The Zom Diary (25 page)

     It’s some Dominican brand I’ve never heard of, with a dark wrap.  The taste is nutty and reminds me of a cedar chest.  I let smoke wind its way out from the corners of my mouth.

     “Thanks, this is nice.”

     Bryce blows a thin ring of smoke toward the fire.  “You’re welcome,” and “thanks for breakfast.”

     We sit and smoke, waving away a brave horse fly that pesters us, before I smash it on the side of my cheek with a powerful slap. 

     “So, what do we do?”

     Bryce thinks for a moment, drawing on his cigar, “We wait a day, and once you are better, we go after him.”

     “You don’t sound worried that he’ll get away, and I can already guess where he’s headed.  The desert?”

     Bryce nods and taps his cigar, knocking off a clot of ash.  “That’s where he’s headed.  The Witch filled us in on that part, and I confirmed it for myself by tracking him here.  She was hysterical when we cornered her.  Scratched Molly’s face bad.  She was blabbering about astral projection and how this life is a shell covering over the true reality around us.  Kept talking about a dark king.”

     “Shit.”

     “What?”

     “That first day I met him outside your place, he was talking at me about a dark king and about the desert.  I just thought he was strange.”

     “Well, he’s been saying stuff like that to all of us for years, no one paid it much attention or could say what it really meant,” he spits, “but before I kill him I’m going to ask.”

     I nod, rolling the dead fly between my thumb and forefinger before dropping it on the ground.  “Right.  It’s settled then.  I’ll pack my gear and get ready this afternoon.  We’ll head out tomorrow.”

     “And you are sure you’re up to it?”

     “Yes! Dammit! I’ll be fine.  My ankle is better, and these cuts aren’t going to stop me.  Just a little shock and loss of blood, no biggie.  I’m good now.”

     Something stirs to life in the back of my mind, and I look up at Bryce.  There is a knowing look on his face.

     “I was wondering when you’d notice them.  I felt it a while back, but wanted to see when you felt them.”

     “Yes, just now.  I guess I don’t have your range.  Feels like more than one, off that way.”  I point toward the road.  “Maybe a half mile away?”

     Bryce gets up and grabs his rifle.  “Closer than that.  Should we go deal with them?”

    “Yeah, hold on, I’ll get something.”

    I walk inside and through the open door to the big room.  Pausing at the wide door to the storage area, I grab the old .22 LR that I had used before when the barn was surrounded.  Filling a ten round clip, I pull back the slide and flip the safety button.  Maybe I’m a little gun shy after the AK incident, or just being smart about my ammo situation.  No matter.  It will do.

     Bryce is filling a water bottle at the pump and looks up as I shut the door.

     “Ready?”

     “Yeah, let’s go get them.”

     I walk over to the old electric fence and duck between the long wires.  Bryce follows.  After a moment, he remarks about the buildings here. 

     “Do you use all these?” He gestures wide at the outbuildings.

     “Some.  That’s my smoke house; new venison in there now.  Closer to the spot where Bill’s house burned down, that’s my garage.  The rest I use for storage or are full of Bill’s old farming equipment.  I spend most of my time at the barn.”

     We keep pace with one another, kicking up small tuffs of dust as we walk along the drive.  He gives the garage an appraising look.  “There is real potential here, Kyle.  You have one of the only places around that has anything left growing besides oranges.  The community could really benefit from a little effort out here. I noticed all that fruit rotting on the ground.  I could send people out here.  They could fix up one of these buildings, live here and help you harvest.”

    “Let me think about it.”

    “Come on, Kyle, what are you going to do out here all by yourself?”

     “I like being alone.  And, I keep busy.”

     Bryce pats my shoulder before speaking, an almost patronizing look on his face.  “Well, just consider it.  Look sharp, the first one should be almost to the end of the driveway.”

     “Right.”

     And, it is.  Shambling out of the left side of the overgrowth, his girth is incredible.  Nearly six feet tall, but easily four hundred pounds, his bulk is partly contained by a leather biker vest.  The remains of a scraggly beard are half torn from his face.

     “Bryce, let’s lead this one back to the road.  I don’t want to have to drag him anywhere.”

     “OK, lead the way.”

     I jog down the driveway, Bryce at my heels, and cut to the right just as a low burping gurgle emits from the zombie’s torn throat.  He swats at Bryce with a huge hand, but we are quicker.      

     Bryce laughs, “Whoa, big boy!”

     I don’t look back, just pound the earth until it turns to pavement and head back, toward the rest of them, just now visible down the road.  Bryce is right with me and we stop and turn.  The zombie bursts out of the brush and I call it. 

     “I got him!”

     I raise the .22, thumbing off the safety.  There is a ‘crack’ of the report, and the thing twitches his head to the right, but keeps coming.  Ten feet from us, his head explodes, and I jump from the loud boom of Bryce’s .308 going off.

     He pulls the bolt on the rifle, spent casing tinging on the pavement as he reloads.

     “Sorry to startle you.  That guy must have had a thick skull.”

     “Shit.  You think?  Is that even possible?”

     We both turn now, facing each other, the other two zombies draw closer.  Bryce continues talking, though, “I’ve heard stories of .22’s ricocheting off of people’s skulls, or of people getting shot in the foot and the round ending up in their heart,” he glances down at my rifle, “crazy thing to trust with your life.”

     “Right, well, my ammo supply is getting low, you want a lesson on economics or can we waste some zoms?” he inclines his head toward our visitors and smiles, “You take the lady on the right.  I’ll get the other one.”

     “Ok.”

     We both raise our rifles.  I wait for the .308 to go off before dropping the other one.  This time the .22 does its job.  The lady I’d hit sways and comes to rest on top of the other one, the act looks almost comical.  Juliet falling across her dead lover’s corpse.  I turn to Bryce.

     “Anything else on your radar?”

     “Nope.”

     “Me either.  Let’s get cleaned up.  We have some daylight, I’ll show you around the orchards.”

     “Great.”

     Bryce sounds honestly impressed when I tell him about Bill’s dream.  He’s even more impressed at the variety of hardy and drought resistant food trees.

     “Kyle, this place is a gold mine.  We can clone these trees, plant nuts back in town, grow olives.  We could support a lot more people if we exploit this.  I’ll respect your privacy.  Please just consider helping us out.”

   I pause next to one of the black walnut trees, looking up into the branches at the clusters of large green nuts.  Looking back I can see Bryce making note of the different trees, head following eyes, tracking across the rows, overwhelmed.  There is so much hope in his expression.  I ask him:

     “You still think Salem is going to work?”

     “I know it will.  Molly is getting a team together to go on longer trips.  We’re going to start checking some of the larger towns, gather people that want a fresh start in a place with a future.  We need people like you who can make it out here; especially with what’s in your head.”

     I shake my head, “What about the zoms?”

     He walks to the base of the tree and sits on the ground, old tan winter straw crunching beneath his seat.  He thinks carefully before answering.  “I don’t think they are going to be a problem,” I start to speak but he holds up his hand and continues, “listen, I don’t know why you see so many more zombies out this way, it’s not so bad for us most of the time, we’ve certainly seen less and less as the years have gone by. 

     “I’ve thought a lot about this.  Really.  I don’t think there are many of them out there.  If there were seven billion of them walking around in a big swarm we’d be done.  Over.  But I don’t think that’s how things went.

     “You have to be bitten to turn into one of them, and if you die first, you don’t turn.  I think more people died from the panic, the meltdowns, the starvation that came after the collapse than anything else.  Disease…

     “There are a lot of them, millions I’m sure, but not too many of them.  We can clear them out.  As long as we are careful and keep what we have left of civilization going, we’ll outlast them.  I’d bet on it.  So yes, Salem will last.  We will last, and come back out of this new dark age, but we need to stick together and keep growing in a positive way.  Are you going to be a part of that?”

     He pauses now, looking up at me.

     I’m tempted, I admit to myself.  I was perfectly happy, in my own way, with watching the end of civilization, and the end of man.  I hadn’t been too impressed with our handling of the planet or of each other.  Maybe this would be something different.  A new chance to get things right.  Of course, it always starts out that way, with good intensions.  What the hell.  He’s still looking at me, and I know he won’t stop bugging me until he hears what he wants, but it’s still my place and I have my own wants:

      “Fine.  I’ll help with getting you the trees you need, and I’ll show you how to keep them. I’ll even go out on a trip or two, but I want something in return.”

     “Name it.”

     “No people out this way, no settlements, no trespassers.  I’m going to do what I want with the land out here, and I don’t want any intrusions.  Mark a border three miles east of town, and everything beyond it is mine.  No man’s land.”

     “Seven miles.”

     “Five.”

     “Fine.  You got it.  But, I want dibs on all this fruit you are wasting. We’ll come out a couple times a year and take what you don’t use?”

    “As long as you give me some notice ahead of time.  Sounds good to me.”

     Bryce puts his hand out and I clasp it.  Done deal.

     It’s well past noon when we make our way back to the yard, and Bryce is still telling me about his plans for town. I start to wonder just how successful he will be.  He is certainly motivated.

     Bryce grabs a seat by the fire, and I excuse myself so that I can get my gear ready for the next day.  I grab an empty pack from the supply room and start to make some choices.  It’s hot out in the desert, and I want to travel light.

     I pack an old white bed sheet.  I can use it for shade or tear it into strips in an emergency, for bandages.

     Water.  Four, one-liter bottles.

     Food.  I carefully wrap some of the last of the old jerky and some fruit leather.

     I decide against a rifle.  My Glock should be enough.  I put two extra clips in the pack along with a wicked hunting knife and thick gloves.

     I’ll fetch my knobkerrie from the shack before I leave.  For some reason I like to have it with me out there.  Lastly, I pick out a small bud and place it with my pipe in my pocket.  The dessert is the place for soul searching, and I haven’t quite given up on this pastime.

     I set my pack on the big table.  It’s heavy with water, but that is as it must be.  I fish around in a pile next to the couch for my good pants, the ones from my very first trip to town. I set them out for tomorrow and go down to the cellar for some pear hooch before rejoining Bryce.

     He’s sitting by the fire reading a paperback book. He sets it next to him on the ground when I walk up, and takes the jar I offer him.  “Is this the new stuff, or hard?”

     “Hard,” I reply.  “And, sour as hell.”

     I grab a seat next to him and raise my own jar in a salute.  It is sour.

     The sun is lower now.  While the trees and grass at the edges of the yard are brightly lit, we sit in the cool shadow cast by the barn, looming behind us.  The hooch is good, warming the belly.  My jar is almost empty before Bryce breaks the silence:

     “I was wondering if you could tell me more about your encounter with Daniel?  You said that you were able to repel him somehow, and I’m just curious…”

     I had wondered when he would ask about this.  Tactful and careful, always the politician.  I set aside the empty jar, wishing for more but not wanting to get up and get it.

    “I’ll tell you what I can.  I’m not sure exactly how it happened.”

     Bryce takes a pull on the jar and swallows.  “Well, first off -tell me what it’s like when you sense one of the zombies is getting closer.  I’ve talked to Silas about this, and it seems like it’s different for each of us.”

     “It’s like a gentle nudge from a fingertip pressing into my mind; the sensation gets stronger when they get closer.  Then it’s like magnets.”

     “Magnets?”  His tone is respectful and even, he looks curious.