Zomblog: The Final Entry (3 page)

Saturday, January 16

The Warehouse sent a bus today. One of the scavenger teams came back early this morning to the mansion on foot. They had a small group of survivors along with them. Of the eighteen, two are
ZIPs: Zombie Immune Persons.
(I have no idea when we started attaching catchy acronyms to things again, nor do I care.) One of the ZIPs is a little boy no older than six. I tried to imagine what it must be like for a third of your life to be a citizen of this hellish apocalypse. He’s seen things in real life that parents of the Old World would’ve called a shrink about if he’d been caught watching on television.

I was chosen to help examine all the females. (There are five.) It was not the most exciting day, but I did hear something interesting. There have been a flood of surviviors heading east. Word is that the government has secured Rhode Island; actually, Aquidneck, wherever that is. I have no idea if that is true. I quickly realized that I didn’t care. So this Aquidneck is cleared of zombies…has power…medical facilities. Big deal.Of course nobody who ever left for this place has come back to confirm the validity of the rumor. Anyways, who wants to live in Newport?

True or not, I imagine that whatever supposed government is in place, it’s not for me. Also, it might as well be on the moon. Crossing the city of Portland is a daunting enough task. An entire continent? Not likely.

Sunday, January 17

Doctor Gene came to see me today and asked why I was so intent on leaving. He wanted to know what I hoped to find out there. The first part was easy to answer: stir-crazy. The second part was a little more difficult. There is something inside me that wants to get out there and just
see
things. It isn’t just Vegas…it is everything.

Still, I’ve always wanted to see Vegas. I used to watch shows about it. I loved the online poker. It intrigued me to no end. I can’t explain it in any way that sounds rational. After the zombie outbreak, it was easy to forget about that city. That was until the radio message. Who knows? If that message would’ve never come that night, I’d be on my way someplace else with no better explanation. However, for over a year that place has been in my head like a Siren’s song. I’ve been accused of being stubborn and bull-headed. Not once have I tried to deny it.

Tuesday, January 19

A small herd found our little retreat today. It happened early this morning several hours before sunrise. (Not that there was much of one with all the heavy, gray clouds that have been dumping snow on us all damn day.)

Sam’s growls are what woke me even before Randy stuck his head inside my room and told me to suit up. In fact, by the time he did, I was pulling on my boots and inspecting my gloves for any rips.

I climbed up on the platform built along the inside of the wall. It allows you to see over the wall and lets you hold a steady position while you jab an approaching zombie in the head. Easy-peazy-one-two-threezy! Only…to do that for over three hours really makes you think your arms might fall off. I don’t understand how the zombies aren’t simply frozen!

Right now, with the threat dealt with, my shoulders feel like they have a billion knots in them. My arms feel like overcooked noodles, and I have cramps because my period started at some point during the battle. Yay!

Wednesday, January 20

It actually feels like the weather is trying to conspire against me. Not a day has been above the low teens for three days now. There is also an additional two feet of snow on the ground. For those of you who didn’t grow up in the Portland area…that is unheard of.

Eric came in from the drag-and-burn detail a little while ago to express his doubts as to our projected date of departure. Am I the only person who, once she sets her sights on something, can’t let it go? I am feeling that supercharged mix of adrenaline and anticipation as I wait for my target date.

Sure, February was kinda arbitrary; and these days, what is the difference between the first and the twenty-first? I’ll tell you what the difference is: I set a date and that is when I told myself that I was leaving. That may be one of the problems with writing this stuff down…I always have my own words staring back at me.

Friday, January 22

Spent the day outside the fence with Sam.

Everybody is kinda pissed at me right now. Okay! So I kinda forgot to tell anybody I was leaving. Last time I checked, I was an adult.

***

Now that I have cooled off mentally and warmed up physically, I made my apologies. I get it. We tell people we are leaving so that they don’t worry. It isn’t about being beholden to others…it is simply courtesy.

That said…it was so much FUN! Sam and I slipped out to the neighborhood next to the school we got trapped in back when I was pregnant. I shuddered just a little when I walked past that gymnasium where I almost died.

I should back up a bit. Last night, Eric came in with a crossbow for me. It is rigged with a spool of nylon line that is a
Wham
video Day-Glo green. It is similar to fishing line. All I have to do is attach it to the bolt I am about to fire. Once I shoot, I can actually pull the bolt back. That is handy in so many ways. If I am low on ammo and there are zombies…I can reuse my ammo. It is like a video game power.

“MEREDITH HAS UNLIMITED AMMO.” You use your own video game voice there. I always hear the voice from
Mortal Kombat.

So, once I got down to that neighborhood, I actually had to search for a target. The first test went well. Sam growled and I just went in the direction he was pointing. Initially, I didn’t see anything, and then this ponytailed, middle-aged yuppie guy came struggling through the bushes. I tagged it on the third shot (my aim is a little rusty). I kept reeling in my shot, reloading, and firing. Once I scored the hit, I had to actually use my hands to tug the bolt free.

Here’s what I don’t get. Pulling the bolt back, the head seemed to come apart like wet
papier-mâché
. It wasn’t like the bolt had to line up and come back through the hole it made going in. I had to give a few hefty yanks, but eventually I had my bolt back. I kept thinking that the line would snap from my pulling so hard. After a dozen or so firm yanks, the skull sorta split, and my bolt came free. So…why don’t these things just rot and fall over? I’m no Bill Nye, hell, the only reason I passed my high school science class is because the teacher made a pass at me. I was failing at the time. We made a deal. I got a “C” and he got to stay out of prison and off the six o’ clock news. (He got busted two years later in the back of his car with a member of the girl’s JV basketball team, so all I did is postpone the inevitable.)

Huh…got off track there for a second. My question was: How come those things aren’t all just puddles of rot by now? It’s not like they have a plentiful food source any longer. It just doesn’t make sense. But I guess neither does the whole ‘dead getting up and eating the living’ thing. Am I right?

After my first field test of the weapon and retrieval line, I started wading out deeper into the surrounding areas. Eventually, I found what I was looking for. Nine of those things were shuffling through a small park. I got their attention with a little whistle. The moan they cut loose with might be the same as it always has been, but the muffled quality of a snow-covered world made it extra creepy.

I climbed on top of one of those big wooden play structures. Once I found a spot, I made Sam sit and stay inside this reeking plastic bubble with lens-shaped oval windows. Then I stood on the platform attached to the rusted monkey bars. I was almost concerned that I was too close. Their fingertips—or what was left of them in most cases—brushed the bottom lip of the platform. I fired down into their heads from above. The ground actually helped here. There was a bit of a slope, and these things fell away. That kept the others from using the downed bodies to get a better swipe at me.

Getting the bolt free was work, but doable. The nasty part was cleaning them off between each use. It is time consuming, but in a world where consumables have stopped being mass-produced, you need to adapt. Next time out I will try it from the roof of a building.

Saturday, January 23

Started gathering things for the trip. Eric has ski attachments for the harness carts. It will make moving through the snow a lot easier. We have some awesome sub-zero outdoor equipment. As a test, tonight we’re making a snow shelter and sleeping outside. I’m actually giddy. Eric seemed less enthused, but he never shows any emotion, and certainly not excitement. He always looks so solemn. At least I won’t have to worry about him talking my ear off when we are out in the wilderness.

Monday, January 25

The sleeping bags work great! I also learned how to make a really ghetto version of an igloo. Sam seemed to enjoy climbing down into the foot of my sleeping bag. I was actually worried about that; the whole part of how to keep my dog safe and warm that is. Between the awesome sleeping bag and my dog, I was quite toasty.

Thursday, January 28

Just returned from The Sunset Fortress. They threw some sort of crazy party. There was quite a bit of homemade hooch being sampled and traded.

Yes. I was a naughty girl. No. I don’t remember his name. Yes. I used protection. Jeez! I’m giving myself the third degree. All I will say is that he was quite
enthusiastic.
Only had to redirect him once. What is it about when things get a teensy bit nasty…men always go for the ass?

Friday, January 29

The weather conspiracy seems to be fading. It has rained all day. Not enough to wash away all the snow, but enough to diminish it so that we don’t have to trudge through knee-deep drifts. That will wear you out quick.

In case you are wondering, Eric and I don’t ski. And I don’t have the patience to learn. It would probably come in handy, but we voted and it was unanimous. Besides, I would feel like my mobility was seriously hampered if I was on skis. When zombies pop up, you need to be flexible. A novice skier would be the equivalent of a free zombie buffet.

Sure, I’ve seen those movies where the action hero has a shootout with the bad guys while he is on skis, careening down a pine-freckled mountain. I’ve seen lots of things in movies. However, I’ve watched enough episodes of
MythBusters
to know that a lot of it is a bunch of hooey.

I loaded my harness cart today. I have an assortment of weapons, plenty of food (not looking forward to eating MREs again), filtration canteens, and an impressive amount of gear to help me stave of freezing to death.

Everybody here at the Mitchell place has made a point to stop in and say goodbye, give well-wishes, all that stuff. I would’ve liked to have seen Jenifer one last time before leaving. She is at The Warehouse for some reason. I did look for her at Sunset before the drinking kicked into high gear and had been a shade disappointed. Maybe she’s no good at saying goodbye either. I will miss her.

I’m not trying to sound fatalistic, but I do not believe that I will never see this place again. Sure…that’s where the ominous music plays…the foreshadowing of my eventual fate. Blah, blah, blah. Actually, it is that I don’t plan on coming back. This is the start of the next phase of my adventure. There is a whole big world out there that I haven’t seen. Getting Vegas out of the way sorta kicks off my checklist.

Sunday, January 31

This will be my last night in a bed for a while. I hope I can sleep, I’m so excited! This is really going to happen. Tomorrow morning I will put on my gear, check everything out, and Eric will join me and Sam at the gate.

I don’t have any idea what I will find
out there
. I only know that I will be
out there.
I understand the idea of safety…but with an entire world
out there
, how can anybody simply hide behind the walls and live in one tiny space?

Monday, February 1

Made it all the way to the outskirts of Portland on the first day! Of course, most of the day was spent crossing the West Hills. We can see Mount Hood against a perfect frame of blue sky. It is crystal clear…and FREEZING!

We stopped midday in the neighborhood that I hid in with Lynn when I first passed through this way and our group got separated. Lynn’s is just one of the many faces that haunt my nightmares. I can’t really recall the face of any zombie I’ve killed—and there have been hundreds, if not thousands—but I can clearly see Lynn’s. To put that in clearer perspective, I’ve once again all but forgotten what Sam’s—Baby Snoe’s dad, not my dog’s—face looks like. But when I close my eyes, Lynn is there. Killing her haunts me worse than anything else I’ve seen or done.

***

Got a little morose for a moment there. That’s one of the problems with solitude and aloneness (I don’t know if that’s really a word, but I like it). Left to your thoughts, it is easy for some of the worst to demand center stage in your mental theater.

Travelling with Eric Grayfeather is exactly how I imagined: quiet. Sometimes I actually forget that I am with another person. He rarely walks within twenty yards of me. Then, out of the blue, he will grab my arm and point something out to me. Half of the time I don’t know what I am supposed to be looking at because he doesn’t say anything. Like, one time, he did that grab-the-arm-and-point thing. So I am trying my hardest to see something. Then, this deer bounded out of some bushes. I don’t know how in the hell he saw it
before
it came out of those bushes…but it was the biggest deer I’ve seen in my life. A few zombies popped up along the way, but nothing that even registered as interesting. Killing them has a tendency to be about as normal as swatting mosquitoes. You learn to ignore the ones that are far off and only administer death to those who may be buzzing in for a drink. Then, if they bite you, it is all you can think about. See? Zombies are just like mosquitoes.