God forgive me. I had no choice. I couldn’t just leave her and let those things get her and turn her into one of them. If I’d left, simply walked out the door and ran, that is exactly what would’ve happened. I–
Shit! They’re coming!
Saturday, December 27
It feels strange to write this with Victor and Adam mere feet away. If I do this, I’ll have to either tell Victor everything to his face, or not let him see the notebooks anymore. He’s been so interested in everything that Sam (and ultimately I) went through. And these entries have been open for anybody to read this whole time, I don’t see being able to keep them from him—or anybody else for that matter. Besides, I think Jonathan knows, and I’m pretty sure Victor suspects. They haven’t asked me more than if I knew what happened to Lynn. I said that a bunch of those things surrounded us inside the house and that she hadn’t made it. But, I did say I ensured she wouldn’t come back as one of those things. That was a
really
incomplete answer.
So here’s what happened:
When I woke up, Lynn was still just sitting in that corner rocking back and forth. Only, now she was crying. At first it was just an annoying whimper. Then it got hysterical. I jumped up and scurried over to her. First I grabbed her arms and kept telling her to look at me and that everything would be okay. It didn’t seem to help. I assured her that I knew Jenifer had Adam and that I’d seen them breaking clear, only in the opposite direction we’d carved out. They’d gone north to our south. That didn’t help either. I tried to hug her, to hold her, but that didn’t help either.
Then I heard
them
. At first it was just a raspy moan. Next, it was a crunching of broken glass and I heard footsteps close by, just outside. I crawled to the closest busted out window, next to where Coach was standing with teeth barred and hackles raised. A few dozen zombies were converging on our building. And that was just from the view of this one vantage point. I scurried down the hall and to another window, this one looking out back deeper into the neighborhood. It only got worse.
I returned to Lynn. By now, Coach was getting edgy. He kept looking at the stairs leading down, then back to me as if to say, “Let’s get moving!” I shook her, then I slapped her. Nothing seemed to get through. She kept crying, and it only got louder.
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 automatic 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 terrible 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 building. 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 bottle 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 actually 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 everything. 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 dispersal. 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 building—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.