Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (44 page)

Also, on the third tier is what I guess you would consider the turrets of this castle: four military Hum-Vees parked and fa
cing 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 susp
icious. 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 i
nfection. 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, health wise, 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 se
ntence out of my mouth without leaving.

Okay, I get it, this is a nice set up. It’s got warmth, clea
nliness—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 a
nswer I got was to the point: not our problem.

At first, I was a little upset by such a cold statement. But once I got past the bluntness of it, I totally understood. Waiting around these days will get you killed…or worse.

The convoy was picked clean, I even heard a couple single-shots. That would clearly indicate that this group has a “no prisoner” policy. I didn’t ask, but I did wonder; what if there was a recently captured person in that mess? Maybe I just don’t want to know the answer to that. These people have been nothing but accommodating to my little band.

Saturday, February 14

Shari performed an appendectomy today! Now she’s really the
Belle of the Ball
. They did everything but have a damned parade. Almost like it was planned, a hunting party returned with five deer. I wonder if it was the same herd.

It’s sorta weird how the zombies will chase and eat dogs and cats, but deer, horses, cows, they all seem safe.

Sorry…I just started giggling and couldn’t stop for like five minutes. I pictured the zombie version of Elmer Fudd tip-toeing along. Then he stops and says, “Shhh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I’m hunting peoples. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.” Stupid, right? But it just absolutely cracked me up. I had tears in my eyes and everything.

Jenifer showed up when I was in full-on mirth and asked if I was okay. I did a really poor imitation, made worse by my inability to stop laughing. She just shook her head and said that maybe I should drink more fluids because I was delirious. I think I’m getting stir-crazy.

Why can’t I just settle down? I’ve asked myself that question these past couple days. It’s not safe out there. I don’t know what my problem is. I only know that I can’t even imagine the thought of staying put.

Sunday, February 15

I’ve told everybody that I felt had a need-to-know that I will leave tomorrow. I’ve been packing my stuff. Some of the residents took the trouble to come by with gifts. They even let me have a shower this evening with TWO buckets of hot water. Talk about making a gal feel special.

Shari’s been ducking me all day. Jenifer actually spun around and went the other way when she saw me. And I haven’t seen Jonathan since the day we took out those raiders. As for Coach, well, I just couldn’t do that to Hope.

Monday, February 16

I left by myself. Made it all the way to the torched ruins of what was apparently some sort of shopping complex. I think there was a grocery store, a couple of restaurants. All that r
emains are piles of rubble and the black smudge of what must’ve been an impressive fire.

Then I reached a large field. This was another curiosity. There were the husks of military vehicles scattered about. Also, this is the first time I’ve encountered what looks to have been large cages. Nothing nice could’ve been happening here. There are lots of weathered and decayed carcasses lying about.

I was poking around when I heard a thud. Spinning around, I see this cloud of soot and dust swirling a few feet from a burned out army jeep. I walk over to investigate. A zombie chil—three, maybe four years old tops—is lying face down with a very neat hole in its head. I start looking everywhere. I hadn’t heard a gunshot.

“You forgot your crossbow!” Jonathan slid over a dirt embankment.

Seems that one of the folks back at the Transit Fortress heard about my love of the crossbow, but was on patrol and missed out on the opportunity to give it to me personally. Jonathan claims he accidently overslept. He says he will see me to my destination, but then he’s going back. Also, Jenifer has a boyfriend. When the hell did that happen? And why can’t anybody tell me anything?

I guess Shari felt really guilty about “abandoning” me. Maybe if she would’ve talked to me she wouldn’t need to feel guilty. I would’ve told her that I completely understand. She’s found a home. She feels wanted. Also, not everybody feels the need to be on the move.

I have to admit, I am very worried about making it to the warehouse. I am getting slower every day. And if I stare at my belly long enough, I swear I can see it grow. I’m just glad I can’t see my ass, because I’ll bet it is experiencing the same fate.

I’d never tell him to his face, but it was nice to see Jon
athan.

Wednesday, February 18

We might make it to the warehouse complex tomorrow morning! Of all the crazy things, Jonathan found a pair of Vespa scooters in the house we camped in last night. After some tinkering he got them both to work. Then, he rigged a hook-up for my cart. Since we’ll be sticking to the highway unless a nasty surprise or an emergency arises, we should be able to make good time.

I am actually nervous. I have a feeling in my stomach that I haven’t had since—well, since
before
all this started. I’m actually writing this by moonlight because I’ve had trouble sleeping, and it’s not because of the baby. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax in any way, shape, or form until I lay eyes on that place.

Thursday, February 19

This place would give the folks back at the Sunset Transit complex a run for their money. It is, in a word, amazing. I’ve met so many people.  And so many folks come up to me and simply smile that I feel very self-conscious about the decision that I have yet to tell them regarding the baby.

It seems they found a way to deal with the wall of u
ndead once surrounding the place. In fact, there weren’t even any stragglers when Jonathan and I arrived. And they have excavated a deep moat that runs all the way around the facility. Couple that with razor wire coils and sharpened rods of what look like rebar planted in the concrete basin at the bottom of the moat. And that is just the outer-most ring of protection. Throw in eight armored machinegun towers that look not only like they can withstand rocket attacks, but like they actually have.

They have stills and produce their own version of ethanol to run their generators. Yes, this place has electricity 24/7! Granted, they’re still very frugal. There is nothing wasted here. This place has a three square acre plot just for corn! There are six satellite “gardens” being worked, plus they converted one warehouse into the biggest greenhouse I’ve ever seen. They h
aven’t eaten anything processed or “canned” in over six months! They have goats, cows, and even horses! I had a glass of milk today! Oh. My. God.

Everybody here works a regular job. This place even has a jail, although they say it has only been used less than a handful of times. (And only once by a member of the community.) At least that is according to the sheriff and mayor, Tom Langston.

While all of this may sound grand, I see a very large prison. These folks claim a five mile perimeter as
their
territory. Jonathan and I even saw signs warning people that they were entering “New Jamestown” and that “passing through is permitted, but staying without authorization would be seen as a hostile act.”

The population of New Jamestown is one hundred and eight. Children apparently don’t count until they reach age five. I’ve seen a dozen under that age. There is a school; I met Greg Parker and Crystal Johnson. While there seemed to be some standard stuff on display in the classroom, when I visited, all the students were at one of the ethanol stills. Did I mention that ev
ery roof here is lined with solar panels? Oh, and three windmills are under construction.

This all may seem well and good, but I see a push to the “old ways” here that is being sought much faster than anything I’ve witnessed. Out there, it is the Dark Ages. This is like di
scovering New York City in the middle of the Old West.

It is a lot to process in one day. I’ve given Sam’s journal to Tom. He wanted to make copies. Can you believe it? They can make copies here! He wants to make it available to anybody who would like to read it. He was actually sort of hesitant when he asked…like he was afraid I would say no.