I snatched up my long blade and yanked it from its scabbard, coming up under the chin of the first one. I had to kick the next one to keep it at bay as I drew my blade back. I was pretty proud of myself when my next swing came across in a wide arc and took off two heads. The bad thing was that I stumbled over the body of the first walker and ended up crawling on my hands and knees to get away from the remaining pair.
By the time I reached my feet, the smaller of the remaining walkers—the one missing her arm—was on me. If she’d had both hands, she might’ve gotten in a good swipe. As it was, that nasty stump with the exposed bone probably missed taking off my nose by a hair. I chopped down and split the skull all the way to the upper lip. That was also when I lost my sword for a bit. It wrenched out of my hands with a violent yank.
My wrist is still sore from that one, by the way.
The last one was so slow that I was able to shake the pain out a bit and draw my knife. One good thrust through the temple put it down. I can write about it now, but you have no idea how badly I was shaking when it ended.
Wednesday, September 10
th
Moved past Hood River today. That place gave me the creeps. I have no explanation, it just made me edgy.
The landscape undergoes a dramatic transformation right here. It is brown and dirty looking. The lush green I’ve known all my life is like another world. I can’t imagine anybody choosing to live out here.
I have had to take a few walkers down. More of the trailing edge of that huge herd. I think I am going to stay in this rundown and ratty looking farmhouse. I picked it from the others just because it looks so terrible.
I’ve seen signs of raiders the past few hours and I think it is best if I get out of sight. This house is not going to attract curious scavengers. The highlight is the huge basement. I will be able to make a fire tonight and not worry about attracting any attention. I was actually prepared to be a bit uncomfortable this evening.
Friday, September 12
th
Still in the farmhouse. I don’t dare venture out right now. I was right when I said I thought that I was catching a whiff of raiders in the area.
The other night, I’d just drifted off when I heard a scream. Not
THE
scream; that is a very distinct sound of its own. No…this was the scream of somebody who was scared. There might have been some pain in there, but this was fear. A few seconds later, the hoots and howls I heard were also manmade. It went on for longer than I care to think about. Sometimes, it sounded very close, and other times it was farther away. It had all the sounds of a chase.
I wanted to help…really I did. Only, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do. When I heard what sounded like the conclusion of the chase…I stuffed my fingers in my ears. It didn’t really help. I still heard the crying and the begging. The thing is, I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl…old or young.
I feel terrible. This is where I simply do not see how Meredith did some of the things that she did. I also felt like I might have let her down a little bit. Sure, she is dead, but there is this little part of me that feels like I should try and be a bit more like her at times like this.
I wonder…did she ever doubt herself? She just seems like she had it all together. Sure, she was a bit full of herself, but I would be willing to bet that if she’d been here tonight in my place, there would be a pretty nasty body count. If I hear that stuff again tonight, I might have to go out there. After two nights in a row, I just can’t sit here any longer and do nothing.
Saturday, September 13
th
It is raining so hard that I can’t see five feet in front of me out there. I have all of my clothes hanging over a fire that won’t last me the night. I hope they get mostly dry.
The good thing is that I am still alive. The bad things seem too many to list, but I will give it a shot.
Just before dawn, I was packing all my gear. I felt that I would be able to move out. I so desperately wanted to be away from this place and the feeling of being a failure. I was cinching my sleeping bag to my pack when I heard the very distinct sounds of running feet.
Dropping my gear to the floor, I went for my machete. (I was really starting to curse losing my crossbow) and snuck upstairs as quietly as I could.
There was a harsh and cutting wind blowing through all of the missing windows and door frames. I couldn’t see very far because there was a nasty cloud cover keeping the moonlight under wraps. That is probably why I didn’t see her until she literally stumbled right in front of me. When I screamed, she screamed.
The howls and hoots were coming from all directions. I tried to help the frightened young woman to her feet, but she screamed louder, kicked at me, and then scurried away. I probably should have taken the hint.
Like an idiot, I took off after her.
I was actually catching up. I have to admit, I am a pretty fast runner. (A fact that would come in very handy later.) Just as I was about to call out, there was a very familiar hissing sound. Anybody who has shot a bow would instantly recognize that noise. I hit the ground and rolled, but the girl kept going. I swear I heard the next arrow pass right over my head. I know for a fact that I heard it hit her. She cried out and tumbled. I considered my options for about two seconds. When I heard several voices yelping and howling, I rolled into the shadows and crab-walked to the first thick bunch of brush I could find.
I was on my belly in the brambles with a sudden fear that there would be a creeper hiding nearby and that it would grab my leg. I held my breath for so long that my chest began to burn and I started seeing spots. When I let it out in a steady exhale, I almost gave myself away. Yes, they were that close.
All I could do was try and stay invisible while I listened to these animals describe what they intended to do once they caught their prey. Some of the things didn’t even sound possible. I thought back to how many terrible people Meredith encountered on her journey. Growing up in Corridor 26, I was never exposed to that sort of thing. In fact, there was a big noise made that maybe she had focused too much on the bad things.
I think people might have too high of an opinion of ourselves as a species. Out here in the wilderness, there is no law, no rules, and the people who thrive and survive in this climate do so by taking advantage of others. I guess if there is nobody to stand up and tell you that what you are doing is wrong, then the freedom exists to follow whatever base instinct lurks under the “civilized” brain.
I believe that this entire event has allowed us to redefine ourselves in whatever way we decide. I grew up my whole life hearing all of the names: Travellers, Raiders, Scavengers, Traders, and Soldiers. When it comes down to it, we are all simply following that voice in our head. I absolutely don’t believe that following that urge should come at the expense of others, and except for the raiders…they don’t. I’ve spent my life hearing people talk bad about Meredith. The folks labeled as Travellers are all lumped into one category…the same one they put Meredith in.
Selfish.
Was she really? She was a young woman who had her world turned upside down. So did lots of people; I get it. She wanted to live outside of the walls that people were so hastily trying to hide behind. Along the way, she helped some and hurt others. But was she really that bad?
I joined the EEF because I spent my whole life wanting to prove that I was not like her. Yet, here I am…out in the wilderness…stupid journal wrapped in oilcloth to keep it protected from water. The people I grew up around have been killed or captured or scattered to the Four Winds. I left Mama Lindsay and Phaedra to go off on some damn fool mission.
What do I think I am going to do when I find the train? How about when I reach Irony? Am I simply going to walk up to this new president and say, “Okay, Dominique, let my people go.”
I’ve been travelling this whole time with absolutely no plan and no idea what I will do if I catch up to the people I am chasing. Then, nights like tonight come and slap me right in the face. I hid while a dozen or so raiders raped a woman and beat her to death. I listened to them talk about some small settlement near here being “ripe for the picking.” And what did I do? Not a damn thing but hide and try to muffle my own crying.
When I was certain that they were gone, I crawled out to the woman to see if she might be alive. She was not. I’d stayed huddled in the shadows only a few feet away from this poor woman. I’d been witness to her last words, but had no recollection of what they were. The only words I could hear clearly were those spewed from her tormentors. They had said things that will haunt me forever.
I sat there for the longest time, sobbing over this dead body of a stranger. As the rain began to come down harder, I eventually climbed to my feet. My mind was made up. I would find
these
people and actually
do
something.
I headed off in the direction I was pretty sure they had gone, staying in the shadows. I gave no thought as to whether I could even find my way back to my things. I simply wanted to stop being an observer. It was time that I actually DO something.
If I was fool enough to chase an army that had taken away some of my friends, then by God I better start figuring out how to act on my impulses. Otherwise, I would find the train, or discover Irony, USA and then…
What?
They were camped inside what looked like a huge warehouse. From a distance, I tried to get a real idea of the layout. It was about hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. I could make out three bonfires visible through the wide open entry. I also made out a series of catwalks that connected that building with several others around it. This was a complex, but there were only signs of activity in this one building. Part of me wanted to observe these people for a while and see what they were about. However, the memories of what I’d heard managed to drown out any such thoughts almost as soon as they rose.
I watched for maybe an hour…or five minutes. Time seemed to fall away. I was determined to do something… anything.
Nothing. I did nothing.
How am I supposed to take on a camp of who knows how many raiders? And I can’t even blame it on not having my crossbow. There is simply nothing that I can do. Any attempt I would make to attack these people would end poorly for me. I have no doubt of that.
The defining moment for me was when a pair of men came out. I don’t know now if they were actually looking for me…or just standing outside talking. No matter, I crept back and got around the first corner of a building that I could and I sprinted with all I had, never even looking over my shoulder once until I ended up out in the middle of the woods with a bunch of welts and cuts on my hands and face from all the branches that whipped at me as I passed.
Around midday, I slunk back to the ratty old farmhouse soaked and cold. I am a failure. I ran off on some impulse with no plan. What’s even worse, I am trying to piece together the logic I used to talk myself into doing this in the first place. Now I am in the middle of nowhere and almost out of supplies. There is very little vegetation to forage here and I imagine the presence of these raiders has most of the wild game scared off. Basically, I’m screwed “six ways to Sunday” as Jenifer puts it.
When this rain stops…I will head home. I will apologize to Mama Lindsay and I will do as I’m told. How could I begin to think that I could do
anything
when I set off in pursuit of an army?
Sunday, September 14
th
Still raining. If possible, it is actually raining harder.
Monday, September 15
th
I was able to move out today. I’m not sure I have the desire to continue this journal as it now seems to be a very detailed written account of my failures. I have to admit, I pulled it from my bag this morning when I set out…I set it on a dusty shelf in that basement and walked out.
I don’t know what possessed me to go back an hour later to retrieve it. It has its hooks in me and I can’t shake the urge. Even now…I’ve set the pencil down at least a half dozen times, but I pick it back up.
I have my hammock strung between a pair of pines up on a hill that looks down at the river. About an hour ago, another of those gliders circled the area to the east…towards where I was. I’m not saying that they were looking for me, but they may be enemies of those raiders or friends of the people being victimized.
That doesn’t answer any of the questions that I have, however…it’s not my problem. I just want to go home…whether it is to help rebuild the Sunset Fortress, or to relocate at Warehouse City…I just want to be back where I belong. It is obviously not out here.
Tuesday, September 16
th
There is something going on here. I am at the burned up ruins of Hood River and found four people staked to the ground and two more hanging from a metal crossbar.
Okay, that is only partially accurate. The ones staked to the ground are now zombies, but obviously turned
very
recently. The two hanging were just plain dead. I guess I need to keep extra vigilant.
I would have gotten farther, but I also had to deal with about two dozen walkers. Not all at once…but it did start to seem like I was taking another one down every time I turned around. The worst part was at least half were fresh—relatively speaking—but there was something else about them that I just can’t place. They look really weird. And the even stranger part of this is how one of them looked oddly familiar. That is ridiculous of course. And it isn’t like she looked like somebody I know…just somebody I may have met in passing or something. Like I said…weird.