Zomblog: The Final Entry Read online

  Geez! Somebody is thinking highly of herself tonight. Right? I don’t know…maybe. Or maybe I am just being weird.

  Monday, January 11

  Finally! Some real action. Sam is such a good doggy. Eric, Sam, and I were poking around a small twenty-unit apartment complex. We were coming up pretty big with canned food and even some cleaning supplies. The Warehouse has been great about sharing the wealth, but all manufactured resouces are now very finite. You can never have enough toothpaste.

  I found a one bedroom place that obviously belonged to one of those role-playing geek-types. It seems he had a real passion for collecting a variety of actual medieval weaponry. That is why I now have a pair of curved blades sheathed on my hips. (Eric called them scimitars.) I also have a spiked-headed mace dangling from a strap on my shoulder.

  I was sitting on a rumpled bed prying open the black case that ended up revealing the scimitars. The lock wasn’t very impressive, but it still took some jimmying. I guess that is why I didn’t see the zombie walk through the front door that we’d left wide open. Eric was in the bathroom pulling stuff out of a cabinet under the sink, so he didn’t see or hear it pass him as it trudged down the hallway.

  Then Sam growled.

  I’ve gotten sloppy during all these days behind the relative safety of the walls of the Mitchell mansion or inside the confines of an armored truck. I know Sam must’ve reacted sooner, but I was in serious tunnel-vision mode as I pried open that black case.

  I looked up as the middle-aged man stumbled through the door. Sam was already at its feet, tugging on the hem of heavily frayed dress slacks. He growled louder and let loose with a single, sharp bark. I had the mace sitting on the bed beside me, so I grabbed it and brought it down hard with an overhead swing that also scraped away a bunch of that popcorn stuff that most apartments have coating the ceiling.

  Every zombie can tell a little story if you look close enough. This guy knew he was turning and tried to kill himself. His mouth is a misshapen mess. Most of his teeth are shattered, and the tongue—what is left of it—is black and crispy looking. There is a nasty hole in the back of the throat that you can see through. This poor guy tried to eat a bullet and didn’t put enough angle on the barrel of the pistol he used. He shoved that thing straight back and pulled the trigger. “How do I know it was a pistol?” you might ask. It is still dangling from his twisted and broken hand. Two years of God-knows-what has rendered the weapon useless just like most other firearms and ammo these days.

  Back to what happened…

  I brought that mace down hard on the top of the thing’s head and it shattered like an overripe melon at a Gallagher show…and stunk worse than rotten eggs. This was my first field kill since taking on The Genesis Brotherhood. It felt invigorating.

  Say what you want, and judge if you like, but THIS is where I belong. Out in the world…killing zombies. After it was over, Sam looked up at me as if to say, “Hey, lady, you better pay better attention if you want to live.” Is it natural for a dog to have what appears to be a look of disgust? I scratched those soft ears and gave him a treat from the pouch that Eric told me to carry for just such occasions.

  Searching the rest of the apartments, Sam’s hackles rose at the doors of five of them. We went in ready for a fight. I got to try out all of my new toys. Whoever that geek was, he kept his weapons in excellent condition. Those scimitar blades were sharp enough to shave with.

  We hung the banner an hour ago. Now we wait. When a vehicle passes and sees it, whoever is driving will wait five minutes. If we don’t make it to the road in that time, we have to do it over again.

  Tuesday, January 12

  Back at the Mitchell’s place.

  I packaged up the stuff I found for Baby Snoe. Yes, I did consider making the trip to The Warehouse myself one last time, but decided against it in the end. I suck at goodbyes. It may be the cowardly thing, but I asked Jeff to deliver it for me.

  I thought about just sending it with a supply run, but the way people seem to totally weird out over anything to do wth the journal, I thought those photo albums might send them into a fervor. I looked things over one last time, added a copy of my journal and her dad’s, and called it good. This one is coming with me to Vegas. Personally, I doubt she will ever see any of this stuff. I don’t give humanity, no matter how organized they try to be, a chance in hell of surviving this ordeal.

  Oh! How could I forget? Eric gave me a lovely sketch done in pencil. It was of me. I have no idea how or when he had time to do it, but it was creepy good. I put that in the box, too. Now, if she makes it that long, Baby Snoe will have an idea what her mommy looked like. And having both of our journals, hopefully she will feel just a little bit better about how things worked out.

  Now it is time to give Sam a bath. I am pretty sure he rolled in dead people guts at some point. There is no way he will be allowed into the house smelling the way he does.

  I got my first mission out of the way! It might’ve been a bit of a cake walk, and I think it was planned that way on purpose because I was coming along. At least I did it. I’d like to make one more before I head out. I think I will go check the sign-up sheets after I bathe Smelly Dog.

  Wednesday, January 13

  A light snow is falling. Even wearing four layers of clothing, I’m still cold. Being out in this is gonna take some getting used to. I am reminded of this one time when my best friend Katy and I decided that, during the third season of Survivor, we would live off of rice and rough it with the cast. It was only thirty-nine days…we knew we could do it. By day four we were sitting shame-faced in Mickey Dees.

  I went outside today and cleared an area, made a small fire, and tried to get in sync with Mother Nature. I am now sitting inside in a rocking chair with a thick comforter over my legs and Sam curled at me feet. I’ve turned into an absolute sissy-girl.

  Friday, January 15

  I just had the strangest talk.

  Eric Grayfeather came into my room after breakfast. He stared at me with those big, dark eyes of his for a few moments (which began to feel like an eternity). Finally, he asked if it was true that I was leaving for Las Vegas soon. I told him it was.

  We spent an hour talking. He said that if I equip properly, Highway 26 through Mount Hood and all the way to Madras would be an ideal first leg. I told him I wasn’t interested in becoming a Meredith Popsicle, nor did I want to try and recreate some sort of Donner Party adventure considering Sam was currently my only guaranteed company.

  He explained that I could use the snow and weather to my advantage. Also, it would be less likely that I would encounter other living people that way. Since dealing with zombies has never been a problem for me and most of my problems have stemmed from encounters with the living…he had a point.

  I listened and found myself starting to agree. Cities are still war zones: Living versus Dead; Living versus Living…et cetera. Eric helped me make a pretty impressive list of essentials. The good thing is that almost everything that I need is available here or at one of the other compounds.

  As he was walking out my door, he stopped. Again I got that long, silent stare. Finally, he said, “I will go with you to Las Vegas.” Then, just like that, he left!

  That guy is so weird. Don’t get me wrong; it’ll be nice to make this journey with somebody alongside, but he is probably the last person I would’ve picked for company.

  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.

&
nbsp; 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.

  The Grand Canyon.

  Yellowstone National Park.

  The World’s Biggest Ball of String.

  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

  T
he 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?