Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (45 page)

Sam, you may well be the writer of the first “Best Seller” of the new age. Although, technically your book will be given away for free. Still, not bad for a newspaper deliverer and garage band member. I’ve kept
this
journal hidden. It is mine and I don’t think I want to share. And, of course, I want to keep the original of Sam’s.

Jonathan has made it clear, just as I was determined to reach my destination, he is returning to the other place. He says that he doesn’t feel comfortable here. I can’t blame him. Is it possible that these people are
too
civilized? Anyhow, I wished him well. He promised to see me in the morning before he actually leaves. I’ll miss him.

Friday, February 20

Jonathan left today. I’ve been given a list of job possibilities. They told me it was no rush, but I got the feeling these folks are watching me closely. Measuring me.

Saturday, February 21

I’ve met Monica Campinelli, finally. She was out with nine others doing a security and supply run. I guess this place has motion sensors in a few key locations. They have cameras that are activated when the motion sensors are triggered. It is how they keep tabs on their farms.

Additionally, they send regularly scheduled teams out to patrol. They have a communications center which is manned any time that they have a person or persons out in the field. Again, this is way too organized. Some may see this as good, but all I see here is
power
. And power produces envy. There will always be somebody bigger and badder on the horizon. I just can’t shake the uneasy feeling I have.

Back to Monica, she is nice. Tough, but nice. She actua
lly came looking for me. She was holding a copy of Sam’s journal in one hand, a basket of fresh muffins in the other with a little jar of strawberry jam and fresh butter. We sat at a table sipping tea and snacking on muffins, talking about all sorts of stuff.

I told Monica what my intentions are. No, I didn’t tell her anything about The Genesis Brotherhood or the plans I have for them. I told her that I would like for the baby to stay here. I told her that I didn’t want to plant any roots. I also told her that if this place didn’t want the baby, I’d take it to the other place. Monica sat silently the entire time I spewed all of this out.

Before I knew it, I was babbling about what happened at the hands of the Sparrow Falls people—and I use the word ‘people’ loosely. I told her stuff that I don’t think I’ve spilled to anybody about what they did to me. I don’t know what it was. I just started talking to this woman and everything poured out.

After I was done, and it took a while, she gave me this look. It wasn’t condemning, or judgmental, or even slightly di
sapproving. She told me that everything would be fine and that the baby would be welcome. She even said that I could interview a few potential parents and
choose
who the baby will be given over to for raising.

I was exhausted when it was all over. Monica told me that Dennis VanDelay will want to give me a check-up tomo
rrow, and that she would be there for it as well. I also told her that I’d decided on my job choice. Of course my choices were limited. Some limits were probably due to my “condition”, but I bet the rest is because I am new and they have zero reason to trust me with anything involving security.

Tomorrow I go work in the kitchen.

Sunday, February 22

Met Marty Johnson today. He was adopted by Crystal. He hung around in the kitchens after lunch and I could tell he wanted to talk to me. If I hadn’t been sporting the massive pre
gnancy bulge, I would’ve thought he was checking me out.

He wanted to show me how well he played guitar! I fo
rgot that one of Sam’s early experiences here was teaching the kids to play guitar. It seems that Marty really took to it. He’s very talented. He now teaches others. I think Sam would be very proud.

Tuesday, February 24

Time seems to go so damned slow here! I don’t know if it is the eight hour shift in the kitchen or what, but it makes me want to scream! Have I mentioned that there is no such thing as a weekend?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not lazy. Only, working in a big kitchen is not high on my list of career choices. I’d rather be out on patrol. Hell, I’d even take manning one of the towers. Cho
pping onions? No thanks.

There is an upside. It’s not all misery here. There is a “movie theater” and a “gym” and even a “dance hall”. All meals are served to the entire community. I see no signs of rationing or controlling portions. Food is not a problem. It is a regular social event three times a day. Nobody seems to have specific people they sit with unless they are in some sort of relationship. There’s even a guy-guy couple and
two
girl-girl couples!

There is a “church”. It was a conference room that they converted. (I find that to be an amusing phrase). Outside is a schedule. So far there are Baptist, Jewish, and Catholic services. Also there is an “open worship” time and two bible study groups. I guess some folks still believe. With all I’ve seen out there,
plus
the whole dead getting back up thing, I have a bit of a problem with exactly what my spiritual beliefs are. If God is everything The Bible claims, then I’m sure He’ll understand.

Besides all that, I feel like a beached whale. I want this thing out of me. Dennis says he wants to see me twice a week. He estimates that this baby will be born on or around the first of April. I told him I wanted to punch him in the face, and that he could move that date up to tomorrow and that would be fine with me. Another month of this?

Saturday, February 28

I believe I’ve chosen the couple for the baby. Monica a
ctually came to me with four couples to choose from. The only one I didn’t feel comfortable with on paper was Janie and Lindsay.

They are the youngest of all the couples. Both are in their early twenties. They are the only couple with no child of their own. And it may’ve been my conservative, rural, quasi-Republican upbringing, but a lesbian couple would never be something I would consider as my first choice to raise this baby.

Then, I met Janie and Lindsay.

I don’t know what I expected. I do know that I’d asked Monica to sit in with me because I had no idea what I would ask these two. I am embarrassed to say that I expected one of them to be wearing hiking boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt.

Janie is what you might call drop-dead-gorgeous. She is tall, curvy, sandy-haired with hazel eyes. She was wearing a blue turtleneck sweater and the cutest skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she even wore make-up! She works in one of the armored towers, manning a big-ass machinegun.

Lindsay looks like an Olympic gymnast. She is a tiny thing, at least a foot shorter than Janie! Her blonde hair is kept shoulder length and has eyes so blue I thought she was wearing colored contacts. She is armed security for one of the farm-worker details.

I have no idea when Monica left. The three of us were talking and laughing so much that she slipped out unnoticed at some point. Both women asked me more questions than I asked them! Somewhere along the way I told them I’d decided. They were so happy. Yay! Three women hugging and crying and laughing. I felt…human.

Sunday, March 1

One thing about how things are set up here; there is always a parent at home with the child. Even though this place believes in a seven-day work week, parents are never on the same shift. And if one parent works “outside the fence”, the other is
required
to work inside.

Janie asked me if I would like to move out of the “dorm” and move in to her and Lindsay’s apartment. Also, they wanted to know if they could attend my check-ups and if I’d allow them to be there at the birth. I’ve said “yes” to all three.

My shift happens to be the same as Janie’s, so we’ll spend a bit more time together. I’ve made sure that Dennis was okay scheduling my appointments when all three of us can be there. I don’t want Lindsay feeling left out.

Tonight, the three of us started talking about a name. Honestly, I’d never even thought about it. I am a terrible person. The choice for a boy’s name was easy: Sam. It just seems right. If it is a girl, she will be named Snoe. I thought it would be diff
icult to convince them, but we all agreed so easily.

So…baby Sam or Snoe. It’s been a real experience carr
ying you inside me this whole time. I’ve done my best to make sure that you arrive in this world. I’ve tried to keep you safe and sound. And it’s not that I don’t love you or anything else like that. I simply know that I cannot live behind a fence for the rest of my life. And, I cannot take you out there. I would be condemning you to death. This way, you have a real chance at life. Your mommies will have a copy of not only your dad’s, but also,
this
journal.

Now, if you don’t mind. Get out of my belly!

Monday, March 2

This morning, I woke before I had to be to work. I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep because I take almost an hour just to get comfortable. That, and I’d had this terrible nightmare about Dominique.

I question if I did the right thing. I know I couldn’t really force her to come with us. But she’s just a child. Her first sexual experience was violent and traumatic. She was confused. And I left her behind. So determined to pursue my own selfish goals, I abandoned a young girl, not even a teen yet, to some unspeakable Hell.

What angers me is the wave of self-doubt. My rational mind tells me she would’ve bolted at the first opportunity. But the
Jiminy Cricket
on my shoulder says I was the “adult” in the situation. I should’ve gotten her away from there and then taken the time to help her through this trauma. This is just more proof that I have NO BUSINESS being a mother.

If I didn’t before, I MUST go back. I have to find those bastards. I have to save Dominique. None of the things that ha
ppened to her in the past few months would’ve ever taken place if we’d left her at her little camp. What business was it of mine to take her from there? Who do I think I am that I know what is best for others? Half the time I don’t even know what is good for myself.

Also, I miss Jenifer. I miss Jonathan. And I even miss that dumb dog.

Tuesday, March 3

Doctor Dennis says everything is going just fine. Janie held my hand. I think it was more for her than for me though. It was sweet.

Wednesday, March 4

Sleeping is starting to become harder to come by. Not
hing is comfortable. I feel like a hippo, and if I hear one more person tell me “pregnancy really suits you” or “you’re carrying it so well, you look like you just swallowed a basketball”, I may literally scream. And the next person who touches my stomach without an actual invitation may come back with a bloody stump.

I don’t feel blessed, I feel bloated. I’m not glowing, I’m gassy. I’m not cute-as-a-button, I’m constipated-as-a-cheese-taster. And I’m not expecting, I’m exhausted.

I wore a tee shirt today that had “GO AWAY!” printed on it. They thought I was kidding. Lindsay said that she had just the cure for my tension.

This evening, when I returned from work, she and Janie had managed to not only have an actual bath tub brought to the apartment, but filled it with hot, bubbly water. I TOOK A BUBBLE BATH. Janie came in at the end and worked my hair. After, Lindsay spent over an hour giving me a pedicure. My to
enails are pink! (Not my choice of colors, but they were so sweet I couldn’t refuse or complain.)

I now have shaved legs (and underarms), newly trimmed hair, pink finger and toenails, and am tucked into a big, cozy bed with a bowl of hand-churned vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. For the first time since January 20
th
of last year when I saw my first walking corpse, I feel like a woman. Feminine.

It can’t be as simple as a bath, a pedicure, and a bowl of ice cream. Can it?

I still want this child out of me, but tonight, I feel indescribably calm and at peace. Please let it transfer to a night’s sleep where I actually manage more than an hour-long stretch before I’m awake.

Saturday, March 7

The patrol lost somebody today. A lady named Shannon. Jobs were put on hold so everybody could attend the service. I went just to see everybody in one place and get an idea of the numbers. Maybe it is because I’ve been out on the road so long, but it sure looked like a lot of people. I didn’t really know the woman. Even when I saw a picture, she didn’t look familiar.

That’s when it hit me. Everybody looks so very similar. Not like related or anything. It’s just that haunted, hunted, and tired look. There is a gauntness. I’d been sitting on a chair at the service when the realization came. I’m sure that if anybody was paying attention to me, they’d think me to be perfectly rude.

This is the world my child will know.

Sunday, March 8

Today I watched morning break. The green hills in the distance had pockets of fog trapped in the folds and crevices. It looked like the mountains had steam coming off of them. It was beautiful. I realized that these people, as “free” as they think they are, they’re prisoners. Nobody here is any more alive than those horrid creatures outside the fence. They wake, they work, they eat, they sleep. It’s worse than before this apocalypse, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.

If I survive long enough, maybe I’ll come back here. If it’s still standing, I’ll check in on my child. See if he or she wants to come with me out into the world where you are alive every single minute of each day. If that child reads this, please understand I didn’t abandon you because I don’t care. But I am more convinced than ever that staying here would kill
me
.

Tuesday, March 10

Thought I was gonna have the baby today. I spent nine hours with Dennis checking me and listening to mine and the baby’s heartbeat. I really had my hopes up

Aaarrrgghhh!

Wednesday, March 11

Hmm. Learn something new every single day. Monica came to me with a job offer. It is a position in the communic
ation center where they monitor the airwaves. The shift would be the same hours, so no change in my schedule.

I accepted.

Tom took me on a little tour this afternoon. The place looks busy and just a bit hectic. Even when nothing is happening, those folks look like they’re doing stuff. They write down everything that is heard. That includes the Las Vegas transmissions.

I’m curious what else they have records of. They have files on “groups of interest” which includes The Genesis Brot
herhood, Gypsy Militia, Sunset Transit Fortress, several roving bands, one military outpost which was been dark for five months…and Irony, USA. Things keep getting curiouser and curiouser.

What worries me is that this place stays locked. Two armed guards are posted inside
and
outside. And there is a door nobody but Tom, Monica, and some other guy I don’t know, go in and out of.

All this on my first day of orientation. If I picked up this much unsettling information in that length of time, what in the hell will I find once I start working there every day? All of this stinks of cloak-and-dagger. Secrets. Isn’t this what got us in this situation to begin with?

Thursday, March 12

I was searched when I left the Comm Center today! What the hell is that about?  I will talk to Monica. It’s not like they stripped me down or anything. It was a lot like a police pat-down. (Yeah, I may have had one or two of those in my younger days.)

I was put at a bank of scanners and told to write down the digital readout numbers anytime it locked onto a frequency, even if no message was heard. The coolest thing that I heard was at noon. Somebody broadcast
Hells Bells
by AC/DC,
Zombie
by The Cranberries, and
Death on Two Legs
by Queen. I guess whomever this mystery Dee-Jay is, they transmit three or four times a week. Once, they broadcast the entire
War of the Worlds
radio program that Orson Wells did way back when.

This person is my kinda survivor. They may be locked away just like we are here, but they
sound
free. Nobody has ever heard a voice. Just the songs or whatever.

Friday, March 13

The things you learn by just sitting quietly and staring intently at an LED readout. It seems that this place
knew
about the folks at the Sunset Transit Center
before
I arrived; just not
where
they were located. They usually try to pinpoint groups by listening to their chatter and picking up on locations either by the monitored group naming landmarks, or, by them saying it outright.

Today, I listened to somebody calling himself “Bug”. “Bug” was in contact with “Pepper”. At one point, I heard Bug say he would “circle back on two-one-seven and rally at BHS.” This is a small group with primitive
communications equipment. They probably think they are miles ahead of everybody else. The reality is, places like here and Sunset use frequencies that nobody else is on. They change often just in case somebody does find them. The only way this place keeps tabs on Sunset is because of all the scanning gear.

If these folks wanted, they could ruin some of the groups out there. However, the agenda here is to lay low and amass food, supplies, and weapons. Pre-zombie, we would be consi
dered a Superpower. I just wonder how long it will take before they start branching out and absorbing some of the “satellite” nations.

I did ask about The Genesis Brotherhood and was told that they broadcast almost around the clock! Mostly it is fire-and-brimstone preaching. When I heard that some folks here even have meeting’s scheduled around specific preachers’ se
rmons, I was a bit disturbed. I haven’t spoken to anybody yet about why. I’ve added this to my list of things to discuss with Monica when I get a chance.

Saturday, March 14

Today was lousy. It poured down rain all day. It was windy, which only adds to the misery. The Comm Center was quiet. Partially due to nobody out there doing much talking. But also due to three antennae that were damaged because of the wind. And yep, you guessed it, crews are working on the problem right this minute.

Janie and Lindsay had an actual argument today. Huh, lesbian couples argue just like regular married folks. Who knew? It seems that somebody was feeling unappreciated while som
ebody else felt like all their hard work was taken for granted, blah, blah, blah. I walked in, heard the tones, saw the body-language and turned right around and went down to watch a movie. I feel better every day about my choice in parents for this baby. Those two are like any couple that I’ve ever known.

Tuesday, March 17

No matter what happens, no matter what I see in my travels out there, I can never get used to the sound of another person dying a terrible, painful, violent death. A small herd—by small I mean
only
a couple hundred—surprised one of our farming groups. We lost four people today.

I learned a couple of things today. For all the aspects of this place I don’t agree with, there is one very good aspect. Th
ese people genuinely seem to care for each other. There is a cloud of sadness over the compound today. Also, I now know how this place remains populated, and the
real
use for the Comm Center.

My shift was going swell. Bug was out again. He was r
eally excited because he found some onions growing wild. I was wondering just how bad it had gotten for people that onions were being spoken of like gold when the radio-operator tasked with staying in touch with anybody outside called for room silence. He flicked a toggle and put the incoming message on speaker.

Two people immediately started writing furiously, and I was told to be ready with ten radios for a response team. Som
ebody must have sent for both Tom and Monica during the initial insanity because they came running into the room, Tom looked like he’d been in bed and wasn’t even wearing shoes. I felt more in the way than anything else. That, and helpless. All I could do was listen to the panic, fear, and dying. I was so relieved that it wasn’t Lindsay’s group. Is that wrong?