Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (36 page)

Not a peep. We’ve decided to hang for a couple. Sean wanted to know why we were so anxious to be out amongst those things. I explained that it wasn’t so much that, as the need to
not
feel caged. He’s only spent a few hours in the back of an armored truck…he’s never been in a cage.

Friday, November 14

Still nothing last night.  At least not on the radio.  We did hear somebody with a bullhorn or something about an hour before daybreak.  After a while, it faded away.  None of us could make out what was being said.

Dom and Jenifer aren’t speaking right now.  I’m gues
sing it has to do with Sean.  They are in for a huge disappointment.

I pulled him up when I had to physically separate the girls.  They both clammed up when I tried to question them, so I did the next best thing.  I cornered him in one of the upstairs bedrooms and demanded to know if there was anything taking place between him or either of the girls.  Bless his heart…he was mortified.  Sean had no idea that the girls were arguing over him, and doesn’t really care beyond the group peace and unity aspect.

Sean is gay.

Sunday, November 16

Still nothing on the radio.  We’ve talked it over and have decided that we want to go to the compound.

I am not very popular right now.  When I say that ‘we’ decided, I really should admit that
I
decided.  I told them that the three of them could go to Las Vegas, Los Angeles, or Hell for all I cared.  My mind is made up. 
I
am going to the compound that Sam first found shelter when all of this started.

That is where I plan to have this baby.  Then—and here is where I made huge friend-points—I plan on leaving it with somebody.  Boo! Hiss!  I know.  I’m a terrible person.  Well, I was NEVER one of those girls who dreamed of settling down and starting a family.  NOT to say that it couldn’t happen.

How do I explain this in a way that doesn’t make me come off like a complete bitch?  The world is a wide open place right now.  Sure, the rides aren’t running at Disneyland, but there is a world of things to see.  Zombies might be a big danger, but you can certainly outwit the things.

Haven’t you ever been to the Grand Canyon, Mt. Saint Helens, or Yellowstone National Park and taken in the bea
uty…then wished all the smelly, noisy tourists weren’t there screwing it up?  I’ve never been to any of those places.  Sure, I’ll have to duck zombies and avoid lunatics, but that is something I can manage.  Only, not with a baby under my arm.

Call me selfish, or any of the other names I heard today, but if I leave that baby at the compound, it will have a much greater chance of survival.  I know me.  I’d get antsy, and before long, I’d be leaving that place.  I can’t bring a baby.  And I won’t abort it.  Period.

Monday, November 17

There wasn’t a lot of food here, but what we lacked in quantity is more than made up for in quality.  There was a case of freeze-dried “gourmet” meals.  It seems these folks liked the outdoors, but wanted nothing to do with roasting wieners and making s’mores.  There was this stack of bottled water.  A
lso, we found a pair of what I can only call
luxury
canteens.  They have filtration devices in the top.  I guess you submerge them in a stream with a weighted attachment.  According to the box, thirty minutes later you have a canteen full of “spring-quality water” that you can drink without worrying about dysentery.

A light snow is falling; we may wait this out a bit longer.  Zombies are one thing, but slogging through the snow holds no appeal.  We will spend this little break making sure we’ve left nothing useful that we can carry and continue monitoring for any further radio traffic from Las Vegas. By the time we are ready to make that journey…we should be much better armed and equipped.  Of course we’ll still need to scavenge, but we will at least have the luxury of not living hand-to-mouth with minimal defensive capabilities. 

Wednesday, November 19

I haven’t seen snow like this in ages.  And seeing it in such a constant downpour—or whatever you call it—basically it is a blizzard.  Only there isn’t much wind.  The dead don’t even seem to notice.  The ones out front just continue to grip the fence and carry on.

Heard the megaphone again.  But still no radio.  Maybe whoever it was got overrun.  Or, whatever they were using for power conked out.

Evening

Somebody—or bodies—is close.  Maybe it’s the megaphone owner.  Whatever the case, we are on high alert.  The situation between Dom and Jenifer hasn’t thawed much even after Sean and I explained his…preferences.  Maybe the girls are a lot like me and need to be on the move.  Neither one has ever actually been in a secure, compound-like environment.  Being in this McMansion is a bit like a poorly gilded cage.  Of course, if I’d been in a place like this a year ago, I’d have thought that I’d died and gone to heaven.

Saturday, November 22

On the run once more!  So little time to write, but if we don’t make it…

Sunday, November 23

I am alone…and I’m freezing.  Jenifer…if you or Dominique find this and I’m one of those
things
…blow my brains out.  And if you see those bastards (I’m sure you’ll remember their faces) kill every last one of them.

Monday, November 24

The baby has certainly been feeding off of my anger and frustration.  It’s been treating my insides like the speed bag in
Rocky
.  I realized the past few days, while thinking that I may not survive this most recent adventure, that I haven’t written much about my pregnancy.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to start, but for selfish reasons I need to give a bit of an explanation.

First: anybody who picks this up and considers using this as a text of what worked versus what failed is not going to want to read about my swollen feet, hormonal surges, or peculiar u
pswing in assorted bodily emissions.  As my bladder seems to be shrinking exponentially each day, do I really need to log my frequent need to pee?  It’s like going to see a comedian who does nothing but airline food jokes and the differences between men and women in their routine.  Bo-ring!  Men won’t care, and women will either think “Been there, done that, have the stretch marks!” or, get scared to death.  Second:  I’m honestly not trying to build a deep bond or whatever with a child I don’t intend to keep and raise.  Hate me if you must.

Tuesday, November 25

I am stuck under an overpass!  I see part of a sign that says “I-205 South THIS EXIT” and  I need to get across that interstate.  Tonight, once it gets dark, I’ll move.

I am certain that this group has Jenifer.  I am pretty sure they have Dominique.  I put my trusty spike-spear through Sean’s head.

I was sneaking along the side of Interstate 84, moving against the grain of the eastbound lanes.  There are plenty of trees to use for cover, so the going was actually pretty smooth and easy.  A few shamblers were around, nothing I couldn’t avoid.  I have the shotgun and box of shells, along with a five-foot splitting-maul handle with the head removed and replaced by an eight-inch long iron spike.

I have been on the trail of these bastards since yesterday evening.  The owners and operators of that megaphone …bullhorn…whatever…have had Jenifer calling out for me.  It hasn’t been easy listening to her cry, but I knew full well that no good would come from me just surrendering to these a
nimals.  I had to listen to a friend die a brutal death over a two-way radio once.  When we found him—

Kyle Danson—he’d been turned and was hanging from a tree with his genitals eaten away and his arms and legs cut off.  So yeah, I’ve been in situations like this before.

When I “ran across” Sean, it brought back some horrific memories.  Whoever these assholes are, they stripped him naked and chained him to the bumper of a car.  Apparently that is how they left him…zombie bait. Only, they carved the word ‘FAGGOT’ in his chest before leaving him cold, naked, and defenseless.  At least he took a few zombies down with the chain before they got to him.

When I saw him, I initially thought that he was there to bait me into the open.  I thought he was still alive.  While I was searching the area for any signs of the bad guys, he turned my way.  The skin discoloration was difficult to discern in the gloom, plus, he coulda just been cold…hypothermic.  Then I saw the front of him.  The dried blood where he’d been carved, and the mouth-sized chunks missing from his left thigh and shoulder.

I walked up, on the way I spiked what was likely one of his attackers.  A zombie is a mess, but you can still make out “fresher” dried blood stains on some.  It was a man who could’ve been anybody’s best friend and beer drinking pal.  Probably in his mid-twenties with short, dark hair, long bangs hanging in his eyes—those black-veined horrors—and most of his right side torn away so that you can see ribs and black, rotted organs dangling from grey gristle…like an obscene biology class display.

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 susp
icions.)  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 t
omorrow 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 rei
nforced 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 v
ehicles 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 pr
onounced. 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 a
lready 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.