Zomblog: The Final Entry (24 page)

Saturday, September 25

Left this morning to go up into the hills and hunt. I sure wish I could bring this rifle with me when I leave, but I’ve been told that there is absolutely no way that will happen.

I spent the early part of the afternoon on this rocky outcropping. I bagged a nice buck. Being the owner of the first kill was a little source of pride for me. I think a few of the guys—and even the one female soldier—were impressed.

Everywhere I look it is brown. The ground is brown, the plants are brown, and I think this place is starting to get to me. All I want to do is to get moving again. Once I reach Vegas, if I sign on to be a caravan escort, l like I am hoping to, I’d like to do some traveling that takes me into places with a little more color. However, I can’t knock the sunsets out here. They’re incredible.

Tuesday, September 28

Back to what I’ve titled Brothel Base.

I leave tomorrow. Oh yeah! And I’ll have company. Her name is Justine Cash and she has family that is rumored to still be alive in Las Vegas.

I guess it will be nice to have somebody to talk to. She was one of the soldiers. Apparently, while I was on the hunting trip, a team returned from some sort of mission to Beatty, a town about thirty-five to forty-five miles south of here. They ran into a team from someplace called Pahrump. So, based on third or fourth hand information, Justine is heading for Vegas by way of Beatty. Since they knew I was headed that way already, Eddie, the commander or whatever he is—everyone just calls him Eddie, nobody uses rank or anything like that around here—asked Justine to wait. I guess the idea is safety in numbers or something like that.

Wednesday, September 29

On the road.Absolutely nothing to see.

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 anyplace
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 battles—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 gonna 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 being 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 whatever…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 underarms now feel like giant strips of roadrash. Still, I
think
she meant it as a nice gesture.

Next, we went to this other stream and replenished our water 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 highway. It wasn’t long before I saw the sign that ‘welcomed’ me to Beatty.

There was movement almost instantly. A glance around revealed 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 darkness, 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 telescope 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 laid 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 civilians. 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 ruins 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. However, 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 chasing 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 walking 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 moving. 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 these 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 resumed 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 afternoon 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.