Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (34 page)

Saturday, November 1

I’m never gonna drink again.

Sunday, November 2

I still feel terrible.  And even after using a half a tube of toothpaste, I still taste that icky, nasty, fake-cherry and amaretto-vomit taste.  I brush and brush but, like ten minutes later, it’s back.  It reminds me of when my family and I would go to the beach.  Two weeks later I’d still be finding sand in strange places.

Gunshots!  Close!

Monday, November 3

Snoe didn’t make it. But it is nice to see that the girls have fared well.  Mostly.  It’s been a rough couple of weeks since I sent Jenifer and Dominique out that back door.  I didn’t think I’d ever see them again.

So, here’s what happened:

The lobby filled with those things, and they didn’t take long to stack up outside the door to our theater.  I tried several times to move Snoe, but she couldn’t walk at all, and I just wasn’t strong enough to carry her.  It is one of the few times I cursed being a woman.

The doors started giving, and I remember crying and begging Snoe to please get up.  Finally, she waved me close and whispered, “Run!” I told her I wouldn’t leave her.  She managed to open her eyes just a bit, and I could see that fire that made her so strong still burning bright.  She placed her hand on my stomach and said, “Name the baby after me.  Now give me a gun and get your skinny ass outta here!”

I’ve never cried so much.  I don’t know what happened.  It felt like every single sad thing that has ever
occurred to me just poured out at once.  I handed her a pistol, made sure it had one in the chamber, and that the safety was off. (I still can’t remember ever hearing it fire.)

By now, the smell was overpowering.  I looked up and saw that the door was opening.  Heads and hands were poking through.  I kissed her on the forehead and then…God, forgive me…I left.

The girls had only been gone a few hours, so I hoped I would be able to catch them.  Only, it seemed that they had drawn some attention.  When you are alone and those things are everywhere, it is a bit hairy.  Some I could shove away, others I had no choice but to spear.  I don’t think Snoe realized that I gave her the only other gun.  Had she known, I’m sure she would’ve asked me to shoot her, and I
know
I would not have been able to do that.  Shooting a zombie is one thing.  Shooting a living person who you care for…totally not the same; I don’t care what the situation is.

Anyways, I was out in the open with a makeshift spear and nothing but a knapsack with very meager supplies to rely on.  Eventually, I had to stop trying to guess which way the girls went.  The only thing I could do was run.

The good news was that residential areas were close.  I knew that a house was not a long term situation, but I had to get off the street.  I had to climb or vault over a lot of fences.  I’m sure glad I’m not much further along in this whole pregnancy thing.  Still, after about twenty or thirty minutes of running, jabbing, climbing, jabbing, vaulting, and more jabbing, I managed to break clear.  This allowed me to scout out a place to hole up in.

I chose an older two-story with a front porch that sat a good four feet off the ground.  There was only one set of steps, and they were wood.  Seeing how I was by myself, and not a single zombie was in sight, I had an idea and enough time to i
mplement it.

Fortunately, the stairs were already in bad shape.  On the side of the house was a decent supply of firewood.  I grabbed a sturdy piece and, with surprising ease, knocked out the side su
pports.  Very pleased with myself, I demolished the little five step access and tossed the pieces into the grassy side yard. 

There were bushy pine trees at each end of the porch.  I’d already noticed an upstairs window that was broken, so, after e
nsuring that the front door was firmly locked, I peeked through the surprisingly intact living room window.  I was modestly confident that the place was empty.  Up I climbed.

I found my first surprise just inside the window.  A body was plastered in place just underneath the windowsill. Whoever this guy was, he had deep-throated a double-barrel shotgun and pulled
both
triggers. I guess weather and time helped clean up some of the mess.

This poor fella knew what was happening.  There was a bite on one arm.  Not too bad, but obviously this guy wasn’t gonna wait to turn.  Only…I wonder. We’ve met a few bite vi
ctims who haven’t.

Oh well.

The other surprise was good, his box of shells were still on a table a few feet away.  The box was in fairly good shape, so I guessed that the contents would be good, too.

I did a walk-through, and it is obvious the residents were going to try and hide out here.  Lots of stuff was in place to board up the downstairs.  Somewhere along the way, it went wrong.  There are a woman and three children—two boys and a girl—wrapped up in one of the three upstairs bedrooms.

Seeing this made me remember what I’d read in Sam’s journal about his wife Erin and daughter Elizabeth.  Only, this guy got nipped and cashed in.  I dragged the body in with the other three.  I have to admit I got a little queasy when I grabbed his feet and pulled.  The sound he made tearing free will stay with me for a while.

For the most part the place was secure.  I decided against doing a bunch of banging and hammering.  This place has been empty long enough that I didn’t feel the need to make changes.  I used the master bedroom as my home.  I even had a bathroom.  Sure there was no plumbing or running water, but a bucket beats a bush.

The first night, I didn’t sleep.  I still had the whole hypersensitive-hearing thing going on.  By the second day I took catnaps all day.  I peeked out the windows a lot the first couple of days.  It was so strange to see absolutely nothing.  In fact, not a single zombie the first three days.

I could hear gunshots every once in a while.  One night I heard the distinct sound of an engine.  I couldn’t tell which d
irection it had come from, or which way it went, but it is still so strange for the world to be this quiet.

After almost a week, I was rested.  But, I was also res
tless.  I began slipping out in the early morning, going to surrounding houses and searching for anything useful.  I’ll say this, we—and by “we” I mean most Americans—have a lot of crap.  The things I saw in some of those houses was simply mind-boggling.

Unfortunately, the nature of what’s happened seems to have made guns disappear. It looks like everybody who ran made sure that they took every single weapon they owned. Those who tried to wait it out in their homes used every last bu
llet. Over half made the choice to save one for themselves at the end.

A few houses had nasty surprises waiting inside. I wo
nder, if I’d never come along, would those things just stand for eternity until they rotted away. Though I must say that while they show definite signs of rot, they aren’t coming apart or drying up into mummy-type husks. Their blood has the consistency of dark molasses. I wonder if there are labs full of scientists trying to figure these things out.

Anyways, it was early one morning while I was rumma
ging through a bedroom on the second floor of what had once been a very posh residence that I happened to glance out the window. Through some near leafless trees I could see 148
th
Avenue. A black curtain hanging from the roof of a non-descript building had
our
symbol.

The girls
, I thought. If nothing else, I knew they’d been there. The next few days, I “leapfrogged” from house to house until I’d gotten as close as I could. Then I spent a day just watching the amount of zombie traffic. By then, I could see them. Jenifer and Dominique would come out on the roof every day. Only, I didn’t want to risk making any noise that would bring the hordes, or try anything visual that somebody else might catch. I think my general distrust of strangers is now fully justified.

My last dash wasn’t too perilous. Fortune decided to give me a break. Just as the pre-dawn sky yielded enough light to see a dozen or so feet, what looked like a tricked-out armored bank truck came rumbling along a nearby cross-street. Sure enough…it drew plenty of attention. I waited an extra half an hour which made it a little brighter—even in the overcast dawn—than I’d have liked. The couple of stragglers I encou
ntered I was able to spike, which kept a crowd from gathering at this former strip club.

The girls look no worse for the wear. Except…both are obviously a little green around the edges. I found the empty a
maretto bottles. If both of those were full…well… it’s a wonder that they didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. I’m gonna let this one go. From the looks and general attitudes, I doubt either one will be tipping a bottle again anytime soon.

Tuesday, November 4

This neighborhood is hotter than I’d feared. All day there has been a vicious firefight to the south and east of us.

At first, I thought maybe it was a group doing battle with a horde.  Then, an armor-plated van sped by a few blocks over.   It was being chased by a sedan-from-hell with a machinegun mounted on top running on full-auto trying to bring down that van. A few moments later, there was an explosion, but I never saw e
ither vehicle come back.

Even having pulled down those curtains that the girls had hung…I feel really vulnerable here. We need to bounce on outta this place.

Soon.

Wednesday, November 5

I made a decision today and must live with it. What’s done is done.  I realize that right this moment; more so than ever before. I may have made a choice today that will haunt me for the rest of my life, however long or short that turns out to be.

This morning, Dominique woke me and said “some guy was sneakin’ around in the lot next to us.”  I had no idea what sort of business that place had been since it was mostly burned down and really nothing more than a black, charred husk.

I decided this warranted bringing my shotgun. I jacked one into the chamber and went up to take a look. Staying low, I saw him before he saw me. He was probably in his early forties, streaks of gray sliced through his thick brown hair…he was definitely showing the signs of being without food for a while.

There were already a handful of downed zombies sca
ttered around him. He had a pair of pistols on his hips and a bandolier of bullets outside his buttoned-up, long, black leather duster. He was a whirling dervish of steel as he spun blades with abandon in both hands. Occasionally he would dart one direction or the other and plunge a blade into the head of the nearest zombie.

The problem was that he’d managed to get himself su
rrounded. Every one of those things he dropped was being replaced by three more. Still, he’d managed to fight his way up to the chain link fence that separated our lot from his. Up to this point, our lot was still relatively empty. A couple of well-placed shots could give him time to get freed up enough to scale the fence and make it to the Dumpster that would offer him access to our roof.

Our roof.

Funny thought that. Considering the fact that I’m so busy planning our departure. But all the issues I’ve dealt with in regards to strangers kept me from acting in any way that would help this guy. Even worse, I was considering putting a load of buckshot in him if he managed to make it over the fence.

He saw me in the end. His eyes found mine just as about a dozen of those things got solid grips on him. Those eyes had the most sincere look of “why?” in them. He screamed som
ething that sounded like “Please!” as he was torn into at least four different parts. I didn’t even put one in his head to end it.

My only
initial
regret? Not being able to get to his weapons. A few hours ago I started to cry…and haven’t really been able to stop. Damned hormones!

Thursday, November 6

An earthquake! A goddamned earthquake! Isn’t it bad enough that the dead are walking? I mean seriously! If there is some sort of divine being—a creator—don’t you think he/she/it would grow tired of fucking with us!

Early this afternoon, the girls and I were on the roof. I am mapping our escape route. Well, the first leg of it anyways. I wasn’t really paying attention to the shambling masses. It was Dom who tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention.

There was this entire new level of silence. But what was really strange—and I say that in a world dominated by the living dead—was that the zombies had all stopped moving. I mean they were simply standing there…rooted in place. It was as if, all of a sudden, each of the undead had been turned to statues.

I’ve never experienced an earthquake before. I was alone in that distinction.  Weird, huh? So there was this sound that I will make no effort to describe. Then it was as if the world had turned into a giant Etch-a-Sketch and God was trying to erase the picture.

Zombies fell like dominoes, and I know for a fact that I screamed. Only, they must not have heard me over that roaring sound. It was an experience I hope to never endure again.