Zomblog (15 page)

Nope.

The last time I saw Greg, he was almost across the bridge…well ahead of me. I did the only thing I could do…I jumped.

Once again I have to say that the movies make that sort of action look
way
cooler than it is. The impact knocked most of the wind from me. The icy coldness of the water stole the rest. I broke the surface and damn near drowned when I gasped and inhaled a mouthful of water.

There is noise of all sorts now. Helicopter rotors, moaning hordes of undead coming to the source of such racket…oh yeah…and machinegun fire. All I could do is snatch a breath and duck under, swimming for a shore that was becoming increasingly less safe as droves of Spokane’s zombie population were now arriving.

Once my feet could touch bottom, I kept moving downstream, staying underwater as long as possible. I finally saw a gap and made a dash. That damned helo was swooping around as I hit dry ground. Now it was a race to a narrow street where I would be down to only one enemy to face head-on. I could feel the hum in my feet as bullets tore up the grass behind me. I had to dodge a couple of nearby zombies who of course turned in pursuit as I sped past.

I heard the helo roar overhead as I ducked into a parking garage. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I knew that this place was not anywhere I would want to hang out in for long.

A tall blonde wearing nothing but the sagging, unraveling remnants of a dark blue turtleneck sweater was lurching for me from behind a red sportster that had been tee-boned by an SUV some weeks past. I managed to swat her aside with my bat, but there were plenty more hungry mouths coming.

I decided that running up the nearby ramp would only lead to me being trapped on the top floor. So, I spun left and vaulted over a four foot high concrete divider, and back into the open.

A sign above a sturdy looking door hung askew right across the street:
Hangman’s Tavern.
I made it to the door, which was blessedly unlocked, jerked it open and ducked inside. The air was stale, but it definitely smelled like a bar. Light flooded from the back wall which I quickly discovered to be a panoramic façade of huge picture windows that looked out on the creek which provided the establishment’s name. My good fortune held as I saw that a deck was on the backside of this tavern, suspended a good ten feet above ground. That would explain why the windows were still intact.

A dull thud on the door I now leaned against made me jump. I checked, but could find no way to lock the door without having a key. So, after a quick visual inventory, I grabbed a few tablecloths and tied them from the door handle to the banister of the stairs. It wasn’t too difficult of a fix. Next, I piled enough furniture to create a solid obstacle in the entryway between door and stairs. Then, I went up and chanced a look outside.

I still heard the helo, but it was a good distance away and seemed to be receding. Not too many zombies were visible. I imagine most are out front, but there aren’t any windows on that part of the building, just this rear view.

I found a jar of olives and those horrible fake cherries, some bags of peanuts and pretzels, and all sorts of things to drink including bottled water. It has been dark for hours, but I can still hear
them
out front.

When I went through my stuff, I was really frustrated to discover I’ve lost my radio
and
my spare magazines. I don’t know how my pack came open or where, but I do know I am alive, and that counts for something. I’ll do my best to catch some sleep. But, now that I’ve been here a while, I’m hearing a sound that has me almost more concerned than the zombies outside my door.

Lots of sporadic gunfire.

* * * * *

Chapter 4

Tuesday, April 1

I awake with a shudder…and I must’ve yelled because my daughter Beth almost dropped the tray she was carrying with my favorite breakfast: Four eggs over easy, a half rack of thick maple-bacon, fresh grated hash browns with minced garlic, seven grain toast, real butter and marmalade, an ice cold glass of milk, and a steaming cup of fresh ground Millstone Morning Blend coffee, black.

“
Ummm…good morning?” Beth’s raised eyebrow was about as much concern as a teenage daughter can show a father and maintain her aloof image.

“
I had the worst nightmare,” I sat up, rubbing my hands together. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“
You better be kidding,” she placed the tray on my lap, adjusting the legs so I wouldn’t bump it with my clumsy moving about.

I thought it over. Birthday? No. Father’s day? Nope, that’s in June. Damn.

“
You win,” I stabbed an egg yolk so I could swab my bacon through it.

“
Seriously?”

“
Seriously.”

“
Megan will be thrilled. You really don’t know?”

“
She’s picking up the last of her crap?”

“
Dad!” Beth walked to my closet and pointed to the tuxedo hanging on the door.

“
She died?”

“
Have you been drinking with
The Muses
?”

“
Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to cut me some slack. I had the worst damned nightmare last night.”

“
You’re getting married in six hours. If I were you, I’d eat breakfast and take a shower. We can’t share this story with Megan until your guys’ tenth anniversary.” Beth walked over to the window and opened the curtains. The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes.

My bed shook, spilling breakfast all over. Beth fell, bouncing off the foot of my bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

Two hands reached up and grabbed my bedspread. The skin was waxy and gray. Beth stood up, mouth open in a rattling moan of the undead, staring at me with black bloodshot eyes…

* * * * *

I hate nightmares.

I woke up…for real. There was still the echo of a rumble in the air. Cracks ran through the huge windows in the back of the tavern and the sky was glowing, but it wasn’t daylight.

After several more explosions, things settled down. The absolute quiet was shredding my nerves. I sat in silence for almost an hour until the sun rose. It took that long to realize I didn’t hear any more pounding outside. Still, I think it best if I wait the day out.

If I’m being totally honest, that dream hurt me deep in my heart. I keep thinking that maybe I should’ve put a gun in my mouth a long time ago. My body aches all over, and now…so does my soul.

Wednesday, April 2

From my window view, I watched a trio of those huge, double-rotor, cargo helicopters fly back and forth several times today. I don’t believe that the military has total control of Spokane. Not just because of the zombies, but those birds took a lot of gunfire. At one point, a pair of fighters came in low and I heard explosions, but could not determine how far off they were. It was enough to rattle the walls here, but the windows are still holding.

I’ve been debating going out onto the deck. My visibility is pretty limited. If I can get out and look around, I could see more of my surroundings. However, once I break the glass, I risk exposure. And, while I know I have to leave this place soon, I just don’t have the heart to fight…to run…to kill.

Today…I vow to stick to just drinking water. I might have failed to mention that I polished of a bottle of Jack that first night…two more since.

Thursday, April 3

Water seems to be a magic elixir. With my system flushed of alcohol, I am beginning to feel much better. That said, I still haven’t figured out a plan. I sure miss my friends. Strange how when you are around something so much that it is so damned easy to take it for granted. I guess that’s just human nature.

I imagine that, provided everybody else did better than I, they have written me off for dead and moved on. It is obviously a bad idea to hang around this area. There is constant gun-fire…explosions…screaming. If a city of this size is so chaotic, just how terrible was it in the major metropolises? Is our military taking orders from a central government? Or, is it every province for itself? Are we fighting back…or are we just fighting?

I have noticed that whenever I hear aircraft come in, the gunfire picks up drastically. I can only deduce that the survivors of Spokane are battling the military as well as the undead. Everybody (or thing in the case of the zombie) is fighting a war on at least two fronts. Since the ground fire I am hearing comes from all over, I can safely conclude that there are multiple pockets of survivors in this city. Are they united? Or do they fight each other?

* * * * *

I’ve seen my first miracle! Now I feel that seed of hope I feared had been killed in my internal freeze beginning to grow.

A few hours ago, I heard gunfire closer than at any time since I’d sealed myself off in this dismal tavern. It was coming from the direction of the creek. I went to investigate. Straining to see anything, I obviously pressed too hard on the pane of glass on the far right while trying to look left of my location. The only warning I had was a loud
crack
, then the window just collapsed. I had to dive backwards to avoid the cascading rain of glass.

I could hear a man yelling, and then more gunshots. Part of me worried that the military had figured out where I ran and sent a ground team. Well, the glass definitely gave away my position, so I may as well go down swinging. I only had a few rounds, so I’d make them count.

I snuck out onto the glass strewn deck and duck-walked to the wrought-iron railing. What I saw froze me. A man and woman were back-to-back with a child, a girl of about age ten, between them. Both had pistols in each hand, blasting every zombie they could. The little girl was loading magazines and handing them to the adults as needed while having the presence to scoop up the discharged magazine from the ground!

Finally, the spell of astonishment broke and I yelled for their attention. A bullet whizzed past close enough for me to feel heat on my left ear. The woman paused, thankfully, before firing again. She said something, because they angled my way. I couldn’t find a clear shot that would actually be of any help. Instead, I dropped everything and climbed over the rail. Holding onto one of the vertical black iron bars, I leaned down while still struggling to keep my footing on the three-inch lip of balcony.

The woman said something and the man widened his stance. The child scrambled up his back like a monkey. I clasped her hand and swung her up and over. I was in for a second surprise when she drew a small .22 caliber pistol and began methodically dropping the nearest zombies as the woman now holstered her weapons and tapped the man on the shoulder. He squatted and leaned forward, then, faster than I can describe it, she stepped up onto the small of his back and vaulted upwards. Her hands caught the lip of the balcony and I leaned down to offer help, but she swung a leg up and all I could do was move the hell out of the way. As she scrambled up, the girl was uncoiling a nylon line from around her waist under the leather jacket she was wearing. She dropped the line between the bars and sat down with her feet braced against the bottom crossbar. The woman re-drew her pistols and shouted, “Now, Michael!” The man took one last shot at a naked, middle-aged, balding man-zombie that was about a step away from being able to grab him, then, holstered his weapons, grabbed the line and scurried up. The child only grunted slightly to indicate any strain. As he reached up, the woman clasped his arm and just like that, I met the Thompson Family: Michael, Stephanie, and Amber.

Friday, April 4

It seems there is an Air Force base just outside of the city. According to Michael and Stephanie, they’ve been operating what was initially designated an emergency shelter when the whole zombie epidemic started spiraling out of control. The stories coming from folks who left, or as they refer to it “escaped”, are of abuse and executions.

The actual commanding officer and many of the upper chain of command died due to bites received early on when folks were still refusing to believe what was hap-pening. There was a bit of a power struggle. Eventually, a man named Captain Terrance Dahl assumed control. He quickly issued orders extending martial law in the city and began broadcasting on a local radio station that all civilians were to remain in their homes and await military evacuation.

Initially folks were relieved. Only, the evacuation kept being delayed. In a matter of days, the undead outnumbered the citizens. Rumor spread that the captain was intentionally delaying evacuations to “thin the draw on supplies.” Groups of citizens began organizing to take back the city. It is these groups that blocked all the on- and off-ramps leading to the city. The bridge blockade, something put in place by Captain Dahl to keep citizens from
leaving
the city, was apparently the scene of a terrible battle. Ever since, it has been an ongoing war that has seen increase in the zombie’s numbers.

Now there are factions in the city fighting for control as well. The Air Force is rumored to be running low on supplies such as fuel and ammunition for their aircraft. A few times they have sent out the huge cargo helos, but they never came back. Also, some of the airmen from the base deserted when they saw the way civilians were being treated. They say that there has been no radio contact in over five weeks from anyplace.

This confirms what I’ve suspected for quite a while. The world is dead and it is every man and woman for themselves.