Zomblog II (5 page)

After I drove eight inches of iron through one of those hideous eyes, I walked up to Sean (I was fairly confident that the people who did this hadn’t stayed around long. Partially filled in tracks leading towards I-205 in the distance confirmed my suspicions.) and let him come to the end of his chain. He still had those damn handcuff bracelets on his wrist. We’d intended to search for a police car or, if it came down to it, find a hacksaw.

He stood there, or rather, the shell of him stood there. It was strange, normally those things reach out for you, but Sean just stood there.

“
I’m sorry, Sean,” I whispered. Then I drove the spike into his head through the left eye.

I won’t cry. I want to save everything that I am feeling for the ones who did this. I made it to the overpass. I am wrapped up in a sleeping bag—one of the nice ones—up on a support stanchion. I can see their camp through some trees. They should enjoy those fires tonight, because tomorrow there’s gonna be a lot less of them. If I die, you can bet I am going down with several notches in my belt.

Wednesday, November 26

Never underestimate a “tiny gal” with a “belly bump” and expect to live. Tonight, I am in a wooded encampment near the I-205 and I-84 interchange. We have a fire going in a pair of steel, halved, fifty-gallon drums partially buried in the ground in front of my tent.

This morning, before the sun rose, I slung my shotgun—fully loaded—over one shoulder, shoved the seven remaining shells in my coat pocket, grabbed my spiked maul handle, and headed towards where I’d seen fires burning most of the night.

The first obstacle was on the downhill slope on the far side of I-205 from where I was. The entire slope was strung with what had to be hundreds of coils of razor wire. I could see a few of the walking dead tangled in the stuff. I could hear more in the darkness, which is how I initially guessed that the razor wire was all the way down the hill.

I knew that these yahoos had to have a way in, so I began skirting, looking for a break. That is where I found the first guard. He was up on what looked like nothing more than a reinforced lifeguard tower—maybe twenty feet tall. I watched for a few minutes and determined it was just one person. He was armed with at least a crossbow. I watched him peg a couple of those things that “figured out” that there might be something to eat up in the tower and began slapping at one of the girders or support beams.

I waited until I didn’t see anything staggering about, and I baited my first trap. I stumbled out from a small cluster of vehicles and moaned as pathetically as possible, “No! I can’t have my baby now. Please, not now!” Then I dropped to the ground and crawled on my knees to a car I’d already checked, ensuring it was empty. I yanked open the door and made a show of crawling into the backseat.

Hooray for me! I could see a dark shadow climbing down the tower’s ladder. I set the gun on the floor—safety off—as an emergency weapon, with the barrel aimed at the door where my “rescuer” would be standing. Then I slid my spiked spear up next to myself where all I’d have to do was grab it. This next bit is what I think sealed the idiot’s fate. I yanked my pants down, and then pulled my shirt and coat up just enough to reveal my slightly rounding belly. With my knees up it looked more pronounced. Then I just started making little breathing noises, panting like I imagined I would in labor.

I gripped my spear when his shadow fell across the open door. There was enough moon reflected off the snow that I got a look at his eyes staring right between my legs! What a perv!

“
Ain’tcha just a tiny gal with a little belly bump ‘bout ta pop!” Even his voice was filthy. What he said next made my conscience feel much better about what I was about to do. “Let’s get that baby outta there so’s we can use that hole for its proper purpose.”

I made a moan like I was getting a burst of pain and reached out with my left hand. When he leaned forward, I already had a grip on my spear and, with my right hand, I thrust it forward and up. I’d hoped to get him in the throat. Instead, there was a nasty ‘clink’ and ‘crunch’ as I drove the iron spike into his mouth, shattering his teeth.

He fell back, hands grabbing the smooth handle, jerking it out of my grasp. I sat up fast, yanking my pants up like I’d just heard my folks’ car pull into the driveway. He was sitting on his ass tugging the spear out of the back of his throat when I reached him. I saw shadows moving, coming towards the commotion, and knew I had to act fast. His crossbow was a few feet away, so all I could do was snatch my weapon from his blood soaked hands. Whipping it around, I brought the butt right into his temple and he fell over. I grabbed his crossbow, the pouch on his thigh with a few bolts in it, and my shotgun, then I scrambled up into the tower.

I watched as the half-dozen zombies found him. He was still alive. I wondered at first, but then his feet started kicking as they ripped open his beer-belly and started pulling out ribbons of intestine and chunks of unidentifiable viscera. Soon, there was a huge, dark stain in the snow that had traces leading off in several directions.

I used my time up here to scout the surroundings. I could see a fair distance considering that it was still dark. The moon was reflecting off the snow and, judging by the sky, it was gonna be a clear day when the sun came up. The good news was that there was very little zombie activity on the interstate. I imagine that—except for the ones trapped in their cars—most of the fiends of the undead variety prefer the residential areas or anyplace living folk might congregate. The bad news was that I couldn’t really see inside the camp. I was barely able to discern the switchback, maze-like trail through the coils of razor wire.

I managed to acquire a two-way radio. It seems that the dumbass who had been on watch had chose to leave it behind. I plugged in the earpiece and was relieved that I heard no chatter. I wasn’t sure if these creeps had a scheduled check-in, but since things were about to get nasty, I didn’t really care. There was also a half-empty canteen of something resembling coffee and a crate of bolts for the crossbow. The sweetest find was a .357 magnum and a box of hollow-point bullets. A quick check of the cylinder revealed it was fully loaded with six rounds. I did a count of what I had in the box and was delighted to discover I had forty-three rounds.

I shoved the huge handgun in my jacket pocket, then fired off a few shots with the crossbow to get used to the feel and aim. I was pleased. Still nothing in my ear on the radio, and I figured to have no more than an hour before the sun would start to lighten the eastern sky.

I climbed down and made my way through the razor wire and into the trees. Not having any idea what sort of traps they might have here, I used my spear to prod the ground ahead of me. After what seemed an eternity, I reached the edge of the small wooded area and discovered a clearing.

These folks were small-time. I would discover later on that they hadn’t laid the wire or set up the scaffold watch tower. There were five tents. In front of each tent was a small fire pit. Only three had embers still glowing.

I decided to check the tents with the cold pits in front first. One just happened to be the closest and was empty inasmuch that there were no people, living or dead, inside. I did take note that there were two sleeping bags rolled out. I crept to the other and discovered mostly the same thing, empty, but only one rolled out sleeping bag.

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for what I had to do next. I had a flash for just a moment where I wondered if I could kill defenseless, sleeping, live humans. (Notice how I didn’t say innocent, I need not have worried.)

I peeked into the closest tent with a fire dying in front. The first thing I noticed was Jenifer. She was bound and gagged with a couple of ratty blankets thrown over her. I had enough light to see she was shivering. There were two mangy-looking males (I won’t dignify them by calling them men) in sleeping bags. One was snoring, lying flat on his back. I fired the crossbow standing right above the non-snoring one. The bolt went through the temple and pinned him to the ground by the head. He never made a peep. I used my spear and drove it in at an angle into the wide-open mouth on Mister Snorey. The tip came out the crown of his head.

Jenifer woke with a start, eyes wide with fear that could be seen even in the shadows. I knelt in front of her and touched my finger to my lips. It took her a few seconds to realize it was me. I cut her loose and ungagged her once she settled down. She gave some rather frightful looks at the two corpses, then, flipped Mister Snorey over and felt around under his sleeping bag. She came up with a sword that reminded me a lot of something from
Arabian Nights
. It was curved at the end and appeared
very
sharp.

I whispered an inquiry as to where we might find Dominique. She led me to a tent, pointed and held up one finger.
That shouldn’t be too tough
, I thought. Peeking in, I realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Dom was snuggled up under the arm of her…captor? He wasn’t a boy, but I couldn’t classify him as a man. I put him at no younger than sixteen, but no older than twenty. I had to walk in and get close enough to put the crossbow bolt in the center of his head. He jerked, which woke Dominique. Jenifer and I had to hold her down and cover her mouth. She actually bit me. God help me, but I wanted to put a bolt in her head, too. Had I been reloaded…well…it’s all speculation.

Still, I knew we had one more tent, and according to Jen-ifer, two more men out on watch. I had to act fast. Not being able to trust Dominique at that moment, I tied her up and gagged her.

There were two more that Jenifer and I dealt with quickly and quietly. Then I got one of the fires going. I stoked up the one in front of the tent I’d found Jenifer in, then moved to one of the empty tents so I could wait and ambush whoever came through that flap. I told Jenifer to sit with Dominique, but
not
to untie her under any circumstances.

It was almost too easy. The occupants of this tent came in together and, since I didn’t care about being silent anymore, I had the shotgun waiting. I didn’t give a damn about taking prisoners or any of that crap. I pulled the trigger and blasted the first guy through. The buckshot made a mess of the entire middle of his body and knocked him back a step. It also dinged up the arm of the second guy.

I sprung to my feet and dashed out into the open air. The one I’d hit good was staring up at the sky making fish-like movements with his mouth as blood bubbled and frothed from it. The other was a kid, no more than fifteen. He was holding a fairly ruined elbow, and carrying on like a big baby.

After taking his gun—a .22 caliber, six-shot revolver—the buck-knife on his belt, and what looked like a Roman Centurion’s sword that was strapped to his side in a homemade sheath, I decided to ask a few questions. At first, he just kept hollering and calling me “bitch” and “whore” which I was able to ignore. When he called me a “stupid cunt” I’d had enough of being nice. I stood up, stepped on his bad arm and shot him in the hand—effectively pinning it to the ground—with my crossbow. Then I did the same with the left. He put up quite a struggle, but, being just a scrawny kid with what I could call a very low tolerance for pain, I managed.

The name calling stopped and eventually, as the sun began to brighten the sky, he settled down to quiet sobbing. I discovered that my lone survivor’s name was Robby Mitchell. He is fourteen. His older brother, the one with the shotgun blast pattern in his chest, is Brett Mitchell and he was twenty. The other names and ages weren’t worth remembering, but ranged from sixteen (the one sleeping with Dominique) to twenty-eight. They found this camp five weeks ago and had decided to call it home. Robby claims there were no living survivors here when they found it.

I considered letting him go. His chances of survival would be minimal. But…there’s always that chance. And of course he begged to be set free…promised not to ever bother us again. It was all the other guys’ fault. Blah, blah, blah. I put a bolt in his chest after I stuffed a wad of his brother’s shirt in his mouth. Hey…he refused the blindfold.

I did a tour of the perimeter. Whoever set up this camp did an okay job. There isn’t much to see. This place is heavily wooded, and the razor wire does a good job of snagging the zombies. If a herd ever came, all bets would be off. But the dozen or so stragglers are a minimal threat. Jenifer and I will take watch shifts the next day or so and decide our next move. I don’t know what to do about Dominique, and I lack the energy and patience to talk to a twelve-year-old sporting an attitude.

Maybe tomorrow.

Thursday, November 27

I wonder if I was such an absolute bitch when I was twelve. According to Dominique, I am a filthy, murdering bitch who is no better than the zombies we are trying to avoid becoming one of. No matter what those bastards did to Sean—who Dominique had a crush on just about a week ago—apparently he “deserved what he got since his ways were against God, and it is those ways that got the world in trouble.” Yeah…that’s the direct quote.

I reminded her that Jenifer was found tied up and gagged. It seems that Jenifer refused to accept the message of “The Genesis Brotherhood” and was being “chastened” for her sins of denial.