Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (5 page)

Once I made sure the backyard was clear, I tried the sliding glass door. Locked. I checked each window and finally found one that was not latched.

As soon as I opened it, I knew I would have some dea
lings with a zombie or two. Luckily the bathroom I climbed in was closed off. Unluckily, something started pawing at the door before I was even all the way in.

I didn’t know how many might be in the house so I wan
ted to deal with this as quick as possible to minimize the noise being made.

I dropped my pack, grabbed my bat, and opened the door…

That little boy couldn’t have been more than six or seven. I actually considered just restraining him like I had Erin and Beth. Then, what I assumed to be his mom, older brother, and dad came down the hall.

From that point, it was like a switch had simply been flipped off in the part of me that is human. I swung that bat, coming down on that boy’s head. It took two more swings to a
ctually bring him down. The mother was next. It was only after I calmed down, stopped shaking so badly (I don’t think the tremors in my hands will ever stop completely)…that I realized she had pushed the other two, dad and big brother, to get at me.

Could something in whatever keeps those things going cause that sort of reaction?

Once I had put all four down for good, I had time to look around and try to piece things together.

It looks as if it started with Oldest Boy. He has one single bite that I had to look for to find. On his left leg, just above the ankle. I really have no guesses on that. It looks like Youngest Boy was next, and that he did the most identifiable damage to Mom. Many of the bites that did not tear chunks out are small in size.

Poor Dad must’ve come home to all three. Since so much blood is upstairs…there is a big smear of it on the wall from the top of the staircase to the first landing where the stairs make a little “L” turn…I guess they got him up there. Also, most of Dad’s insides are gone. His abdomen is a horrid open hole. Mom and Youngest Boy are torn up pretty good. But nothing like Dad.

There is one other thing.

There was a baby’s room.

It was empty.

They didn’t leave anything behind except the morbid splash of blood on one wall and a tiny section of the carpet.

I’ll resume my journey to the warehouse just before su
nrise tomorrow.

My biggest find here besides food and a case of bottled water was one of those pitchers with the built in filter.

I also found a .22 pistol and three boxes of ammo in a box on the top shelf of a linen closet under a bunch of sheets and towels.

* * * * *

Friday, February 1

I made it!

There is a certain feeling from being around others that is gratifying. If you can remember back just a couple of weeks to when before all of this started…one of life’s pleasures was just having some time alone. Peace and quiet. No distractions or demands. For those few precious moments, you could almost block out the ‘real’ world.

Now, things are the exact opposite. But, I should back up a bit. I made it to the warehouse complex. It’s a distribution center for Wal-Mart. There is a lot of stuff here. There are also about seventy or so people!

There seems to be a real mixed bag here, but everybody has one thing in common—at least for now—over-shadowing all our differences. We’ve all lost somebody to something that was totally unthinkable just a couple of weeks ago.

What I have discovered is that it is even worse than I guessed. That is saying a lot considering what I encountered on my way here. Yesterday was a nightmare, I have no idea how I made it through alive…

I gathered my stuff and made sure to load the pistol. I remember looking at my watch and seeing that it was 4:17 a.m. I knew I still had a couple of hours of darkness left. My plan was to use as much cover as possible and sneak back to my car.

Then…there was the explosion. It shook the house, breaking who knows how many windows. It knocked things off shelves, and out front it was suddenly brighter than daylight. I made my way upstairs and took a look.

Two blocks away was a main street of sorts. A gas station was now a raging inferno. I saw some of those things blown out in an obscene depiction of the blast radius. Some of the ones furthest out were getting up! I thought I heard screams above the roar, but if they were real, they didn’t last long enough for me to be certain.

I took a look around the neighborhood. Those things were everywhere! Swarming to every house. I imagine all that breaking glass got their attention. It is like they just converge on the closest sound. I watched a couple fall through the broken remains of the living room window of the house across the street.

Then I heard them.

Downstairs.

Just looking into the yard, I could see ten or twenty coming at this house. By the time I was down the stairs there were three in the living room wandering around. I stepped on something that made a very loud crunch.  All three heads snapped my direction!

Some twisted part of my mind brought an image of those zombies snapping around to the camera in that video,
Thriller
. The stench, coupled with the various injuries each one had, almost made me puke. That was when I made the first of many mistakes that would almost kill me that day.

I ran for the front door.

Standing right there, I still don’t know how I didn’t hear him pounding on the door (it was smeared with gore from the zombies partially eaten hands).  He was a heavy-set, middle-aged man. I punched him out of frightened reflex. That did absolutely nothing. It grabbed me by one arm and leaned in to bite. I was jerking back as I shoved the pistol in its mouth.

Mistake number two: check the safety.

So I’m jerking away trying to break this thing’s grip as I kept squeezing the trigger with no results. It finally dawned on me to check the safety as a handful of those things are closing the distance across the yard. I know I have at least three at my back, but have no idea how close they are to me. I flipped a switch just above the trigger-guard and squeezed. The ‘pop’ was unimpressive in stature, but it isn’t the size of the bullet.

That thing dropped like a rock…and pulled me with it. I jerked free and rolled away, coming up to my knees. By the glow of the flames, I saw them. I was now the hub of their attention in every direction. They were walking away from whatever had initially drawn them, and were coming for me.

One was closing in, but still almost ten feet away. I brought up the pistol and…

Mistake number three: do not shoot unless absolutely necessary.

Now every head in and on the block turned my way. Also, from further up and down the street, more of them turned and headed my direction.

I began running for my car as fast as I could.

Mistake number four: one of those things stepped out from behind a truck and knocked me on my ass. That was how I lost my pack and all my supplies.

Mistake number five: zip and secure any sort of carry bag you are using to transport supplies in. Stuff spilled everywhere. Then, a couple of those things were on me. Fortunately, they had a handful of backpack. I shrugged out of it and rolled away. Once I made it to my feet, I continued…carefully.

Finally, I reached the car and was on the move. I had to plow, slowly at first, to get through a fairly impressive number of them. I crossed the field and made it back on to the highway. I think that explosion drew a lot of attention because the road seemed much clearer. There were stragglers here and there, but nothing I couldn’t navigate past.

It only took a couple of hours to reach as far as I could on Highway 26. About four miles from Banks was what had been some sort of National Guard roadblock. The woods made it impossible to simply drive around, and the roadblock covered the east and west bound lanes.  I would have to continue on foot.

I had plenty of those things on my trail, coming in a mob down the highway in my wake. Also, there were some coming from in front of me. I took the only route that made sense…I made for the woods.

Typical of this time of year, it was cold and rainy. But I had enough daylight to see by. The woods actually kept me out of the worst of the weather. A few stragglers were in the pines, but I had no trouble keeping out of their sight. Late yesterday afternoon, I reached my destination.

In what was one of my greatest strokes of luck, I reached the edge of the clearing that surrounds the distribution complex as a team of five people came out to dispatch the thirty or so zombies that had begun to congregate at the fence. They were using a combination of axes, picks, and bats, while a couple more stood just inside the fence with rifles as cover.

When I called out, one of them, a huge mountain-man looking sort (later he would introduce himself as Tom Langston), told me to “shut-up and run for the gate!”

One of the riflemen signaled me to come in once I got there. Then they just ignored me until the zombies had been dealt with. The five on that detail came back in and we were hustled to what had been some management-type’s office. Everybody from outside the fence began to strip. I was told that I had to be checked for bites or scratches. Once they saw I was clean (as were the five who had been outside the fence) I was introduced to a bunch of people I don’t yet remember the names of and brought inside one of the large buildings.

As I was introducing myself, I told about Erin and Beth. About what had happened. That was when I broke down. I couldn’t stop crying. Somebody escorted me to this small office and said something about taking my time to “get myself together.” I’ve been in here ever since. Sometimes I just cried. Sometimes I slept.

I don’t much like sleeping.

Too many nightmares.

Anyways, I think I’m better. At least stable enough to go out and meet these people. I think I’ve cried myself out.

Time to go meet my fellow fugitives.

This is quite a community. There are a few folks who have sorta taken charge. It reminds me of
Survivor
or
Big
Brother
in that there are people who just naturally assume a leadership role. There are others who work hard at keeping the proverbial gears greased. Then, there are those who do nothing.

Tom Langston is one of the leaders here. Of course it is all unofficial and he would be the first to deny it. But, he has a mind for organizing and coming up with ideas that further enhance our safety.

What’s better is that he gets those things put into action ASAP!

He says he was a big horror movie fan. Many of his ideas come with a story about which movie he is borrowing from. Today for instance…

Today we moved every single trailer portion of the shipping truck fleet still in this complex out of the fence. We parked them as close to the outside of the fencing as we could. Meanwhile, five guys drove forklifts with stacks of wooden pallets to jam under the trailer rigs.

Of course the sound carried and some of the zombies in the woods came out. But we had total coverage with a dispatch team. Tom said not to use guns because that sound would carry better than the trucks we used would. I don’t have any idea if that was true, but he was so convincing that nobody argued.

He also had a group paint: “WE ARE ALIVE” on the roofs of all the big, long warehouses. Everybody was so busy that, for just a few hours, we almost forgot.

Just before we put the last rig in place, we drove all the personal cars and trucks to the parking lot out front and parked them in the first row. All the cars have the keys in the ignition and are loaded with a ‘survival kit’ that includes a first aid kit that would’ve made Erin proud, two cases of bottled water, a water pitcher with a filtration system (my idea!), a hefty supply of non-perishable food, flashlights, batteries, CB radio (I didn’t know they still existed), flares, five-gallon gas can (empty) and assorted weapons (bats, axes, machetes).

I “inherited” a car from somebody that used to work here. I guess Tom had every locker opened and gathered all the car keys they found and then matched them to the cars in the lot. The rumor is that Tom worked security here and had to “take care of his co-workers” when this all started.

I guess we all have our own horrible stories.

We might have created a bit of a problem. This morning, sunrise revealed that those things are about four or five deep…all the way around the complex.

During the watch shift last night, I was walking my section of the fence with Scott and Samantha Anderson, nineteen-year-old twin brother and sister who look like models for a Norwegian ski resort brochure. Everybody takes a shift at night except the children (currently defined as fifteen and younger). You work in threes so that you can send a runner for help if need be. All last night we could hear them. The mewling and gurgling sounds they make kept getting louder. We thought it might just be a trick of the wind. Then, when it started to snow, things quieted down a bit. By the time our shift ended, we had a couple of inches of snow and the noise had almost vanished.

I was awakened to the sounds of the complex in a tizzy. Everybody was running to the office building which is the tallest structure in the complex. From the fifth floor (which is the top) you can see all the way down to where the highway passes. But more important, you can see the entire area surrounding the fence. You can’t actually see up against the trailer rigs, but you can see that there was a mob of zombies all the way around us!

At first we thought they might all be frozen. Tom and a couple of others came back and informed us that, while they seemed a bit slower to react, they were still very much active and aware. Also, there are just too many to dispatch.

Our noise yesterday obviously drew them. I told Tom what I noticed about their behavior and how if one (or more) start after something, others follow, whether they know what it is they are chasing or not.

From the vantage point of the fifth floor, we can see singles and packs heading this way from every direction.  Eventually their approach was blocked from sight by the trees. Only time will tell as to how many of those things will fall in line like lemmings. Hopefully they’ll get distracted in the woods.

* * * * *

It is almost sunset. The snow has turned to rain. There are thousands of them now and we can hear the moaning even if you are inside the buildings. That noise can only be drawing more of them.

The good news is that the barricade of trailer rigs is holding just fine. They don’t have much leverage, and are squeezed in tight.  Each one seems to know that a meal is in the vicinity. But, and this is a plus once we talked it over, they are like dogs inasmuch that they push against each other as much if not more than they do against the barricade.