Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (63 page)

Sometime
in the night, a delegation from Burns left us a note on the door. It is seriously creepy that neither of us heard a thing—more so with Eric than with me. The note was simple:

We hope you enjoyed your stay.

Checkout time is tomorrow morning.

I guess we’re leaving tomorrow morning.

Thursday, May 20

I’d almost forgotten how scary situations can be when those things get you in their sights. Slow doesn’t mean a damned thing when there are a couple hundred.

Eric and I were cutting through some fields on the route that girl suggested. The sun was high overhead and it was getting too hot for traveling. We were engrossed in one of the first real conversations that we’d had since he came back. Well, actually we were arguing. That’s why we didn’t see them.

I was insistent on doing all our moving early in the mor
ning and finding someplace out of the sun during the worst part of the day. Eric was insisting that it didn’t matter if we sweated out the day in some dreary shelter or dark cave…hot was hot. It was clear that he did not want to travel at night.

Then we heard the first one let loose with that baby cry. I have no idea if Sam was trying to warn us or not, but when that thing cried, he tore away from us and charged the approaching herd of zombies. Of course those stupid walking strips of jerky started falling all over each other trying to get at the noisy, bouncing dog. It was like watching a twisted version of the Keystone Kops.

We both knew that there was no way we could take on that many. If your weapon gets stuck once, you’re through. The biggest problem besides there being so many was that there wasn’t any place to run. We were out in the middle of nowhere amidst gullies, arroyos, and gently rolling—for the most part—hills. Oh…and did I mention that it was hot.

We started at an easy jog. Every hill that we put between us and them gave us a moment or two to catch our breath and alter our course, taking us further and further from the main body. It took almost the entire day to swing wide enough, but we event
ually managed to give them the slip. Sam was blessedly quiet while we ran.

It didn’t seem like we would ever actually shake them. By the time the sun was at our back, I began to think that we might not escape this one intact. Then we found what I’m pretty sure was a wheat field. It had grown into something else. All those vines and plants that I would call weeds were in a battle to r
eclaim the land. The actual rows were hard to find, but we were able to weasel our way through.

When we found the great big John Deere, Eric came up with a brilliant plan. So now we’re sitting in this huge storage section. We even have a bed of decomposing stalks to rest on. It smells like rotten leaves, and there are a lot of bugs, but it is be
tter than being eaten by zombies. We’ve heard them pass by for the last couple of hours and the sun will be setting soon.

The smell ain’t the greatest, but I’ve smelled worse. I’m not e
xactly sure where we are, and we won’t know until tomorrow if our little plan worked. The hope is that when we peek over the lip of this long, metal bin…the coast will be clear. We’ll resume heading east until we rejoin the highway. Our gas station map says that we shouldn’t run into much more than pencil-dot towns until we cross into Nevada.

Hard to say what we will find in the small towns, but I’m actua
lly a little tingly when I think about reaching Winnemucca. Not only will it represent the best chance at scavenging, it should provide a challenge…some real fighting. What the hell is wrong with me?

Sunday, May 23

Nothing. That is all there is to see for miles in every direction. To the south, I can see the uneven horizon of a distant mountain range. The landscape will funnel us to the remnants of the highway…eventually. But for now, there is just nothing here.

To the southwest we’ve seen tendrils of smoke from mult
iple small fires. Eric is convinced that there is a small community over there; probably on the shores of Malheur Lake.

There are a surprising number of streams and creeks to be found. I don’t know what exactly I expected, but after miles of high d
esert, this is like a whole other world. We’ve discovered an abundance of edible plants, and even rabbits. Lots of rabbits. Either the zombies aren’t interested, or they just can’t catch them.

Monday, May 24

Thunder. Lightning. Rain.

Tuesday, May 25

The reddish-brown clay or dirt, or whatever the hell you call the crap that is so dominant around these parts, is sticking to everything. Every hour or so, we have to stop in order to scrape the stuff off the tires of our carts and the soles of our boots. It would be a disaster if we have to move with any sort of urgency. We are finding that more and more of the highway is gone.

Also, we ran across something that made us stop for the day: a military caravan. Tanks, Jeeps, troop transports, the whole ball of wax are here. There isn’t a sign of a living soul having been through here in…ever. Even though we don’t expect to find an
ything too exciting—that is still functional—we will search everything thoroughly in the morning. Tonight, I’m sleeping in an honest-to-goodness tank. Alone. You never realize how much you miss your privacy until you never have any.

Wednesday, May 26

Swapped out into some nicer boots. I’m fairly certain he won’t miss them. More and more I am finding that I have lowered my standards on what is acceptable. For instance, the young man whom I discovered inside a tank with his brains blown out from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the face; it wasn’t until just now that I gave a thought to the fact that I peeled his boots off his feet. Or that they are now snuggly fitting on my own.

Tonight we’re in a tiny one stoplight town called Lawen. There is nothing to see. However, there was a bottle of disinfec
tant on the shelf of this little market. After ransacking a few residences—mostly trailers—I also happened across some ultra-thick socks. Eric hit the real jackpot, though. He found a never-been-opened three-pack of tightie-whities. In his size!

Thursday, May 27

All day long we had a lone shambler on our tail. We’ve been walking along Highway 78 all this time, and today we settled into a groove along this stretch of empty, void-of-any-life, washed out road. At some point, I glanced over my shoulder and saw it. It was just a dark shape moving through the shimmering waves of heat rising off the ground on the horizon. I mentioned it to Eric and, in typical fashion, he shrugged and continued walking.

About midday, I asked him if we should double-back and kill it. He explained that it didn’t seem to be drawing a crowd, so what was the problem. I didn’t really have an answer. We found an abandoned farm house on the edge of a cluster of circular crops and made camp. Just before sunset, the zombie staggered up to the porch. It was a woman. You could hear the skin crackle as she moved, and there were nests of insects moving about i
nside her ripped open and long-since-dried abdomen. A couple of splintered ribs poked through the parchment that was her skin. Also, I’d say she’s taken a few dozen bullets; one that shattered her lower jaw.

I ended her existence by planting my axe in her forehead. Afte
rwards, Eric and I sat down for a bitter—but strangely good—dandelion salad with a dash of apple vinegar and a pair of roasted rabbits.

Is this really all there is? I am beginning to wonder why I’m d
oing this. Don’t get me wrong, I do not doubt my choices, nor will I be going out and tossing myself into a ravenous herd of zombies any time soon. I am simply trying to figure out what possessed me to do this. And to take that question one step further; why did Eric join me?

What do I really hope to find in Vegas? And let’s say that the lights are on. Will I settle down and call it home? Why would I think I will be any happier there than at The Compound, Sunset Fortress…or Irony, USA for that matter?

All I’m truly doing is roaming a dead world. What would all the shrinks—who seemed to have a label for everything back in the pre-apocalyptic world—say about me? Was I always like this? Or, did the situation mold me into who I am now. I mean, I’ve met some wonderful people, and I’ve met some monsters disguised as human beings. Did this event bring out the “real” person lurking inside each of us? Did it break us all in some way, and this is the Phoenix that rose from the individual ashes?

I can hear the low, distant rumble of thunder. The smell of rain is floating on the night breeze. A chill is in the air just like any ot
her night in the desert and I’m sensing…something.

There is that wrongness out there in the darkness again. When I close my eyes, I can feel it closing in. Not just on me. On ever
ybody.

Saturday, May 29

We didn’t travel far these past couple of days. We found a small town. Unfortunately it has been mostly burned to the ground. However, there were a few places to rummage through.

We looked for bikes, but didn’t find anything worth a damn. It looks like survivors were here and tried to make a stand. Som
ething went wrong at the small airfield. That’s where the fire seems to have started.

One thing I’ve learned in all of this is to trust my i
nstincts. I feel like we’re being watched. I’ve been keeping my eye on Eric, but he doesn’t seem concerned, cautious, or anything out of the ordinary. As for Sam, other than hiking his leg every ten seconds, nothing. Seriously, who or what can possibly pee that much.

Sunday, May 30

Something is definitely watching us. Eric finally said, “I can feel something piercing my skin like tiny needles.”

Well thanks for finally joining the party. Sam still appears clu
eless and continues his cycle of sniff and pee…sniff and pee.

There is a lake to the west of us—on our right as we are now headed directly south—and clusters of those circular crops so prevalent in this region. I think there is a cluster of survivors set up off in that direction. Campfires have a very distinct look. These were pretty big. That means that whoever they are, they aren’t scared of revealing their location.

But back to whatever is following us. Obviously it isn’t a zombie. Zombies don’t stalk their prey. They just stumble out and hope for the best. Not that zombies feel hope…who knows what I mean.

Something is out there. It is hiding in the shadows as dar
kness spreads its blanket over the world again. And whatever it is, I would swear that I feel its misery…pain…anger.

Monday, May 31

His name is Cody. He turned sixteen yesterday. It took most of the afternoon to get those two pieces of information from him. Not that he actually told us. We learned it when we finally got the book pried from his hands.

Cody was carrying one of those baby books that new pa
rents buy and fill in diligently for about the first three months. He was also carrying a wicked looking blade and the mother of all slingshots. (Eric tried it out and put one of those little steel balls that Cody has in a pouch hanging from his belt through a car door.)

Cody has been bitten. More than once. He is missing two fingers on his left hand—which he seems to favor noneth
eless—and his right cheek and lower lip are mostly scar tissue. It is safe to assume that he is immune.

We didn’t find him so much as he found Sam. Or…Sam got close enough for the boy to grab hold. When I heard the yelp from a nearby gulley, I took off expecting to see my dog being turned into zombie chow. What I saw initially seemed to confirm my fears. I was bringing up my crossbow when Eric touched my arm and made me stop.

The filthy creature wasn’t trying to eat my dog. Instead, he was hugging him and scratching the exposed belly. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell that it was a boy. His face was so caked in dirt that I didn’t see the soft, downy hair on his chin.

The boy paid absolutely no attention to either me or Eric. He just sat in the dust, holding Sam and petting him while ma
king these strange cooing sounds. Eric whispered that I should keep an eye on him while he nabbed us a meal.

An hour later, we had a pair of rabbits on the spit over an open fire. The filthy mess eyed us like he expected us to turn into zombies at any moment. He didn’t warm up to me or Eric when we offered food. However, once he had a full stomach, it wasn’t long before his eyes began to droop.

As soon as they closed, Eric pounced. It was actually a fairly even fight. That kid managed to open up a nasty gash on Eric’s forehead with his bony little knuckles. Once he was secured, Eric toted the trussed and angry boy to a nearby stream for a bath.

While that little war raged—causing Sam no end of grief; I h
aven’t seen the dog that agitated, ever—I flipped through the book that was bundled up in plastic garbage bags. What I saw was almost enough to make me cry.