Zomblog II (14 page)

Friday, February 6

Sadly, we’ve left a lot of meat behind. With no way to smoke it or anything of that nature, we just had to leave it to waste. However, for the last couple days, we’ve eaten like pigs! I feel at least twice my normal size.

It took two days for things to settle down outside. We are probably the cause of some hardship for others, and for that, I do feel bad. There has been so much gunfire the past forty-eight hours. Anybody hiding out in this area has been busy. We even had one come up to our door last night. A tall, emaciated looking Asian in a suit that looked three sizes too large.

I try not to think so much about who these things were as people, or how they might’ve died. I mean, you can see the physical damage. And sometimes it is easy to guess. But this guy had his entire bottom lip torn off. The chin was gone, too, just past the jawline. In my mind I see this man leaning down to kiss his wife goodbye after she took that last breath. Then…her eyes open and she bites down–

Today we made it past another ginormous apartment complex. We couldn’t do much in the way of scavenging because it seems we’ve passed into somebody’s territory. We actually had to dodge bullets today.

Jonathan made a white flag after we got pinned down behind a heavily shot up firetruck. He met with a group of four men and two women. They spoke very briefly, and Jonathan said it came down to one simple request: leave.

We did, but only got to the edge of a residential area. Another hospital looms ahead, even larger than the one that almost put the final nail on our coffin. We’ve crested the West Hills and look down into what I’ve named The Valley of Death.

Saturday, February 7

Things don’t look great right now. In some ways, we’re worse off than when we were surrounded and trapped in that gymnasium. I hope Jonathan returns with good news. He left this morning to try and find us a way around.

There are a couple of problems facing us right now. One, we can’t go back. That group of people made it clear that they won’t miss us next time. They were convinced that we were responsible for stirring up the zombies. We didn’t cop to it, but I’m certain they didn’t buy our line about being forced out of our hideout
because
of the increased activity of the past few days. Two, we can’t go forward without a big risk. There is no place to hide. There is some sort of huge interchange up ahead along with that hospital. Even with our limited visibility due to all the large buildings scattered in our path on both sides of the highway, we can see constant movement. Even at night.

It’s getting late. Shari keeps going all passive-aggressive with comments like, “We didn’t have to leave the Mitchell place.” And, “I don’t know why we are risking our ass to get to a place that might not even be there anymore.” Finally, I told her that she was never asked to come along. That she had sought me and
told
me she was coming. If she didn’t like it, she could shoulder her pack and haul her ass back the way we came.

Jenifer sat quietly, cleaning and oiling guns the whole time. I guess Jonathan has been showing her how at night while I’ve been sleeping. I thought my equipment always looked nice in the mornings when I’d wake up. I guess I’ve never thought about it. I mean, it’s a gun. You aim it, fire it, reload and repeat as necessary.
Of course
they need to be cleaned. And now that I think about it, wasn’t Snoe always tinkering with the weapons after we’d make camp? And that army kid, Perry Rose… the Air Force gal, Colleen Kaufman.

There is something deeply upsetting about having the belief that you’ve been self-reliant, and, that if you were spun off all by yourself, you’d be fine. I’ve been under the illusion that I’ve been taking care of myself this whole time. But that’s a big, fat lie! Here I am, Miss Independent. Only, somebody clean my guns, and please risk your ass to bring some canned potatoes when I have a craving. Watch my diet and ensure that I’m getting enough fluids. Scout a route that I can take because the one person insisting we travel has the greatest limitations. Wait! I didn’t ask for any of this. No, Meredith, you didn’t. It was done freely by people who care about you.

I am such a bitch.

Sunday, February 8

No sign of Jonathan. I don’t like this.

Tuesday, February 10

Yay! Jonathan is fine. It’s gonna be risky, but he found us a way. The way he described it, we have a very narrow slice of woods. We still have to weave our way through a nasty neighborhood, but if we can make it to those trees, we can skirt the back side of the hospital!

Unfortunately, he says that things won’t get easier any time soon. He is certain that we will be passing through not only heavily infected areas, but some occupied zones as well. There were some burn piles that he thinks couldn’t be more than a few days old. We’ll try to sneak through, but if we have to negotiate safe passage, we’ve worked out a hand signal. If Jonathan—he wouldn’t entertain the idea of anybody doing the talking but himself—raises the left hand, bug out.

Wednesday, February 11

Jonathan may be “The Negotiator”, but it is Shari that paid our way today. I’m in a three-story parking garage on the second level. This used to be some sort of city bus transit-center. The people living here have been set up for quite a while. There are literally hundreds of cars, trucks, and busses parked in a huge circle around the place which again made me think of Sam’s warehouse complex.

The folks here are very tribal. The interesting thing is that the three-to-one ratio here is in favor of the women! At least half of which are pregnant. Shari has been doing check-ups all evening. We’ve agreed to stay for a few days, and she is helping them compile a list of things that they need for the women.

Here’s the real kicker. They’ve asked Jonathan to offer up his “services” to as many of the ladies as possible the next few days. I guess it is to help keep diversity in the gene pool. They made it clear that it was entirely voluntary. I’m not sure if they got that entire statement out before he agreed.

Coach has even served a purpose. He’s the first living dog folks here have seen since this whole nightmare began. I think his belly has been rubbed raw, and he may have a sprained tail from wagging it so much. Then, there’s me. Pregnant Meredith. I helped scrub vegetables for dinner. Woo-hoo!

Oh, I almost forgot. There is a humongous nursery. That is the big reason their perimeter is so large. The ten greenhouses are all in full use. This group has it together. They have solar power on a huge scale—the entire third tier of the parking garage is an array of panels—and a variety of fruits and vegetables I haven’t seen in over a year. I ate a whole fresh tomato today and had fresh-squeezed orange juice to wash everything down at dinner.

Also, on the third tier is what I guess you would consider the turrets of this castle: four military Hum-Vees parked and facing out. Each one has a mounted .50 cal machinegun secured up top and is manned twenty-four-seven. At night, the watch is equipped with night-vision goggles.

I would guess the numbers here to be over a hundred easy. It’s hard not to ask too many questions and look suspicious. And these people aren’t stupid. As welcoming as they’ve been, nobody in our group is ever wandering around without one of them on hand.

It seems that some of them are familiar with The Genesis Brotherhood. Two of the women Shari saw early on are due any day. They both escaped from their camp. They are apparently well entrenched inside some historical mansion.

Speaking of Shari, she is unconscious about five feet away on a cot. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman snore like that. They actually
made
her get some rest. She’s been giving check-ups to the women and children all day. I guess that I never realized how lucky I’ve been to always have somebody with some type of medical background on hand.

One other interesting tidbit about this group. They have at least three people that have displayed an immunity to the infection. The saddest is a child no more than three. A little girl named Hope. Besides the terrible scar at the joint of her left elbow, she wears a patch over the left eye socket. Something took a big chunk of her face on that side as well as her eye. She says it is where “mommy gave me a mean kiss.” She has pretty blonde hair in Shirley Temple ringlets, and her one good eye is such a bright blue. And her laugh…it is absolutely precious. Shari said that, healthwise, the little girl is fine. From what I’ve seen, Hope is completely adjusted. I do wonder if we’ll be able to bring Coach with us when we leave though. Right now she’s asleep with her arms around the dog’s neck.

Thursday, February 12

Men can be such disgusting animals! Jonathan is walking around like he is the King-Rooster himself. I’ve tried to talk to him five or six times today alone. All he says is that he’ll “get back to me.” I got news. I said it once and I’ll say it again. I have someplace to be and I intend on getting there.

Shari is practically invisible these days unless you make an appointment. Jenifer is either at the greenhouses, teaching Hope to tie her shoes, or off in a corner with a flock of teenage girls whispering and giggling. They won’t even let me get a sentence out of my mouth without leaving.

Okay, I get it, this is a nice set up. It’s got warmth, cleanliness—I forgot to mention the hand-pumped well this place uses for fresh water. You get a real “shower” every other day. They heat water, then, you step into this cubicle and half the water is poured into a bucket with holes punched in it. You lather up, then get the other half of the water to rinse off. And sure, I could easily have my baby here. These folks would probably be thrilled to keep it. That’s not the point.

I’m curious. Okay? There, I said it. I want to meet Tom Langston, Greg Parker, and Monica Campinelli. And this baby deserves the chance to be around people who knew its dad. Is that so terrible and wrong? Maybe they won’t want the baby. In that case, I can come back this way and give it to these folks. Hell, maybe they aren’t even alive anymore. Maybe the whole place was wiped out. But I feel I owe this child at least that much. So, I’ll give the gang a few more days. Then, once more, with or without them, I’m outta here. Contrary to what some folks might believe, this trip hasn’t solely been about me.

Friday, February 13

Witnessed first-hand how this place has lasted. Some nomads came through today. We actually heard them early this morning. It is nothing unusual to hear a gunshot or two echo in the distance every so often. I actually take that as a good sign. It means that there are still people out there surviving.

A few hours before sunrise, a burst of automatic weapons and a handful of explosions woke everybody. This place shifted into a high-alert status with an impressive efficiency. I mean
everybody
old enough to shoot had a gun. I was given a big set of earmuffs and asked to feed one of the tripod mounted machineguns that I hadn’t even known existed up until now. We were situated behind some sandbags and amongst a double-rowed circle of trees at a corner of the greenhouses.

We listened as the firefight in the distance went on for several minutes. I started noticing some zombies stumbling and dragging themselves past. We all stayed silent. Letting them go only puts more obstacles in the way of would-be raiders.

The first mistake these yahoos made was in being overconfident. Sure, they numbered about fifty, and I must admit, the armor shielding they had fixed on the big three-wheeled choppers and quads was impressive. They just weren’t ready for such intense resistance.

Word came back from a team of scouts—that I never saw leave or return—that there was to be no hesitation. A trip wire was in place that would set off a flare. On that signal, everybody was to open up with everything. It was ruthless and efficient.

It took less than two minutes.

Afterwards, I asked about what allowances were made for the possibility that those folks may have prisoners. The answer I got was to the point: not our problem.