Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (65 page)

Tomorrow, I will press on and give myself a full day to find more water. But today…today…I’m just gonna sit here.

And cry.

Saturday, June 12

No dog. No zombies. Nothing. Although I am nestled in on this rock that has a clump of scrubby looking bushes sticking out from the—wall?  No, that isn’t right, but it will have to do. I am above a creek that is tiny enough to step over. Oh yeah, and I’m roasting a pair of rabbits that I nailed with my crossbow.

I got all my tears out yesterday. I don’t think that all of them were for my dog. Even as quiet as he was, I miss having Eric around. He was something special.

Sunday, June 13

Reached a three-way intersection this morning. The mil
itary will never make sense to me. They had a large presence here. There is a giant, fenced perimeter with about a hundred zombies milling behind the ten foot high barricade. All of them are wearing the remnants of their uniforms.

I saw a few things in there that looked very tempting. But there is no realistic way that I could’ve gone in and made it out alive. If I were the heroine in an action film—I’m looking at you Mila Jojovich—I’d have gotten in with no problems.

Anyways, south of that junction I came across an old graveyard. The stone wall around it was still intact, so that is where I am camped for the night. Of all things, there is a burned out restaurant in front.

Sometimes you stumble upon something that makes you scratch your head. “Hey, waitress, could we get a window seat?  We are here to visit grandma’s grave and might as well do that over the meatloaf special.”

South. My trail leads me directly south. I know that if I keep heading that way, eventually I will reach Vegas. The only thing that sucks—besides the million other normal things associated with everyday life—is that when I grabbed my backpack and ran, I lost that nifty radio. Also, the gas station maps with our route highlighted were in Eric’s bag. My one consolation is that both Sam’s journal and mine were in my pack. I believe I would’ve risked going back if I’d left them behind. I just wish I’d had a little food and that radio in my pack.

Thinking back, I realize just how sloppy I have gotten. I’d been relying on Eric. I won’t make that mistake again.
Always be ready to run.
That is Rule Number One when you are out in the wilderness. My backpack should always be stocked so that if I have to grab it and run, I’ll have all I need for a few days at least.

Monday, June 14

My only happiness in a while came today. I was actually kicking this rock and not doing anything more than convincing myself to keep putting one foot in front of another. Then my rock went under this RV. It wasn’t anything fancy. In fact, it looked far worse than could be accounted for with simple neglect, age, and weathering. This vehicle looked bad.

There were brown stains all over the side door—old blood obv
iously. A body that had dried out to almost nothing but the skeleton was still in the driver’s seat. A wash of icky stuff was spayed all over the inside of the window from where the guy had eaten a bullet.

I had to go in and take a look just in case there was som
ething in there worth taking. Mostly I was hoping for food. I set down my pack and decided that my long knife would be my best weapon in such close quarters. I’d climbed up on the front bumper for a look inside, but just because I didn’t see anything didn’t mean it was safe.

I pulled open the side door and was greeted by an old death smell. Not the nasty rot or zombie funk, just the bitter stench of old death. Nothing tumbled out or anything, so I went inside.

This RV used to belong to a group of guys about my age—mid-twenties. They were a band. A folded up banner revealed a wordy if not intriguing name:
James Dean Kindle and the Eastern Oregon Playboys
. Guitar cases, keyboards, drums, and a variety of instruments that I could not identify were strewn about. The photos that I found in a scrapbook show the four of them performing. I only found two bodies. One of them was locked in the bathroom with an empty bottle of booze and a bunch of pill containers. That couldn’t have been pleasant.

There is a lot of blood, long since dried and turned into a s
eries of dark stains. Also, I found a hand with a bite out of it that had been chopped off and thrown in the sink. Poor bastard.

As for food, I found a jar of rancid peanut butter, a lump of moldy cheese—at least I think it was cheese—and two tins of smoked sardines. I ate the fish and drank lukewarm water from my canteen while I enjoyed my real find: an iPod. It has all kinds of artists that I have never heard of before.

Alexa Wiley…Laura Gibson…and of course JDK and the Eastern Oregon Playboys
.

The battery only lasted a little over an hour. Surprisingly, there was enough juice in the auxiliary battery of the RV for a full r
echarge. But it was neat listening to music. I probably would have never heard any of these people in the Old World. And the sad part is just how good they are. It almost seems like a crime that talentless, over-processed hacks like Britney and that Simpson girl got airplay while folks like this languished in anonymity.

Then there were the pictures. You could tell that these boys had fun performing and playing music. And you could’ve walked right past them in the grocery store and not known how talented they were.

I’m keeping the iPod in hopes of finding more opportunities to charge it. It would be nice to listen to them again. I didn’t travel far today. But it’s not like I have a schedule to keep.

Tuesday, June 15

I woke up this morning to a loner pawing at the side of the RV. Imagine my surprise when I threw open the side door—after taking a look out of all the windows to ensure it was just the one—and came face-to-face with the owner of the hand I’d found in the sink.

As hard as it is to believe, one of the Playboys…or maybe JDK, hell, I don’t know…was standing there. He was barely reco
gnizable from the pictures I’d seen yesterday. Funny thing is that I didn’t recognize his face so much as the remnants of the tattered shirt he was wearing. It was the same one I’d seen on the tall, skinny guitar player in several of the photos. I almost felt…something. Maybe like I was doing this thing a favor by ending its miserable undead existence when I stuck the knife in its temple. It was my way of saying, “Thanks for the music.”

Then I did something very much not like me. As I sit b
eside this stream and watch the sun set, I still don’t know why. I dragged the body inside the RV with the other two and torched the thing. I punctured the gas tank and used a flare from the emergency roadside kit I found under the passenger’s seat.

I can still see the dark smudge in the sky.

Thursday, June 17

People.

I’ve come across a tent city built along what I assume was once an airstrip. There is literally nothing remarkable about this place. No fences, no barricades, nothing.

The people here are friendly enough. I had a fantastic meal of rabbit stew and flat bread. They have gardens scattered about with a variety of things growing. They even have homemade soap! This nice lady gave me some—and encouraged me to “e
njoy” it right away. I had a bath down at the stream that runs through just south of camp.

They are a very religious group. But not religious in the cr
azy Genesis Brotherhood way…or any of the other wacky fringe types. These folks are actually very nice. They even invited me to church and didn’t flip out when I paused long enough for them to see that I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect.

I can hear them over in the tent right now. They’re singing and sound legitimately happy. I catch snatches of the preacher’s sermon. He isn’t yelling or telling everybody how much they need to change. Actually, it sounds like he is just reading the b
ible.

There is a little girl here. I’ve seen her two or three times. Just glimpses really. She is immune. One of her arms is scar ti
ssue from elbow to wrist. She has a long, blonde braid and sparkly eyes. Each time that I see her, she is laughing.

These people are frighteningly normal.

Saturday, June 19

Back on the road. Don’t get me wrong, the people were great, and it was nice to have conversations with somebody other than myself for a change. Not to mention the luxury of not ha
ving to worry about food, or becoming food if you nap too soundly. It just felt…crowded.

Crazy. Right?  Here I am, trying to reach a city like Las V
egas that might be secure enough to have electrical power, and I’m all buggy about a few dozen people living in a tent city.

Honestly, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing anymore. Even worse, those folks told me that I am two or three days from the border town of McDermitt. It is thick with zombies, but repor
tedly has a good amount of scavengeable goods. Whole stores are intact. Imagine…aisles of canned goods…hygiene products. (That is good, because I’m due for a visit from Aunt Irma any day now, and what little I had in feminine products were left behind at the forestry center where Eric died.) There might even be some firepower to be had.

I asked why it is that nobody has made a run on the place if it is so well stocked. It seems that the good people of McDermitt did the same thing as the folks at Burns. Only, the infection was a
lready inside the walls. People have tried, but it never ends well. I guess you know where I am headed.

Tuesday, June 22

It has been a long, boring climb into these mountains. The good news is how cool it has been temperature-wise. I’ve been lucky. The bad part has been how cold the nights are. I had to sleep out in the open last night because I couldn’t find a vehicle or shack of any sort.

Tonight, I am safe and sound in a firewatcher’s tower. It doesn’t have any windows, but it is off of the ground. There are telltale signs that other survivors have stayed here. The ground is li
ttered with empty cans with labels faded into unreadability. Also, there is an arm. Well…that’s not entirely accurate. There are the skeletal remains of an arm; complete with missing pinky which was obviously bitten off.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single thing to drink. I had to bring my water from about two miles away. It wasn’t terrible, but it is inconvenient. I imagine that is why nobody stayed here perm
anently.

The best find—besides this sturdy, secure tower—is all the blackberries. I used an empty plastic jug that I found and washed it out to gather a bunch. I easily ate more than I picked, which is why it took so long to eventually come up with a full jug to snack on when I start hi
king again.

There is a lot of wildlife in the area. Just sitting here snac
king on blackberries, I’ve seen a pair of wolves, a deer, an elk (at least I think it was an elk), and a REALLY big bird that I think was an eagle. Oh…and bugs. Lots and lots of bugs.

Tonight, I shall dine like a queen. The deer I mentioned?  Yeah…it is dressed and a haunch is currently roasting over my fire. I dragged all the icky stuff down by the stream I mentioned that is a couple miles away in hopes that it will keep any wa
ndering beasties far from my camp.

Wednesday, June 23

Wow!  Last night, from up in the tower, I spotted over a dozen other fires scattered throughout these hills. A few were in clusters. This is perhaps the largest signs of life I have encountered since being in Portland. Of course, in Portland, you heard more than saw other people.

I guess it makes sense. The zombie presence is minimal if not non-existent. There is an obvious abundance of wild game and fuel in the form of the wood. I imagine that farming is po
ssible. Plus, there are lots of edible plants if you know what to look for (like Eric did). I wish I’d paid better attention when he came to me with all those leaves and roots.

I’ll move on tomorrow.

Thursday, June 24

I am camped out in a completely looted, vile-smelling far
mhouse. I had to backtrack here to camp for the night and get some good sleep. The walled town is only a few miles down the road. I want to get there just before sunrise to ensure the most time possible for exploring.

I’ll get as much rest tonight as possible, but I have seen a few roaming stragglers. Just on my return trip to this place I had to put down a pair of zombies. They were holding hands! That’s the first time that I’ve seen something like that. My original thought as I was approaching was that perhaps they were stuck that way. I checked…the fingers were actually laced.

Weird.

Saturday, June 26

Zombies are only a part of the problem. I’m in the high school locker room catching my breath from yesterday. And it wasn’t a zombie that almost did me in. Somebody has managed to exist here amidst at least a few hundred of the undead. What’s worse, they’ve set up booby-traps using the zombies! Or at least parts of them.