Zomblog II (8 page)

But back to Lynn. She gets edgy and nervous anytime Victor is not in her line of sight. Also—and this was a real kicker—she all but accused me of making a play for Victor. Apparently that was the sole reason I had him join me on yesterday’s foraging run. As if!

Monday, December 15

We’re moving out today. Last night was like the worst parts of living in a warzone/horror movie. Besides…one more day in this damn basement and I’m gonna strangle Lynn.

Thursday, December 18

We’ve made it to the Willamette River. It is a disaster beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined. The good news is that the Marquam Bridge looks to be intact. The bad news is that it is the
ONLY
bridge intact as far as the eye can see.

After spending the past few days ducking in and out of the charred remains that became more and more prevalent as we neared what used to be the sparkling jewel that was downtown Portland, we are finally inside the mostly intact office building situated in between the collapsed ruins of the Hawthorne and ghostly quiet Marquam Bridge. Rotting and blackened corpses are everywhere, strewn like dead leaves in the fall.

We all made it safe. No small miracle. However, I have never known a baby as quiet as Adam. (I did ask his last name; Victor and Lynn say he doesn’t have or need one, that there is no need for a surname because that is the “old” way. Whatever.)

I have the luxury of a room (an office that used to belong to Resource Allocation Manager: Casey Tripp, according to the slightly askew doorplate) all to myself. We are on the third floor. The fourth is unfinished and wide-open. The bottom two are minor disasters and mostly windowless. This floor is a bit messy, and we had to take out a couple of lone stragglers, but the windows on the south and east sides of the building are unbroken. The north and west sides were exposed to what were obviously terrific explosions and fires. I don’t even want to think of what it must look like farther north and around the slight elbow-bend in the river.

There is what was once obviously a marina across from us. The fires were so huge that not a single boat remains afloat, and all the remains jutting out are visibly burned. A large— what was probably a park—is a dark smudge. The snow has washed away with the last couple of days of rain, but blackened tree husks and hedges line the perrimeter of a large expanse of scorched lawn.

Jenifer is dozing in her sleeping bag in the corner office. Jonathan is roaming someplace. Victor, Lynn, and Adam are in what looks like used to be a conference room in the south corner. I am hoping to get a good night’s sleep. My feet are swollen and sore, my back hurts, and I feel like I have to pee…constantly. But tomorrow, we will try our luck at crossing the bridge.

I hear screams, shooting, moans of the dead, and even an occasional rumbling engine. After all I’ve seen, I briefly wondered if I should’ve stayed in Irony (for about two minutes). This is an adventure, and I’m living it.

Sunday, December 21

There are worse outcomes that could’ve been the end results of our excursion…death comes to mind. But if you take that out of the equation, then this is the least desirable scenario. I’m separated from the group…trapped with Lynn. The only comfort I have at the moment is being fairly certain that Jenifer, Jonathan, Baby Adam, and Victor are safe, and that Coach is with me. Oh yeah, and Lynn.

As with most plans, it started out great. We got under way just as the sky was beginning to lighten. There were only a few wispy clouds, and the temperature wasn’t too cold. It was quiet.

Jonathan had located a late seventies model Honda Civic. We doused it inside and out with gasoline after pushing it near the collapsed on-ramp of the Hawthorne Bridge. Once it was in place, everybody except Jonathan high tailed it to the Marquam. The sun was rising just as we reached our spot. Victor waved a white shirt and Jonathan torched the car. He had actually covered half the distance to us when the car exploded.

That brought everything out. Jonathan was doing great avoiding any of the zombies…until a creeper snagged or tripped him as he sprinted past the charred remnants of a police cruiser. When he fell, all of us reflexively lunged his direction like we could catch him from a few hundred yards away. It was Victor who vaulted the rail and slid down the concrete embankment to the rescue.

Shoving the slow-moving, uncoordinated, and thankfully still spread out undead aside, instead of taking the time to fight each one, Victor reached Jonathan quickly. By then, the creeper had been taken out and the two men methodically made their way back through the ever-thickening horde. Lynn started to cry and it was Jenifer who, after pulling the increasingly distressed-due-to-being-squeezed baby from her arms, slapped the near hysterical woman in the face and shoved her towards the uphill slope that would take us onto the actual bridge.

I stayed back—Coach standing alertly at my side, growling deep in his chest—taking the occasional shot with my crossbow at the corpse that wandered too close in my direction or might be too much of a hindrance to Jonathan and Victor reaching me. I tried to be careful with my shots, not wanting to exhaust my finite supply of ammunition.

I heard a shriek behind me, but Jenifer and Lynn had already crested the rise onto the bridge and were no longer in sight. I had to make a decision. The sound of a baby wailing a shrill, painful sounding cry made my decision for me. The men would have to make it the rest of the way on their own.

I can’t say I ran because I can only walk fast as of late. But I made it up the slope fairly quick. I could see a few dozen of those things spread out along the length of the bridge, weaving through the empty and abandoned vehicles that sat, sometimes apart and sometimes in congested bunches, along the span in all lanes.

Jenifer was standing in an open space between a fire-blackened city bus and an SUV that contained several zombies noisily beating on the windows trying to get out. She had Adam between her feet on the ground and stood over him using the Centurion Sword to drop any ghoul that was within range. Only, there were seven of those things moving in from every side. Lynn was crouched down behind Jenifer with her face buried in her hands and proving once more to be positively useless. I had absolutely no clear shot that didn’t have the risk of clipping Jenifer, who I could only see in flashes, as the arc of undead staggered closer and closer to their prey.

I sped up, knowing in my gut I would be too late. One of the zombies was drawn to the sound of the shrieking baby between Jenifer’s feet, bending down with hands reaching. I saw the sword flash, but it bit into the thing’s shoulder. It had been male and wore the tattered remains of blue jeans and a flannel shirt under a filthy, but strangely intact reflector vest. It crumpled to the ground under the force of the blow…ending up right at the tiny kicking feet of Adam.

I felt beyond helpless knowing I’d never get there in time as three more flesh-hungry zombies—all children—moved in, clutching at Jenifer; meanwhile, the one on the ground reached out and snagged the blanket that Adam was kicking his way out of. That was when Lynn finally snapped.

At some point she must’ve dropped her hands from her face and seen what was happening. I actually stopped in my tracks, stunned at what transpired in those next seconds. Lynn leaped up and forward, launching herself at the monster dragging the bundled baby from under where Jenifer was busy fighting for her life. I hadn’t known Lynn to carry any sort of weapon, but suddenly she had an ice pick in her hand and she was beating the zombie’s head to a pulp. Black, viscous goo flew away in ropy strands of odd-shaped gobs; splattering the ground as well as Lynn’s sky-blue blouse.

Scooping her baby under one arm, this crazed woman became a flurry of doom for every zombie within an arm’s reach. I was moving again, but still in awe at how this mousy woman had suddenly turned so fierce. Even more surprising was how she turned her fury on the handful of child-zombies. In effect, she literally saved Jenifer. I arrived in time to drop a scrawny, but heavily tattooed guy who was easily in his thirties before having most of his guts ripped out, leaving a long since dried, open abdominal cavity.

The good news was that we’d cleared the first third of the bridge. Jonathan and Victor were sprinting to us—a few dozen yards away and closing fast. The bad news was the hundred or so on their heels. That, and twice that number coming from the opposite direction. I remember briefly thinking that I’d made a mistake in insisting on this mission.

The two men reached us. Jonathan unshouldered his pack and came out with a plastic one-gallon milk jug full of kerosene. He waved us on and ran to the tipped over bus. I heard a
‘plink-plink’
sound. We were just starting to encounter the lead elements of the zombies coming from the west side. There was a whoosh, and I glanced back to see black smoke rising from beyond the bus. Jonathan sprinted out from behind it and towards us.

Everybody was in some form of hand-to-hand with the undead. There was enough open space to work through the oncoming horde without being overwhelmed. Still, it was a case of everybody for themselves. A sudden explosion sent a wave of heat our way as the bus exploded. Seconds later, parts could be heard raining down on the bridge, or landing with a splash into the river below.

I have no idea how we got so spread out. The thing is, you start fighting and you’re avoiding snapping jaws, grasping fingers, and even with all the horrendous wounds encountered over the past several months, you are still taken aback by strands of intestine, blackened and dried, hanging from gaping holes in the stomach. Chunks of throat, arm, even face missing. Those eerie white-filmed, black tracer riddled eyes. The smell. That stench stays in your nose…forever it seems. You reach a point where you can’t remember
not
smelling it.

All I know for sure was that I reached the west side of the bridge at some point. I’d found an opening and was a little surprised to discover Coach—and a lot surprised to see Lynn—right on my heels. I was starkly aware of how not a single living soul made its presence known as we fought for our lives. I crossed over 99W, and it was like descending into a black maze. Buildings on all sides, many of them several stories high, were nothing more than charred remnants. I kept finding openings towards the left, and at some point climbed a hill that put me on a wide strip of road. A dangling sign proclaimed it to be SW Naito Pkwy.

I stopped…looking everywhere and realizing that I had lost sight of Jenifer, Jonathan, and Victor. Towards the ruins of downtown Portland I could see movement. Lots of movement! It was time to hide. I ducked into a residential neighborhood and, once I was certain nothing was in my line of sight, I chose a slightly damaged and windowless two-story house. We’re upstairs now, and I hear them out there. The moans, the strange noises of the dead. And every time one of them lets go with that eerie baby-cry sound, I watch Lynn. The first time it happened I had to physically restrain her.

I’ve already made a decision: I will kill her if I have to. I do hope it doesn’t come to that, but her skittishness is a real concern. Even Coach seems annoyed by her. Tonight I will slip out after dark…I’ve managed to find a bottle of Clorox Bleach and used it on a red blanket. Jenifer will recognize the symbol. I just feel in my heart that they are all fine.

Monday, December 22

Still no sign of anybody. Lynn has now deteriorated to sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth. She won’t eat or drink. I’ve tried to get her to take in something, but she won’t. I’ve made two trips for supplies and to get a look around. I act-ually found myself hoping she’d be gone when I came back. No such luck. I may need to leave her, I don’t plan on staying much longer in this place.

Tuesday, December 23

A big gunfight went down about midday today. I heard shooting that seemed constant for almost five minutes. That is a long time when you are talking about bullets flying. There were a lot of fully-automatic weapons being used. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see anything except a bit of smoke in the distance. I watched a few walking meat-bags stumble down the empty streets in that direction, but from the numbers I’ve seen since reaching Portland, what’s twenty or a hundred more?

Wednesday, December 24

I wrote the date and stared at it for at least ten minutes until I realized what today is. I used to bitch about crowded stores and doing my last minute shopping. I always put it off. And every year I complained about it. I always vowed to be more organized next year.

Next year isn’t ever going to come now.

Thursday, December 25

Lynn started crying about ten minutes ago and won’t stop. I might be forced into doing something very unpleasant. Those things are everywhere outside.