Zomblog Page 5

  * * * * *

  It is almost sunset. The snow has turned to rain. There are thousands of them now and we can hear the moaning even if you are inside the buildings. That noise can only be drawing more of them.

  The good news is that the barricade of trailer rigs is holding just fine. They don’t have much leverage, and are squeezed in tight. Each one seems to know that a meal is in the vicinity. But, and this is a plus once we talked it over, they are like dogs inasmuch that they push against each other as much if not more than they do against the barricade.

  Monday, February 4

  The number of zombies seems to have doubled! That, of course, is the bad news. The good news is there doesn’t seem to be any more coming. There are a couple of stragglers on the highway, but from the vantage point we have, it looks as if every one of those things in the vicinity has come and are standing their undead vigil outside our fence.

  It has been decided that the office building is where we will all live. Most of us were already there. A handful of people had taken up in some of the warehouses. But everybody sees the logic in living in one central location so that, if something bad happens, we are all together. Also, this allows us to use only one of the five back-up generators for power

  We have not found any fuel surplus. So we only run the generator when absolutely necessary. There had been a plan to make a run to seek out a diesel tanker-truck. Of course that has been put on hold.

  I found a guitar (actually a bunch of them) and couldn’t help myself. I was sitting on a stack of big-screen televisions just getting my hands used to the feel again and had a small crowd in a matter of minutes.

  I met all the kids. I guess a couple of the folks here got a make-shift class going to keep the kids occupied. Greg Parker, I guess he used to be a math teacher at Portland State, and Crystal Johnson, ironically, a school bus driver, have a class set up. They were in some meeting room and heard me. Greg asked if I would be willing to teach a music class. I’ve got nothing better to do.

  Greg turns out to be a pretty funny guy in a dry-humor sort of way. He’s not at all what any math teacher I ever had was like. He has a million jokes, and they are all awful. But the kids love him. He says he was a vegetarian before all of this. He had a nice greenhouse and lived mostly off of his own organically grown produce. I really like the guy, but I realized that before all this, I would’ve not only never associated with this guy I probably would have mocked him and his lifestyle. Now, I see a man who is doing what he can to help, doing the last thing I would think of in the middle of this chaos.

  Then there is Crystal. She is a fifty-something gal, about five-feet tall and four-feet wide. She is gruff and her voice is full of the gravel you expect from a former chain smoker. She can tell you, to the hour, how long it has been since she had a cigarette. Crystal knows a lot of jokes, too, but I am pretty sure the kids haven’t heard even one. The couple she has told me made me blush.

  * * * * *

  Everybody is pretty sure we heard the same thing. Up in the clouds a jet screamed by! It was headed south, but it was definitely not commercial. That has to mean that at least some of our military is left. Right?

  The zombies even reacted. The horde outside seemed to get restless, and there was a lot of shifting. But none of them left.

  Also, one rather disturbing bit of news. The zombies have added a new sound. At first we thought it was real. In fact, a good number of us ended up searching the perimeter. That is how we know it is them. The sound comes from all over. It seems as if very few actually do it…yet. But that sound, besides how unnerving it is, will get somebody killed.

  There.

  I just heard another do it. The sound carries on the night breeze.

  The sound of a baby cry.

  Tuesday, February 5

  I had my first music class with the kids today. There are seven school-aged children in the complex. All of them were very excited to be learning guitar. There are three girls and four boys: Andrea, sixteen, is the oldest; Waylon is sixteen, but he is a few months younger and apparently Andrea reminds him often; Jeremiah is fourteen and taller than all the adults including Tom, but skinny as a rail; Marty is thirteen and the quickest learner so far; Alise and Claire are both twelve and don’t seem fazed by what is going on. I think they both have ADHD, but I’m no professional so…; and last is little Joey who is ten, and scared of his shadow. He never once strummed his guitar.

  I talked to Greg and Crystal and they say he follows the other kids around, shows up for class and just sits. When the others leave, he follows. He hasn’t said a single word that either of them have heard. Greg said that Robin Stayton, a young woman of about twenty-two showed up with him. When they got here, she had been bitten and he was covered in blood. None of it his own. It is obvious he saw something up close. Before Robin died she managed to say that Joey was her neighbor’s kid and that his folks were both gone. That is the full extent of what we know about the boy. One other thing I’ve noticed, he will follow the kids to the door, but he will not go outside. He’ll just sit down and wait for them to come back. If we ever have to run, that may become a problem.

  People spent a lot of time outside today. It was only partly cloudy and I think they were hoping for another fly over. It never happened. We have noticed something different though and I’m not sure it is good. It was actually Al Godwin who noticed. Al is another case of this event making strange bedfellows. Al is an eighteen-year-old black male who arrived still wearing handcuffs. Apparently he escaped from the back of a State Highway Patrol cruiser after watching the officer who had arrested him get taken down by a pack of zombies at that roadblock I saw on Highway 26. Anyways, what Al noticed, and now we all do, is that we’ve not heard any gunfire in two days. It had become such a normal part of the day (and night) that we had tuned it out. After everybody thought it over real hard, we realized when the last bursts had been heard. It was the day after moving the rigs.

  Of course some are saying that it is because every zombie is here that was in about a five or ten mile radius. I don’t buy that. There are stragglers. Ones who were distracted by some-thing…anything…and went their own way. Also, in this dead world, sound travels far.

  * * * * *

  South and slightly east of here, the horizon is glowing. There must be a big fire. We’ve seen so much smoke in the air that, like gunshots, we had all just ignored it. But this is big. I stood on the roof of the office building—now called The Apartments—and extended my arms out in front of myself. The glow on the horizon barely fits between my hands. Considering how far away it probably is, I am guessing the entire town of Forest Grove is burning. Just as I went inside, it started to rain. I don’t think that’ll be enough. At least it’s not windy.

  Wednesday, February 6

  Early afternoon

  It is a beautiful sunny day. A handful of folks decided to set up a picnic. Pretty soon, the whole place was a hive of bustling activity as tables of snack foods (practically the dietary staple) were put up.

  Before long there was badminton, Frisbee, and some other games going. Tom and a couple of the guys hauled out this wooden play structure and set it up. Then one of the kids asked me to play some music. It was a regular party. The only drawback besides the obvious was that Joey still wouldn’t come outside.

  I think it did everybody some good to just unwind. Also, I think it is the first time that we were all in the same place at the same time. There was smiling and laughing. Proof that humanity is resilient…able to overcome anything thrown its way.

  Early evening

  One of the children, Claire, is sick. At first most of us thought it was all the junk food combined with the excitement. About an hour ago, Dennis VanDelay, a veterinarian a little older than I am, late forties, took a look. He thinks it is appendicitis. They moved into one of the meeting rooms down on the third floor. Crystal and another woman are in there helping.

  Late at night

  Dennis was right. But ther
e just wasn’t the stuff he needed to take care of it properly. I guess he tried to operate, but she lost too much blood. He’s pretty shaken up. So are the rest of the children.

  At least she didn’t sit back up after she died.

  Thursday, February 7

  A group of us had a meeting today. There was me, Tom, Dennis, and a lady named Monica Campinelli. Monica was better known in this area as Sister Mary Campinelli. I guess she was a nun from some local Catholic school and church in the town of Banks. It seems that everybody felt that she should be at this meeting because, if we do what is suggested, she will pretty much be the leader here at the complex.

  Tom and I are going to make a run for a nearby hospital. Yesterday’s death of that little girl has everybody pretty shaken up. Dennis has made us a list of things to get. Monica told us where we should look.

  I mistakenly thought veterinarians were folks who couldn’t hack it as doctors. Now I find that a lot of those who fail as vets go into human medicine.

  Monica was not too happy with our decision. She doesn’t give us much of a chance at making it back. She’s a pretty stern bird and not much for sugar-coating her words. Monica was the other person helping Dennis try and pull off that emergency appendectomy. She did volunteer work at the hospital that we are running for. She said that “the place was teeming with them.” (She won’t use the word zombie.) I guess she worked in the ER as a nurse during the graveyard shift.

  I asked her why everybody calls her ‘Monica’ instead of ‘sister’. She stared at me with those harsh gray eyes, and I could actually see them melt into a shade of blue, the lines around them relaxing just a bit. In that moment she seemed to simply be a kind little old lady in her fifties…maybe a favorite grandmother.

  “I’m a little upset with God right now. I’m not sure if he’s paying me much attention. I just don’t feel right being called ‘sister’ at the moment. Until I can sort things out between Him and me, I’d rather not be called by a title that I’m not feeling obliged to act the part of.”

  It seems funny leaving, but we found out yesterday that our little bastion is sorely lacking in some things. Tom and I will leave tomorrow if we can manage to draw those things away from an area of the fence.

  The plan is simple: Everybody will come out and climb ladders that allow them to get on top of the trailer rigs. They will split into two groups and go in opposite directions. Hopefully that will lure enough of the zombies away from an area, even for a moment, so that Tom and I can climb up, jump, and run for one of the cars in the lot.

  We have some decent two-way radios that Greg set up so that we can contact a base radio he’s got rigged here at the complex. We’ve agreed to report in during even numbered hours. It has also been agreed that if something goes wrong, we are on our own. There will not be a rescue party.

  After hammering out some details, we called everybody together to explain our plan. Most of the folks, while not liking the fact that we (mostly in regards to Tom) would be going outside the fence, understood that there were things we had to have.

  Of course this led to a few other ideas that we hadn’t even considered when we came up with the original plan. Greg suggested that we hit a home and garden store. If we can find some seeds, we should attempt a garden since even the processed food we do have will eventually run out.

  This, in turn, brought the suggestion that we take a couple more people. Tom explained that, before anybody stepped up to volunteer, it must be understood that no rescue would come if the mission went poorly.

  Al Godwin was the first to volunteer. Dennis wanted to, but understood the reason we could not let him. Scott Anderson stepped forward after a quiet conference with his sister. The last person was Preston Cox.

  Preston is thirty. He’s about five-foot-eight and a buck fifty. His arms are almost totally covered in tattoos. He says he was in the Navy for four years straight out of high school and has been a postal carrier since he got out. He knows the area around the hospital; which might be pretty handy.

  Friday, February 8

  Today has been a roller coaster.

  Right now, we are trying to figure out how to get home to the complex without losing anybody else. We are on the roof of the Fred Meyer store in North Plains. One thing is for sure, everybody who thought all the zombies were busy surrounding our complex was dead wrong.

  The day started with so much promise. It was sunny, and almost warm…in the upper 50s to low 60s. Everybody climbed up on the trailers just as planned. Tom, Al, Scott, Preston, and I stayed on the ground, even taking care to hide behind a couple of forklifts to make ourselves scarce.

  The folks began making all kinds of noise. As hoped, those things got agitated. The moans and other gawdawful noises they make got really loud. The groups split and it actually caused the mob to tear apart. There were still stragglers, and some from the rear sorta rolled down the makeshift alley, but it thinned considerably as those things focused on following our people.

  Somebody yelled, “Now or never!” and we made our move. Trying to be as efficient as possible, we had five ladders up side-by-side. The jump was the worst part. As soon as we hit the ground, that ten-foot-or-so alley began to close. Fortunately, we only had a few feet to go to be clear of the main mob. That only left the stragglers, and in seconds (each seeming like micro-eternities) we had reached the big, red four-by-four pick-up truck that Tom said we would use.

  Tom, Preston, and I hopped in the cab while Al and Scott climbed in back. The engine turned over and we were gone. A decent cluster of those things came in pursuit, and for all I know could be down in that mob below that are pressing against and clawing at the side of this store. The crowd has tripled in the last hour. I would guess they are about twenty or thirty deep, heads upturned in a sea of grasping, clutching, claw-like hands, eyes all milky, giving an exaggerated emphasis on the black-blood filled capillaries. And the stench…

  Anyways, we made it to the highway with no problems. Tom took us to an exit that led to an upscale development. He said that the neighborhood might be risky, but it would take us past the road block.

  The neighborhood was a nightmare. Men, women, and children had lived in this high-priced piece of suburbia. Now there was only death. Death made more grotesque and unsettling as more of the zombies in that place were children than adult.

  It was there that I saw…we all saw… something that will never allow itself to be erased from memory. A woman, or what had once been one, was standing in the front yard of a beautiful brick split-level home. Clutched in one arm was a wriggling form…like a giant grub. Except it had four twitching, flailing appendages. A thick black cable ran from the wriggling grub-thing to the crotch of the woman-thing.

  Still, those monsters were everywhere and there were many more visual horrors to see. They came stumbling out of houses, backyards, and from behind cars. That baby-cry sound we’d been hearing around the complex was audible on occasion, which makes me shudder to think of anybody that went to investigate.

  Tom drove quick but careful. We dove down a couple of side streets and even backtracked a time or two. He said that was to keep the zombies as confused as possible. They seem to track something well it if moves in a straight line. Before too long, we were on a two-lane road headed north to Highway 26.

  The drive to North Plains was pretty smooth until about a mile or so out. Then the stragglers became groups, which grew to packs, which bloomed into mobs. We had no choice but to park the truck. It fit in with the many and various other cars all over both sides of 26.

  Tom pulled over at an overpass. There were so many of those things coming down the off-ramp he decided it best to stop at a location we could backtrack to and find with minimal trouble. Already Al and Scott were having to bring their bats into play as a couple of those things were at the truck before Tom shut off the engine.

  The three of us bailed out leaving those radios sitting useless on the seat. For the next few seconds it was hectic. Tom told Al and Sc
ott to start shooting since we weren’t too concerned about drawing more attention than we already had. They took out the few that were blocking the way to a huge open field that we had decided to cross. The hospital sign was visible through some trees at the far edge.

  All of a sudden there was a loud thud, and Scott was screaming. One of those things above us on the overpass had just tumbled off, landing on Scott. I don’t know how it didn’t knock the wind out of him, but his screams were a testament that he had plenty of air.

  Ironically, the zombie on top of Scott was a woman who looked to have been a nurse. Scott struggled to get the thing off as Al, obviously spooked, was trying to recover himself to get a shot. Preston, Tom, and I had our own problems as more of these things were coming from every direction. If we didn’t run soon…we’d be done for.

  Then Scott screamed again. This time it was the scream of somebody in terrible pain. We’d all heard it before. It has a very distinct sound. Al stumbled back and almost fell out of the bed of the truck. That was when Tom yelled, “Run!”

  He took off, and we all followed. Initially it was instinct. Each of us has to live with the fact that once we regained our sense…we kept running.

  Preston was crying.

  It sounded like Al was praying.

  And I just ran.

  Scott kept screaming for what seemed like forever.