Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (29 page)

Today, I can smell the Columbia River.  I look to tomorrow with excitement and just a bit of fear.  We have to move through the outer edges of Pasco.  We will get a real field test of our capabilities because, let’s face it, Pasco is no Portland.  If we bog down in this place, we’ve no business trying for a big city.

Most of today we cleaned the weapons and made sure every spare magazine was loaded.  Everybody has plenty of firepower.  Also, I’ve rigged this Velcro strip in the machinegun turret I’ll be riding in (the forward post on the RV) so that I can attach a series of Glocks and reloads all around me if the big gun gets hot or jams.

Dominique shows no sign of fear or concern.  This actually worries me.  I’m sure a shrink would have something to say about this.  Penelope says it may be a very powerful defense mechanism.  Apparently she saw what she calls “extreme bravado” during her time as an army-medic in the Gulf War.  Men simply lost the ability to be afraid. Usually…it ended poorly.

I’ve made it clear that I don’t want Dominique anywhere but by my side or in the RV once we roll out tonight.

I barely recognized a town that I’ve basically grown up in and around.  There is so much that can’t be put into words.  The fires certainly did a lot of damage.  But to see the entire city as dead as those abominations that walk, drag, and stumble down the streets is just heartbreaking.

Pasco is not a small town.  I mean it’s no metropolis, but there were a lot of people in that place.  And while some have wandered away…many remain.  Thousands.

We had two choices.  We could follow 395 along the Columbia River, or shoot the gap and drive through Pasco and Kennewick.  After a vote, we decide to take the more direct route, taking I-82 all the way into Oregon and eventually shifting over to I-84 West.

Staying on the main route had advantages as well as drawbacks.  So far I-82 is in good shape except for all the debris.  However, those zombies converged on the sound of our engines.  We drew them like bees to honey.  The bottom few feet of all our vehicles are smeared in filth from the shattered, broken, exploded corpses we plowed through.

The plow blade really got put to use today as we drove through a surging tide of death.  The grenades were useful only inasmuch as it would blow a gap in the surge.

Overpasses were the worst.  We had to go under several.  We eventually worked out a system.  I would open up with the .50 cal, and then, before we drove under, everybody would duck inside.  It was just too risky to have a body, animated or not, fall on you.  Taking risks is one thing, being careless and stupid is totally different.

Once we popped out the other side, Tara and I would go up and clear the roof of the RV.  Then, if needed, pop anything clinging to the Bradley, the Hummer, or the fuel rig.  The good thing is that there were no surprises.  I mean you could hear the bodies land on the roof if it happened.

I tried to convince Snoe that we should see about supplies, but she felt it was a needless risk since we aren’t lacking anything.

“One test at a time, Meredith,” was her only reply.

I guess she had a point.  Besides, we don’t have a lot of spare room after what we hauled off that train.

One strange thing of note.  While we were followed by literally hundreds of those zombies, they sorta trailed off once we got outside of town.  Perhaps the dead have staked their claim.  After all, they are the majority now.  We are the parasite and they are now the organism.

Thank goodness we cover up our location and seek hiding spots when we stop for the day.  A flight of fighter jets screamed overhead today.  Not just once, but a handful of times!  We counted seven planes.  Snoe says they were all F-18s.  I wonder just where they came from, and what sort of people have control of them.

Strange, until we actually saw the jets, we had no idea what the noise was.  We had forgotten!  We’ve been so busy running from everything that we forgot, or more accurately, never considered that any sort of organized resistance to the zombie infestation may even exist.  After all, our only real exposure to military has been those wackos doing experiments and the power struggle in Spokane.

Really, none of us have any ideas as to what those jets mean, but they criss-crossed the area a few times and never attacked anything.  To me at least, that would offer the possibility that they are perhaps scouring the area for possible survivors.  I know that’s a big leap, but where we were hiding under a rocky, scrub—and tree—covered outcrop, we could see them clearly come in low over Pasco and Kennewick.

Well, we’ve no interest in being “saved”.  As soon as it is dark, we’ll continue our journey.  I just wish I knew why we were so intent on this.  I won’t go so far as to say it is some sort of supernatural compulsion, but we are determined to make this journey.

Crossed into Oregon just before sunrise.  We are in an extremely overgrown field atop a hill looking out over nothing.  We will be on I-84 first thing in the morning.

When the sun rose, we could see what had to be the town of Hermiston just to the east.  Something really bad happened because the area is completely leveled.  Burned to the ground.  Karen and Snoe slipped out for a while and came back to tell us that it is even worse than it looks from this distance.  But that it is cold which means it’s been that way for a long time.

Leaving the charred remains of Hermiston behind lifted a weight that I didn’t realize was hanging over me.  To see someplace so utterly destroyed was more upsetting than I realized.

We ran into our first real problem at about 3 a.m. this morning.  As we approached Boardman, our easy drive got nasty.  A big section of I-84 is just gone.  That meant we had to sort of go off-roading.  That slowed us way down as the RV and the tanker struggled in places.

Snoe would drive ahead in the Bradley and scout the best route, then we would follow.  It was like leapfrog without leaping.  The rest of us would wait for her to radio back.  That drew more attention than we’ve had in quite a while, not counting the city drive-thrus.  My shoulders ache from wielding the bat.

Dominique gave me and the others a bit of a scare.  We were all dispatching a group of twenty or so that were surrounding the RV.  For some reason, those things are more attracted to this vehicle than the others.  Anyways, we were on the roof, me and Dominique and Tara, acting as a distraction so that Cera and Brittany could move in from behind and take them out.  As usual, her fearless—bordering on reckless— attitude had her leaning down, poking this one middle-aged man still wearing the tattered remains of a set of coveralls in the face.  In a lunge that surprised all of us, it suddenly grabbed the baseball bat and yanked.

I was helpless.  I could only watch as she plunged head-first with a shriek.  She landed on top of Coveralls-Zombie and the two vanished into a cluster of three others.  Before I realized what I was doing, I stood up, yelling for Tara who was closest as I jumped off, hitting the ground in a crouch. I quickly dis-regarded our concern to be somewhat quiet and drew a Navy Colt .45 that I had on one hip.  I fired point blank at the back of the head of what had once been a ten- or eleven-year-old boy with a crew cut.

Dominique emerged from under Coveralls-Zombie.  I noticed something shiny sticking out of the side of its head.  Of course she was blood splattered and I just knew that my fears would be confirmed. 

After dropping the remaining zombies, we got back into the RV and Penelope helped Dominique get cleaned up; that allowed her to visually inspect her.  Miracle of miracles, she was unharmed in any way!

She is sleeping now.  We are camped inside the relatively intact fence of some coal-based power plant.  Low clouds are rolling in promising rain, and a steady wind is blowing.  Every once in a while we go out and clear the area.  The zombie traffic, while sparse, is surprisingly steady.  We’ve been killing four or five an hour since we made camp.  Some have come from the water.

That is a bit disturbing.

Mortality seems to be a concept that Dominique now grasps.  She has been considerably more quiet today.  We rolled through Boardman, and from our best guess, we are now camped in what was one of humanities big jabs in the eye of Mother Nature…a waste management landfill.  Three-quarters of a year has done nothing to improve the look or smell of this blight.

You may wonder why we chose such a horrid place to camp when the whole of the countryside is at our disposal.  Simple.  It was the closest cover we could duck under when we heard the sounds of gunfire and a big black cloud of smoke snaked skyward from what Snoe says is a town across the river called Roosevelt. Here, I’ll let her tell you:

“
A big pleasure boat was coming up the river.  I spotted it just as I pulled into this park on the river’s edge in Arlington.  The bad weather was making it even more difficult to see so I was looking for a camping spot a little later than normal because we had some extra time before it got really light.  I know the boat, or the people on it to be more precise, could not see me, so I was just watching to see what they might be about.  I’m pretty sure they never even saw the six-pack of rockets that slammed into their side.  That boat lit up the sky for a moment when it blew.  In that flash of light I am pretty sure I saw at least twenty vehicles of all types and sizes parked in some sort of fenced lot as well as a sizeable amount of people.

We are at a slight bend in the river, so this evening I will move along a ridge that gives me a good view and try to figure out if we should be concerned.  If they are just some sort of group of survivors, there is little chance we’ll need to be looking over our shoulders tonight when we move out.  I have no idea what the situation surrounding that boat is, and honestly I don’t care.  As long as we can continue on our way without the worry of being pursued by anything more than the walking dead…I’m fine.”

Early this morning, while we were cautiously escaping whatever is happening in Arlington, we picked up a fragmented, static-filled radio transmission.  I heard it.  So did Caren, Tara, and Brittany.  Each of us has a small, portable AM radio with a digital tuner.  When we ride in the turrets, we keep them on and let them just scan.  Until now, they just zoomed through the numbers on the dial.  Tonight, they all stopped at 730 on the readout.  I was able to make out only a few words.

Afraid I might miss something (the others apparently felt the same way) I didn’t do anything for several seconds after the static overwhelmed anything else being said.  Finally, convinced we’d lost whatever it was, I called for a halt.  We backtracked to where we were approximately when the message was heard.  We even found a ridge to drive up to off the main road and made camp for the night, but nothing else came through.

Snoe says if it was a radio signal, it bounced off the atmosphere so it is hard to gauge how powerful the transmission was because I guess even weak signals can travel far that way.

After talking about it we all agreed that we heard two things distinctly.  “Las Vegas” and “power”.

We stayed put for two days and never got another hint of anything.  I’m almost upset that Caren, Tara, and Brittany heard it.  Had I been the only one, I could simply write it off to being delusional.  Oh well.

Tonight, we moved within sight of what could be another test.  The Dalles.

This small town had more than 10,000 people in it when things were “normal”.  I think it is a good place to make a practice run on a supply grab.  There should be plenty of stores, shops, and residences that will provide us with a chance to work on getting in and out with whatever objective we decide on.

After a spirited and entertaining meeting of the minds, we decided on a rather unique set of targets.  Seeing as how it is September, we thought it would be nice to grab school supplies.  Paper, pens, books, the whole she-bang.  Dominique even wants to pick out her notebook.  The other part of our run is less glamorous, and it came about during a conversation that took place after we were sure the youngest adventurer was asleep.  Without a man, each of us would like to find a suitable “replacement” of the battery operated variety.  Also, liquor.  While it may seem selfish, and even a bit careless, we’ve decided that, while the world may be dead, we are very much alive.  After all, that is a part of why we left Irony…

To live.

There are survivors in The Dalles.

We crossed The Dalles Bridge and are now entrenched in The Dalles Municipal Airport.  We can’t say exactly who is on whose side yet.  But, we do know that there are a few bands of survivors there, and we’ve seen them clash on occasions.  The undead are thick here.   I believe that is due to all the activity.  It keeps them agitated.

Snoe wanted to take US14 and just cruise the rest of the way to Portland on the Washington side of the Columbia River.  We voted.  She lost.  Everybody else is a bit excited about staying here for a couple of days.  After all, if The Dalles is this bad, Portland should be insane.