

  Mommy was there, desiccated, emancipated, shriveled and stinking. She was sitting on the floor with her legs splayed and her back propped up against the bed.

  I took a quick look around the bedroom from the doorway and was wondering what, if anything, I could gain by scavenging the room. I had decided to come back later when I had looked after my feet and searched the rest of the house. I would leave this room for last, or
completely alone, out of respect for the dead.

  Almost on cue as I thought about respect for the dead, the corpse started to slowly reanimate. It started to get up at a snail’s pace, haltingly, stutteringly. Old dried muscle and flesh straining to rise to devour the flesh of the living. This was a first for me, I had never known a zed to shut down and go into a comatose state before but, I suppose, a year is a long time to be inactive.

  “Go back to sleep.” I told it as I drew my gun and laid her down permanently.

  Found a nice Hummer2 in the garage, half a tank o’ gas. Started on the third crank. Raided the house and loaded it up.

  I'm taking a break to write this before I head out. I don't know what the near future holds. I feel like just giving up. It would be so easy to just lie down and die. Let the dark, peaceful nothingness engulf me and take me away from all this pain.

  13

  I'm holed up here at Walgreens. I'm writing this while the meds I took kick in. I lost my watch somewhere. When I lost it I don't know. For all I know the crazed Red stole it from me and stuck it up his ass. I'm going to need one for these meds. I don't want to accidently OD on this shit.

  I'm currently taking refuge in some small, nameless