matter how trivial. He also set up our new quarantine area out on the sun porch. We lost two more people, so there are only four people in quarantine now. One of them seems fully recovered, and another seems well on her way. The other two are pretty far gone, nearly to the catatonic end-stage. We might not need the quarantine much longer.
We dug graves today, two for the old farmer couple and two for that pair in quarantine. I took a shift on the shovel. It seems wrong to me, digging a grave for someone who isn't dead yet, but Miguel says it's a forgone conclusion with the state those two are in. He watched a lot of people sicken and die at the clinic, and nobody survived once the eyes went glassy and yellow. Some people seem able to shake it off while it's just acting like a respiratory bug, but most don't. He says the fatality rate has been as high as 85 percent at some hospitals. The lowest any place reported was around 70 percent. We've had nearly 20 people go through our quarantine, and it looks like we'll have three survivors and would have had at least four if we hadn't lost the other bus. No real medical facilities and yet we did better than some hospitals. I'm not sure if that says something about Miguel's skill in setting up our quarantine care or if it's more a commentary on the American health care system.
I got a good look at the farmers as we lowered them into their graves. An older couple. The woman was in her nightgown, the man in bib overalls and a t-shirt. He had obvious bite marks on his arms. I wonder if he might have survived the plague if he hadn't been bitten by his wife. I wonder how many of the 15 to 30 percent who survived the deadly cough eventually fell to the undead. How many people are left alive in the world? Are we now vastly outnumbered by the walking dead?
April 28 - The Farmhouse, Oklahoma
Miracles do happen. I was in the barn helping Jack with the farm truck when we heard a commotion outside. Twice already our peaceful refuge had been invaded by a wandering zombie, but they both were easily dispatched. We cautiously left the barn assuming the undead had made another appearance. A silver SUV was heading down the driveway from I35. It pulled up near the bus, and a disheveled, dark haired figure climbed out. Milo.
He was walking with a limp, his shirt was torn up, and he was dirty as all hell, but unless zombies have started driving cars, he was very much alive. Pretty soon nearly the entire group was outside, everyone cheering or shouting questions. Milo was laughing and trying to answer when he was tackled by Kalee. She hugged him so hard I'm surprised his ribs didn't crack. I am happy Milo survived, even if he doesn't have much use for me, but I'm doubly happy that it's knocked Kalee out of her funk. Maybe it's a bit selfish of me, but I think I really need her usual optimism right now.
Once all the excitement died down, Milo finally sat on the front steps of the farm house and told us his story.
“I emptied my shotgun into that mess below me. I wasn't really thinking it through, I just couldn't let the people in the luggage compartment... I mean, nobody deserves...” He took a deep breath, then continued. “Once I was out of shells and just really took a good look at the situation, I realized how truly fucked I was. The freaks were mostly bunched up by the luggage door, so I figured if I was going to make break for it, the opposite side of the bus was my best chance. I couldn't climb down, and a jump to the pavement would break my legs, so I reasoned there was only one option. I aimed for fattest, softest freak I could find on the outside of that crowd. I jumped and planted my feet right on his shoulders, rode the fat bastard down, then tucked in my shoulder, rolled, and came up running.”
“And you didn't get bit?” someone asked.
Milo rolled up the left leg of his jeans to reveal a bite mark on the thick leather of his cowboy boots. “When you are going to kick some zombie ass, be sure to dress for the job.” he answered. He continued. “So I took off running, headed north off the road then west parallel to it. I saw the dust trail from the bus, but there was no way I was going to catch it. Ran into a few freaks. Managed to avoid most of them. Had to go through a couple of them.” He held up his empty shotgun to display some dark smears on the wooden stock. “I kept along that frontage road, thinking I might scavenge some supplies from the abandon cars, but wherever there was cars, there was always some undead freak stumbling around. I didn't really like the idea of just heading out into the fields with nothing but an empty gun, but it was beginning to look like I would have to. Then I found it, just sitting there. Driver side door open, keys still in it... like it had been dropped there by the gods of Detroit.”
“Actually it's a European import...”
“Hey, who's story is this?” Milo exclaimed, but with a laugh in his voice. A chuckle went through the crowd, and he continued. “So I went down highway 33 for a while, then off a side road and tried to pick up the trail of the bus. Drove back and forth a bit trying to pick up tracks but had no luck. Siphoned gas from a couple of abandoned cars. Found some granola bars and a couple of juice boxes in one. Spent a couple nights sleeping in the car out in the middle of nowhere. Woke up to a deader pounding on the passenger window the second morning, but managed to drive off before it did more than crack it. I gave up on picking up the bus's trail, so I just headed west, picked up I35 and drove north. Ran into a big mess of the freaks. Had to go off-road to get around them. Then, picked up 35 again, heading north and saw the bus, just sitting here big as life. And here I find all of you just sitting back living the easy life while I'm out there playing road warrior.”
Max clapped Milo on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Well we're sure glad to have you back. I won't blame you if you want to take it easy for a bit.”
“Hmmm. About that.” Milo replied. “That mess of undead I drove around, south of here on I35. They were headed this way.”
“How far away?” someone asked.
Milo thougtht about it a moment, then replied, “They aren't moving very fast, but I expect the leading edge to reach here by nightfall. They're a bit spread out... not all moving the same speed I suppose. Still, they seem to be mostly staying to the road, so I expect they will come straight here.
“Do you think they will go past?” The question came from a middle aged woman name Sarah sitting next to Max. “I mean, if we stay inside and stay quiet, they should just go past, right?” She looked to Max as she asked it. Most of us were looking at Max.
“They might. But we don't know enough about how they behave. This place isn't secure enough to make a stand at, and we are low on ammunition and food. I was thinking we should move on soon anyway. Better we just stay ahead of them.”
The discussion began to heat up to the point that Max was having difficulty being heard. Finally Jack gave a piercing whistle, and Max jumped into the momentary silence to grab control of the debate.
“Listen, I know we all like this place, but our best bet is still to head for the FEMA center in Oklahoma. We need to stop our jawin' and start packing up.” With that, he turned to Jack and moved ahead as if the decision had been made. “Jack, is that farm truck road worthy, and will it pull the hay wagon.”
Jack nodded as he answered, “Yup. I'll want to top her off from the diesel tank out back, if we don't put it all in the bus that is. There might be some fuel I can siphon out of the tractor too.” The station wagon runs, and we've got Milo's SUV. We won't be as cramped as the ride here.”
“OK, load up the generator, and any tools you might need. Sarah, you pick a few helpers and start loading up the last of the canned food. We should also fill up every water container we can find. Miguel, I trust you to take care of medical supplies and moving the quarantine back to the baggage area.”
With that we were all moving. I helped Jack with the farm truck, then picked through the tools in the machine shed. We stowed the tools and the generator on the hay wagon. The truck has a flat bed with no sides, but we found a railing that could be attached and locked in place with steal pins. This would provide at least some protection from falling off, though not much protection from
the undead if we found ourselves surrounded. After the truck and the wagon was ready, I looked for Kaylee but found her busy loading supplies on the bus. Milo and Miguel had their own tasks to keep themselves busy, and Jack was looking over maps with Max. Our group numbers over a hundred, but I still know so few of them. I've just never been very good at the people thing. Maybe that's why I find myself turning to this journal so readily despite never being much of a writer in the past. Like the electronics and computers I would normally retreat to, it's just not as complicated as people.
April 28 - On the Road, Oklahoma
We left the farmhouse with a few hours of daylight left, and Max intended to make the best of every minute. We would head north on I35 for a while, then west on a county highway or farm road, making sure to stay clear of Oklahoma City or even any small towns. With luck, we would find another farm house to hole up in before it got dark. Our caravan was led by Max driving Milo's SUV. Sarah road shotgun with him, literally carrying a shotgun in the passenger seat. Jack drove the bus again, and a young guy named Oliver drove the farm truck. I was a passenger in the station wagon being driven by a red
The Bolachek Journals - Part 1 Page 4
