Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (74 page)

It didn’t take long for Justine and me to get chatty. She asked me why I was headed for Vegas. That kind of surprised me. I assumed that Eddie or somebody had filled her in.

I explained that I’d been in a few compounds and fortified towns, and it just wasn’t for me. I told her how I’d never been any place
before
the zombie apocalypse and how I heard a radio broadcast one night. I decided on the spot that I wanted to go see for myself.

We probably walked in silence for almost twenty minutes. I actually started to feel a bit uncomfortable. Then…Justine let me have it. She told me how she’s fought at least fifty intense ba
ttles—I guess that meant battles lasting longer than an hour—against living and undead. She’s been close to starving at least a dozen times, nearly killed by dehydration three times and considers herself lucky. She thinks I’m an idiot.

“You survived the worst disaster in all of history and you run around seeing how close you can get to death. How can you value your life so little?” she asked.

I explained that I didn’t think I valued my life so little. I feel that I am actually turning a terrible situation into an opportunity. She retorted that I was suicidal and that everything that
she’d
done to risk her life had been in the line of duty.  She went on to say that this trip was the extent of her carelessness, and that if her brother wasn’t actually in Las Vegas, she would either join their military security regiment or wait for the first chance to join a team that would take her back to her original unit. Going out on her own wasn’t even a remote consideration.

The rest of the day, we just walked. We made good time, but the silence was a bit oppressive. If I’d known that I was go
nna get preached to and told that I’d basically lived the last two-plus years wrong…I would have gone alone. Good thing I didn’t tell her about my baby.

Thursday, September 30

Spending tonight in the trailer of a jackknifed semi. The sky is clear, which means that the night will be very cold. We did luck out; last night we had to sleep out in the brush in shifts. This trailer is hard to get into. That means that zombies won’t be a problem even if they pass by. Not that I expect them to, we haven’t seen a single thing since we hit the road.

Today was more of the same uncomfortable silence. I hope we reach Beatty tomorrow so I can ditch her and go back to b
eing alone. I thought it would be nice to have somebody to travel with. I was wrong.

She did actually ask me what I was writing at some point last night after we made camp. I told her it was none of her damn business. If that was her attempt to bridge the gap or whate
ver…too bad. I mean really, who is she to judge me?

Friday, October 1

The sign says “Welcome to Beatty Nevada…the gateway to death!”

I’m in this domed building that obviously served as a library. I honestly have no idea where Justine is. A few miles outside of town, we stopped at these warm springs. They weren’t any good for filling my water supply, but I took the most amazing bath.

Justine was kind enough to lend me some honest-to-goodness soap and—gasp!—a razor. That last part was more cruel than kind. Even with a shiny new blade, my legs and u
nderarms now feel like giant strips of road rash. Still, I
think
she meant it as a nice gesture.

Next, we went to this other stream and replenished our w
ater supply. I first knew that things would be different when we were filling up our canteens and water packs. I put down four zombies in about two hours. I was starting to wonder what the hell was going on…and that’s when I looked around and realized that Justine was gone.

I searched the area where I’d last seen her. I even risked calling her name…twice. Finally I started south along the hig
hway. It wasn’t long before I saw the sign that ‘welcomed’ me to Beatty.

There was movement almost instantly. A glance around r
evealed that many of the buildings had black X’s painted on them. I assumed that that meant they’d been searched. Twice I heard gunshots. Both times scared the crap out of me.

I found a few hotels and the requisite numbers of bars and long-since-looted grocery stores. I decided not to stick around. As I crept out of town, I’m certain that I saw movement that was much too fast to be a zombie. In fact, I was chasing after the third such sighting when I found the library. I ducked inside and was disappointed to discover that it was empty of books.

It’s getting dark and the main entry of this place has a reinforced gate that bars on the inside. Somebody has used this location to hide out before. I won’t feel guilty treating myself to some of the supplies that I found boxed up in a few of the closets.

Part of me wants to look for Justine, but I’m not convinced that she was grabbed as much as I think that she crept away. There are obviously people living here; or in the vicinity at any rate. I’m fairly certain that, if I’ve seen signs of
them
, then they know I’m here. However, nobody has made a move to reveal themselves to me.

Saturday, October 2

Tonight, I’ll be sleeping in this church at the south end of town. I know I should have left, but something here doesn’t sit right. The voice in my head is telling me to leave, but I can’t.

Late last night I heard somebody crying. No it wasn’t the baby cry, it was honest-to-God weeping. Only, in the dar
kness, and with the occasional moan and groan of the zombies roaming this place, I couldn’t go out and look for the source.

Yes, I tried. I got about three blocks when five of those shambling bastards came out from what I am fairly sure was a playground or a park. They came right for me. And while I have no doubt that I could take them, it was the sound of crashing glass from somewhere else close by, that made me retreat. I have no idea how crowded this town might be.

I searched today and found a busted in door on a building that I am certain was an elementary school. There was blood everywhere. I don’t know what it is, but something here is bothering me. I looked around all day, but didn’t find a thing. At least not a living thing.

Monday, October 4

Today I tried something different.

After two days in town of finding nothing while I scurried about searching for whoever is running around here, I went up this naked, ugly hill on the north end of town. I found a tel
escope in the high school. And, while it’s not the greatest, it works.

I went into this horseshoe-shaped hill and climbed up the back side. When I got to the top, I lay down and scanned the town. From up here, movement was obvious. Funny thing …there aren’t nearly as many zombies wandering the streets as I had guessed. I would put their numbers at three hundred tops. And while I wouldn’t want to deal with them as a group, they are spread out.

The movement of those that are obviously living is centered on the high school on the
south
end of town and a hotel to the north. It is obvious that these are two competing factions.

The school compound is bigger and has more people. This little microcosm is interesting to say the least. The folks at the hotel are obviously military and those at the school are civi
lians. If I had to guess, I’d be willing to bet that Justine went to the hotel. Did she know about the societal rift here? And did she see me as one of “them” along the lines of the divisions here? Is that why she was so snotty? My worst fears seem to be realized. We’ve stopped fighting the zombies. We are now more worried about each other.

Friday, October 8

I chased him for three days.

I never caught him, but today I caught up with him. He is hanging from a sign over the highway. I’m in the burned out r
uins of another—I had no idea there were so many of the damn things—airport, and I pray to God that the band of men I managed to evade don’t find my trail…or me.

I don’t know if these guys are new arrivals or what. Howe
ver, there are a large group of badasses running all over what the sign said is Indian Springs. Funny, I thought the folks at Winnemucca had people here. If they did, they ain’t here now. This place was wrecked
before
that gang showed up. There are at least a dozen fires burning now. I think—although this may just be the paranoia talking—that they are trying to flush me out.

When I first arrived, after seeing the guy that I was cha
sing swinging from the sign, I thought that there were a bunch of zombies here. It turned out to be mannequins.
That
was creepy.

Now, about the guy I was chasing.

I was up in the hill looking around town when I saw this girl running down the street. Chasing her were two guys. I knew that, as far away as I was, there would be no way that I could get there in time to help. They were going to catch her. Still, I had to do something. I made my way down the hill and lost sight of them the moment before the screaming started.

I came up the steep bank of the trickle of water that passed itself off for as the Amargosa River just as one of the guys—a fat, greasy-haired, Hispanic-looking guy with tattoos all over his body, including his face—was standing up and buckling his pants. He ended up staring at the point of my spike-tipped wal
king stick that jutted from his chest. The other guy—a scrawny, acne-scarred white guy—took one look at his friend, then me as I was drawing my machete…and took off running.

I was between him and the girl sprawled in the dirt not mo
ving. I didn’t have to check. She was dead. I did not have time to really take a close look, but the dark splotches around her white, freckled throat told me all I needed to know.

For the next few days we played our deadly cat-and-mouse game. The first day, he sealed his fate. I’d lost him in th
ese ratty looking houses on the southeast end of town. Then he came out on some type of motocross bike. I was certain that I’d lost him. I watched helpless as he pedaled away. I knew that, even if I could find another bicycle to give chase, I doubted I could ride worth a damn with my water pack sloshing around.

I returned to the scene of the brief skirmish and was given another setback. I’d taken off in such a hurry after the second guy that I’d left my walking stick-spear sticking out of the fat guy. It was snapped in half. I don’t know if it happened when I stuck the guy, or if it happened when he fell to the ground or what…but it was unfixable. That’s when I started crying.

Hell, I don’t know why. Maybe it was because that weapon was the last thing I had left from the beginning. I’d been through hell with that thing. Every other weapon I have has been swapped out a dozen times or more. Half the time, I’d see a new knife or machete and simply toss the one I was currently carrying aside for the newest find. But the walking stick…my trusty spear…I’ve had that thing for what seems like forever. My hands had worn grooves into the wood that allowed it to fit perfectly in them when I walked.

I no longer cared about what was happening in Beatty. I r
esumed my journey. I would get to Vegas, find out who was in charge, and get a job with the caravans. I would have my cake and eat it, too. I’d have a permanent residence
and
I would get to travel; go and see all those places I longed to see. Maybe I’d even have a semi-regular sex life. The possibilities were endless.

By the first night that I made camp, I’d forgotten all about the guy who’d gotten away. It was midday the following afte
rnoon when I came across the bicycle. The back tire was flat. That would mean that he was on foot. I highly doubted that he’d circled back.

Later in the day, I came across an abandoned old pick-up truck. A zombified corpse had been dragged out and its head bashed in. Judging by the scuffs in the sand, it hadn’t been an easy kill. The big rock was still sorta lodged in the skull where the last blow had finally put the thing down for good. My guess was that there was something in the cab of that truck that the skinny guy has wanted really badly.

That night, I found a clump of scrub brush to nestle in and sleep. It was a rough night. The wind was constantly blowing which added to my cold misery. I expected that if I did ever find that guy, he’d be dead from exposure.

The next day, today, I found him hanging from that sign. The body was just swinging in the breeze. In an instant, I went from fox…to rabbit mode.

I considered the ruined residential area, but decided that the airport was a better choice. Also, more of the structures were intact; more places to hide. As an added bonus, there were a number of aircraft. I counted two dozen private luxury jets parked all over this facility. There was even a large, commercial passenger plane; but without any stairs or a ladder, there would be no way to get inside.

Right now I am in one of those luxury airplanes. It is parked underneath the partially collapsed roof of a hangar. I a
ctually had to move a big panel of aluminum, and then it was still a tight squeeze to get inside. I’m hoping that I didn’t disturb much when I got in. That way, if those crazy people running wild around here come past, hopefully they won’t even notice that I am here. There is no doubt as to my fate if I am discovered. That is a rough looking bunch.

The last thing that I saw before I ducked into this plane was the lighting of what I am positive was a church on fire.

Saturday, October 9

Mystery solved. Heading south on Highway 95, I fo
llowed my gang of looting maniacs. Staying out of sight wasn’t too hard for a number of reasons. First, they were loaded down with a strange assortment of things that they found in Indian Springs. (That included a number of mannequins, a screen door …like I said…strange.)  Second, I don’t think that these guys have faced any serious sort of resistance.

There is a pair of prison complexes just south of town. Great big sprawling monstrosities that seem to take up as much area as the entire burned out town of Indian Springs. It’s like a giant human warehouse. However, even as far away as I stayed while passing, the noise—mostly screams and what sounded like a crowd roaring—was incredible.

There looked to be a fairly impressive number of zombies milling about. Not to mention the huge bonfire blazing in the open space between the two main complexes.

I cannot begin to imagine what sort of nightmare is taking place behind those razor wire-topped fences. I couldn’t put enough distance between myself and that place fast enough. For the rest of the day I felt like I was being chased by a horrible monster. Even once I was out of range of the place—both aud
ibly and visually—I still had the feeling that I was being watched. That feeling kept the hair up on the back of my neck.

I’ve come to realize that the vastly unpopulated state of N
evada is quite different from Oregon in a lot of ways; the sparse and spread out population didn’t keep the zombie outbreak from reaching even the most remote corners. But the pockets of humanity that survived have a much different life where the environment actually is an ally. If I use that logic, then I would be willing to bet that population-heavy places like New York and California are a waste.

Of course using logic like that makes it hard to imagine how a city like Las Vegas managed to withstand the onslaught. That would make it a bit of a miracle. I hold this sliver of hope in my heart that I will find what I’ve been looking for once I get there.

Tonight I will be sleeping in a place that was probably once some geek’s wet dream: a watch tower on the perimeter of Nellis Air Force Base. The sign on the highway told me that
this
is the infamous Area 51. Funny…it just looks like more of the same empty desert.

If an alien spaceship shows up…maybe I’ll hitch a ride. Talk about getting the chance to travel!  However, it is getting chilly and the sky is turning a bruised purple color. I’m going to settle in and get some shut-eye.