Zomblog II (25 page)

The highlight of my day was laying on a table with hot towels wrapped around my body, listening to Jeff snivel like a great big baby. I’ve sorta been expecting Rodney to stroll in anytime now. I hate not knowing. It is rough just being here, but to know somebody is out there doing something...it makes my teeth itch! I know I’m in no shape, and honestly, I am in a bit of pain. The therapy, whether I want to admit it or not, is helping. But while I’m being honest, I wouldn’t last a day out there.

I managed to catch a glimpse of Eric today. Shortly after the jukebox was turned on he strolled by the open doorway. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be certain he was actively avoiding me. I thought we got along well, so I don’t know what to make of this. Shari…now Eric. Am I that much of a complete bitch that nobody can stand being with me? I mean, Jonathan had made it clear he was going back to Sunset, and Jenifer was done after The Genesis Brotherhood mission also. So what gives? Who knows? Maybe all this laying around is makin’ me crazy and a wee bit paranoid. Well, I won’t rush my recovery, but I will be leaving this place ASAP.

Sunday, June 7

Took a walk outside today. It was warm, sunny, and peaceful; other than one lone shambling zombie that decided to buck the trend and climb the steep hill to reach us. Antoine took one of the women we rescued outside the fence to take it out. I guess they’re trying to expose these women to the act of killing on a slow and limited basis. That’s great unless we get swarmed. I’m not sure any of these gals would be more than in the way.

I put some extra pressure on my injured leg while I walked. At one point, when I sat my own cane down, I shifted all my weight to my bad leg. It felt like somebody was giving me a charlie-horse.

My biggest deal is getting used to half of my pinky being gone. It feels so odd, especially when I close my hand and make a fist. Also, when I turn my head or look up, it really hurts. Not just a little bit. I’m talking it feels like the hole tears open further. Doctor Gene has this gauze actually packed into the hole which has been slowly reducing in amount. It still hurts, and I’ve looked at it in a mirror.

Nasty.

Monday, June 8

Rodney is back. He says that The Genesis Brotherhood is still in that house. He says that they only send out small three-person teams for supplies. Also, every day they slip out and get up on the wall to take out any zombies gathered out front. After dispatching them, they bring them around one side or the other—outside the wall—and toss the bodies down the steep hill. The bottom is all woods, so the corpses can’t really be seen. They are busily fortifying this place, slowly setting obstacles farther and farther out on the three sides they need to defend from zombies.

He found the explosives he went out for. In a rather clever move, he’s hidden the materials in the same woods down below the house where the zombies are being tossed. He says they don’t seem terribly intent on setting watches.

So, to make all this happen, he needs at least two people to go with him to run wire and set charges. When the house comes down, three people will be responsible for going in and making certain that not one single member of that group remains.

There is no doubt that the three will be me, him, and Jeff. The only concern is that if we wait too long...

Tuesday, June 9

Jenifer seems to be getting worse, not better. Doctor Gene says there is a serious concern with infection. They are doing all they can, but she has suffered so much injury. Somebody is with her every minute of the day now.

A new person has joined our physical-terrorism regime: Scott Colson. We now know a bit more about him. He was captured with a group of eight others who were unlucky enough to be moving through Washington Park. They were on their way to the coast. His story gets sadder. That was his family inside the pen. His wife and two sons.

It seems that when they were captured, not only did they fight The Genesis Brotherhood and refuse to join, they managed to kill two members. They had been locked in a room and one of the guards decided to help himself to Scott’s wife, making him and his two sons watch. The other guard was so engrossed he didn’t notice that Scott had freed himself. He snapped the onlooker’s neck and was on the other before the guy knew what was happening. Once freed, they’d tried to make a run for it. They got out the window; a sniper from the roof put a bullet in one of his boys’ back. Of course, Scott and his wife, Linda, couldn’t just keep going. They’d turned and ran back.

Scott is in a wheelchair. He kept a blanket over his legs, so I never saw his feet. But, if they’re anything like his hands, I don’t know if they will ever work right again. Both his hands are mangled and deformed. The spikes driven through the wrists have done some nasty damage. He is trying to get his fingers to work. Right now they can only bend all together. He’s got no individual movement. I didn’t stay for his therapy. As soon as Doctor Gene unwrapped one hand and I saw the ugly black and green discoloration from some of the nastiest bruises anyone short of Jesus has ever had, I knew it was time to go. However, I think I’ll like this guy. As I was leaving, he called my name, when I turned, he waved.

And peeked through the hole just below the heel of his hand with a big grin on his face.

Saturday, June 13

I’ve been bedside with Jenifer for two days. Paula has excused me from my PT. I’m not moving from this spot unless she gets better or doesn’t. I refuse to say the word because I won’t give it any more power than it already has.

Doctor Gene has stopped the pain medication. His reason may seem callous, but nobody can argue it. He feels she won’t survive much longer no matter what treatment she receives. Pain medication is a very finite resource, and using the amount Jenifer needed—when each day is now one day longer than she was expected to live—can’t be justified. It doesn’t seem to matter; she still hasn’t so much as twitched. I know people have come and gone, but I don’t remember faces, even the familiar ones. It’s days like today that make me wish that the bullet in my own neck would’ve been a centimeter up and over.

Monday, June 15

Nothing has changed. Jenifer clings to life, and forgive me, but I can’t keep sitting on my hands. Rodney came this morning with Eric. Seems Jeff wasn’t up to it, but Eric offered. I do
not
get that guy. We can’t let them have any more time to prepare. There’s no telling what they might do. So, tonight, we go. If I don’t return, and if Jenifer survives, I’d like her to have this. Please know I didn’t abandon you. I simply did what I felt had to be done. Sure, there are likely worse groups than The Genesis Brotherhood, but those people are in my backyard. They’re crazy, and a danger to people here at the Mitchell place, the folks at Sunset, and Snoe at The Compound.

Thursday, June 18

Seeing that place gave me a cold feeling in my stomach. Rodney told Eric and I everything we needed to do. He directed us as we climbed around in those beams. I won’t lie, it hurt. My leg throbbed, my neck burned, all of it made worse by the fact that I palmed my pain meds that day.

We were able to have everything in place in just a couple hours. Rodney wanted to make certain that we inflicted maximum damage. Twice we had to stop because of noise up above. Once, I swear I heard Dominique’s shrill laughter. I don’t exactly know when it happened, but at some point, I’d stopped seeing Dominique as a confused little girl. What I saw instead was an evil, selfish, hateful monster. A rabid animal that needed to be put down before it was able to cause any more damage or hurt anybody else.

Once everything was ready, Rodney had us all move up the steep hill, but well to the left. We knew that we’d have very little time after the blast to handle our business. The rule was to shoot anything that moved. One of the charges was actually placed by Rodney at the base of the brick wall on the right side of the property. He said there were only a dozen or so zombies stumbling around, but removing the fence would further reduce any chance a survivor might make it out alive.

The explosion was epic. Any thoughts we had of needing to “deal with potential survivors” was pointless. Not to mention we couldn’t get close enough because of the flames. Afterwards, when I asked Rodney what the hell, he admitted the funniest thing in the world. He and Jeff were in fact attached to the Army Rangers…as supply clerks! He had no idea how much explosives to use.

In a horror movie, there is always that ridiculous double-ending. No matter what is done to the particular
beastie
, it always lunges at the hero or heroine one more time. The bad guy never quite dies that first time. I have no worries of such nonsense. The sliver of wall that didn’t crash down the hill in a ball of flame collapsed shortly after the big explosion. The dust was still
rising
from the collapse.

We only hung around for a few minutes. Long enough to
know
that nothing would be walking away from that blast. Dominique and The Genesis Brother-hood are gone. For good. We moved away and had to fight out of a couple of very minor jams. The zombies were coming like a bunch of farmhands to a dinner-bell. We stayed low and moved as fast as we could.

Eventually we found—of all things—a tree house. Not some slapped together sheets of plywood. This was obviously for some rich children whose parents had too much money to waste. This tree house was bigger than my first apartment, or at least seemed that way. We hid out and stayed an extra day for my sake. After the adrenaline subsided I was feeling quite a lot of pain. During my nap, Rodney was an absolute angel. He came up with a bottle of oxycodone. No self-respecting rich person would be without a mini-pharmacy in their bathroom. He didn’t have to look any further than the house next to this one before he found this little vial of heaven. Meredith likey!

Also, in between naps, Eric sat beside me. He told me he was glad I wasn’t
The Bringer of Death
. My look must’ve said everything because he quickly explained. It seems he’d come to believe that I had some sort of curse hanging over me. I’m not up on all the Native American spirituality, but he was convinced that being near me was a ticket to
The Great Spirit
. That is utterly ridiculous.

I guess I’m now considered okay. Like I care. Well... maybe I do...a little.

This morning, we returned to the Mitchell place. Doctor Gene gave me a royal chewing out. Then, Paula got her pound of flesh. They were so busy bitching me out that it was Jeff who told me that Jenifer seems to be stabilizing. Whatever problem she was having, she seems to have overpowered.

I went in to see her, ignoring Doctor Gene and Paul-the- Physical-Terrorist still standing there with mouths open and stupid expressions on their faces. She still looks horrible. But not
as
horrible. Paula came in a little while later and told me I’d be expected back in therapy tomorrow.

Whatever.

Wednesday, July 1

I’ve been released from Paula’s clutches. She wasn’t sorry to see me graduate her little boot camp. Jeff and Scott are progressing, but both will be seeing a lot more of her before being bestowed her seal of approval. Two days ago, Jenifer moved her arm. Everything is leveling out.

A group from Sunset arrived today, they had a couple of gifts: puppies. One for me and one for Jenifer. Seems Coach has been a busy boy with Cheyenne. They wanted to talk to me about working with a team to clear the section of Highway 26 from Sunset out to The Complex. The opinion is that if the highway can be cleared, and a series of outposts created, then the corridor would be a start towards reclaiming the land.

Personally, I think they’re crazy. Moving a bunch of cars out of the way isn’t gonna make the world a safe and better place. Still, I can’t go to Vegas yet, Jeff’s not ready. We’ll be moving next spring. We talk about it almost every day, so I guess I can do this until then. Besides, Sam can’t possibly travel yet. That’s what I named my puppy, Sam. He’s a tiny savage and I love him.

So, next week, Rodney, Eric, and I will be heading out with Shandra. We’re going to find one or two of those king-sized dump-trucks and turn it into a war machine. Shandra knows where a quarry is about ten miles from here. She says there should be no problem finding what we want.

Antoine has promised to keep tabs on the Las Vegas radio signal. There hasn’t been any noise from there in over three weeks. Who knows, maybe they got wiped out. Maybe I’ll go down there and it won’t be any different than here. At least I’ll know I tried to find something. Plus, I’ve never seen Vegas. Rodney asked what I’ll do if we get there and find nothing. I told him I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone National Park.

I’m thinking of putting the pen and paper away. What am I keeping track of all this for? Who knows. Sometimes I think I keep track of what’s happening out of habit. I guess I’ll see when we start clearing that twenty-seven mile stretch of highway in a few days. But for now, I’ve got a puppy tugging on my sock.

a preview of Zomblog
III

coming August 2011

Friday, January 1