The mouth was a mess. Eating a bullet will do that. Howe
ver, if not done correctly, all that is accomplished is that the would-be suicide comes back as a zombie with just another nasty wound. The bullet exited, taking most of the right ear…and that’s it.
He…it…was reaching for me with filthy hands. One had a pistol dangling from it. I still shudder to think of what might’ve ha
ppened had I chosen to loot that body first.
Anyways, I reacted fairly normal to the sudden surprise. I screamed—not cool at all—and I threw myself backwards from the threat. It really doesn’t matter if it couldn’t have reached me from where it was strapped.
I guess I hit the emergency brake. At first, nothing happened. And had I not been throwing myself around like an idiot to get away from something that couldn’t actually hurt me, not to mention the fact that I was now certain the corpse in the driver’s seat was also a zombie, things probably turn out different.
The vehicle began to move. I finally got loose and tumbled to the floor. My head smacked a damn toolbox or something and made all the pretty lights flash in my brain. By the time I was aware that Eric was dragging me, we were mo
ving at a pretty good clip.
He drag-pulled me to the side entrance and dove out of the mo
ving vehicle with me in his arms. I was getting to my feet—about to yell at Eric for trying to kill us by jumping out of a moving RV—when I heard the crash. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw the RV jutting from that big metal fence.
For a moment, I wondered why it had come to a stop. A
fter all, it had been moving fast as it careened down that steep slope. What happened next was like watching dominoes fall. Section by section, the fence began to topple. All those zombies that had been inside burst forth like pus from a boil being squeezed on your gross Aunt Maddy’s back.
I was ready to run when I realized that Eric was still on the ground. He was making funny noises from having the wind knocked out of him. We had plenty of space between us and the approaching mob, but it was taking Eric way too long to get to his feet. Finally, after an eternity, he was up. By now, Sam was bounding towards us, obviously anxious to get the blazes out of here.
I helped Eric get up, but he wasn’t moving that well at all. We rounded a corner and some of the roamers had come to investigate. And still Eric wasn’t moving well. He kept making these gasping attempts to get air in his lungs. It sounded like he was a giant frog.
Sam could’ve taken off, but I guess Eric trained him well b
ecause he stayed right beside us. Sure, he growled and woofed, but he never ran. Then we reached the intersection where I was faced with the choice of fight or flee. I let go of Eric—who melted to the ground like a candle tossed into a kiln—and rushed to take out the leading zombies.
One of them actually made me pause. They say that ever
ybody in the world has a twin. I am certain that I found Calista Flockhart…or her twin. This skinny little waif couldn’t withstand a serious breeze. I have no idea what the zombie that bit her must’ve thought when it bit into that scrawny arm and chipped a tooth on the bone.
By the time I’d taken down all three, I’d migrated about a half of a block up the street. Fighting is not a stationary event. When I turned back, Eric was moving up the street in the opposite dire
ction. Sam had stayed put, but was crouched down and backing in my general direction.
“Go!” Eric croaked. “We’ll split up here and try to meet up as soon as we can!’
Then I saw what had spurred his recovery and sent him weaving up the street. The horde was on us. I recall seeing the wall of debris and dirty water moving down that road. I remember Indonesia when that awful tsunami hit several years back. Well, if you can remember that image…just swap it with zombies. I noticed how some in the leading edge fell and vanished under the army of churning feet that would not be slowed.
I whistled for Sam and ran. I didn’t even bother to kill the zo
mbies I passed as I sprinted by. And in no time…I was absolutely lost.
I finally decided on this place. A ransacked sporting goods store. It had a second floor which was good. But even better was this crawlspace. I’m sitting in this air duct by a vent that I’ve bent some of the slats on so I can look down to the street b
elow. I can see them. This town is now crawling with all the zombies that had been put in that pen. It’s like the beginning all over again.
It’s strange…gunshots are a rarity. But I’ve heard some. Oh…which reminds me; in all that madness, I dropped the gun I’d found when I started all of this. This means that I not only endangered myself and Eric, but anybody that had been using this area...for nothing.
Who knows, maybe there is somebody in this town, Madras, sitting someplace with a journal or diary. They are probably cursing me right this very moment. Me. Meredith Gainey. The woman who unleashed an entire town population’s worth of zombies because she was careless.
And now…my canteen is almost empty. I’ve been sha
ring my water with Sam and must find more soon. If I don’t catch a break in the near future, I’ll lower Sam down. He could probably find water in no time. No sense in making him die of thirst just because I am. Also, and this is selfish, but his running off might clear the area for a minute.
Sunday, April 18
Weird.
I woke this morning to loud music being blared someplace nearby. I’m no classical music genius, but I know enough to be certain that it was Mozart’s
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
Da. Da-da. Da-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh. Dee. Dee-dee. Dee-dee-dee-de-dee-dee. Bum. Bum. Bum-bu-bum-badda bum.
So that has been in my head ALL DAY! Don’t get me wrong. I love music. Buy you know what it’s like to get a song stuck in your head? And I even used my old standard. The song I use to get those songs out of my head: the theme from
The
Brady Bunch.
Nope. Now I’m singing
The Brady Bunch Theme
to the tune of the Mozart song.
Aaargh!
Monday, April 19
I put Sam on the floor. For a while he just stared up at the hole in the ceiling waiting for me to join him. I think thirst got the better of him. He ran off. It’s been just a few hours and he hasn’t come back. I watched him emerge onto the road. When the zombies in the area noticed, he bolted.
Good doggy. But I’ll miss the company.
Tuesday April 20
I’m thirsty.
Water is officially all gone. I forget. How long can a person go without liquids?
Cripes! This is the school gymnasium all over again. Only, I’m not pregnant.
There’s something to be thankful for. I did hear barking a while ago. I don’t think it was Sam. He almost never barks.
Wednesday, April 21
Dizzy. Don’t feel good. Where the hell is the rain everybody used to identify the Pacific Northwest with?
I’m sorry.
Saturday, April 24
Have I mentioned what a good dog Sam is? I totally owe my life to that goofy dog.
We are a couple of miles outside of Madras now. Me. Eric. And that stupid, wonderful dog!
I guess he just wandered around until he found Eric. Then, he led him straight to me. I feel like such a doofus. Those zombies I saw wandering the streets? Yeah, well there weren’t more than two dozen out there. They were all just rambling in and out of the shops along this street.
Leave it to me not to pay attention that there was a fenced dead end to this street about two buildings past the one I was in. Zombies would wander in…and then circle back. Yes, the town is crawling with the undead, but not in any condensed way. They’ve spread out all over Madras.
After a bit of water, Eric helped me down and we slipped out under the cover of night. It seems a bit cowardly in retrospect. I mean, I can’t pretend I didn’t hear multiple sources of noise from living, breathing people. I haven’t said anything yet to Eric. He seems the exact same as he always does.
Whatever.
Tonight, I’m going to sleep in this empty house and try not to concentrate on the fact that I almost cost us everything while Eric re-packs the harness cart that he was smart enough to go back for and stock with a few cans he scavenged while waiting patiently to find the crazy white girl.
Saturday April 25
We found one of those shiny silver trailers on an overgrown lot all by itself today. It was just sitting there. There wasn’t anything special about it. Not one single, solitary thing.
So…I have no idea how Eric knew.
Inside was a mummified family. A father. A mother. Two children: both girls. Each had a bullet hole in the head. The father obviously went last. He was still holding the small caliber pistol in his hand. (I didn’t get close enough to take a look.) Eric made me wait outside. He didn’t actually go in either. He stood in the open door and got a good look…to confirm his theory, I guess.
Then, he asked me to go wait at the highway. I didn’t even think of arguing or asking questions. I could tell there was som
ething going on here. He seemed to look around in the bushes for a little while, plucking up different plants. Once he had what he wanted, he set them on the top step and lit them on fire.
I’ve never actually heard a real-live Indian…Native Amer
ican song…you know what I mean. Anyways, I’ve never heard one chant or sing. I didn’t understand one single syllable. But I’ve never heard anything that made me feel so sad—and you’re dealing with a girl who cried for six months after seeing
Titanic
every time that Celine Dion song would come on the radio.
Eric knelt in the dirt and raised his hands to the sky and just star
ted. He went on for twenty minutes at least. I had to kill four roamers that came wandering out of the high brush that dominates the landscape here. I guess he just trusted that I’d take care of it. But part of me thinks he would’ve done the same thing if were all alone. He hasn’t spoken since.
Monday April 26
Great. Prineville is a wreck. But…we are learning that multiplexes are great places to camp out. Even more specific, the bathrooms. We have a fire going in the sink. It isn’t a roaring blaze, but it allows us to see and prepare food; so it’s all good.
This little complex we are using has a few other bonuses. There is a small emergency clinic and a few restaurants. Of course the restaurants were mostly busts, but we found a few things. As for the clinics, it’s funny. Obviously the place has been looted, but by people looking for drugs. We scored a few bottles of iodine, hydrogen peroxide, and even a couple of bo
ttles of isopropyl alcohol. Not to mention bandages and other useful first aid knick knacks.
Just up from here is a huge park. It shows signs of having hastily built fencing. But I was interested in the three burned out husks of what were obviously military helicopters. There are a lot of dried out corpses littering the ground. It’s clear that birds and other things have picked them fairly clean. I shudder to think of how bad this nightmare would be if birds turned into zombies. But…would they be able to fly? I don’t know if they’d have the ability to keep the
mselves airborne. Still…yucky!
Tuesday, April 27
Thankfully there is plenty of brush to use as a screen. We didn’t feel like scavenging in Prineville. Too crowded. We’re back on the desolate and empty road. We’re on some back road that cuts through absolutely nowhere and nothing. Zombies probably won’t be a problem…but boredom might prove to be fatal.
Wednesday, April 28
The good thing about being in the middle of nowhere is the chance to get your head straight. I finally spoke with Eric about Madras. I told him how sorry I was, and about how I would try hard not to do such stupid things.
Eric’s response?
“Meredith, it would not be good for you to change your nature. It is what makes you all that you are.” Then he told me some story about a frog giving a scorpion a ride on its back across a stream. The scorpion ends up stinging the frog, killing them both. Ooo-kaaay. So…am I the scorpion?
Sheesh!
Thursday, April 29
Hiding in a leaky barn. It opened up today. I mean the sky just started dumping and there’s been thunder and lightning almost non-stop. So…we’re cold, wet, and miserable. But Eric shouldn’t mind…he’s a frog. Right?
Sunday, May 2
We’ve been forced to travel at night the past couple of days. That sounds funny…but anyways…
A fairly large band of people have apparently laid claim to this area. We found the first signs of them when we set out after that wicked storm.
A man was strung up by his feet from a road sign. He’d turned and was squirming, but what was upsetting was the child, no more than five, sitting on the ground. The somewhat fresh blood caking her mouth, coupled with the smallish bites on the man’s arms…and face…told the gruesome story.
The child had been a zombie for quite a while. That added another layer of “what the fuck?” to the scene. It must’ve been done during the storm, because we should’ve heard the screams.
That
is how recent this was. Also, the ground was a pretty obvious giveaway. There was a lot of foot activity in the mud around the sign. The good news is that it looks as if the mystery group headed west. We are going east.
Yay!
Monday, May 3
I thought I knew what desolation was. Nope! My God, there is NOTHING out here.
Tuesday, May 4
We’re hiding in a drainage pipe while a sandstorm howls out on this flat, godforsaken stretch of the world. I’d been noticing long sections of the highway that looked like they had been washed away or something. Now I know…it’s simply covered with inches or feet of blown dirt and sand. Oregon has an actual desert. Who knew?
Wednesday, May 5
Woo-hoo!
Cinco de Mayo.
All we’re missing is the chips, salsa, tequila, and one of those big hats to dance around. Lord knows we’ve got plenty of hot sun beating down on us, making us go through our water waaay faster than normal.
We saw a little action today. A creeper. It literally burst out of this mound of sand. It was like a desert version of when zo
mbies get covered with ice and snow. It was so dried out that we couldn’t tell if it’d been male or female…but that wasn’t the problem.
I drove my spear through its head, but it looked like it was still moving. My concern was that, for some reason, d
estroying the brain didn’t cut it anymore. Then this cluster of scorpions came scurrying out of its hollowed out abdomen.
I’m trying super-hard not to giggle as I write this, because then Eric will know that I am writing how he screamed and ran…faster
and
higher-pitched than I did. It was probably reckless, but we hauled butt down the highway.
Also, we’ve seen signs of other survivors today. A cam
pfire was still smoldering, and there were a few empty cans at one spot beside a stretch where you could actually differentiate between the road and the flat, barren, brown landscape.
We couldn’t really find an honest-to-goodness shelter for the night, so we’re sleeping under the stars. I’m taking first shift. Eric insists that he heard an engine at one point. I didn’t hear anything, and Sam’s ears didn’t as much as twitch. I guess it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely.
Vehicles are little more than dinosaurs. Most folks abandon them because they’d bring zombies from miles away. Plus, it’s not like there’s any reason to be in a hurry these days.
Thursday, May 6
We’ve walked down this empty stretch of road for what seems to be forever.
It was almost midday when Eric pulled me up. In the di
stance, the sun was reflecting off of something. The closer we got, we began to notice other details like the chest-high fence. What we initially mistook as a small car wreck proved to be more of a makeshift barricade.
Here, in the middle of the Oregon high desert, there exists a small community. I wouldn’t put their numbers above fifty. They have a creek that runs through and everything. It seems that all their needs are provided for. We were briefly questioned and asked our intentions. Nobody tried to insist on anything. Not even a body inspection. Then I noticed all the dogs. There are dozens—five to every human at least—just wandering free.
We dropped in to check out their trading post and I picked up a set of military-issue boots that fit perfectly. The price was steep—three cans of food and a pair of thick, wool socks—but since I’m on the move, I’ll probably have no problem replacing what I traded away.
Of course, I could have
found
a pair of boots. It was more about the interaction with the lady that runs the shop. Oh…and naturally…Eric got absolute nothing.
As we headed out, a sign caught my eye: Joe’s Diner.
It wasn’t much to look at. The sign was basically scrawled on the ripped off hood of a car in very faded, white paint. The ‘restaurant’ was one of those silver, bullet-shaped trailers with one side cut off and a plastic tarp extended over some rickety card tables and rusty lawn chairs. There was a counter where the woman took the order and gave them to a cook behind a window.
It was when we got up to the counter that things started to not look quite right. The waitress was missing most of her teeth. Her skin was…sickly is the best description I could give you. She had sores and huge bruises all over that you could act
ually see through her pinkish threadbare blouse. Her hair was thin and wispy, completely gone in patches.
She gave me a dirty look when we made eye contact. I can’t blame her, I’m pretty certain that my revulsion was clearly vis
ible on my face. As for Eric, not even a twitch around the corners of his eyes.
I’d already decided that it was a mistake and we wouldn’t be ea
ting here. Still, the post-apocalyptic ‘Flo’ placed a laminated sheet in front of us. Written on it were the two choices that this place had: Snake Soup and Judge’s Stew.
As the waitress-from-hell was getting us our complimentary glass of water—just as the sheet promised at the bottom in wri
ting in what looked like the only thing that didn’t get changed daily—I took a look at the other patrons. They all seemed far too interested in Sam. I noticed one gaunt man in particular. He stuck out because of all the folds of skin hanging around his torso. Currently the guy looked to weigh no more than one hundred fifty pounds tops. However, he must have easily weighed over three hundred pounds before. (I think I now know why Jared from Subway never did bathing suit ads.) Somebody who loses that much fat that quickly doesn’t lose the stretched out skin.
When I turned back, our water was being set before us. I tried to ignore the beige hue. Then Eric asked the sixty-thousand-dollar question.
“What is Judge’s Stew?”
“Trial two days ago for a pair of fellas that got a bit too rough with one of Madam Judy’s working girls. Judge found them guilty and sentenced them to hangin’.”
“You mean…?” I tried to ask, but couldn’t say the words.
“Can’t be wastin’ perfectly good meat these days, little Missy,” she croaked.
Okay. I probably come off a bit snooty with a statement like “she croaked.” So, I’ll leave it to you. Did you ever know a chain-smoker? I’m talking lighting the next one with the one still dangling from their lips.
That
kind of chain-smoker. Okay. So the chain-smoker’s voice would sound as smooth as Sinatra if compared to this waitress.
Still think I’m being a bitch?
Now, you’d think that’d been enough. You’d think that Eric would have taken my glare, raised eyebrows, and not so subtle tilt of my head towards the road out front that would take us away from this roadside circle of Dante’s
Inferno
.
Nope. The big dummy ordered the Snake Soup. Personally, I think he did it on purpose to screw with me.
Saturday, May 8
Her name is Tricia Maio (pronounced like mayo short for ma
yonnaise). She used to be a dancer. Judging by her body, I bet she made a fortune off of desperate, middle-aged men. Seriously, I’m very hetero, but she made my tummy tingle. Oh…and Eric? Not so much as a batted eyelash.
Anyways, we met Tricia at a ransacked old gas station si
tting off the well-covered-by-sand highway. There was an intact off ramp that we decided was as good as any to search for the possibility of camping out for the night. Imagine our surprise when we peeked through the busted out front windows to discover a naked lady hanging her clothes over a small fire concealed behind the checkout counter.
She’d been in a nasty fight with a small pack of zombies earlier in the day. She’d washed the worst of the gore from her clothes in an old, yellow, plastic mop bucket that she’d found in a closet.
When I’d asked about the water, she told me that there was a small spring just out back that drains into a pond that has two large concrete pipes at the lowest end. She’s pretty certain that they lead to a nearby reservoir a few miles away.
I lent her some of my clothes so that she wouldn’t have to stand around naked in front of strangers. I’m not sure who I was trying to make feel better. Still, that led to the obvious que
stion.
“Where the hell is the rest of your stuff?”
She said that a small herd of a couple hundred zombies caught her off guard. She was camped out in some random apartments. She had to leave her backpack and could only bring what she could carry in the pockets of her heavy field jacket. She escaped by climbing up on the roof—which couldn’t have been that easy considering that she had to use a piece of metal pipe to bust a hole through it when she climbed into the overhead crawl space. By getting most of the zombies down to one end, she was able to run to the other and jump.
She eluded most of them, but then ended up having to fend off a fair amount. Hence being such a mess and needing to clean up.
I asked her where she was heading. She said that some travelers heading south told her about a safe zone on Mount Hood. I filled her in on the details, including the situation regarding the Warm Springs Reservation. I also hinted where we were headed.
Tricia is coming from Utah and didn’t have any info about N
evada. I asked about Utah, mostly just curious to hear if it was as bad as every other place I’ve been. I never considered how a heavily religious region might react and respond to an event like this. She said that the zombies were almost less of a concern when compared to some of the zealot extremists. Oddly, the main body of the Mormons wasn’t a problem. It was the offshoots that continued to lurk in the shadows. It seems that there is a very male-centric core that views women as subjects, servants, and vessels to carry their offspring.
Some sort of Holy War erupted and a lot of people were killed by the lunatic fringe. I guess, right up to the end, the e
lders of the central body were condemning the extremists…all the way up to the point when an eighteen-wheeled car bomb was rolled into their main cathedral in downtown Salt Lake City.
Sunday, May 9
Tricia was gone when we woke.
My clothes were neatly folded and sitting on the counter. I think she did Eric last night when I was sleeping. He seems to be in a strangely cheerful mood.
Whatever.
Monday, May 10
We should be reaching Burns, Oregon soon. Eric says that we might be able to replenish supplies there. The population was scarce and spread out. There really wasn’t that much to Burns before. At least that’s what Eric says.
Eric explains that we need to be on guard. Burns being so rural, there is a high probability that some of the yokels may have su
rvived. Towns like Burns had a heavy gun-to-person ratio. I remember the carnage on the streets of some of the small towns we’ve been through.
We haven’t seen a zombie all day. And in some respects, that actually seems kinda creepy. A lack of undead can mean a lot of things. Not all of them are good.
Tuesday, May 11
At the best of times, children were something I was always thankful for NOT having to deal with. I mean, it was always nice to visit friends or family with
rug rats of their own…and leave when they got tiresome. (My personal best being about two hours.) If they cried and wouldn’t stop…hand them to mommy. Dirty diaper?…point, hold my nose, and leave the room. See? Simple.
And yeah, I’m aware I’ve given birth to a child. However, I knew myself well enough to know it was a bad match. I am not a good candidate for parenthood. I am saying all this so that I can also clarify that I’ve never wished harm on children. (A
lso, in case you are wondering, yes, I do still think about my daughter. I still feel like I made the right choice of parents. I gave her to a good couple, and The Warehouse is probably the safest place I know.)
So why am I blathering on about all this? Well, it has been a rough day. We were moving along, Sam trotting ahead mar
king every shrub, clump of grass, or abandoned vehicle we passed. Then we heard
the
scream. It was coming from beyond a ridge off to our right.