The Zom Diary (15 page)

     We both continue to pick off anything that wanders out of the trees, but it seems as if their attention is divided between us and the survivor(s) in the trees.  We account for nine zombies before they stop coming.  There are no more shots from the trees.  Bryce taps my shoulder.

     “Let’s go in.  Stay with me and try to cover my back.  Don’t forget to look up in the trees as well.”

     Good advice.

     Weaving through the islands of scrub, we pass the downed zombies and enter the dark wood.  The temperature immediately drops about five degrees, and small biting flies find and pester me.  Bryce’s advice is well founded.  Not ten paces into the woods, I hear a rustle up in a tree to the left.  A man is up there; fresh, presentable, it’s one of Bryce’s people.  Dead.  He tries to lean down at us but is wedged in the crotch of a branch, stuck.  I take the shot, and he slumps, at rest.

     “Sorry.”

    “It’s okay.  He would have wanted you to take the shot.  Stay focused.”

     We continue.  The trees are thick burly oaks with fine points on their leaves.  Clusters of acute green acorns adorn branches like bracelets of jade.  It is a peaceful place, considering.

     Bryce calls out, startling me from my silent and attentive state.  “Hey!  Hold tight, we’re coming for you!”

     There is a faint reply from somewhere up ahead.  Our pace increasing, we round a huge oak and run right into the back of the zombie mob.

     They begin to turn as we approach, and we both open up -sometimes taking the same head shot.  The press of bodies comes at us, and we both begin to back up, careful of our footing, as they shamble closer.  Bryce calls out again, to me this time.

     “They’re coming around our side, watch your back!”

     As if on cue, I feel a hand grab at the back of my jacket, pulling me back.  I act out of instinct, slamming my left elbow back and connecting with the thing’s jaw.  It keeps pulling at me with a relentless grip.  I spin and hold it now at arm’s reach by its neck.  My rifle’s weight pulling down fiercely on my right arm as it dangles from the shoulder strap.  I begin to yell.

    “Move right!”  Bryce shouts.

     I do.  The thing’s appearance is that of an awful disfigured woman, almost sexless from erosion of the flesh.  Its head explodes, leaving me holding a jumble of bone, flesh and black sinew, the neck slipping through my grip.

     I wipe my hands quickly on my pants and immediately wish that I had not.  I swallow back some bile and stand next to Bryce, back to back, picking off the last of the things.

     “Why aren’t you helping out?” I call out hoarsely.

     The reply comes from the branches of the tree directly in front of us, moments before a figure climbs down and begins walking over.

     “Because I’m out of fucking ammo, that’s why.”

     She is short, dressed in camo and has bright red hair tucked up into a boonie hat.  Bending down, she rolls a zombie over and picks her rifle up from where it had fallen.  Bryce gives us the all clear.

     “So who fired the shot we heard?”  I look toward the other trees.

     “It was my suicide round.  I used it when I heard you guys.”  She smiles.  “Hey, Bryce!”

     “Molly.  Glad to see you’re still among the living.  You know I hate the whole suicide round thing.  Is anyone else with you?”

     She shakes her head.  No.

     “Let’s get out of these woods.  Are you hurt?”

     She pats her chest and looks down at her boots; a real smart-ass gesture, circumstances considered.  She shoulders her AK and smiles, “As far as I can tell I’m all here.  And what’s here is thirsty.  You guys got any water?”

     Bryce passes her a canteen and tells her to keep it.  We start back for the truck.

     Along the way, she tells some of what has transpired over the past few days.  Her voice is smoky and cracks from time to time.  She must have been without water for some time.

     “The whole run went to shit at the clinic.  Larry got bit after we let the whole goddamned town out of where they had been holed up; who knows for how long, probably since the start.  After losing him, we got surrounded in an apartment building, and Sean got bit by a shut-in we disturbed in a bathroom.  He distracted the lot, pulling them from the doors while we escaped out the back way.  I hope he didn’t suffer.

     “It took us forever to make it out of town on foot and then, once we made it out here, I thought we were home free.  Then a few days ago, that mob caught up with us and we holed up in this house.  John got bit and turned quick, like right before our eyes.

     “Me and other John made a break for the trees and got caught up here by another group.  He got bit along the way, but we both made it up into the trees.  My water and food ran out yesterday.  We’d been keeping each other’s spirits up, you know, trying to ignore them.  He stopped answering me this morning.

     “So, here I was, this fine morning, out of ammo, thirsty as hell, and starting to think that last bullet was sounding like a good idea.”

     “Stop it.”  Bryce seems genuinely appalled.   “That’s never an option.  There’s always hope.”

     She doesn’t look convinced.  I watch her now as we make our way through the grass and over the hill.  She is filthy, but I can tell that beneath there somewhere she has a nice figure.  She looks too young to have such tired eyes and deep lines in her face.  I wonder if one of those guys had been her boyfriend.  She doesn’t seem too upset; though.  Just another day in the country.

     Back at the truck, I hand her an old plastic gallon jug filled with water.  She said thanks and takes a huge pull on it.  Bryce offers her some food.  She takes it and eats greedily.

     The sun is getting low, and I suggest spending the night in the garage or house.  Molly doesn’t like the idea, saying that she wants a shower and a real bed and that we’ll be better off picking a new spot or making for Salem.  Bryce tells her of his plans to go back and clean out the clinic.

     “Damn it!”  Her cheeks flush red and she throws her hat on the ground unleashing a short mop of red curls.  “You have a one track mind, Bryce.  You know that?”

     She bends and picks up her hat.  Bryce has not mentioned that Larry made it back to town.  I begin to wonder why, but loose the thought as the exchange of voices escalate in intensity.  Bryce’s voice thunders,

    “This trip can’t be a waste.  I know it’s hard losing your team, but the community comes first.  We need supplies, that’s why you were out here.  Look, I’m glad you’re alive.” He pauses, and almost to himself whispers:  “I wish you were glad too.”

     “What does that mean?”  She speaks softly now.

     “You know what I mean.”

     I am starting to feel a little uncomfortable; like a new acquaintance at a table of people who have known each other since childhood and only talk about old times.  I light a joint and break into their conversation.

   “Hey.”  I reach out a hand to the girl.  “I’m Kyle, nice to meet you.  You’re welcome, by the way.  Are we going to make a decision here soon, it’s getting dark.”

     She doesn’t take my hand but turns to Bryce instead.  “Where do you find these assholes?  It’s so nice to meet you. Is that a joint?”

     She holds out her hand impatiently and then comes over, practically prying the thing from my fingers, she takes a huge pull before offering it back.  The end is soggy and wet with her saliva.  I eye it warily and hand it back to her.  Without pause, the two start bickering again, about plans and about who needs to mind whose business.  Whatever animosity exists between Bryce and Molly, I don’t care to stand here while they work it out.  Bryce promises me that he can’t sense any zombies at all and since he can detect them from quite a distance, I decide to enjoy the last of the daylight by myself.  Bryce says he will honk the truck’s horn if there is trouble.  As I walk off, rifle slung on my shoulder, I can hear them argue about where to spend the night.

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     Passing over the hill, I make my way slowly back down to the trees.  The grass is high and still green despite being dry.  The woods, however, are dank and moist, almost like the old oaks exude their own misty breath.  I walk on into darkness beneath the branches, which are warring with the yellow sunlight that is starting to make its way into the depths of the dense growth.  As the sun sinks lower, it casts bright dapple-patches of gold and red on mossy trunks and pierce the dark with shafts of light that look so substantial I catch myself ducking under one as I pass. 

     Not far into the woods, one of these beams of light, no thicker than a half dollar, shines directly onto the forehead of one of the wasted zombies.  It sits, back propped against the trunk of a tree, nasty splatter at head height on the trunk, where its brain mess has been evacuated.  Its appearance is amazing.

     I move carefully, afraid to make a sound.  I reach out and touch its wrists, move its arms, carefully, so they rest in his lap.  His legs are spread wide, one knee bent -foot at an awkward angle.  I grab his heel and straighten his leg.  He looks peaceful, and the spot of sun has move down his face by this time, to rest on the hole where his nose used to be.   This light illuminates the thing’s eyes, like a jack-o-lantern perhaps. They glow with an eerie grey blue light…Lord.

     I crouch there watching motes of dust pass through the beam of light and surrender to the absolute absurd beauty of the moment.  A branch snaps somewhere deeper in the woods, breaking my reverie, and I bid a fast and silent farewell to the thing.     

    Walking back out of the woods the way I came in earlier with Bryce, I catch a glint of metal in the leaf litter beneath the tree that served as Molly’s companions resting place.  Bending over, I can see that the glint belongs to a pair of golden aviator sunglasses.  They are bent, but I am able to twist them back into shape.  I pocket them.

     I’m still not ready to head back to the truck yet, and after six years of almost complete solitude, I find myself a little overwhelmed by my new companions.  I climb one of the trees on the edge of the small wood, and sit facing the sunset.  I slip the glasses out of my pocket and put them on.  The lenses are amber colored and accentuate the golden effect of the sun.  I think about Molly; this new person, yet another intrusion into my rapidly shrinking solitude.  I have never known anyone that has killed him or herself.  That in itself is odd, I suppose.  And, in all of my days wandering around the farm and wasting time, I have never thought about that option for myself.  Considering the state of affairs, this surprises me.

     Why not take the easy way out?  Well, I guess I’m not looking to get away from anything.  I like this ruined world.  It suits me.  The idea though, of keeping that last round just in case I find myself at the bottom of a well; no options.  Sure, it makes sense.

     The sky is now a wild purple color, and the sunlight creates a suffusion of yellow.  It reminds me of one summer when I was a kid.  Some volcano erupted in the Philippines and sent a column of ash, miles into the atmosphere, staining the light of our fair world like a cathedral window.  I wonder if it is a volcano now or just the waste from industry’s last gasp before diving off the cliff of eternity that stains the sky?  Cities must have burned.  Reactors melted down around the globe.  Maybe Iran finally nuked Israel.  Shit, who knew?  The effect was brilliant, from my perspective, either way.

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     Dropping from the lowest branch, I wince as my ankle sings out quiet messages of pain.  Why the hell am I out here with these people?  I should be sleeping this one off in the barn.  I grit my teeth, and limp back over the hill and see Bryce and Molly loading packs into the bed of the truck.  The scavenger party’s effects. 

     I make my way over.  Bryce sees me coming and looks pleased, I can guess who won the argument.  He slams the tailgate and rests on it, surveying the yard and speaking in a quiet voice.  

   “Hey Kyle, looks like we figured out a plan.  We’ll stay here tonight and head into town tomorrow.  The clinic was set up as a shelter for the townspeople and apparently, it’s still packed with supplies.  Once Molly gave me the run down, it was easy to convince her it was worth it.

     “Don’t let her get to you.  Remember, she was really still a kid when things got bad.  You can’t blame her for having a chip on her shoulder.”  He leans in and whispers in a conspiratorial tone.  “I wouldn’t give her any alcohol if you have it.  She gets trashed and violent.”

     I hear a door slam and Molly’s voice call out, “You two done making out?  I want to get set up for the night.”

     “Fuck you Molly!”  Bryce sings out cheerily.

     She gives him the finger.

    I turn back to Bryce and ask where we should sleep.

     “She says the house was trashed at some point in the past, some hold-outs got surrounded and it didn’t end well for them.  Our people were staying in the garage.  Unless you want to sleep out here in the truck?”

     “Maybe, let’s see the garage.”

     I was right about there being a loft, and aside from some normal garage smells, oil and car fluids, it looks clean.  There are blankets laid out in two piles where people have slept.  I nod to the pallets and ask Bryce if she was with one of the guys that died.  He chuckles, but there is no mirth to it.