Zomblog (10 page)

Funny, but even after hearing some of Kim’s horror stories…even after that terrible fiasco during the medicine run…I understand what Reggie is saying.

I remember how grateful I was when I not only found this place, but for the people here. Still, we’ve walled ourselves in. I may not be a chicken in a coop…but have I fooled myself into thinking that being “free-range” is the same as free? Those things outside are not going away. What if some unforeseen disaster like an earthquake were to strike?

I realize that such a disaster may seem far-fetched…but nobody predicted the dead rising to eat the living either. There are no certainties. I can either sit here and await the hand of fate. Or, I can try to take up my own path and see what happens.

That is something to sleep on.

I’ve decided to leave. I took Reggie up to the roof to tell her. Then she let me know who else wanted to leave.

Apparently Tim Delegan is not of the same mind as Pete Crenshaw. He wants to stay on the move and says that he has no qualms about us leaving in one of the vehicles
he
helped build. But, he doesn’t want to leave with more than ten people. He said that two weeks of having seventeen people inside was more than he could stand. Plus, it made supply grabs more frequent. Only two others from his group want to leave. We must be careful who we ask because of the potential reaction.

So far it is Tim, Greg Chase—one of the new arrivals—a thirty-two-year-old bartender, about six-foot-five, black, with a shaved head, Antonio Rosillo—the other of the new arrivals—a short, stocky-in-a-muscular-way, Hispanic migrant-worker, Samantha Anderson, Rodney Bloss, Reggie, and me. We all met in one of the warehouses and decided that there was no reason to waste time. We will leave tomorrow.

* * * * *

Monica came to my room right after Samantha, Rodney, and Reggie left. She asked me what was going on. Nothing seems to get by that lady. I decided not to lie.

Monica never tried to talk me out of it.

Of course I asked her if she wanted to go. She said that she belonged here. Tom is a strong imposing figure, but he relies on her. She told me that if I was in the area ever again, I should stop in and visit. She gave me a big hug and left.

She never did say “goodbye.”

Things don’t often seem to happen the way you plan. We are parked on a hill that looks down into the town of Pendleton. Tomorrow will be a busy day. But for now, I’m sitting here with a child curled up and asleep on the floorboard of the passenger’s side, trying to make sense of things.

It all started so smoothly. We met up after everybody was asleep. Rodney was on watch with Samantha so we knew that we had one less problem to deal with in leaving. The decision to wait until close to sunrise would mean that there would be only a minimal amount of time with nobody on patrol, and since it was unlikely that anything would happen…we felt okay with our decision.

Everybody had small packs with things like a couple days food, a few bottles of water, and maybe a personal item or two. We were equipped with assorted clubs, knives, axes…basic defense items. I was the only one to bring a gun, my trusty 9mm from the last time I left. Tim said there was a small assortment of guns and ammo in the RV so there was no reason to deplete the supply at the complex.

I was to be the last one up the ladder. Then, I would tip it back, hop over to the RV, and with everybody inside, we would roll out before anybody was the wiser. It was all going just like clockwork. No problems.

As we started backing up, I heard a scream. We all rushed to window slits peeking out at countless zombies clawing at the side of the vehicle. Now, I’m thinking that this is a new trick…like that creepy baby-cry sound. Then we heard it again as we cleared the main cluster of zombies. It was coming from the roof!

Tim was turning us for the road, and in the glow of our headlights, a few folks from the complex could be seen on the tops of a couple of the trailer rigs waving their arms frantically and jumping up and down. Tim said something about how it looked like they were taking our leaving pretty badly. I climbed up, gun drawn, and opened the roof hatch, scanning as fast as I can. I was certain one of those things would be there to grab me. That’s when I heard this trembling voice crying my name.

It’s was little Joey.

I pulled him to me, in through the hatch. Everybody was yelling and arguing, the child was crying and by the time I yelled for everybody to just shut the hell up, we were plowing down a couple of straggling zombies at the entry to the driveway that lead up to the complex, hanging a sharp left and moving to the Highway 26 on-ramp.

I argued that we needed to take this kid back, but was quickly overruled by everybody. Of course they had a point. No doubt the entire complex was up and in a fit over our departure. So basically, we’re stuck with this little boy who has once again clammed up.

What would cause this child who never even ventured outside to follow us…put up the ladder…climb up to the trailers and jump onto the RV?

The rest of the day was a visual nightmare. We gave Portland a wide berth. That took us to I-5 South, then over to I-205 before we could catch I-84 East. That journey showed those of us from the complex just how terrible it had gotten.

Due to the nature of things, the main roads are relatively clear. The cars that do dot the roadscape are mostly occupied. Those things stare out at the world, banging on the windows. Thankfully, that has them smeared so badly that you mostly just see moving shapes instead of the actual horrors within.

Still, those things are everywhere. They wander the highways, interstates, and every neighborhood we passed. There is something very disconcerting about seeing zombies stumbling out of stores, houses, churches, and schools. What is worse though is seeing a bunch of them clustered around a building.

At one point, after we had reached I-84 and put Portland several miles behind us, we had to scout a gas station. Tim produced a tool to open the station’s main tank, since none of the pumps work anymore. We siphoned out enough to fill-up while only having to take out a few zombies in the process. Tim says he prefers a station to siphoning from cars. The fewer stops the better.

We reached the outskirts of Pendleton at sunset…now we wait.

It took some convincing, but I managed to persuade everybody to at least let me see for myself what fate my friend met. We parked on a hill that looks down into the Eastern State Prison. The town itself was once a hotbed for cowboys. They have some big annual rodeo that was famous worldwide.

Now…the dead stumble about in the streets. However, there are a lot of bodies strewn about which indicate that the living made quite a stand. How many remain is the question. Both the living…and the dead.

I climbed up onto the roof of the RV just after sunrise with a pair of binoculars and scanned the prison. The outer fence was surrounded. The entire perimeter was occupied by zombies. That was the bad news. The good news was that they were only four or five deep at the thickest clusters. In some places there was even a tiny wedge of daylight.

Inside, I saw movement. There were two separate prison yards and one was obviously all zombies. The other was currently empty. A big compound separated the yards and it was there that I could see movement that had to be living, breathing bodies. They were moving back and forth between several four-story buildings and a large one-story building that sat central to all the others.

As I continued to scan, I saw signs that suggested a large effort had gone into shoring up the outer-most fence. Also, a secondary fence was covered in what looked to be gray wool blankets. Anybody trying to look in from ground level would see nothing. Clever.

Closer inspection revealed the first horrific signs that lead me to believe that the inmates are running the asylum. Wooden scaffolds are in place at three points along one fence that closes off the compound from the prison yard with all the zombies. It looks like a setup is used to walk people up where they can be tossed over and into the yard full of ravenous undead.

I’ve told everybody what I can see. Tim says he’d like to raid a few of the houses scattered about the area. I want to take a longer look and decide if there is any chance my friend is alive…and if, perhaps I can help him.

Judging by the number of Prison guard-Zombies I see in the one yard…it seems likely that, if I can find him, it won’t be an issue to have him leave. The problem is getting to him without bringing the attention of those remaining at the prison.

Reggie has offered to help. Tim wants to spend the next couple of days on this bluff. We attracted no attention today and have actually walked around a bit outside, opened up the doors, and let the RV air out.

Of course Joey has not come within five feet of the door. What the hell possessed him to follow us?

What we saw today is not very encouraging. This morning after breakfast, there were several men, inmates apparently considering their clothing (blue jeans and a blue tee shirt) led to those scaffolds. One by one they were paraded up the stairs, usually kicking and screaming. There was usually a cheer that would cause the individual to renew his struggles. Then the person would be shoved, or sometimes thrown, into the crowd of zombies waiting on the other side of the fifteen-foot-high fence that isolated the prison yard from the open compound.

Even from up here, we could hear the screams.

I did notice that with so many of those things attacking and feasting, there is nothing left to come back. It is obvious that the inmates have thought of that also. It seems that there are two forms of punishment.

A couple of men were saved until the end. These men were bound by the wrists and ankles. A large inverted el, like a hangman’s scaffold was brought and placed atop one of the platforms. The unfortunate soul chosen for this fate is attached to a rope on a pulley system and bobbed like bait on a hook. He is bitten a number of times by the sound of the screams, then raised up out of reach of the sea of grasping, clutching hands and snapping jaws below. His wrists and ankles are freed once he dies or loses consciousness. When it awakes, the inmates cut it loose to join those below.

On the good side, Tim, Antonio, and Samantha returned on mountain bikes with packs loaded with food and basic hygiene supplies. That is nice for two reasons. The obvious being the stuff. However, they took off on foot. Those bikes allow them to move quickly and stay quiet. Not one zombie was on their trail. They did say there was no shortage that had to be dispatched.

I filled everybody in on what I saw. They will give me one more day to see if I can spot my friend, then we are outta here.

There is too much risk to validate my making any attempt to rescue Paul. Not only is the fence lined with those things, there are hundreds more simply wandering the area. Add to that the unlikely possibility that the majority of the inhabitants of that prison will do us any favors and I understand that I have no choice but to leave my friend to whatever fate he finds in that place.

In all my time watching, I’ve not seen anybody leave. I have no idea if or how they forage. I’ve seen absolutely no sign of life in the town itself. If there are other survivors, they’ve either left or chosen to remain completely out of sight. We will leave tonight a few hours after midnight. We want to draw as little attention as possible. Once we are on I-84, we have open roads as far as we can see.

The plan now is to avoid large population areas. We will follow the

* * * * *

Chapter 3

We’ve been captured. So far, that is the bad news. I’ve seen none of the others since the night we were taken by inmates from the prison. Nobody will answer any of my questions. I am stuck alone in a thirteen-by-six cell with a stainless steel sink and toilet, and a metal hardpan with a three-inch thick foam mattress. The windows are frosted on the outside so that all I can see is if it is day or night.

Three times a day, somebody comes to my door, a slot is opened, and a tray is slid in with a meal. Surprisingly, it is a hot, balanced meal. The quality reminds me of school lunches when I was a kid. Today, I had a hamburger and french fries! A half hour later, the tray is handed back. I’ve never had the nerve to refuse.

I have noticed that it is never the same person bringing the meal, or picking up the tray. Nobody will speak to me or answer any questions. Occasionally, I hear a commotion, but it sounds like it is coming from below which leads me to believe I am on at least the second or third floor.

My, what I guessed to be the second day, I was given a questionnaire. It asked if I had known allergies, diseases, or medical conditions that required any attention. Also, I was given a bible and a list of books. They actually brought me two books to read. Today I was asked by the person who took my lunch tray if I was ready to exchange my books for new ones!

To say the least, I am very confused.

This morning I was told to place my back to the door and present my wrists through the tray slot. I was handcuffed, then told to step away from the door and get on my knees. My door was then opened and somebody placed a dark hood over my head. My first thought was, this is it! I’m going to be marched out and thrown into that yard with those things.

Instead, I was marched down what I assume to be a corridor and deposited into what turns out to be a shower stall with bars. I was uncuffed and told that when the door shut, I could remove the hood. I was surprised to be in a shower! More surprised to find hot water!

A bar of soap, shampoo, a toothbrush with paste already applied, and a towel were on a shelf. It was amazing! A voice called in to warn me I had two minutes after I had undressed. I was instructed to push my clothes through the bars. That was when I noticed one of those orange jumpsuits I’ve seen on TV and in the movies, a pair of underwear, socks, and slip-on docksiders.