Zomblog: The Final Entry (19 page)

One of the hardest things will be leaving this behind. By that, I mean these books. I hate the thought of losing these journals. I know that if something happens to me, there is no guarantee that these books will ever be found, or appreciated in the event that they are. However, if something goes wrong tonight and these were to fall into the hands of those animals, I am afraid that the pages would be used for nothing more than toilet paper or to start fires. There is no way that I could allow those assholes to ever lay a finger on these. I guess I never put any thought into how I would ensure that these were passed on.

Now, more than ever, I am grateful that at least there were copies of Sam’s journal, and that a few people have a copy of my first one.

Monday, August 23

Of all of the places to be catching my breath…a cemetery. I’ve endured hunger, thirst, the kind of fatigue that makes you want to just curl up into a ball and die. I’ve traveled through a part of Nevada that looks—and feels—like a glimpse of what it must be like if there truly is a Hell. Oh yeah, and an earthquake. Something tells me that my days may be numbered and my luck has finally run out.

Once again I am down to less than the necessities. I had to leave my bicycle and trailer. The satchel that I am carrying has my blade sharpening kit, a spare canteen—empty—and my journals. I have my spear and a long knife on each hip. I am trying to save the last swallows of water left in my other canteen for as long as I can manage.

On the plus side, I don’t think that there are any survivors left back in Fallon. Oh yeah, and then there is the guy lying dead on the ground ten feet away from me; he is probably the last of my pursuers.

It’s still a bit of a blur, and I’m certain that I can’t recall every single thing that happened, but I think that I can finally take the time to jot some of this down.

I waited until almost sunset and made my way back to that fenced in park. It wasn’t like these guys had any reason to think that somebody would be fool enough to fiddle with their fence. All I had to do was flip a few latches and remove a pair of steel poles that were in place to keep the fence barred. From there, it was simply a matter of being a bit of a zombie Pied Piper while still managing to avoid the roamers remaining loose in town. Staying ahead of the one pack was easy; avoiding the others was a bit more of a chore.

I was only worried about my first phase of the attack when it came to the one bridge that I had to cross. Thankfully, the Keepers of Fallon were way overconfident and far too engrossed in their nasty habits to have anything resembling lookouts posted. Their idea of security consisted of the wall around their little compound and about fifty or so zombies on tethers designed more to keep the living away than anything else. Well, they didn’t count on me…did they!

I’d crept close enough a couple of nights prior to putting my plan in motion so as to get a good look at their “intricate” security. Some were chained, others were held in place by strips of leather; nothing a good pair of bolt-cutters couldn’t handle. The posts that held them in place were all about four feet tall, so reach wasn’t going to be a problem.

The beam they used to bar their gate was no big deal, but the pair of double-wides mounted on wheels that took a gaggle of men to move would be a bigger challenge. That entrance would become a bit of a logjam, and I didn’t know how many other exits they might have, but that was my objective.

When that first chain clattered to the ground, I knew that I was screwed. The door was more like a heavy grate. It looked like it had been stolen from a jail cell. I guess it made it easier to see things on the other side, but that goes both ways. I glanced over my shoulder; the leading edge of the zombie horde I’d led here was reaching the drawbridge-like crossing that I’d had almost no trouble sliding the three-foot wide plank over to allow access. So far…nothing was stirring inside the compound. Yep, those guys were disgustingly overconfident.

When the final chain fell, I heard my first indications of movement. It sounded like a door opening about twenty feet or so away. I looked around, and sure enough, directly across from me this guy steps out. He was carrying a lantern which lit up his face perfectly. Well, at least good enough to give a clear shot with my crossbow. He never saw it coming.

The propane lantern made way too much noise when it hit the ground. I was flipping up the bar that secured the door when I noticed more lanterns flaring up inside the other buildings, I shoved open the heavy gate and dropped a lit flare just inside and out of the entryway; sorta giving the zombies a target without risking the possibility that they veer away from the sputtering road flare. The dazzling white light gave the entire courtyard a peculiar glow.

Since I had buildings to both sides, I randomly selected right and ducked in between the building and the security wall. That is right about when the first zombie stumbled in. The flare actually helped to scatter the undead as they came in, each wandering away from the offensive light in a different direction. They were all over the place in seconds. That is something I couldn’t have planned and had go that well.

I ran what seemed like a good distance and pulled the grappling hook from my belt to get on top of the wall. From there I had a good view of the compound’s open area. I managed to get off a couple of shots with my crossbow. The lost bolts (there was no way I’d be getting them back) were a good trade. I shot to wound. In no time, the sounds of screaming filled the air. No matter how much of a bad-ass you think you are, being outnumbered fifty-to-one by the walking dead will not work out in your favor.

Then I spotted the big storage tank. I hadn’t planned for it and had to improvise. That meant risking my chance of escape. I had to come off the wall and cross about fifty feet of open ground to get close enough for a shot that would stand a chance, then I’d have to lob a flare.

By now, the place was in chaos. I was really happy to
not
hear the sound of gunshots. While they continue to become more and more rare, they tilt the playing field drastically. If you don’t believe me, think back to the guy with the fancy sword in
Raiders of the Lost Arc
. What girl didn’t have a crush on Harrison Ford back then?

I lined up my shot and hoped. I really had no idea if my bolt would penetrate, or if there might even be any sort of fuel inside that thing. I was so excited when I heard the angry hiss of what I was certain had to be propane. I lit my flare, threw it, and hauled ass.

Nothing happened.

I was really bummed as I scrambled up my rope. All that risk for no results. Then some sap found my flare. He picked it up. That must’ve put it in line with whatever was coming out of that tank.

The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air backwards. I landed flat, which totally sucked. Had there been even one zombie in the area, I would have been screwed. I just lay sprawled in the brush and dirt trying and failing to get just one molecule of oxygen into my lungs. The tears filling my eyes blurred my vision so that all I could see was a bright smear filling the sky as the fireball rolled skyward, lighting up the night sky. At least it was a pretty orange smear.

Once I could finally move, I made my way to my hands and knees and looked around. I’d been blown
over
the moat. I could still hear shouting and screaming coming from inside the compound. I stayed down and started crawling.

I wanted to get away. I didn’t have any real desire to witness my handiwork. Hell, I didn’t even know how successful I’d been. All I knew for certain was that I’d caused considerable damage and put a nasty kink in the plans of those evil bastards.

The glow from the fire (or fires) let me see a good distance in every direction. The downside of that was that once I was clear of the compound, I had no night vision. I couldn’t see five feet in front of myself. Once I reached the highway, I was basically blind.

I reached some sort of park or recreation area just outside of the main sprawl of Fallon. I climbed up on a wooden bathroom structure and caught my breath. I remember that, as I lay there, I was hoping that the damage was as bad as it looked from the outside.

That was also around the time that the adrenaline wore off. I could suddenly feel every lump, bump, and bruise. There were a lot of them. Also, I felt something wet and sticky on my back. That is when a new pain announced itself above all the others. A stick—about a finger’s diameter—was jutting from my body. I had to reach back and grab it where it stuck out above my right hip. I might’ve screamed when I yanked it out…but since I passed out I can’t be for sure.

When I came to, I realized that I had no choice but to return to town. First, that was where all my things were stashed. But more importantly, I had to try and break into someplace and find some hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol. Also, I needed something to put over this seeping hole in my body. An infection these days is fatal.

The first time that I tried to sit up, my body refused. Pain was firmly entrenched in every muscle and joint. I cried out …loudly.

That was most likely what brought the three zombies. However, I didn’t see them right away. Thank God that Sam had picked up my trail and followed me. He was under a bush. When I heard his growl, then saw him creeping along the ground towards the approaching zombies, my eyes filled with tears.

I put my crossbow to good use then. Afterwards, I climbed down. Actually, that isn’t really an accurate description of what happened. The pain came in a bolt; I lost my grip, and then fell on my ass. When I landed, I just stayed put for a few minutes gasping for breath while fighting back more tears. Sam, the big dummy, wouldn’t stop licking my face.

Eventually I got up and started back to Fallon. A large, black plume was still rising. On the other side of that bald, ugly hill, I could see movement scattered everywhere.

I did my best to stay hidden when I could as I walked—limped is more like it—back. I slipped through some trees at one point and came face-to-face with an obscenely obese man. Zombies had ripped into his ample guts and all sorts of things dangled from the gaping hole they left behind. Also, his lower lip had been torn away and one meaty cheek hung down, flapping against his jowls as he lumbered along. Maybe I should’ve paid attention to the fact that the blood was still reddish—meaning it was still relatively fresh.

I speared him through the face. If you can score a hit to the eye socket, it is almost a guaranteed “kill shot” every time. After that, I was a bit more vigilant, as much as I could be through the pain. I’d been so worried about staying out of sight that I wasn’t paying attention to what else might be wandering around in the shadows, or when I came out of blind spots.

Most of the houses in the area were already well-looted. It was fairly late in the morning, close to noon maybe, when I finally lucked into a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some linens that were stacked neatly in the closet of an elderly couple’s trailer. (I know they were elderly because the pictures were still hanging on the walls.)

This place hadn’t been touched. The couple had obviously evacuated. Drawers were empty and still open; the bedroom closet was open and selectively picked through. The kitchen was a complete bust except for a Ziploc bag of pinto beans on a pantry shelf that I took.

I cleaned up as best as I could and found a shirt that actually fit. Then Sam and I made it back to my stuff. After giving him some water and taking a brief catnap, I was as ready to go as I could be.

After serious thought, I decided to leave the bicycle. I couldn’t pedal it. Walking was painful, but sitting and pedaling was out of the question. Also, I needed to stay as concealed as possible. That would be impossible on the bike. There was a lot of activity in Fallon now; some of it far too fast to be a zombie. That meant some of the ‘yay-hoos’ probably escaped. I seriously doubted that any of the women made it out of there alive.

I felt better once I had Sam’s and my journals back. I won’t lie. I didn’t realize until I’d spent that night away from them and doubting I would make it back, but they’re like my security blanket. My therapy. Also, I realized for the first time that there is something in my ritual about noting the date. In just that one day away from those books, I’d forgotten what day it was.

Every morning when I wake up, even if I am not going to write anything, I make a tally mark in the book. Does the date matter anymore? Probably not. But, for me, it is just something I need. I always know what day and date it is.

I am certain that a shrink would have a lot to say about all of this. It has become my little OCD thing. How else can I explain the risk I went through to come back for them. All the times I have made certain I had the books even when I was forgetting things like food and weapons. And for what reason? Is my daughter ever going to read these? I’d say that the odds are against her ever seeing any of this. Hell…will anybody see it?

Still, my trusty mutt and I slipped out a couple hours before sunset and headed east. All I could remember was that I needed to find Route 361. My hope was that I could get away from Fallon without drawing any kind of attention to myself.

On that goal…I failed.

I was following US Route 50 and had just turned south. I was heading back into the mountains, and by the looks of things…a bit of a wasteland. It was dark, but the moon was a bright, silver disk in the night sky. I had enough ambient light to see—sort of.

When Sam stopped and suddenly turned around, sniffing the air and growling, I expected a zombie, or maybe even a few, to come shambling out of the shadows. When the dark figure broke into a run straight towards me, I was glad that I happened to be carrying my crossbow.

In movies, a person dies with one well placed shot. This one caught a bolt in the body close to the bottom of his ribcage. I bet it punctured his lung. What it didn’t do was stop him. Sam took off and leaped at my living attacker. That is what gave me enough time to draw my big knife.