Zomblog Saga Box Set (Books 1-6) (8 page)

“You lead,” Tom nudged him, and we were off.

It was clear that all our noise had drawn a lot of attention. I could hear a muffled staccato pounding on the windows at the store’s entrance.

We followed Preston who had a flashlight out to try and minimize any surprises. I could hear them…plowing through clothing racks…crashing down aisles…seeking us. I was glad my hearing was coming back, just not so glad to hear them coming at us from seemingly every possible direction. I kept saying over and over, “Are we sure about this?”

Nobody answered.

We were coming to an area that was relatively well lit. A row of glass doors opened to a fenced in garden area. Fortunately, we didn’t need to go outside. An entire end display held rows and rows of envelopes. Each envelope had a picture.

Flowers. No!

Vegetables. Yes!

Preston told us to load up while he grabbed what he said were essentials. Knowing nothing about gardening at all, I had no problem deferring.

Tom acted as a sentinel, setting up where he could watch us both. He dispatched a couple of zombies and finally announced it was time to go. I looked up to see at least thirty of them coming through the electronics section and right for us.

We had to zig and zag, but managed to make it back to our door. At some point, Preston had grabbed what looked like a coat rack. As we ducked in the door that led to the stairs, Preston jammed the metal frame against the base of the door and wedged the other against the cinder block wall of the long corridor which was now seemingly zombie free. Hopefully, all the ones that had been back here had followed us into the store.

Tom had his flashlight out now and led us up. We emerged into the cold air. It was so comparatively fresh after being inside, even for such a short time.

We shut the door and Tom slid down to his butt. Preston walked over to a big metal air conditioning unit and did the same. I walked to the front of the store and sat on what was some sort of a big power box.

Nobody really wants to talk.

DAMN!

After yesterday’s adventure, each of us just sorta went to be with his thoughts. There is a strong possibility that we won’t be able to return to the complex. We are stuck up here, surrounded by what must be thousands of those things.

I never thought to check anybody.

Sitting against the cold metal of the junction box, or whatever it is, I could hear them down below. The constant moans and gurgles—and that eerie baby cry—kept me on the edge between awake and asleep. Just as the sky was turning a soft pre-dawn shade of orange and yellow that announced a beautiful sunny day, I heard footsteps.

I knew what it was without looking. I just didn’t know who.

I considered my trusty aluminum bat, but decided that I just didn’t give a damn. I drew my 9mm and checked to ensure the safety was off.

The steps drew closer; dragging through the gravel in short, deliberate strides. I could tell that the feet barely left the ground. Taking a deep breath, I pressed my back against the box and, with my legs, forced myself up, stepping out from my cover. I came face to face with Preston.  Or rather, the sad and pathetic re-animated version.  I looked into those eyes, just for a moment. I desperately hoped to see something, anything that had once been the man I had only briefly known.

Emptiness.  Hunger?

I put the barrel of the gun to his forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry” as I pulled the trigger. The shot, while muffled a bit, echoed in the morning sky.

I looked over to where I last saw Tom. Something stirred in the shadows of the door frame. I raised my arm to where I thought his head might be and waited for him to step into the light.

“Easy, Sam,” a voice called. Tom took a step forward, hands raised.

We checked Preston in silence. Just above his left ankle was a distinct bite mark. The area around it was black, fading to gray. After only a brief discussion, we tossed Preston over the side.

* * * * *

We hear the rumble of something coming our way…a big garbage truck! Holy—

It was Al! As happy as I was to see him, I think Tom almost cried. He really felt personally betrayed by somebody he had put a certain degree of trust in. To discover that the betrayal had actually been a clever and calculated move that probably saved our collective asses…

He broke everything down to Tom and me once we got back to the complex.

Knowing the guys back at the hospital like he did, he was certain that if he didn’t play along, then all of us, him included, would be killed. By going with them, he was able to convince them that killing Tom was a waste of time. Also, he led them on a wild goose chase after me and Preston.

He was hoping that we would take off for the truck and head back to the complex. Once Tom stole the car, Al had to think fast because now they were out for our blood. Knowing that if we hadn’t run for safety, we would probably be at the Fred Meyer, he kept them searching in all the wrong places.

He said that since gunfire is still heard all over out here, we never brought any attention directly our way. But it helped him keep tabs. This morning, he had a feeling in his gut that the single shot had come from our direction. Worried that it was something bad since he had seen the army of zombies around the building whenever they had passed close, he decided that he had to make a move for us.

Al said that the gang was only what we had seen. Seven guys. They are holed up at the high school in the gym. They aren’t well organized, and mostly just interested in finding drugs and booze. Everybody was out cold when he slipped away. He had noticed the garbage truck a couple of blocks from the school.

The way they come and go is to get up on the roof and at one end, kitty-corner from the gym is an orchard; it is on the other side of a fence. Only a few of the things were wandering there, the majority are around the main entrance. So far, they had been careful to lure the zombies away and distract them from that orchard.

Al made a dash for the truck and then came for us. He had a Dumpster on the forks out in front and bulldozed his way to where Tom and I were watching. We jumped into the Dumpster and Al took us back…all the way to our truck.

The bed was splattered with Scott’s blood. Tom decided to unload everything from the pick-up truck to the garbage truck and then Al drove us back to the complex. Tom said we didn’t have time to clean it and Samantha would be upset enough without seeing all that mess.

Al even had his and Tom’s pack with most of the stuff they had obtained at the narcotics locker. Between that and what we grabbed with Preston, it was quite a haul.

Just very costly.

I finished washing up. I’m exhausted and just want to sleep.

At last, a peaceful couple of days. Tomorrow, we will have a gathering to speak on the loss of Scott and Preston. Samantha asked if we could wait. I guess she just needed some time to get her mind wrapped around the thought of losing somebody she was such a part of. I know we’ve all lost people, but who can begrudge her some time to mourn privately since time is a luxury we have in abundance.

* * * * *

Al came to see me. So much for a peaceful day.

He’s sick.

It seems that when he got us back here and plowed through those things surrounding the fence, he got scratched up. We were busy blasting the ones close by so he could make it out of the cab and onto the roof. Of course, from there he joined us in the Dumpster where folks were helping us up and onto the trailer rigs.

At some point as he was fighting those things off and climbing out onto the arm of the hydraulic fork his arm got scratched up. Also, he has a puffy lesion on the side of his neck. Funny thing…his eyes are bloodshot…blackish blood.

Everybody was so excited about our return then so upset by the two deaths…nobody bothered to check any of us for marks or bites.

I went and brought Tom and Dennis to take a look. Dennis said that there is really nothing we can do. Al asked us to kill him, but neither of us could do it while he is still alive. Al won’t kill himself. He said something about religious beliefs.  I wasn’t listening.  All I could think of were Beth and Erin.

We decided to set him up with a bed in a bathroom in one of the warehouses. He will have a twenty-four hour watch. If he loses consciousness, we’ll tie him up real good…and wait.

The little memorial service has everybody in a funk. It was a reminder of just what we are trying so desperately to ignore on the other side of the fence.

The world is dying.

Let me correct that...mankind is dying.

Everybody knows about Al now. It seems like the entire complex has gone to see him and spend a few minutes with what has to be our first acknowledged hero.

* * * * *

Late this afternoon...Al lost consciousness.

Alvin Maurice Godwin died this morning at 1:14 a.m.

His eyes opened at 1:16 a.m.

Monica Campinelli was at his side with Richard Hess and Cindy Partridge.

Monica put him to rest.

Something big is happening in what can only be Beaverton or Portland. This morning, we awoke to a series of explosions. The horizon to our east lit up and, as the sun rose to a cloudless blue sky, the entire horizon is a smudge of black plumes from what must be incredible fires.

Some of the dead on that side of our complex turned and wandered off in that general direction. Not nearly enough to make that much of a difference.

I held a guitar class this afternoon. The kids were pretty receptive. I think that all the crap from these past several days has, for the most part, just bounced off them. It’s the adults who seem frayed.

There was a fight today.  Over a woman. Don’t we have enough problems? Mankind is being eradicated and we still find time to fight over relatively petty bullshit.

Tom hasn’t spoken to anybody since Al died. He is, in some inexplicable way, taking the blame. Maybe because he felt betrayed at first…hell, I don’t know. What I do know is that I haven’t been able to quit thinking about Paul…the friend of mine in prison.

I’ve heard rumors (from him mostly) that if martial law or something REALLY bad happens, the guards are supposed to kill all the inmates. I wonder if he’s dead. I wonder about my band mates. I wonder about Megan. Hell…I even wonder about Britney and all those folks that used to flit by on the tabloids (and news channels for that matter). I wonder who woulda won the presidential election.

Now…none of that matters. I just wonder if the day will pass without another one of us dying. Turning.

Another day and whatever is on fire to the east of us is not showing any signs that it is burning out. Occasionally, the distant rumble of another explosion can be felt.

Saw something strange today. A few deer wandered down the middle of Highway 26. They would graze in the median until some of the zombies would get close, then bound away. It’s like they know those things can’t catch them, so they aren’t threatened.

I sat up on the roof of The Apartment and watched people in the complex go about their business. I watched those deer. And I am watching a pretty large…herd?... pack?...whatever…a bunch of those damn zombies coming this way from the east.  Must be escaping the fires. That would indicate that they have at least some rudimentary form of self-preservation.

* * * * *

A convoy passed on the highway just after sunset! It looked like some 18-wheelers, some motorcycles, and some SUVs.

We debated on signaling them. Maybe there is something better…safer than what we have now.

Too many folks were spooked. Afraid they might be like those guys we encountered at the hospital. In the end, we just watched them roll past, headed toward the coast it would seem.

They did do a lot of shooting. So we at least knew they were armed pretty heavily. Way better than us by the sounds of it. There was some intense automatic weaponry being used.

One of the women, Reggie Vaughn, said it sounded like .50 caliber machineguns. It seems that Reggie was the daughter of an army officer. She married an enlisted guy (much to daddy’s disapproval) and had come to Oregon when her husband’s enlistment expired. He was a cop, and I guess he was one of those poor unfortunate bastards that fielded one of the earlier calls.

I’ve seen this Reggie around. She sticks to herself mostly. I’ve seen her doing what I can only guess to be yoga in the mornings. She wears a baggy sweat suit and keeps her long brown hair in a ponytail. No make-up. But you can tell that she would be a knockout if she ever dressed up. Like everybody else, her eyes—big and golden brown—are mirrors of intense sadness.