Zomblog (29 page)

Thursday, July 31

Snoe reached Trout Creek. Reported that there was very little to scavenge. But she and her team will scoop up what there is. The good news is that she said the zombie population was even more sparse than Noxon.

Here at the complex—now being called Huckelberry Gulch—we are almost clear. Tomorrow we will burn the bodies stacked up in the parking lot in a large clearing a few hundred yards away. It is hot and dry, and at least for now, there is very little wind. We debated our choices and decided that the fire will likely only attract the living. We will be on high alert in case of marauders. That central building we cleared with the windows facing all four sides gives us a distinct advantage over anybody who tries to approach.

We found a small backhoe in one of the buildings and already have begun digging a trench that is going to be about three-feet-wide and six-feet-deep (sorta the width of a grave). We want it to run the entire perimeter of this place. It will keep the stragglers out. It will also help expose anybody living. To reach this complex they will cross sixty to seventy yards of open terrain that we will burn off the same day we torch the corpse pile. Then, they will have to jump or cross that trench in some manner.

Of course nothing is perfect. Nothing is impermeable. We’ll do what we must to make this place livable. I’m already considering my next move. Once this place is ready to inhabit...perhaps I’ll head north to that other complex and clear it. I’ll need to get my adventures in now because in a few months...I’ll be too pregnant.

* * * * *

Chapter 8

Friday, August 1

Huckelberry Gulch is open for new residents. I will wait for Snoe’s team to return—she said they’ll be back tomorrow—and then we’ll have a vote to decide two things: first—do we send a two or three person team back to Irony with the announcement; second—if so, who?

Personally, the way things were when we left, if anybody goes back, my vote is Snoe and Derrick. There is no way we can send one without the other. Let them go back to the bullshit politics.

Don’t get me wrong here. I miss the normal world and all the ease in which I lived. I miss being able to walk around and not be on constant alert for my life. But...I don’t miss what our world had become. All the emphasis was on the wrong stuff.

In my lifetime, I think that the world has only been mostly in harmony one time. It lasted about two days. September 11th and 12th. Then...it was gone. We all went back to hating, killing, and being petty. I think there was potential for greatness to come from that horrible tragedy.

Now, we’re trying to pick up all the pieces. Only, if we use the same pieces and put them back in the same places...we’ll be no better off. Maybe this is our last chance to get it right.

Snoe is back. They brought more guns, ammo, and a decent cache of non-perishables. Also, there was some local mom-and-pop market fully stocked with soaps, shampoo, toothpaste...all kinds of good stuff.

We talked and I am shocked to say the least, neither Snoe nor Derrick wanted to go back. It seems that their support of their respective factions is more duty based than anything. Caren told Snoe about my plans to journey to a major city like Seattle—if it still exists—or, more likely, Portland. She wants to do it! I guess I may have to spill the beans about the upcoming natal event. Those two were talking like we’d do that run in the next few weeks.

Of course...I could still make the trip now. But we’d have to winter on the west side of the state most likely. Something to ponder.

Told Snoe and Caren. We talked it over in detail and will make the trip west in a couple of weeks. We want to gear up. Snoe says there were a handful of super-deluxe Winnebago RVs in Trout Creek. With a little work, we could rig them up similar to the one Sam left his original complex in. We decided to include Roy.

I’m relieved. For a while I’ve felt like a bit of a freak with all my wanting to move around. That was another big difference between Sam and I. He wanted to settle. He had this illusion that he could find a place that wasn’t confined. It just isn’t gonna happen unless those things suddenly all fall down and stay.

For the next few days, we’ll help get this place cleaned up. It is inhabitable now, but could use a bit of cleaning supplies in stock. That should keep us busy for a bit.

Remember that insult to women and music known as Spice Girls? I recall this big fuss over “Girl Power.” Apparently “Girl Power” meant to dress like a whore and lip-sync on stage to over-processed garbage. Well, what I saw today...that was real Girl Power.

Caren, Snoe, Cera, and I decided to take liberal advantage of some of the soaps, oils, and lotions brought back from Trout Creek. We went to one of the many streams that are around and—after warning the men that any sounds in the brush would be treated as hostile or undead—we grabbed the cleaning stuff and a modest arsenal.

Each of us found a spot that included a sun-drenched rock for after and enjoyed a nice bath. Not even twenty minutes in there is some rustling in the brush. Cera hurled a rock and let loose a string of threats and profanity that were almost embarrassing.

The rustling stopped...for about five seconds. Then, three hideously ravaged zombies stumbled out. These three had been dead a long time. One of them was all but hollowed out. The spine and ribcage were intact and had enough around them to barely support the upper body. Even so, it bobbed and wobbled like a hideous Jack-in-the-box on a worn spring.

The other two were equally horrid. Cera was their closest target and all three lurched at her. She is rolling in knee-deep water, fighting off these three things while Snoe, Caren, and I are fumbling for the nearest weapon. In my mind, I was saying my goodbyes to Cera. Spinning around with my crossbow, I turn in time to see Cera literally yank the head off of the Jack-in-the-box- zombie. She snaps off a rib and jams it into the eye-socket of one that had been knocked to its knees at some point.

That left one.

It was clutching a handful of Cera’s hair, trying to take a bite out of the nape of her neck. Cera snapped her head back, crushing the front of the thing’s face. Of course, it could care less and continued to gnash its teeth in hopes that it would close them on a mouthful of warm, honey-gold, Asian-bred flesh. With a snap of the fingers she had ducked under this thing, spun—which yanked out a handful of silky black hair—and, with the still gooey-tipped rib bone, skewered the final zombie from under the chin and deep up into the brain.

Snoe and I had a long talk today. We talked about the potential value versus the absolute risk involved in making a big city run. She wants to make this run count.

I’m not surprised to discover she has been formulating a plan for just this sort of venture for weeks. She actually produced a notebook with pages of notes!

Her plan, which, unless I hear something remarkably better, is the one that will be used. An all-woman recon team! This has potential! The participants will be me, Snoe, Caren, Cera, and from Irony—it seems Snoe had talks with a couple of others prior to joining me on this most recent run—Tara Jacoby, Brittany Maldanado, and a nurse named Penelope Sinclair. Penelope is around forty with shoulder length brunette hair, brown eyes, and a Susan Sarandon sexiness.

Snoe wants to fit a pair of eighteen-wheelers with wedge-shaped plow blades in front; a machinegun turret atop the front and rear of the trailer of one. The second rig will be a tanker to provide ample fuel for the trip. The objective is to fill the trailer with supplies. Whether we return to Irony is not exactly etched in stone. Hell, it’s not even written in pencil.

Tomorrow, Snoe, and Caren will be leaving to scout for the vehicles. Again, I am not surprised that Snoe knows the whereabouts of a couple of potential targets. She says that the machinery to affix her modifications are more difficult to get at, but she knows where she needs to go.

Apparently she sent a coded message to Tara, Brittany and Penelope, with Roy. He’s decided he’d rather not make the trip. I was more relieved than surprised.

I asked how she managed to arrange for her message to be curried without being concerned that the word might get out at Irony, or that it would even be delivered. She looked at me with absolutely no expression and said, “You’d be surprised what a little threat of physical harm coupled with a blowjob can get accomplished.”

Okay then.

We will meet at a specified location in about a week. It seems that Snoe has everything else in hand as far as being prepared. All Cera and I need to do is hang out here. We’ll slip away two or three days before and that should give us plenty of time to get where we need to be.

I’ve avoided writing down where just in case somebody reads this and gets any ideas. Not that we are prisoners of Irony. Just that some folks might take issue with us leaving. Also, we don’t want to bring anybody other than this core group.

We’ll leave tonight after dark. It just seems better that way. Snoe returned yesterday and we have a vehicle, a 40’ Country Coach with a 400hp Cat diesel engine. The sides and rear have been reinforced and a series of three-inch studs were welded in place. Fang-shaped blades were attached so that the vehicle looks like a prehistoric porcupine. Forward and rear heavy machinegun mounts are in place on the roof. There is a V-shaped plow blade in front rigged to a hydraulic motor so it can be raised if need be. In addition we have a gas-tanker. It has also been rigged for protection. All the doors are welded shut. The entry ways are through hatches made in the roof. The RV is also rigged with an emergency escape/entry hatch in the floor.

Best we can figure, we’ll shoot for thirty miles max per day. The two most important things we can do is find a safe haven before sunrise. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention if it can be helped. Also, we will only travel at night. Those two things should increase our chances.

Sometimes I think we all have a death wish. Really…I mean…is it smart to travel
TOWARDS
populated areas? Cera says we should consider ourselves pirates or mercenaries.

That thirty mile max will be a real challenge. We rolled out late last night/early this morning. Following Highway 200 to the south, we are just outside of Thompson Falls. Traveling at night is really creepy. We don’t use headlights. Instead, Snoe managed to acquire night-vision goggles. All of us are wearing headsets and can communicate. I feel like a Special Forces member. The gun-turrets are great lookout posts, and whoever mans them is always keeping the drivers updated. The drivers are wearing the goggles, too, but the view from above really is superior.

Mostly we’ve seen a straggler here or there. Nothing like that herd we witnessed at the logging camp. Still, every single zombie we passed turned and followed us. They must be able to communicate or something because we pulled off the main road and up into some thick trees.

We dispatched with all the ones who were in sight and then retreated to our rigs. About an hour later they started walking past. We could see the road well enough and it was decided that we always keep somebody on watch. I have drawn the first shift.

First it was one, then a couple, then a handful…then what was probably close to a hundred! Most likely we will plow through them tomorrow night. It is just not realistic to think we can take out every zombie we pass. This does illustrate how vital it will be that we clear out every threat before we stop for the day. They do seem just as hampered by darkness as we are, so we’ve got that going for us at least.

The roads are an absolute mess. We cut through and into Idaho via someplace called Thompson Pass. Due to not wanting to attract attention, we will do our best to parallel I-90. But, we must minimize our use of the main interstate. We have more than the obvious reasons to stay out of sight. According to Snoe, Grace has the folks at Irony keeping an eye out. She intercepted some radio traffic and it seems that Irony was attacked by a roving band. Some of the invaders got away. Grace probably wouldn’t be thrilled to discover that we’ve taken off. Sure, we weren’t prisoners or anything. However, one can never really tell how folks will react these days.

We will have to remind ourselves that the walking dead are only part of the worry while we are on the road. Not to be sexist…but this is especially true for an all-woman band of travelers.

One of the disadvantages (and there are many) of driving large vehicles is that they don’t maneuver very well. Staying off the main road only makes this more pro-nounced. Travelling half the night on a winding road, only to discover that it fades into what can, at best, be described as a two-rutted dirt trail was very frustrating.

It took us the rest of the night to back up until we finally found a spot we could turn around in. All of us were uptight enough to chew nails and spit out thumb tacks by the time we stopped for the day. It’s not like we have a schedule or need to be at a certain point by a specific date or time. It was simply frustrating.

We stayed put today. Late yesterday afternoon we picked up a radio signal. It was a woman’s voice and she claims to be alone. That was our first clue. Whoever this is, it can only be a trap.