Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (9 page)

Spent the day with Reggie. She’s a really sweet gal. We both just walked the fence and talked about losing our spouses (or ex in my case) to something so utterly unthinkable.

We ran into Greg who is busy setting up a garden. He had the kids helping while he taught them about soil and whatnot. I don’t think those kids even realize they were learning.

Dennis has posted a schedule. He wants to give everybody a physical. He says he is a little concerned about how our diet may be affecting us.

There is talk about another group going on a food scavenger run. My hands still have tremors.

Walking with Reggie, I am noticing that more and more people are getting despondent. It looks like they’ve given up…not everybody, just a handful or two…and it is a weight that everybody can feel.

There was one positive sign today. Little Joey was outside. He didn’t go over and help with setting up for the garden, but he inched his way out enough to be able to watch.

Baby steps.

We took in a small group of survivors yesterday! It was quite a day. It began early Wednesday morning when one of our sentries, or watches, or patrols…whatever… spotted a flare to the southeast.

A bunch of us met on the roof of The Apartment and tried to locate the source. About fifteen minutes later, another flare was fired from what Rodney Bloss—the guy who was on watch and spotted the first one—said was closer. There was quite a debate. We had all been unanimous in our decision not to try and gain the attention of that big caravan the other night. But this was feeling different for a lot of us. Whoever it was, they were risking bringing a lot of attention their way.

The third flare cinched it.

After that aircraft flyover, we had made sure there were flare guns accessible all over. Never know where you might be when/if such a chance happens again.  We fired one in response. About five minutes later we see two sets of headlights cutting through the darkness.

Once the vehicles came into view, cutting across Highway 26, we shot off one more flare to help them locate us easier.  Using the same method we had when leaving the complex, we tried to split the horde. So many more had gathered that it was like digging a hole in the sand below the surf line. Clearly, these folks would need to figure out a way in.

We needn’t have worried.

Two huge RVs came rolling up the entry drive and into the outer parking lot. Both had been customized. Reinforced siding on the outside along with what looked like a big, steel, vee-shaped ram in the front allowed these things to literally plow through the zombies.

They actually took the time to parallel park beside the trailer rigs we used to protect our fences. A trap-door flipped up, and out popped an older man in his fifties. “Howdy…name’s Pete,” he waved as he climbed out.

Peter Crenshaw is fifty-seven with short, gray hair. He was a principal for a metro-area high school and looked every bit the role.

The other vehicle’s hatch flipped open and a man about the same age as Pete introduced himself as Tim. Tim Delegan is fifty-two and, unlike Pete, his black hair is only sprinkled with gray. Tim was the math and shop teacher at the same school.

It was at that school, in the first days, that Pete and Tim constructed these seemingly zombie-proof RVs. They did so with the help of another twenty-five people that also emerged. It was nothing for them to jump up onto the trailers and enter our complex.

Dennis had them all in our version of a quarantine while he checked everybody out. Early this afternoon they were all cleared. We are finding out through some of their stories that it is worse out there than we thought.

Zombies are only a small part of the problem.

Today I spoke with one of the new arrivals named Kimberly Vanderwell. She gave me some really horrific pictures of what is happening outside the relative safety of our complex’s fences.

That fire, which is finally dying down, was the industrial district on the waterfront along downtown Portland. Kim wasn’t sure how it started, but said that the blaze was hot enough to melt windows on buildings that faced the fire at least a quarter mile away.

There are bands of other survivors out and among the chaos. Some are just trying to stay alive. Others are taking full advantage of the total collapse of social structure. She said that the worst stories were coming from the big county jail located downtown. It seems that the criminals took over the facility. There are rumors that all the staff were being used to bait the zombies or simply tossed out of windows to the hordes that surrounded the building.
Fortunately, that building was devastated during the fires. She doesn’t know how many escaped…if any.

(Once again this has me thinking about Paul.)

I must say that of all our new arrivals, Kim is one of the most welcome sights. She is a nurse. Dennis almost cried when she told us that she had spent the last two years at Rose City Memorial as a trauma nurse. She doesn’t like to talk about her last days at work. That made me wonder what Erin must’ve seen those final days. Maybe once she’s been here a while, I’ll talk to Kim. If I explain about Erin, then perhaps she’ll open up.

It has been raining hard all day. People are getting on each other’s nerves. Reggie took me aside and said that a few people were overheard talking about leaving. She said that while we are surviving…this is not living. She feels like, if we can get away from the cities, we might be able to find a better life. She all but asked me to come if/when this exodus takes place.

Funny, but even after hearing some of Kim’s horror stories…even after that terrible fiasco during the medicine run…I understand what Reggie is saying.

I remember how grateful I was when I not only found this place, but for the people here. Still, we’ve walled ourselves in. I may not be a chicken in a coop…but have I fooled myself into thinking that being “free-range” is the same as free? Those things outside are not going away. What if some unforeseen disaster like an earthquake were to strike?

I realize that such a disaster may seem far-fetched…but nobody predicted the dead rising to eat the living either. There are no certainties. I can either sit here and await the hand of fate. Or, I can try to take up my own path and see what happens.

That is something to sleep on.

I’ve decided to leave. I took Reggie up to the roof to tell her. Then she let me know who else wanted to leave.

Apparently Tim Delegan is not of the same mind as Pete Crenshaw. He wants to stay on the move and says that he has no qualms about us leaving in one of the vehicles
he
helped build. But, he doesn’t want to leave with more than ten people. He said that two weeks of having seventeen people inside was more than he could stand. Plus, it made supply grabs more frequent. Only two others from his group want to leave. We must be careful who we ask because of the potential reaction.

So far it is Tim, Greg Chase—one of the new arrivals—a thirty-two-year-old bartender, about six-foot-five, black, with a shaved head, Antonio Rosillo—the other of the new arrivals—a short, stocky-in-a-muscular-way, Hispanic migrant-worker, Samantha Anderson, Rodney Bloss, Reggie, and me. We all met in one of the warehouses and decided that there was no reason to waste time. We will leave tomorrow.

* * * * *

Monica came to my room right after Samantha, Rodney, and Reggie left. She asked me what was going on. Nothing seems to get by that lady. I decided not to lie.

Monica never tried to talk me out of it.

Of course I asked her if she wanted to go. She said that she belonged here. Tom is a strong imposing figure, but he relies on her. She told me that if I was in the area ever again, I should stop in and visit. She gave me a big hug and left.

She never did say “goodbye.”

Things don’t often seem to happen the way you plan. We are parked on a hill that looks down into the town of Pendleton. Tomorrow will be a busy day. But for now, I’m sitting here with a child curled up and asleep on the floorboard of the passenger’s side, trying to make sense of things.

It all started so smoothly. We met up after everybody was asleep. Rodney was on watch with Samantha so we knew that we had one less problem to deal with in leaving. The decision to wait until close to sunrise would mean that there would be only a minimal amount of time with nobody on patrol, and since it was unlikely that anything would happen…we felt okay with our decision.

Everybody had small packs with things like a couple days food, a few bottles of water, and maybe a personal item or two. We were equipped with assorted clubs, knives, axes…basic defense items. I was the only one to bring a gun, my trusty 9mm from the last time I left. Tim said there was a small assortment of guns and ammo in the RV so there was no reason to deplete the supply at the complex.

I was to be the last one up the ladder. Then, I would tip it back, hop over to the RV, and with everybody inside, we would roll out before anybody was the wiser. It was all going just like clockwork. No problems.

As we started backing up, I heard a scream. We all rushed to window slits peeking out at countless zombies clawing at the side of the vehicle. Now, I’m thinking that this is a new trick…like that creepy baby-cry sound. Then we heard it again as we cleared the main cluster of zombies. It was coming from the roof!

Tim was turning us for the road, and in the glow of our headlights, a few folks from the complex could be seen on the tops of a couple of the trailer rigs waving their arms frantically and jumping up and down. Tim said something about how it looked like they were taking our leaving pretty badly. I climbed up, gun drawn, and opened the roof hatch, scanning as fast as I can. I was certain one of those things would be there to grab me. That’s when I heard this trembling voice crying my name.

It’s was little Joey.

I pulled him to me, in through the hatch. Everybody was yelling and arguing, the child was crying and by the time I yelled for everybody to just shut the hell up, we were plowing down a couple of straggling zombies at the entry to the driveway that lead up to the complex, hanging a sharp left and moving to the Highway 26 on-ramp.

I argued that we needed to take this kid back, but was quickly overruled by everybody. Of course they had a point. No doubt the entire complex was up and in a fit over our departure. So basically, we’re stuck with this little boy who has once again clammed up.

What would cause this child who never even ventured outside to follow us…put up the ladder…climb up to the trailers and jump onto the RV?

The rest of the day was a visual nightmare. We gave Portland a wide berth. That took us to I-5 South, then over to I-205 before we could catch I-84 East. That journey showed those of us from the complex just how terrible it had gotten.

Due to the nature of things, the main roads are relatively clear. The cars that do dot the roadscape are mostly occupied. Those things stare out at the world, banging on the windows. Thankfully, that has them smeared so badly that you mostly just see moving shapes instead of the actual horrors within.

Still, those things are everywhere. They wander the highways, interstates, and every neighborhood we passed. There is something very disconcerting about seeing zombies stumbling out of stores, houses, churches, and schools. What is worse though is seeing a bunch of them clustered around a building.

At one point, after we had reached I-84 and put Portland several miles behind us, we had to scout a gas station. Tim produced a tool to open the station’s main tank, since none of the pumps work anymore. We siphoned out enough to fill-up while only having to take out a few zombies in the process. Tim says he prefers a station to siphoning from cars. The fewer stops the better.

We reached the outskirts of Pendleton at sunset…now we wait.

It took some convincing, but I managed to persuade everybody to at least let me see for myself what fate my friend met. We parked on a hill that looks down into the Eastern State Prison. The town itself was once a hotbed for cowboys. They have some big annual rodeo that was famous worldwide.

Now…the dead stumble about in the streets. However, there are a lot of bodies strewn about which indicate that the living made quite a stand. How many remain is the question. Both the living…and the dead.

I climbed up onto the roof of the RV just after sunrise with a pair of binoculars and scanned the prison. The outer fence was surrounded. The entire perimeter was occupied by zombies. That was the bad news. The good news was that they were only four or five deep at the thickest clusters. In some places there was even a tiny wedge of daylight.

Inside, I saw movement. There were two separate prison yards and one was obviously all zombies. The other was currently empty. A big compound separated the yards and it was there that I could see movement that had to be living, breathing bodies. They were moving back and forth between several four-story buildings and a large one-story building that sat central to all the others.

As I continued to scan, I saw signs that suggested a large effort had gone into shoring up the outer-most fence. Also, a secondary fence was covered in what looked to be gray wool blankets. Anybody trying to look in from ground level would see nothing. Clever.

Closer inspection revealed the first horrific signs that lead me to believe that the inmates are running the asylum. Wooden scaffolds are in place at three points along one fence that closes off the compound from the prison yard with all the zombies. It looks like a setup is used to walk people up where they can be tossed over and into the yard full of ravenous undead.

I’ve told everybody what I can see. Tim says he’d like to raid a few of the houses scattered about the area. I want to take a longer look and decide if there is any chance my friend is alive…and if, perhaps I can help him.

Judging by the number of Prison guard-Zombies I see in the one yard…it seems likely that, if I can find him, it won’t be an issue to have him leave. The problem is getting to him without bringing the attention of those remaining at the prison.

Reggie has offered to help. Tim wants to spend the next couple of days on this bluff. We attracted no attention today and have actually walked around a bit outside, opened up the doors, and let the RV air out.

Of course Joey has not come within five feet of the door. What the hell possessed him to follow us?