Zomblog: The Final Entry (10 page)

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.

Tueday April 20

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 nosie 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 something 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 American 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 your’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 started. 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 bottles 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 dont know if they’d have the ability to keep themselves 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 zombies 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, destroying the brain didn’t cut it any more. 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 campfire 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 distance, 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 actually 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 visible 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 eating 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 writing 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?”