The Zom Diary (19 page)

Dear Kyle,

          Enjoy this small housewarming gift for you.  Molly found the bottle for you back in Preston.  I know, I can’t explain what happened between us either.  Hope you didn’t have your eye on her!

          P.S.  You’ll find a pan and a hot-plate in the kitchenette.  Enjoy!

                            -B

    I toss the note back on the table and wander over to the bed.  I sit there looking over the rest of the place.  The lights are out, no juice, but the orange-yellow glow from the sodium street lights light the place well enough to see.  My chair still rests next to the window, and my final housewarming surprise is my Glock, resting in its holster, hanging from the back of the chair.  I find my bed, and lie down.  I try to think deep thoughts, but get caught in some mental undertow, which drowns me in an ocean of sleep.

Chapter 17

     The heat wakes me the next morning, and I roll off the bed leaving behind a damp body impression.  My ankle still pulses and throbs as I walk.  The windows help to cool the place, once they are all open, and I sit and unwind the bandages on my leg.

     The bite had actually been pretty minor, I lost some skin but no meat or tendons.  It has a nasty scab over it, and it threatens to break open as I pull at the edges where it meets my skin.  The real worry is the hole from the fragment.  The skin around this is a deep purple, and an evil yellow fluid drips out of the wound when I inspect it.  I go into the bathroom and run some water over it trying to clean it as best I can.  I press on my leg, squeezing, even though it makes me want to scream from the pain.  Puss and blood flow, tinting the sink water an evil yellowish-pink.

     I hobble back to the chair, grabbing the bourbon on the way.  I unwind the wax from the top of the bottle, pull the cork and take a long pull.  I then pour the tiniest of splashes on the small gaping hole.  It stings terribly.  I wind the bandages back around my leg as tightly as I can without cutting off circulation.  I put my sock back on and roll my pant leg back down over my bad leg.

     Standing, I belt on my Glock, checking to make sure it is loaded before re-holstering it.  Someone has cleaned it, and replaced my spent ammo.  Nice.

     I’m not planning on coming back here for awhile, so I wrap the oranges in my jacket and put everything else in the cabinets.  I close the windows and blinds and lock up.

     Walking back over to Silas’ place, I stop at the truck and toss the oranges in the passenger seat.  The loot from Preston is gone, but my pack has been placed in the back seat along with my other possessions.  That is, except for my AR-15.  Well, I want to talk to Bryce before I leave town anyway, so I turn to retrieve it from his place across the street.

     The door to the library is open, so I let myself in.  I walk up to the checkout desk and call out, “Hey, Bryce!”

     A moment passes before I hear a soft reply from back in the reading room.

     “Hello!  Back here.”

     Walking through the brightly lit area, I catch a glimpse of Molly, topless, darting into a back room.  Bryce is in his boxers with a comfy looking paisley bath robe on.

     “Kyle!  Good to see you up and on your feet!  When I noticed you missing, I went to see Silas, but you were already off to sleep.”

     I nod back towards the room Molly’s bare form has bounded off to…”So, you and Molly?”

     He smiles and puts his hands in his robe pockets, shrugging.  “Hey, I know what I said, but things happened and you were out of it...  I guess we secretly had a thing for each other this whole time.  I know it’s crazy, but I really like her.”

     “Good for you guys, I just didn’t see it coming.”  I sit at one of the oak reading tables and Bryce sits opposite.  “I’m happy for you two.  I don’t mean to sound otherwise.  Do you have a minute?  I just want to ask you a couple of things before I go.”

     His brow furrows, “You’re leaving?  I figured you would stay around for awhile, till you heal up.”

     “Yeah, I know that would make sense, but I need to check on my place, and I feel more comfortable in my own bed.  You understand.”

     “Yes, I do. So what’s up?”

     “I can’t find my rifle.  I figured you were hanging on to it for me.  I’d like it back.  Also, there is the matter of our trip out east.  I was wondering if you were still up for it.”

    He sighs, placing his hands flat on the table and pushing himself up.  “I almost hoped you’d forgotten the AR, or maybe donate this baby to the town.  A good scope can do wonders from the wall, and finding a drum for one of these… it is very rare.  But, I’m not trying to twist your arm.”

     “Good.  I’m not ready to let it go just yet.  I’m not trying to be ungrateful either.  You guys could have left me out there, thanks.”

     Bryce walks back over and sets my AR on the table.  He sits again and leans forward, eyes looking over steepled fingers.  “You’re welcome. I hope it demonstrates to you how valuable you are to us.  And yes, I still plan on going out there with you.  But before we talk about our next mission, how do you feel?  I mean aside from the ankle?”

     “You mean my head?  The zoms?”

     He nods, slowly.

     “I can feel something like a finger pressing on my brain.  It points down, toward your lab, it’s annoying as hell.  That’s about it.”

     “You can’t feel anything else?”

     “No.  Can you?”

   His eyes narrow and he sits back in his chair.  “Yes, I can feel a distant pressure, off toward your place, maybe a mile away.  There are others.  Maybe you are still healing, or adjusting –not attuned to it yet.  It’s been different for each of us.  Will you try closing your eyes and reaching out?”

     “Sure,” I say, “why not?”

     I do close my eyes, the sunlight from above lighting my eyelids and casting strange patterns on my retina.  The pressure from the basement tank-brain is strong.  As I move my head, I can feel its presence rolling around the origin of the odd feelings I am having in my brain.  Soft fingertip, pushing furrows in ripe fruit.  I ignore this and leave myself open, searching for other points in my mind.  For a moment I think I feel the barest of touches, but then after another few moments of silent reaching, nothing.

     “Maybe for a moment, just barely.” I mutter.

     “Well, you will still be learning what to expect, or it could also be that you were affected differently by the contagion.  I know with Silas it’s not so much a pointing arrow, but a tickling feeling when a zombie is near.  The prophet keeps his own council, refusing to be “prodded”, and then there is myself.  I could point to every zombie within three miles, as long as they aren’t too clustered.  I get confused when they are in a crowd.”

     “Well,” I say, “any advantage is better than nothing.  I’ll have to work with what I’ve got.  Now, our trip.  Are you still up for a recon?”

     “Yes, yes, yes!  I don’t think we can ignore that connection any longer.  Something is out there, and we should at least check it out.  The next full moon is in a couple weeks.  Do you think you’ll be up for it?”

     I nod.  “I should be.  Just show up when you are ready; I’ll be around.”

     “Great,” he stands and hands me my AR-15.  “Be careful not to rely on your new power too heavily until you know how to sort through those sensations, and remember, it won’t warn you against living threats.”

     “Right, thanks.  Tell Molly I said ‘cheers’ for the bourbon.”

     He shakes my hand, waves and turns away from me, looking toward the stacks.  I turn, making my way back out past the check-out desk.  As the door closes behind me, I hear Molly giggling and Bryce’s deeper chuckle.  Kids.

     I walk across the street to my truck, limping slightly.  It is still morning and the heat is becoming oppressive.  For some reason there is a great humidity in the air.  The town has a functioning water supply—a tower fed by windmills, delivering the contents via the force of gravity.  In the area, irrigation is failing, and it is anyone’s guess as to what is happening upstream to cause this.  Perhaps folks down south got sick of us hogging all the water, and finally unstoppered our liquid regime.  Maybe it is all evaporating.  It feels like it just now.  My mind wanders.

     The windshield of the truck is coated with a thin layer of brown grit.  I open the door and sit for a moment, rolling down windows before firing it up and twisting the wiper knob to clear a streaked swath through the grime.  The engine idles low, knocks a little bit, then settles into its normal growl.

     I set the AR next to me on the passenger seat, then pull out, driving over to the gate.  Nobody is around, so I honk the horn and wait.  I hear a car door slam, and Stetson—I have already forgotten his real name—comes around the corner.  He throws the fence aside and waves me in.  Once the back gate is closed, he steps over to the side of the truck.

     “Hey, uh, Kyle.  You heading out?”

     “Yeah, for a while.”

     He pushes back his hat and scratches his forehead.  “That’s too bad.  We could use a hand on the wall.  Maybe another time, huh?”  He looks over his shoulder quickly, beyond the road to the corner of a decaying block, then looks back.  “Say, do you feel any of those buggers around?”

     I close my eyes for a moment; reaching out.  I don’t need to close my eyes to feel them, and I realize I am doing it more for his benefit than anything else.  There is only the one point in my mind, coming from the library, though fainter.  “No, but Bryce says I’m still getting the hang of it.  So keep an eye out, ok?”

     He seems satisfied with this answer, shoulders his rifle (it looked like a 30-30 and has a huge scope on it) and pushes the outer gate open for me to pass through.  I wave as I pass out onto the road.

     I’m not as concerned with subterfuge this time, but I guess I am a creature of habit.  I make the wide circle of town until I am back on the road heading east, and back to the farm.  Something nags at the back of my mind, not a zombie, just a strange suspicion that I am forgetting something.

     I turn the player on and try to put the feeling out of my head with some music.  An odd thing occurs as I drive slowly down the old highway past now familiar wrecks and grease stains where people have gotten it.  The finger on the brain feeling lessens and disappears.  I figure I am less than a mile from the center of town, so much for long range zombie detection.  I am glad really.  I don’t want to have that in my head all the time. The feeling is uncomfortable.

      I blink as the last touch of sensation from town leaves me, an odd thing, this. There will be time to meditate and come to terms with this change.  In the meantime, I poke around in the ashtray looking for a roach.  Nothing.  And, no more spares.  Molly must have smoked them all.  Bitch.

     A thought strikes me, and I reach back and fish the old pack of smokes out of my bag; the ones I picked up at the hospital.  They are so old and stale that I think they might crumble to dust; but I feel like smoking, and beggars must not choose.  They are nasty value brand menthols; still, it fires some synapse in just the right way, setting my brain’s Rube Goldberg of neurons into motion.  I can imagine my pupils; widening pools of black.  Bliss.

    I began this trip to patch up my home and to get some answers.  Now I am on the mend, and… fuck it all!  I totally forgot about that damn bag of bones!  I feel like slamming on the brakes and running around the car, tearing off all my clothes and dipping my balls onto the searing hot black pavement.  You naughty boy!

     I quickly decide against this, glad that there is no one there to hear these thoughts.

     The bones aren’t going anywhere, and I’m not in a hurry to deal with some little crying kid.  Where have I stashed them anyway?  The bar?  The library?  Shit, what if someone finds the bones and connects them to me.  I’m not sure what Bryce has told anyone yet about the whole ‘cannibal gang’ thing.  No.  Bryce won’t let them go through my stuff.  The next time I am out that way, I will deal with the bones, tell the kid, and have a nice talk with Silas.  I’ll tell him my side of the story, and let him tell folks over a beer.  Better it come from a trusted face.

     I flick the cigarette butt out the window and drum my fingers against the outside of the door; the metal making a satisfying rap.  It is getting close to noon.  I am hungry.  I push it all the way up to twenty-five miles per hour, and make for my neighbor’s house.  Maybe Nathan will have some eggs for me.

Chapter 18

     Pulling up the driveway to Nathan’s place, I tap the horn lightly.  There is no sense risking a repeat of my last visit.  I suspect he’ll be glad to see me again, and I am right.  He is out back sitting on the patio, and invites me around.

     There is more cherry kool-aid and more sausage and eggs.  Nathan is dressed in old jeans and cowboy boots with a plain white shirt.  I wonder aloud how he keeps so clean-cut without power and he laughs.

     “Old cop habits, I guess.  You’d be amazed what you can do with a razor.  I could do a number on you, that’s for sure.  Well, I hope you are hungry.  The girls have been laying up a storm this week.

     “You ever get sick of eggs?”

     “Not really.  I’ve always been a breakfast person.  It’s nice to have someone to share it all with.  I usually cook up the leftovers and feed them back to the chickens, so they’ll be jealous of you eating them all.  Watch out for those beaks!”

     “They eat their own eggs?  Isn’t that a little cannibalistic?”

     He puts on a face of mock horror.  “Cannibals?  Here? How horrible!”

     “Ha!  You’d be surprised to know who thinks that there are cannibals out this way.  The folks in town sent people out here to scavenge way back, and there was a misunderstanding, well, they thought there was a gang of cannibals out this way.”

     Nathan looks at me more seriously, “What happened?”

     “I thought they were thieves, you know, nut cases.  I shot one of them.  They never found the body, so, I guess it grew into a tall tale of sorts.”

     “Oh,” he shrugs, “those were confusing times.  I hope you don’t blame yourself.  Anyway, tell me, how did things go in town?  Did you find your buddy?”

     I tell him about the lost scavenger party, the trip out and all about Preston.  He smiles wickedly when I tell him about rescuing Molly.

     “Did she show you some gratitude?”

     “No.  Not like that.  Actually, not even a ‘thanks’.  But, I haven’t told you the crazy part yet.  I was bitten on the leg.”

     Nathan’s face turns white. “Jesus, how long ago?  How do you feel?”

     I smile.  “Don’t worry.  I’m okay.  Other people have been bitten and survived.  Bryce says it’s rare; like a one in a million thing, but it happens.  I already got sick, but here I am.  Alive and well.”

     He looks skeptical, so I show him my leg and tell him about my crazy fever dream, but not about the rest.  Finally he looks satisfied, and he relents.

     “Well, I’m glad you’re alive.  Make sure to keep that wound clean.  The other thing, what this Bryce guy is saying, from what you tell me, it almost reminds me of sickle-cell anemia.”

     “What do you mean?”  I fork some more fried egg onto my plate and listen, chewing.

     “Well, with sickle-cell, it’s an adaptation.  People who have it can’t get sick from malaria; the parasites can’t mess with their blood because the cells are shaped different.  It stinks nowadays, because you can treat malaria but not sickle-cell.  But before the medicine, it allowed these people to live long enough to reproduce, but that was about it.

     “Whatever is unique about you, it’s like sickle-cell.  The bugs can’t make you sick; not like most folks, but there might be a down side.  Be careful.”

     “I will be.”  I say.  I wonder if my new power is the down side?  I clean my plate and tell Nathan how much I appreciate his cooking.  He tells me that cooking for an audience is always better than cooking alone.  After a while I beg off, and try to help bring dishes back to the kitchen, “No!,” he yells, “I won’t hear it.  You’re my guest.” 

     Right before I leave, Nathan runs over to his cook-house and comes back with two dozen eggs and a line of sausages.  I try to offer him some kind of barter for it, but he won’t accept.

     “Honestly, Kyle, it’s more than I can eat.  I have everything I need anyways.  I’m just glad for the company.”

     “Well, ok.  Listen, I’m going to take a deer this week.  I’d love for you to come over.  I could use a hand butchering it, and there is always way too much meat; it gets spoiled.  Why don’t you come over in a day or so and we’ll have at it?”

     He promises that it sounds like a fine time, and he will be there.  It turns out he used to be quite a hunter back in his younger days.  I am glad for this.  I need someone to show me the right way to dress a deer, not just my sloppy guess-work.  I pull out onto the road and head home, driving away from a glorious sunset.