Zomblog 04: Snoe (3 page)

I know that some folks are already placing bets on how long it will be before I do like my birth mother and take off, but that won’t happen. I like my home, I love Mama Lindsay, and I like being alive. Out here…I miss the first two, and the third one is in constant jeopardy.

Today, the caravan ventured into the untamed 205 Corridor. While there is no official national government, there are elements that do still exist. Basically, every territory is left to fend for itself. The state lines are all gone, but there is still a national militia. I guess they operate under the same idea as the old United States Army.

A few years ago, they gave up trying to actually wipe out the zombies. What they focus on now is trying to help established settlements build a safer society.

The one thing they have managed to do is utilize the rail systems around the country. I can only speak for what happens with the settlements I am familiar with on Corridor 26, but they seem to show up every nine months or so with heavy equipment. They meet with our president and offer to help shore up barricades, expand our borders, or whatever we happen to be working on. During that time, they meet with people and see if they can recruit. On the average, six or seven kids around my age usually get a bee in their bonnet and decide to join.

I say all of this because we were very surprised to discover a detachment of soldiers guarding the entrance to the 205 Corridor. It seems that the reports we received about a few communities banding together to start securing the corridor were only partially true.

Our wagon leader and Captain Ross met whoever was in charge of the outpost, and there was a lot of yelling. From what I can gather by what I heard and saw, we had to pay some sort of toll to pass through the gates. Captain Ross had to let the soldiers peek through all our stuff and write down what we were carrying.

That was a bad start to the day. Did I mention that it was also raining so hard that you had to yell to be heard by the person next to you because the rain was so loud hitting all the tarps covering our wagons? That meant all of our strung weapons were wrapped in oil cloth and stashed.

The 205 has a huge grassy median that separates the two roads. One of the wagoneers told me that he used to drive this road to and from work, and that it was so thick with cars that it would take him an hour to get home. He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly explained that without traffic, he could make the drive in fifteen minutes. I still think I missed the point.

Once we cleared the military checkpoint, the group split into two units. My part of the caravan was on the southern side (the right hand side). To our left was the tree-filled median. To our right were thick woods and a downhill slope in places that fell away to passing streams.

I guess the heavy rain is to blame, because we never heard the rear escort call for help. To be honest, I probably did everything wrong an escort can do before we got hit. I was walking with my head down. At some point I’d just gotten sick of all the water in my face. Even with my hooded poncho, I was totally soaked.

A hand grabbed my sleeve and pulled. My first thought was that somebody was about to get slapped. I spun around ready to really give them an earful. I found myself looking right into the grey-green face of a zombie. Even in the downpour, some of the fresh blood still dripped from its chin.

My eyes flicked past the zombie for a split second, because on the ground about ten feet away, three of those things were pulling apart one of the other escorts. I couldn’t see who, and I still don’t really know who made it and who hasn’t. (Did I forget to mention that we are all in quarantine at what the residents are calling Willamette Refuge?) That was the first time I have ever seen somebody actually attacked by a zombie. The way they tear a person apart is bad, but I had no idea that the human body smells so awful on the inside—like poop.

I went for my blade as I jerked away from the one that was yanking on the sleeve of my poncho. I barely had the blade free of the scabbard when an axe came down on the top of the zombie’s head. I jumped back as it fell and slipped. I don’t know how, but I ended up under the wagon I’d been walking beside.

It seemed to take forever before it rolled past and I was clear to get to my feet. A hand was already reaching down for me and I came an inch away from chopping off all or a good part of it. I am nursing a nasty bruise from where she kicked me. That is how I met Phaedra Woods.

She helped me to my feet and covered me while I waded into the tall grass where my blade had flown when she kicked my arm to keep me from attacking her. Together, we hacked down a dozen or so zombies and made our way to the last wagon in the convoy where they had lost their horses. Okay…that isn’t exactly true; they didn’t lose their horses. Both of them were easy to spot under a dogpile of zombies.

The kills were pretty easy. The zombies were so involved in ripping the guts out of the poor horses that they paid us almost no attention. A few managed to look up just as Phaedra or I split their heads open. When it was over, it took my hands about ten minutes to stop shaking. Then I threw up. Phaedra was nice enough to hold my hair back for me while I knelt beside the road and gave up my breakfast.

Phaedra is probably around thirty and I bet she used to be really pretty. She is one of those rare people who exhibit immunity to whatever it is that turns people to zombies after they’ve been bitten. The left side of her face is a mass of really bad scar tissue. There is a hole in her cheek that you can see through into her mouth. So, before you think that I was out of line for almost cutting off her arm when she went to help me up, consider what I was seeing.

The wagons have a rule out in the untamed lands: Don’t stop unless you are dead. So, once we helped the wagoneer secure his wagon, we had to jog up to the convoy and fetch a pair of the reserve horses. By the time we had the wagon back on the move, it was just me and Phaedra and the wagoneer.

There was one point in the trip that I will keep in my mind anytime I think about quitting the EEF. As we cleared the crest of a long and gradual incline, the clouds broke up. In the distance was Mount Hood. I’d never seen it in person before. I know that my birth mother crossed it on her failed trip to Las Vegas. From this distance, it looks beautiful, but I can’t begin to imagine what would possess anybody to travel over it. As I stared out across the valley and just took in the sights, I felt a tickle in my belly.

We arrived at the gates of Willamette Refuge just as the sun was swallowed up by more dark clouds. A flash of lightning and the sharp crack of thunder made me jump just as the huge iron gates began to open.

Now I am in a quarantine cell until my blood work returns. The people here appear nice. They are set up right beside the river. That seems so strange, to have a side of your village completely open and without any sort of wall or barricade. I talked with the girl who was examining me, and she said that they placed a huge barricade in the river. The bars are about a foot apart. It is wide enough for fish to swim past, but too narrow for zombies. Still, you can’t see it. That means if something happens and it comes free or a piece breaks off, they won’t know it until a zombie comes walking up out of the water.

Zombies don’t normally go into the water, but it happens. They may fall in or any number of things. One thing I learned from reading my birth parent’s journals:
anything
can happen.

Speaking of the journals, there is a bookshelf in my little holding cell. On it are a few bibles,
Edible Plants of the Pacific Northwest
, and my birth father’s journal. I thumbed through it and was interested to discover that people had taken the time to scribble notes in the margins: “IRONY USA OR BUST”, “RIP SAM”, and the very popular “(Insert name here) WAS HERE!”

Tuesday, June 12
^th

The people of Willamette Refuge are really different. Yep…different is probably the best word that describes them. They had a huge fish fry for us, but quibbled over how much fish to send with us in exchange for the vegetables we delivered. Also, two of their citizens are coming back to Corridor 26 to meet with the president and discuss setting up embassies!

I can’t even begin to imagine how that is going to go over. Couple that with the weird military outpost at the junction to the 205 Corridor and I think Jenifer is gonna be super annoyed.

We leave in the morning.

Friday, June 15
^th

Something is wrong. I think we are in for a nasty surprise coming soon.

Dang it! I didn’t write anything down from the past couple of days! Okay, I am going to try and put this all down so that I can remember it. This may change the entire landscape of our society.

It started when we reached the checkpoint we’d had to pay a toll at on the way in. It was leveled. From the looks of things, a much bigger armed detachment arrived and either didn’t want to pay the toll, or didn’t like the military. Most of the place was burned to the ground. Charred bodies littered the area, and from the smell…and the smoke still rising off the corpses, we didn’t miss the excitement by much.

The only thing peculiar (and I didn’t notice it, Phaedra pointed it out to me) was that the sturdy gate system that had been erected was still in place. Whoever did this had a personal thing against these soldiers.

Phaedra and I talked about it as we walked. I guess she has heard that the military force has been doing things a little different than I was led to believe. They
do
show up about every nine months to help with all the stuff I mentioned. However, the six or seven kids that they take with them may not all be volunteers.

If what Phaedra said is true, the commander of the military unit meets with the president and agrees on the number ahead of any work being done. That left me with a lot of questions. First, does Jenifer know all of this? The soldiers are due any time now, and their arrival will be the first during her presidency. Also, does Mama Lindsay know this?

Phaedra says that the recruits are selected from the men and women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. How have I not known any of this? Do other kids my age know this? How has this been kept a secret for so long in our community if it is true?

Mama Lindsay is out until tomorrow with a hunting party. When she returns, I have some questions.

Anyways, the two people from Willamette Refuge met with Jenifer. I was assigned as their escort (which was better than being the person who had to tell the families of those who didn’t make it back). I waited outside the door and heard most of what was said.

It didn’t start well with Jenifer reading the inventory list of what we brought back. I guess the numbers were no where near what had been agreed on.

Once most of the yelling was finished, the part about the embassy came up. I was surprised at how readily the deal was accepted. They even discussed sending a joint delegation into the Free Zone where all the independent tribes live along Corridor 217 to put out an offer of some sort.

Actually, once the real dealing started, they talked so fast and it got hard to follow. I did gather that a lot of this is in response to that military post at the start of Corridor 205.

A new convoy will be leaving tomorrow to Willamette Refuge. Some of our people are being sent to talk to their president. I get the next two days off, so it won’t be me. That’s good. I’m looking forward to some sleep in
my
bed.

Saturday, June 16
^th

How have I lived my life so blind? Did Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie shield me from all of this for a reason? And who else is in on it?

I confronted Mama Lindsay with what Phaedra told me about the arrangements with the military units that come through, and at first she denied it. Only, as soon as she did, I could tell she was lying! I can’t say that is the first time my parents have lied to me, but this isn’t something harmless like Santa or the Easter Zombie. This is a
real
lie.

Finally, she told me that it was true. She also said that it is done by lottery. The recruiters are allowed to set up a volunteer recruitment desk and talk to the citizens. If the quota is filled, then there is no need for the lottery. If the number isn’t reached…

So that brought me to the situation at the entrance to Corridor 205. It was interesting to have some real intel that Mama Lindsay didn’t have yet. She was visibly upset when I told her about the toll on the way through. However, once I told her about what we saw when we came back…she left in a big hurry.

Monday, June 18
^th

I haven’t seen Phaedra since shortly after we got back. When I went to her home, she wasn’t there. I checked at the EEF office, and they said she was on assignment with a farming group. I kinda want to talk to her. Finding out all of this, and then seeing Mama Lindsay get weirded out to the point where she tried to actually lie to me directly, has me so confused right now.

I have never felt like I
needed
somebody to talk to until today. So many things are in my head right at the moment. I feel like I am missing a few important pieces of information, and people I know and love and trust have them, but they won’t share.

After being outside in the field as an EEF member, I feel like my brain won’t work right. All the things that I love don’t feel the same.

Tuesday, June 19
^th

Phaedra came back. I was actually waiting by the gate when her group came through. I’ve never waited for anybody to come back from the outside except my Mama Lindsay and Mama Janie. I don’t feel all that much better after talking to her, though.