Tamberlin's Account (11 page)

"It's been picked to pieces."

I hoped they wouldn't realize how recently.

I checked my watch. 9:21pm. It was dark out and I hoped I'd lucked out.

I was also praying that Mr. Ages and I had walked around enough that they wouldn't know where we ended up.

How could I run and hide?

"I need to piss," someone announced.

I heard two "shhh"s.

But it was the second man who ordered: "Keep it down! You want to draw in every zombie in a hundred miles?"

The third man said something. He sounded irritated.

"It
is
a big deal!" the first man countered.

"You make it sound like I'm trying to get us killed—you're the one who--"

Then all of them were yelling. The second man, I heard say something about making a mistake. The first man said "--always doing stupid stuff--" I don't know who they were talking to.

"Hey! He's got something!" I heard a woman exclaim.

"Goddamn it—I told you about concealing food!" the first man said

"It's not!"

"Show me!"

Then I heard fighting. A weight struck the side of the camper.

I heard punching—so someone was pushed or shoved. I heard the woman scream. It was loud enough, I think, that no one heard Mr. Ages get out a bark. I closed his face into my armpit and folded myself around him. We lay like fetal twins, listening hard and hearts racing.

"What are you doing?" one of the men cried out in a voice so distorted with panic I couldn't tell if I'd heard him already. The woman screamed again. There was a cry of pain.

It sounded like right over my head, I heard someone utter, "Oh God..."

"Let's go!"

The woman refused.

"Fuck you then!" I imagined the words screamed right against the side of her head.

"Wayne!" she cried.

"They're gonna get cha."

"Wayne!" she wailed.

Then she made an identical sound, but without the shape of a word.

"Look at this shit he has on him!"

"Piece of shit!"

I heard male groans and cries to every "thwack!"

"We gotta go!" a man said urgently.

I heard something thump and slide along the opposite side of the camper.

I heard running. More screaming.

And I heard things taking their time crossing the crunchy, snowy ground.

It's been about twenty minutes, I guess, since whoever was left behind finally died, the beaten man, and probably the woman too. There will be two more busy bodies now.

I’ve released my WWE hold on Mr. Ages’ head.

Mr. Ages looks worried. His ears are laying out flat. His "eyebrows" are pinched.

When I pet him he leans into the cup of my hand, but mostly, I know, he wants to see what I'm going to do about this. And I feel like he wants to know what's expected of him.

I know some people think projecting "human" qualities on animals is stupid.

Can someone be so ignorant to think that humankind has a monopoly on emotions and thoughts?

But then, it wasn't that long ago when popular opinion was that black people
were
animals and were dumb and had no feelings too.

I don't know why anything people ever did should have surprised me.

Why race and ethnicity were terms too hard for people to understand—

-anyway. I was just thinking about ignorance. Which is a lot easier to think about than the pressing issue.

Do the dead know I'm here? Will they leave? And if the answers to each, in that order are: Yes and No—Then how do I get out of this?

In a Starcraft in a possible lose/lose situation, I can’t help but think: What would Isaac Clarke do?

Dec 20 3:32pm

It's freezing.

Mr. Ages has been making horrible sounds—he needs to get out and "go."

I can't tell if what I think I'm hearing is real or not. I can't tell if they're out there. But I need to decide before nightfall. It’s getting too late, right now, because I'm not going to crawl out the door and find shelter nearby.

I have a pretty good flashlight, headlamp and lantern, but what's light is light. What's dark is dark. More than once I've swung the light and found busy bodies where they weren't a moment before.

I wish I knew what I'm hearing.

I don't know if what I'm hearing is real.

I thought I heard Marie laughing out there.

I thought I heard growling.

I thought I heard clinking nails.

I thought I heard something on the roof.

I thought I heard breathing against the door.

I thought I heard my mother crying. I know the sound of it like I know the smell of death and react to both about the same. But that was when I thought I heard Marie. The sobs turned to laughter.

Maybe I was dreaming.

I'm sure I was.

Obviously, I had to be.

I can't make him hold it anymore.

I hope this isn't the last I’ll write.                                                                                  

If you find a scrappy looking dog with somewhat curly nondescript brown and gray, black and white fur… a mutt—please love him.

I do.

Christmas Eve 11:43am

I'm wondering what other people are doing.

How many people even know the day?

This is a day a lot of dreams and wishes teeter on becoming reality.

Add to them my wishes and prayers for all of us.

Tomorrow I'm going to take a personal day.

Merry Christmas.

Dec 26 5:04am

Should I write even if I have nothing to say?

I guess I can say this; I'm still in Illinois... unless I'm
back
in Illinois, then I would have been in Indiana.

Anyway, I know where I am.

Dec 27 8:29am

Have been thinking a lot about what happened at the Starcraft. Loneliness can be hard and I don't even have real loneliness, but how could someone give up all the benefits of being alone to take the chance of that shit happening to them?

I would think a person would be safe with people they knew before this started—but did any of us know who we
really
were before?

Does anyone really know themself before they face catastrophe? How many "strong" people back down? How many "weaklings" step up?

How much worse is this than it had to be, because someone puts their needs, their life before others' when it didn't have to be "me or them"?

I saw a woman leave her own child—who had some distance yet, running to the car. I saw people run from their overrun homes to a neighbor to be turned away. Then I later saw them wandering around hungrily, with those horrific, ungodly eyes.

Way to be, looking out for #1!

I'm guilty of that.

I killed those men. I killed that lady who attacked me for attacking people she knew. Loyalty is a virtue beyond many others, these days. And I killed her for it.

To love someone is a privilege.

How horrible was it for her to see me spring on the rifleman?

If she cared about him—it had to be somewhere in the spectrum of fear and

Jan 2 4:49pm

I ran out of ink. Once it warmed inside my shirt, I got this new pen working. I always kept the other one clipped on the middle of my bra to keep it warm and working.

I'm glad it worked.

I have a couple pencils now too and the rest of the pens from this pack.

So far I'm not seeing any form of winter that I think I can survive in the long term.

That's what I want.

I want to have a house again—a home—a place that I can take care of—will also take care of me.

My shoes have almost had it.

I haven't had any luck in people's homes. Nothing suitable anyway.

I'm too scared to go into town.

Mostly I've been counting on cars, homes that don't look too big and don't appear to be occupied.

I also count on gas stations, like this one, that are a little off the beaten path.

There's not much here, but it had the two things I really wanted: shelter and a pen.

The first things I look for when I decide I need to try a house, now, are if the windows are covered. This could indicate it being occupied by someone else.

No one would leave their windows uncovered—at least not this long into it, would they?

I watch for hints of light. I look for activity in the yard and listen around the house. The last I leave to Mr. Ages' good judgment. And it
is
good.

But I've never found a house with a living person.

I'm hoping that I've heard the end of unnecessary barking. I think he gets it now; at the house there was no reason to be as strict as I am out here, so he wasn't learning anything then.

There
were
busy bodies outside when we left the camper.

That afternoon his barking saved my life.

Seneca advised, “Choose as a guide one whom you admire more when you see him act than when you hear him speak.”

I don't know if it was because he had to go so bad, but as soon as I turned the knob enough that the door was loose, he pushed through. The small half-door slammed against the exterior of the camper.

I heard Mr. Ages barking like crazy.

I went out feet first with the screwdriver ready. I pulled out the suitcase with my free hand.

One moved right past me as my head cleared the small entrance.

He kept barking and kept them out of reach. His bark was different—defiant. His bark kept them fixed.

I went around the back of the camper, out of sight, and broke into a run as soon as I reached the shoulder—or I would have broken my neck on the ice.

I called him. It took several times before he bolted to catch up, with a knob of poo sticking out of his ass.

For his sake, I wasn't going to mention this, because I am so proud of him, but the moment that keeps returning to the forefront of my thoughts is when he wiped out on the ice just as he reached me. Even as he hit the road on his side, his legs were still moving so fast.

I think it's at the forefront because I can't stop thinking about what might have happened if the spill had happened closer to
them
.

Jan 3 7:37am

If there was nothing to worry about I'd wish there was a man here today. Someone strong who'd do some of the worrying for me. Someone who'd protect me.

I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in someone's arms.

And I'd like to know what kind of woman I would be to a man. Would I be a bitch? A nag? Dominating? Supportive? Loving? Submissive?

I want to know.

The things I felt in relationships when I was young weren't love.

They weren't even lust.

I didn't understand real desire until I was just about to turn twenty. Then I had a whole different part of my mind to get to know.

And I think I was close to everything I’d ever want, then.

I want to know how well I can love someone. I want a second chance.

It's that simple. Today.

Tomorrow it might just be lust.

The next day I'll probably be glad to be alone.

There’s no one to leave you then. No one else’s feelings to consider when you’re dying.
What am I going to do without you?
Being alone or being with someone, the rule is: Who wants to be hurt?