Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (40 page)

I heard the noise that forced my hand. A thud and crash. They were inside! Coach began growling now and standing at the top of the stairs to block the way. I put my face right in Lynn’s, nose-to-nose. “We have to go,” I pleaded. “If you ever want to see Baby Adam and Victor, we have to run. Now!”

She didn’t even seem to recognize that I was there. She stared straight ahead, crying hysterically. Coach barked, then lunged down the stairs. I heard a lot of racket between the moans, groans, barks, and snarls. And, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was past time to go.

I had my spear in one hand, my crossbow in the other. There was no way I could carry Lynn, I couldn’t leave her to those things. A blue-grey face came into view, turning its white-filmed, black-bloodshot eyes my way. The mouth was stained dark with old blood and open in a raspy moan. In life, this young black woman had been fond of long, blonde, braided hair-extensions. She was naked except for a leopard-print thong that was barely visible from under the flap of hanging flesh where her abdomen had been torn open. That, and it was probably two sizes too small to begin with.

I took a deep breath and looked back. Lynn hadn’t budged, or gotten any quieter. Setting my spear against the wall, I brought up the crossbow and took careful aim. I didn’t want this to be any worse than it had to be. The bolt went through her right temple. And that was that. Grabbing my spear I brought it up just as Hair-Extension-zombie reached the top stair. It crashed back through the railing that ran from the wall where it ended in an ornately carved post.

I half-shouldered my backpack, cursing myself for not going through Lynn’s the past couple of days. And there was no way I could tote both. Reaching the top of the stairs, I looked down. I could hear Coach going ballistic, he sounded like he had gone deeper into the house. Meanwhile, the front door was busted in and a teenage boy wearing what appeared to be a grocery-store smock was stumbling in. It looked as if he’d had several piercings in his face. It also looked like each one had been ripped out rather messily. That, along with a good piece of his throat.

I started down the stairs when I heard the sound of aut
omatic weapons from right outside. Pierced-zombie did a little dance before a bullet burst through his face.

“Meredith!” It was Jenifer! “Lynn!”

“Coming out!” I screamed.

I hurried—as much as I could anyways—down the stairs. I reached the bottom just as Coach bolted past, leaping the pair of downed corpses and slipping past me out the door. I was right on his heels.

Across the street, in the yard of the house I had hung a blanket with our “symbol” bleached on it, stood Jonathan, Jenifer, Victor, and seven people I’d never seen before. Each of them had pistols and various sized blades ranging from long knives to swords. Six rickshaw bikes were scattered about, all loaded with gear, except one. It held a middle-aged woman who was holding Adam.

Somebody asked about Lynn. I shook my head. A terr
ible feeling grew in my stomach.
Just a couple more minutes
, the voice in my head accused. There wasn’t time for a tearful reunion. We made for I-405 and are in a mostly burned out building next to a football field. The location has an intact fence. It’ll do for tonight.

Sunday, December 28

I’ve got to keep my eyes on Victor. This morning, I told him everything. I explained that it is all written down in the journal, he could read it if he wanted. All he said was, “You did what you had to do and now I don’t have to go lookin’ around for her to put her to rest. She’s at peace with God.”

I don’t buy it for a minute. I mean, I killed the mother of his child! I’ve told Jonathan and Jenifer as well. They both said that he never seemed too anxious or upset about his—

Wife?

Whatever. He still seems to be taking this way too good. I won’t be relaxing around him anytime soon, that’s for sure.

As for all the new gear, guns, and travelling companions, I’ve met everybody and can’t remember a single name except for Eric Grayfeather. He’s about forty with a long braid that is equal parts black and silvery-white. He doesn’t talk much, but has taken to shadowing me. When I spun around and asked him what the problem was he said, “No problem. Just feels good to be close to new life.”

That was it. I waited, but he just stared at me like he’d given some perfectly clear and sane answer. And when I asked, “Is that it? Really?” He just folded his long arms across a very wide chest and nodded.

Whatever. We move out again tomorrow.

Monday, December 29

We sure took transportation for granted. Cars, busses, light-rail, all of it. Even bicycles are somewhat of a luxury. Today will be the last day with our rickshaw bikes. This next stage will be on foot.

This evening we are camped out in an apartment buil
ding. Most of the units are uninhabitable due to all the rotting body parts and, in a few cases, whole corpses that litter the complex. A nasty fight must have happened here. You can’t look anywhere without seeing a splattering of bullet holes. We did manage to find three units that let us divide up into three groups. I’m with Jonathan and Jenifer—Oh! And Coach, too!—Victor is with Adam and the lady I first saw holding him, although I still don’t remember her name, and Eric. The other five newcomers are in the last group. One of that group is a woman named Shari. Shari, or Nurse Shari as everybody calls her, checked me out. She even has a bundle with all sorts of gadgets like a stethoscope, blood-pressure cuff, and one of those doo-dads they look into your eyes, ears, and mouth with.

She said the baby sounds good. Then she gave me a bo
ttle of horse-pill-sized vitamins. I’m not good with pills. I have to chew aspirin. These things taste gross! Now I burp vitamin taste all day.

I found out a few things about what happened after we got separated crossing the bridge. Victor barely pays attention to Adam. He pawned the baby off on Jenifer the first night. The second night is when they met those other folks. Jonathan actua
lly sorta knows one of them from crossing paths a few months ago. I guess there were fifteen or twenty of them back then. He asked for help finding us. Jenifer had told Jonathan about our signal, who shared it with everybody. It was one of them who saw my blanket from the balcony of one of the few high-rise buildings still standing—some luxury condo place—and told the group. They were coming for me when they encountered a gang of some sort. That was the shootout I’d heard. A lot of the weapons we now have used to belong to that gang.

Jonathan says I shouldn’t worry about any reprisal from Victor. He’d already made some statement that he doubted Lynn would survive, and that of the two of us, he expected me to emerge no worse for the wear. He also said if it came down to saving only one, that since I am “with child”, it would be more prudent to save me.

Creepy, right?

Tuesday, December 30

I saw myself in a full-length mirror today. Actually, this morning while everybody was scavenging. Jenifer found the mirror, cleaned it, then brought me to it. I didn’t realize how long it’d been since I’ve seen myself. Maybe since Irony. I honestly can’t recall.

Other than needing a good shower to get at least one coat of the nastiness off—how long have I had that dried smudge of blood on my forehead?—I look okay. My eyes seem a bit harsh. Do I really look that angry all the time? And who stuffed the volleyball under my shirt?

I always felt I had a bit of lingering baby fat, especially in the face. That’s all gone. Of course I have been getting in plenty of daily walks. This has me looking more closely at everybody else. We are filthy!

Some fairly severe freezing rain began falling early this morning. Not even the zombies seem to want to be out in it. I saw one sprawled on the street. It tried to stand several times, but there is at least a quarter-inch of ice on the surface of ever
ything. Eventually it gave up and is still lying on the street—with a crust of ice welding it to the road. While there is no movement, I keep hearing things falling. There is a symphony of breaking branches, cables snapping as long dead power lines—those still intact—and even building facades give way. So many of the buildings, as you got closer to downtown and the waterfront area are heavily damaged. Big pieces tumble in terrifyingly loud crashes. It is starting to wear on everybody’s nerves. I realized about an hour ago that I haven’t heard a single weapon fired. Mother Nature has called a timeout.

Thursday, January 1

The freezing rain has changed to snow and we are forced to remain in this complex. Jonathan and Eric brought me this moldy, musty recliner-chair; I actually got weepy! What the hell? But back to the chair, it is heavenly. I’ve slept more—and more comfortably—than I can remember.

You would think that being this close to downtown would be bad. Time seems to have had a great effect on dispe
rsal. That, and the weather. Speaking of weather, that zombie is still up the street, only now it looks like a misshapen speed bump. I pointed it out to everybody, which spurred a conversation about if zombies freeze solid.

Saturday, January 3

A few of the guys—including Jonathan and Victor—went out scavenging. It is getting colder, and we have kept a fire going in the courtyard non-stop for the past couple days. It’s the only way for us to have water. Everything is freezing up, and it has gotten so bad that we are all staying huddled together for warmth.

I’m a little concerned. It’s getting dark and the group should’ve been back by now. All I hear is the sound of falling snow and the occasional crash of something—be it tree or buil
ding—that eventually succumbs to the weight of the snow and ice.

Sunday, January 4

They’re back! Mostly.

Monday, January 5

No matter the weather, we leave tonight using darkness to cover our departure. There will only be seven of us (not counting Baby Adam). Jenifer, Jonathan, Eric, Shari, Dessa Robinson—a tall, Germanic-looking woman with black hair shot full of gray, blue eyes that don’t look like they’ve ever seen happiness, and sharp features exaggerated by a very thin, but pointy nose, Skip Bliss (real name, swear-to-God), a hippie-type with stringy hair—where he can still grow it—tied back in a ponytail; which only makes the whole top of his head, which is completely bald, stand out more. I think he believes he is trapped in one of his hallucinations. His brown eyes are almost always half-closed and bloodshot.

We had to put two others down yesterday. They came back with bites. They could barely walk, Jonathan and Eric were practically carrying them. This big argument broke out when I unholstered my little .22 pistol. I guess the knowledge of some folks showing immunity is becoming widespread. I pointed out that both men’s eyes were already showing black tracers. Dessa and Shari argued that they still couldn’t be sure. There was a lot of yelling—until one of
them
got up and came for our group.

Besides zombies, The Genesis Brotherhood was out in numbers as well. They got that woman whom I saw holding A
dam—her name is Glennis by the way. They also snatched Victor. Jonathan said their party was ten men, but only two had guns. He said that he didn’t actually see them take Victor, but Victor was with Glennis when they crossed paths. The gang from TGB attacked right after the zombie incident that left one dead, and the other two who came back bitten, wounded. Jonathan said the timing seemed perfect…for them.

We’ve already stayed too long. We risk Victor bringing them down on us if we stay put. I never did trust that bastard. I should’ve gone with my gut and put a round through his head when I had a chance. We do have his baby. Maybe that will prove to be a useful bargaining chip if things play out badly.

Tuesday, January 6

We’re spread out tonight. It took us until right around the time the pre-dawn light started illuminating the thick, snow bea
ring clouds hanging overhead. The journey was tiring—at least for me. I’m starting to feel the effects of being pregnant in such a way that it is becoming difficult. People are having to wait for me to catch up, or give me a hand over certain obstacles. If I hear Eric say, “Let me give you a hand with that,” one more time, I may punch him square in the nose.

There is no way we could cover our tracks in the knee-deep snow. However, it seems today will be another blizzard, so, perhaps our tracks will be covered for us. Also, the wind is howling out there. All that works in our favor.

We did encounter a few of the dead during our trek. One case in particular gave us a new reason to stay put in this sort of weather.

We were moving through a maze of under and overpas
ses, towards what Jonathan said would be a tunnel that cut through the big hill separating the city of Portland from the outlying Westside suburbs and the highway that would take us to Sam’s old warehouse complex. Slogging through the snow, everybody including myself had forgotten about our zombie speed bump. Then Dessa tripped and fell.

It was like watching one of those old nature shows where the crocodile lies in wait at the edge of the water for the gazelle. That was when I learned I probably won’t be picking a fight with Dessa Robinson…ever. She exploded back up through the snow, locked up with the shredded remains of a zombie that had nothing left from the shoulders on down. It looked creepy in the red glow of the lantern Jenifer was carrying. (Eric covered our light source with these red sheets of what looked to me like opaque plastic squares. He says it preserves our night vision and doesn’t draw as much attention.) Anyways, Dessa has the thing held at bay with one hand clutching its mostly torn out throat. It’s moaning and mewling while snapping its teeth and trying to grasp Dessa’s arm. Only, neither of its hands seem to be able to close. They’re frozen! The thing is sluggish, but still mobile. It flailed uselessly as she pulled a knife from her boot with her free hand and plunged it into the thing’s eye. Now that might not sound impressive, but if you’d seen the fluidness of her m
otion…the absolute calm. That lady never made so much as a squeak. Then, she just cast the corpse aside, wiped off her blade, and resumed walking, dusting the snow off herself as she went.

When we came in view of the tunnels, it was clear that something was wrong. When we got closer, we discovered there’d been a big landslide that eventually ended any debate as to whether we go in or over. Tonight, we’ll go over. Eric and Skip are scouting now, and should be back before too long. I didn’t like the idea of one man scouting parties, but was out vo
ted. They went in opposite directions to see which might be the best way over. I hope they both make it back.

Wednesday, January 7

When I’m wrong, it is never halfway. Nope, I am wrong in spectacular fashion. We took the northern route, Skip’s, to cross over the hill. We chose it for two reasons: first, there are no neighborhoods, which means less chance of a zombie encounter; second, there are the thick woods on this side of Sunset Highway which allows us to stay hidden (except for the smoke from the campfire).

We stayed in sight of the highway until dawn, then moved into the more dense woods. But not before we made a chilling discovery. Hanging from one of the signs above a sea of dead cars was Victor.

The Genesis Brotherhood were obviously fans of
The Passion of the Christ
. He was barely recognizable for two reasons: They beat and whipped him brutally. He was a mess. Also, they had him bitten. So, nailed—with what Eric said were railroad spikes—to a makeshift cross which was suspended from the metal crossbar of a sign that extended all the way across the highway, was a writhing, moaning, undead version of Victor. A sign was around his neck, declaring: TRAITOR.

I can only assume that to mean that my conceptions of him were completely and utterly wrong. This also deepens my resolve about coming back for these bastards and wiping them off the face of the earth. I’ve also come to terms with the idea that if Dominique is part of these monsters, then she’ll see the same fate. Jenifer and I discussed it, and while she thinks it is just the actions of a confused and frightened teenager, I believe it is a choice.

That’s one of the problems I had with our former society. Every time a child acted out, they slapped an acronym on it and wrote a prescription. Maybe what the kid really needed was a swift kick in the ass. I never shared it with Jenifer, and I know she doesn’t read this anymore, (I think she’s writing her own journal now) but I am certain that it was Dominique who opened the doors and led zombies to the place Jenifer and I slept the night after I rescued her.

To me, that’s not a confused teenager. That is a psycho
tic, brainwashed human being who is a danger to the survival of people who don’t see the world through the same narrow lens. So, will I kill her on sight? No. But if she gives me the most minute of reasons, I’ll put her down. This is about survival. Mine. And yes, it really is that simple.

Thursday, January 8

Moving is a slow process. We don’t dare move down to the open terrain of the highway. Even though there are cars—sometimes in bumper-to-bumper packs and sometimes spread out—there is movement in places where walking dead migrate. They are like electricity in that they seek the path of least resistance. Also, we would be easy to spot.

The real problem is that we are very close to the main base of operations for The Genesis Brotherhood. We know this because we’ve heard and seen them! Jonathan left just about an hour before sunrise. He took Coach with him. I didn’t realize how much I could miss that stupid dog. He hovers around me all the time when we are on the move, and sleeps curled up across my feet at night.

He came back just after sunset. (It was actually sunny today, which we couldn’t enjoy because of these damned trees.) We
have
to cross the highway tonight. He found a few houses, probably worth three-quarters to a million bucks a lifetime ago. He says we can hold up in one for a night or two. We will have to plan the next day. For some reason, as we move west, the undead concentration increases. Jonathan said he put down over two dozen. He saw mobs, and even a small herd while he was out.

Friday, January 9

The weather has been sunny, crystal-clear, and freezing cold! The snow has a thick, icy crust and makes so much noise when you move through it that we’ve stayed put.

One thing we haven’t heard is the gunfire I’d become so accustomed to these past months. However, what we have heard is just a bit worse.

Screams.

On a half-dozen instances, we’ve heard them. Some want to go investigate since they’ve all come from the same general direction. This is probably the very pregnant Meredith talking, but I definitely vote against it. Right now I’d just like to get to that warehouse complex.

Saturday, January 10

A Cessna-type plane just flew overhead! It was heading west!

Sunday, January 11

We might have discovered the reason for such a heavy concentration of the undead. We are near a hospital. It’s like watching a beehive or an anthill. From our vantage point, we can see the main entrance. There is no window intact on the bottom floor. The lobby, which is clearly visible during daylight, is crawling with them.

I recall something about Sam and a small group making a run on a hospital. That would be impossible here. It makes me wonder. There has been tons of speculation about these things acting out in certain ways that were familiar to their former lives. Have they come to the hospital for the simple reason that they were programmed in life to seek medical attention when sick or seriously injured? It seems as likely as anything else. They certainly aren’t there in response to anybody living. There is no way possible that anybody could be inside that place. Even as big as the hospital is, I can’t imagine there being one place that could offer sanctuary from the hundreds—if not thousands—of those things.

In a way, that hospital is like staring at the old Christmas catalog. It is full of toys you’d love to have, but the prospects of getting any of it are slim-to-none.

Monday, January 12

We may be screwed. We are in a half burned down el
ementary or junior high gymnasium. The only windows are about thirty feet or so up and that sucks. There is no way for us to look out and see how thick those things are, but if the amount of pounding on the door is any indication…there are lots.

We left before sunrise this morning from the small three-story office building we’d spent the night in. I’d noticed all night that, even from almost a half-mile away, I could hear the assor
ted moans, groans, and baby-cry noises from the hospital up the hill. By the way, a lovely new discovery, that stupid baby-cry sound makes my breasts tingle and even hurt a bit. Lovely.

So, slipping out the side of the building away from the hospital, we began making our way through the knee-high growth of these stem-like weeds and some barren shrubs. Mo
ving through that type of stuff is like crossing a minefield. Everybody was alert. We all had staffs, spears, or pointy sticks to poke the ground. Nobody thought to keep a look over our shoulder.

Dessa screamed— it sounded more angry than hurt— and began swearing in ways that would’ve gotten a nod of a
pproval from Snoe. She was only a couple of arm lengths away from me. I saw her turn and look down, then, with both hands, she raised this long-handled axe she’d been using to probe with and brought it down hard. I heard the crunch from where I stood, frozen.