Zomblog II (11 page)

At some point I reached a street. It was that first step that almost killed me. The pavement was still sporting some patches of frozen snow. The patch I stepped on was no bigger than a manhole cover. When I fell, my feet shot forward. My upper body ended up in the outstretched arms of a mewling young boy. Little remained of his stomach. His exposed ribs popped and snapped under my weight. The backpack saved me from being impaled. Unfortunately, a pregnant woman, on her back, toting thirty pounds of gear in her backpack is an awful lot like a flipped over turtle. A small, dead hand was clutching my sleeve while I tried in absolute futility to sit up. I glanced both ways and saw legs. A forest of legs. All belonging to the monsters who were going to rip open my belly and feast on my unborn child before my eyes. Then Jonathan and Eric came from who knows where. They actually had me under the arms and were carrying me, my feet barely skimming the ground. The three of us, along with Jenifer and Shari, are in here. The pounding is from everywhere. It’s like being trapped inside a giant kettle drum. The metal doors on all four sides really add to the depth of sound the meaty corpse-hands are able to produce. There is absolutely no way for us to get out. Simply put, we’re trapped.

This may well become our tomb.

Tuesday, January 13

No change. It is difficult to sleep. The pounding is constant and from all sides. Laid out all the supplies. We’ll run out of food in two weeks if we’re frugal. Not that it matters. We’ll be out of water in a week if we keep ourselves to eight-ounces a day. We have the filtered pitchers, only, no source of water to filter.

At some point, we all got just a bit too cocky. How could we not be carrying more water? Of course, we could have a month’s worth and it wouldn’t matter. I’ve seen places surrounded like this. There is no possible way we can effectively escape. We don’t have the ability to climb twenty or thirty feet of smooth concrete to a window. Whatever way folks gained access to the roof, it’s not possible here and now. I bet there’s a metal ladder bolted to a wall outside that you get to from one of the buildings radiating out from this one.

Oh well. Who cares.

Friday, January 16

I think the others are slipping me some of their food and water. I know I’ve drunk some today, but my bottle never seems to dip below half-empty. If I catch who’s doing it, I’m gonna kick their ass.

Saturday, January 17

Okay, I guess I’ll consider the possibility that we are completely and utterly fucked. We still haven’t been able to look outside. And nobody needs to. The only sleep now comes from complete exhaustion. You collapse wherever until the pounding wakes you once more to this concrete hell. It is Jenifer, Jonathan, Eric, Shari, and me. We’ve moved away from each other because there is nothing to say. And I don’t think any of us relish the idea of just watching each other die.

Monday, January 19

And the last of the water is gone. I haven’t said anything because it doesn’t really matter at this point, but I’ve not felt the baby kick in over twenty-four hours.

Thursday, January 22

Boys! We were saved by two boys no older than sixteen. Antoine and Jamaal Mitchell. Twin boys who never seem to quit smiling. I wish one of them would grow hair on his smooth, bald head or something so I know who I’m talking to. And
NO
it has nothing to do with them being black because Jonathan has made similar comments.

I should back up a bit. We are no longer trapped inside the gymnasium. We are in a freaking mansion that is surrounded by an eight-foot high wall of brick. There is one big entry-gate—bricked over recently—and one small gate that opens to trails and thickly wooded forest. The Mitchell twins were sons of some Sudanese businessman. Their father’s grave is in the center of a large garden that I imagine is quite beautiful in the spring. They go out there several times a day with their prayer rugs and do whatever it is Muslims do. I must admit that I’m impressed with their religious diligence in the midst of all that has happened. What’s more, they don’t show any signs of wingnutedness like The Genesis Brotherhood folks.

From my balcony, I can see
over
the several-story hospital below, and all the way to the concrete tomb that is the gymnasium of Cedar Junior High. I can also see the large black swathe that was the field we’d been crossing when things fell apart. There is a large crater in the center where the fuel truck that the Mitchell Twins blew up was parked.

That is how they saved us.

Antoine and Jamaal rigged a tanker and drove it into the field. That is why it took them so long to get to us. It seems that Jamaal was awake that morning and reached the balcony I am sitting on right now in time to see us disappear into the gymnasium.

The boys certainly used their heads. They took advantage of the mostly empty hospital and hauled three van loads of medical supplies—everything from sterile bandages to antibiotics to saline bags—back to their little haven. Once they were satisfied with their haul, they went for the tanker. They had to travel a few miles down Highway 26, pull almost fifty vehicles out of the way while fighting off any zombies that came along, then bring the tanker back. They even apologized for taking so long! They saw our packs and assumed we’d had supplies.

After they parked the tanker, the twins drove over to the horde surrounding us and whooped it up until they were confident that a majority was now on their heels. They had a fuse ready and waited until they could see the doors of the gymnasium before lighting it. Then they circled back through the neighborhood.

When we first heard the pounding and yelling, nobody paid any attention. Then a brick came through one of the windows. We felt a bit silly. Later, Antoine told me that they were okay with risking the possibility of an injury to one of us by falling glass or even the brick if it meant saving us. Also, had we not answered, they would’ve left right after the explosion. I have to say, it was way cooler than anything I’ve seen in the movies.

Friday, January 23

Jamaal and Shari went through the gear that the Mitchell boys brought back from the hospital. Shari was most excited to find a batch of pre-natal vitamins—amidst every sort of anti-depressant, antibiotic, garbage bags of medications and assorted pharmacy stuff. Then there is the belly-sling. It is this stretchy band I can wear that takes the weight of my baby off my back. I’ve been walking around with it on today, and it has been a slice of Heaven.

Antoine and Jamaal have been wonderful hosts. They even invited us to stay, but I explained our plans. I noticed Jonathan and Jenifer didn’t contribute a whole lot to that conversation. I know they’d stay if I agreed. The thing is, they could stay now if they wanted. I’m not the boss of what we do. I simply know what I want to do.

There is one more development that has me itchy. This place has a radio. There is a bank of solar panels up top on the roof. The panels are even mounted on a device that senses the sun and turns with it throughout the day, then resets after sunset. They have enough power to operate the radio and a few knick-knacks (like their iPod and its docking station, what a luxury to have music). They have heard a few dozen transmissions on the AM-band from Las Vegas! The last was ten days ago!

My plan is to get to the warehouse complex and, providing those folks are still there, have this baby. After that, I have a little meeting with The Genesis Brotherhood to attend. Once I’ve dealt with them, I’m going to check out Las Vegas. Antoine was nice enough to provide me with a great series of maps that will help me chart my course. And I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll go alone. I really don’t care if anybody else wants to come.

Saturday, January 24

Today was a good day.

I woke up to wanting a peanut butter sandwich like nothing I’ve ever wanted before. I went down to breakfast, and when I saw the pancakes on a griddle atop the Coleman, I started to cry. Yeah, I know! Crazy-lady alert. Right?

So Jenifer and Shari go into hen mode and rush over to see what’s wrong. I managed to blubber something about wanting my peanut butter sandwich. While those two start hugging me and saying all the standard comfort phrases like “It’s okay, Meredith”, “There, there, Meredith” and “I know, Meredith” I’m only getting worse. Partially because I’m annoyed by their
comfort,
and partially because I just want a damn peanut butter sandwich. A simple piece of bread slathered with gooey brown stuff, maybe even a second piece of bread slapped on top. Is that too much to ask for?

Then Antoine brought me one. AND a mason-jar of blackberry jam that he and Jamaal made from berries they picked out back on the slope of the hill. I think I used a quarter of the jar! It was the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’d go so far as to say it is the best
thing
I’ve ever eaten. Of course, that was once I quit bawling.

Like I said, today was a good day.

Monday, January 26

I pulled Jonathan and Jenifer aside today. By Shari’s guess, I am eight weeks away from B-day. I want to make it to that complex in enough time so that, even if Sam’s old friends are wiped out or have moved on, I will have time to find a spot to have this baby. That means I leave tomorrow. “Like it or not,” I explained, “I’m sticking to my plan.”

Being in that gymnasium has only served to amplify my feelings about not staying in one place. Jonathan finally asked the million-dollar question:

“
Why Vegas?”

Simple. I’ve never been. That might seem silly on the surface considering that the casinos are undoubtedly all closed. Still, they have enough juice to be broadcasting a fairly powerful radio signal. To me, that makes Las Vegas the first of the New Wonders of the World.

I actually have a list of places I want to go see: Yellowstone National Park, The Grand Canyon, and Washington D.C. And now I can.

I told Jenifer and Jonathan that I will be leaving the next day, a couple hours after dinner. The last few days, I have been adjusting my sleeping pattern so that I am ready to travel at night.

All my gear is packed on a wheeled sled that both Jamaal and Antoine rigged for me. And I tested it on the hill out back. That baby is smooth, sturdy and all-terrain capable. I am bringing my spear, a pair of 9 mm pistols (two spare magazines and 200 rounds), semi-auto .22 caliber rifle that supports a ten-round magazine (four spare magazines and 500 rounds), a three-foot machete with a leather hip-pouch, two boxes of MREs (twenty days’ worth), one case of bottled water (20-ounce bottles), along with my basic camping supplies. My sled has a harness and I can pull this load without forcing myself into early labor.

We’ll see what happens.

Tuesday, January 27

At separate times, Jenifer and Jonathan both said they’re coming. Also, Shari found me this morning. She’s tagging along as well. I guess I didn’t actually
tell
Jonathan or Jenifer to keep their mouths shut. I just figure it was implied when I pulled them aside from everybody and had a private conversation with them. Oh well, it won’t suck to have a nurse with me these final eight weeks or so.

Wednesday, January 28

The world is a weird place. I’m not a big believer in coincidence, but…

All day something has been chewing on my mind. You know that feeling you get when you just know there is something you are supposed to do or someplace you are supposed to be? Well I’ve had that all morning.

I was watching the sunrise as we set up camp for the day in some house with its own tennis court out back. This neighborhood got looted big time. And not all the residents died from zombies. We found a middle-aged woman here who, judging by a couple of pictures still hanging, was elegantly pretty. She’d been tied to a bed. Her death had been…unpleasant.

Anyways, back to today’s nagging feeling. I had a hunch and grabbed Sam’s journal. One year ago today he left his ex-wife’s house for the warehouse after putting down his ex and his daughter. I guess I never really thought about what that must’ve felt like to him. Maybe not as much when he did Erin, but his daughter, Elizabeth. I actually wonder if he really did it. Or, is she still tied to her mom’s bed. Not like the woman here, but in a lot of ways exactly the same. Sure, she wasn’t raped repeatedly, beaten, and abused. But Erin’s corpse was tied down.

That got me thinking. I’ve come across a lot of bodies in all the houses that I’ve been in during the past year. How many bodies, dead or undead, have I seen in beds? What is up with that? Is it some symbol of comfort? When folks started realizing what was happening and put loved ones into bed, tied down, who were they trying to comfort? Themselves? Or the shell of humanity they were trussing up?

Like I said, the world is a weird place.