Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (85 page)

It seems that all of the paperwork involving the census was being kept in the president’s office. The reason nobody had seen much of her lately is because she was making it a point to stay close to the files so that she could find my form and dispose of it. The belief was that nobody would ever know the difference. The problem is that now I know about it…and I’m absolutely
not
okay with what they did.

I hope that I don’t come off sounding like a spoiled or u
ngrateful child, but the fact is my friends and people that I grew up with were all in that lottery. One of the people—and it doesn’t matter who—would be filling a spot that might have been mine. I simply cannot be okay with that. I realize that since we’ve run for it, it is all a moot point, but the reality is that they were willing to put somebody else in my place.

I can’t help but wonder what else I have been passed over because of who I know. Heck, did I get accepted into the EEF because of being the daughter of Lindsay Wells? What makes me so special?

Tuesday, August 19
th

It may not be the right choice, but I made it on my own.

Yesterday, I went out again by myself. I was just out to fill our water packs. The idea was that we would be heading out that night for Warehouse City. Mama Lindsay seemed to think that, if we made it there, we would be safe. I personally think it is d
elaying the inevitable. If this new president is so intent on conquering us for whatever reason, then she will simply send a bigger force next time. Warehouse City is only safe for the time being.

Anyways, I was out when I heard another series of expl
osions. By the time I got back to the apartments, Mama Lindsay and Phaedra agreed that we had to see what was happening. If nothing else, we needed to make a detailed report to the folks at Warehouse City.

We left most of our gear behind and travelled light. We made our way up to a bluff that gave a good view of the area around Sunset Fortress. Or rather…what used to be Sunset Fo
rtress.

For whatever reason, they blew it up. I mean there is not
hing left but a big pile of rubble. Also, we saw no sign of movement down there. The trains are gone, North Gate is a gaping hole, and already, zombies were starting to trickle in.

I have no idea if they took all the people they had gathered up and simply killed the rest or what. What I do know is that my home is gone. The last thing that I had in my life that was solid and permanent is gone.

I love my Mama Lindsay with all my heart. I even have a growing affection for Phaedra. I am happy that those two have found each other. I will come back for them. But I have to go find out what happened to my people…my friends.

Early this morning, I set out for Irony, USA. I left a note for Mama Lindsay telling her that I love her and that I will be back. I tried to stress that I am NOT Meredith. I am not leaving to see the world or anything else…I am simply going to find out what happened.

I gave it some serious thought and it took me a while to realize why I have to do this. In some of the talks I’ve had with Phaedra, it has been something that really weighs on her…not knowing about her son. I don’t have any hopes of finding him, but I want to be able to come back home and tell people where their children are and if they are okay.

I know that it looked like Corridor 26 was wiped out. I can admit that it appears very bad. However, if there are even a do
zen survivors left alive from whatever the NAA did before taking off, they will return.

So will I. I promise, mom.

Wednesday, August 20
th

Got down to that building overlooking the ruins that we stayed in that first night when we were supposed to destroy the bridge. What a joke that was, I look back on it now and it seems so foolish.

Send a group of citizens out to try and scavenge up the means to destroy a railroad crossing. Don’t worry about tools or anything, just make do with what you can find out there. Good luck.

We lost half of our team and the NAA came anyways. The more I sit here and think about it, the angrier I get. Not only that, but I question how the community has survived for twenty years. Maybe signing off with the NAA and this new president are not terrible ideas.

I am sitting here weighing out the pros and cons and it seems to break even. Obviously they have the greater minds. For example, we walk everywhere. There are a few horses, but they are more of a luxury and used to haul wagons. The NAA has freaking trains!

We have been so busy trying to make a peaceful life for ourselves that we are not really prepared for confrontation. Yes, we can deal with unthinking, easy to outmaneuver, walking dead. But we are like some big kid, we go all our lives using our size and relying on that to keep the little kids in line or at bay. The problem is, the first time we get punched in the nose…we don’t have a clue on how to deal with it other than to curl up and cry.

This “new” government does seem to have a few things g
oing for it. They have an organization that were desperately lacking…at least in our neck of the Corridor. I started thinking about some of the stuff I learned in History class and realized we don’t even have a basic system of tax in our society.

People were trying to create some sort of utopian atmo
sphere. It was all peace and harmony. Only, they have been living a lie. Children were being shipped off to the NAA in exchange for a little help here and there building our own cage. Sure, everybody had to work, and we all shared in the bounty of the crops, the yields of the hunters and fishers.

Only, there was another side of things going on that nobody wanted to acknowledge. We, as the collective, were using some of the younger people as a commodity. So, there was a tax being paid…but only by the unlucky few. The worst part is that, for those who had people in “high” places, they were protected. So it does seem that everything has a price, but only a few have to pay it. In the morning, I doubt I will be able to have another moment’s peace for quite a while. I will be crossing into the wi
lderness. I know enough from Sam and Meredith’s books that Irony is well east of here.

I’ve met a few
Travelers who have braved the Gorge Wilderness. It is a mix of roving band of nomads, singles and groups of some of the more unsavory types who prey on passers-by, and zombies. Rumor has it that some spots are as bad as they were in the beginning when it comes to the undead. Some of the small towns are like snapshots of a “land that time forgot.” Most of the coolest artifacts that Travelers bring in for trade come from stretches of land in places like the Gorge Wilderness.

Thursday, August 21
st

Today I made it all the way to that parking garage on the other side of the river. I saw some signs of what must have been a small skirmish between some of the tribes and the NAA. Mostly bodies hacked up or burnt and left in the street.

I made a covered fire and it was actually pretty warm at night. Sleeping alone out here is always an adventure. It is aut
omatic to string a noise-making trip wire, and that is supposed to help make a person feel a little better about being out in the open. I probably woke a dozen times or more to every single new sound. Each time, I was certain it was my wire. It never was, but I actually felt relieved when the sun rose and I could see around me in all directions. I hope I get better at sleeping at night

Saturday, August 23
rd

What a difference a few days makes. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I guess the Corridor has really cleared out a majority of the walkers. Travelling the established routes, they are present, but most of the time it is one or two.

To be some place and see them wandering in and out of ba
ttered houses that look like it would take nothing more than a good breeze to knock over was an experience. I had to wonder how we could have fallen to such a simple creature. Was it because they were our friends and loved ones? I wonder this because I had no trouble staying out of their line of sight for the most part.

There was one instance where I was moving down a side street and lost sight of the train tracks. When I realized it, I turned in the direction I was pretty sure that I knew them to be and started cutting through a few yards. I reached a fence made of wood that was at least six feet high and built so I couldn’t see the other side. I climbed up and actually had my leg swung over when I realized that the yard on the other side was the residence of a trio of very big dogs.

The thing about zombie dogs is that they aren’t faster, but there is a different “creepy” factor that is hard to explain unless you’ve seen one in person. For me…this was the first time. I have nobody to blame but myself for the next few hours after that. I guess I screamed louder than I first thought.

I climbed back down and spun around at the sound of a cr
ybaby coming around the side of the house I’d cut alongside of…and he wasn’t alone. The thing is, I’d just walked down this road and seen almost nothing. Yet, there they were…coming out of every shadow.

I had no choice but to engage the crybaby. One of the things they teach us in EEF training is to only actually fight when it is absolutely necessary. It was absolutely necessary. I had them coming from all directions and made a snap decision to head parallel to where I believed the train tracks to be running.

The next problem that I ran into was that the fact that the road began to curve away. I was getting farther from the river and the train tracks. I was also getting closer to the old highway. I knew well enough from landmarks that I was closing in on what used to be Interstate 84.

That was a road made famous by both Sam and Meredith. It was a long stretch of highway that runs along the Columbia Ri
ver and cuts through several small towns along the way. It has become famous in my lifetime for being a favorite poaching location for raiders, land pirates, and massive migratory herds of undead. They really seem to favor roads like this. It probably has something to do with how there is really nothing in their way.

A few differences in the highways now versus when Mer
edith and Sam travelled them: they are scoured pretty clean of abandoned vehicles; they are littered with body parts; one of the dangers is the odd detached head—people have nicknamed them mousetraps. Over the years, vehicles were either scavenged or shoved aside by some of the larger herds. Having so many undead moving as one, there is a lot of jostling. Wear and tear eventually causes parts to slough off. On the rare occasion that a head comes free—usually on the ones that suffered horrendous neck wounds—it still snaps at anything that passes, hence the nickname of mousetrap.

So, I was being slowly coerced away from the water. It seemed that every side street I wanted to cut down to take me back where I really wanted to be would terminate in a dead end.

Eventually, I came to some big industrial site. It has fallen in to such a state that it was impossible to discern what purpose the place once served. However, it did have one saving grace: a ten-foot high fence still intact around some of the buildings.

I made it over just as a few of those damn things arrived on the scene. I had to get around on the far side of a building to get out of sight. The problem was that zombies don’t give up once they have you in their sights. The concept of futility is complet
ely lost on them. I made it around the building and found my way up onto the roof after only a little display of acrobatic skill. From there I was able to assess the situation. This place was big enough…covered enough area that it was unlikely I would be surrounded if I stayed the night.

I will leave in the morning. Tonight, I am sitting beside a s
eries of pipes, using them to shield me from any prying eyes in the direction of the highway. Anybody across the river would see me if they were up on the tops of those ridges. However, the water is an excellent barrier.

I should sleep well tonight.

Sunday, August 24
th

I found an odd little community. They are living on an island in the middle of the Columbia River. I would not guess there is a single member of the community over the age of thirty. This would mean that, if I am to believe even half of what they say, this colony was established by children.

The story has them coming home on a bus from a church gathering. The bus crashed when a man (they didn’t know what a zombie was at the time) staggered out into the road and was hit. The driver got out to investigate. I bet you can guess what happened to him.

The older kids—apparently there were a few teenagers and a pair of youth group leaders on board—eventually took charge of the situation. They were near the river and after losing several more of their number to walkers, somebody in their group suggested what was happening might be “the End of Times.”

That got shouted down after the next zombie encounter. One of the kids was apparently a fan of a comic book series about zombies. It took them a few days, but eventually, somebody took actual control of the group and they made for the island. Since it had no bridges and was a “wildlife refuge” (I wasn’t entirely ce
rtain what that was, but it sounded important) they decided that it would be free of any zombies.