Zomblog 05: Snoe's War Read online

  “I hope you like bacon,” the man said with a smile that revealed at least half of his teeth were missing. “And I am making omelets with your choice of onions and peppers with cheddar cheese, or just plain cheese…unless you simply want scrambled eggs.”

  It was a lot for me to process and I just nodded like an idiot. The man scanned the others at my table and apparently felt he had all the information he needed based on nods and smiles. Within ten minutes or so, I had a tall glass of chilled apple cider, an omelet with everything, about ten pieces of bacon (which is about seven more pieces than I’d ever had at a single meal), and sliced pieces of pear dipped in sweet cream.

  It was amazing.

  After the meal, I was given a cloth and towel. In the car I woke up in, there was a basin of hot water scented with rose water. I washed up and slipped into the change of clothes that they provided.

  Once I was dressed, I was joined again by Mary. She told me that there were a few people that wanted to sit down and talk with me. She was acting strange and it had me starting to feel a bit edgy. All the warm and fuzzy feelings that I had built up during the early part of the morning were starting to dissolve.

  I was led to another car, this one was empty except for a really large table and on one wall hung a map. Now don’t get me wrong, I have seen maps before, but this one was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life.

  For starters, it was just the western portion of what used to be the United States. It consisted of Washington, Oregon and the northern part of California, as well as Idaho, Nevada, Utah, part of Montana and most of Wyoming. There were all kinds of symbols and markings on it as well as some colored pins stuck in different places. My eyes immediately sought out my home and I was rewarded with seeing it marked with a pin that had a black flag. There were similar pins at Warehouse City as well as at least a dozen other locations.

  Taking what I hoped to be a logical step, I had to assume that there were other secure areas like the one I grew up in. I also had to assume that the ones with black flagged pins were already knocked out.

  Then my eyes were drawn to Nevada, more specifically, the area known as Las Vegas Free City. That one had a pin with a blue flag, as did about twenty other areas including one south of Portland somewhere near where Salem used to be and another up at Timberline on Mount Hood.

  I had been to that settlement before. It was a very different sort of place. Mama Lindsay said that it was like an old western town from the movies. I thought it was kind of funny, the way people all spoke was different from anything I heard in the Corridor. They seemed to slur their words together and greeted you with “Howdy!” Mama Lindsay said that they had gotten so into the idea of what they were creating that it had become ingrained and that all the children born there knew nothing else which only entrenched their way of life a bit deeper. She seemed fascinated by it. I just thought it was different and strange…and funny.

  There were other colored pins and a few with notes, but I didn’t really have time to study it too closely as about a dozen other people filed in and took seats around the big table. I saw one seat free and took it. Mary stood behind me and when I asked her if she wanted me to find her a chair, she said that she would prefer to stand. I think she just wanted to keep an eye on everybody.

  “So, we are now committed to a course of action,” William said.

  That was how the meeting was called to order. It was also the last time that one person spoke at a time—or at least that is how it felt. There was a great deal of arguing and debate.

  What I managed to learn was that the now-infamous Major James Carson was heading up the side of the NAA that still supported the ideas of the now-deceased Dominique DuBois. If what I was hearing could be believed, they were a very small minority.

  It would seem that most of Dominique’s military force comprised of people who had been forced into service. They were just waiting for somebody to come in and do something about the person in charge. There appeared to be considerable embarrassment by some for not having the courage to act on their own.

  There was also a great deal of fuss being made over how they now had a “legendary” leader. It actually took me quite a while to figure out that they were talking about me. That was when I finally got involved in the “conversation.”

  “Hold on!” I said. “Who the heck said anything about me leading anything?”

  Of course, everybody looked at me like I had sprouted wings and a second head. By the time I had figured out that whole “legendary leader” thing, the conversation had changed course about a dozen times.

  “I appreciate the help you gave getting me out of that place. And I am not entirely sure where it is we are going, but I am not leading anything. I just want to try and find my friends…the people who were snatched away from their homes…and then go back and clear out the Corridor once more so that life can return to some sort of normality.”

  There was another round of everybody talking—mostly yelling if I am being honest—and I was basically ignored. The consensus was that my “name” would rally people from all over and we could secure the freedom and independence of all the communities. My problem with that line of logic was that it seemed to me that if you wanted people to be free, then you left them alone and let them do their own thing. The moment you started making big groups and giving yourself a label, that is when things went wrong.

  I waited until only two or three people were yelling their points or ideas when I spoke again. This time, I decided that I would do things a little different. I had grown up watching Mama Lindsay take control of different meetings. Rule one…I stood up.

  “Everything that you are all saying is fine, but you are forgetting that there are communities all over,” I gestured to the map with my hand, “that have suffered terrible losses. If these other communities with the black pins suffered anything like we did in the Corridor, then there are people hurting, scared…dead. Toss in what I saw when I was with the tribes and I think that the first thing that needs be done is the release of all the people that were taken. And since you folks have the rails, we should load them on trains and start returning people to their homes.”

  “That is grand and noble,” a man spoke from across the table. I had heard folks call him by the name of Taylor. “But before we can do anything, we need to secure our borders and unite our forces to have any chance at returning things to anything resembling normal.”

  “Okay, Taylor is it?” He nodded. “How would that make us any different than Dominique if we continue to hold these people against their will?”

  “If we simply turn everybody loose, we will be easy pickings for Major Carson and his army,” Taylor retorted.

  “But there has to be a better way than keeping everybody against their will,” I insisted.

  “And perhaps we will give you the chance to show us when we arrive,” William said.

  “Arrive?” I wasn’t exactly sure where we were headed. The only thing I had been able to figure out was that I was heading east.

  “Irony…” William let that word hang for a moment. “We are a day away from reaching the city that has been used for the past six years as a training depot.”

  I let that little piece of information sink in. I was about to see someplace that I had known about all my life but never believed that I would lay eyes upon. As I said, I have seen maps before. I know how long a journey like that would take on foot. I always believed that I had a better chance of visiting the moon.

  I was a day away from seeing one of the places that I had read about in both my father’s and my mother’s journal. It was almost too much to take in at the moment. However, that piece of knowledge had effectively shut me up for the time being.

  The meeting resumed and more was said. I didn’t hear a word. My mind was reeling with the idea of where I was going. There were people that I knew personally who had made the trip out to Irony. It was like a pilgrimage for some. For others, it was probably nothing more than simpl
e curiosity.

  The problem with creating a lifetime of preconceived ideas about a place (person or thing fall in as well here), it seldom lives up to your expectations.

  Thursday, March 25th

  What a whirlwind the past forty-eight hours have been.

  It all started before the sun came up on the day we were supposed to arrive in Irony. The train had to stop because of a medium-sized (two or three hundred) herd of zombies wandering along the track.

  Everybody had to climb up on top of the train and coax them in. It was then that I discovered at least one aspect where the NAA had prepared itself very well. The tops of all the train cars are accessible from inside, and up top, there are several long spears lashed down. It was a simple matter of drawing in the walker and stabbing it with the metal-tipped weapon.

  I was a little surprised to find Selina up top with everybody after her professed desire to never see another zombie again. She was obviously much happier dealing with the undead from a safer vantage point than literally stuck in the middle of a bunch.

  It took about half an hour to get them handled. But it was just as we finished that we got a surprise.

  It started as a landslide…or so we thought. Boulders came crashing down the hill and onto the tracks. We could not continue forward until we cleared the tracks. Then a second landslide happened and the way behind was blocked as well. That was far too convenient. Word circulated quickly and everybody came topside with a variety of ranged and hand-to-hand weapons. The nozzles were uncovered and tanks connected by thick black hoses were attached at the base.

  A voice finally called down to us after about ten minutes. “You got the president on that train?”

  It was William who answered. “If we did, do you think we would tell you?”

  “I do. No sense in all you folks dying for her crimes. But rest assured, friend, you will die if you do not hand her over,” the voice called back.

  “Can’t hand over what we don’t have,” William said.

  “Then you won’t mind if we come down and see for ourselves?” a second voice called.

  I heard a muffled argument. That indicated to me that the person who had just spoke—a female—was not supposed to. There was a second round of arguments, and then the first voice resumed.

  “We could send down a few folks to look. And mind, we have an even larger number up here in the woods with weapons ready. And if you think that you can just crawl back inside that train and button her up to protect yourself—”

  There was a sound that reminded me of a giant rubber band and the biggest spear I ever saw hurtled out of the woods above and a few cars behind me. It plunged into the side of the train car, easily piercing the metal.

  “The next one will be tipped with something flammable.”

  I glanced at William who had gone into a sort of conference with the folks around him. Honestly, I didn’t see what there was to discuss. The train was stuck and these people had us dead to rights.

  “Send down five,” William finally called.

  “Fine by me,” the mystery voice answered. “That means it will take a bit longer to search, but it also gives you fewer hostages.”

  “Don’t need or want any hostages. But I would like to talk to you in person once you see that I am telling you the truth.”

  “One thing at a time.”

  Sure enough, five men came out of the woods a few minutes later. They were met by a few of William’s people and escorted into the train. An hour after that, they all emerged. The five vanished into the bushes without a word. The next ten minutes went by slower than any time I can ever recall.

  “I am coming down with a group and wish to speak to whoever is in charge,” the voice finally called down.

  William headed for the hatch that opened to the car with the big table. Just before he ducked inside, he shot me a look and gestured with his head that I join him.

  I grew up pretty quick, and I consider myself level-headed and smart. However, I am also just barely eighteen years old. I hardly think I am the correct choice for negotiations. To say that I was uncomfortable with how things were shaping up would be putting it mildly.

  The man entered the car, escorted by at least a dozen soldiers. William made it a point to quickly dismiss them. Everybody sat down at the table and I was very aware of the eyes boring into me from these people.

  “I asked to meet with representatives of your…group,” a man whose voice matched the one that had been calling to us from the woods spoke up. “I do not see why this…child is present. If this is your leadership, then perhaps we drastically over-estimated you. Or…have we under-estimated?” That last question was spoken through a chuckle that indicated he had no faith that that was the case.

  I tried not to glare. I doubt I was very successful since it seems that I am easier to read than any book. I took a moment to examine this person. He was pretty tall, easily over six feet, and kind of skinny, but not in a malnourished way. In fact, he had his sleeves pushed back and I could see the muscles rippling in his forearms. His blue eyes and blonde hair were giving way to age and that meant he was a survivor from the Old World era. I would guess him to be in his late forties. He had a scar on his forehead that looked nasty and vanished into his hairline, but his hair was so fine that you could follow its path. I might have shuddered just looking at it as I tried to imagine the injury that had left such a mark.

  “Perhaps we can get through introductions before the insults and posturing begin,” William said. “My name is William Alexander. Seated around the table from my left is Blake Jones, Gerry Plank, Taylor Charles and Snoe Gainey.”

  The gasps were audible. However, now it seemed like the gazes were fixed even more intently on me. I did my best not to squirm.

  After a long and uncomfortable pause, the man made his introductions. His eyes never left me the entire time he spoke. “With me are Rhonda Hopkins, Barry Lewis, JT Rose and my name is Shawn Forrester.”

  “Now that we have that out of the way, and I assume that you are satisfied the president of the NAA is not with us…” William left that open as his question.

  A slight nudge to my side drew my attention away as some of the formalities were being swapped. I was surprised to see Taylor give me a wink. Our initial meeting had left me with a less-than-positive impression.

  “These people are going to want you to prove who you are, tell them enough, but don’t give them anything important, you feel me?” he whispered.

  Actually, I didn’t. I had no clue what he could be trying to say. How could I tell these people anything important? I was about as far out of the loop as a person could be when it came to the NAA, and I seriously doubted that anything I could say about the Corridor would be useful.

  “I mean…” he glanced around as if to ensure that we were still being ignored, “don’t give them any personal information.”

  I still wasn’t following. And obviously it was all over my face because Taylor sighed.

  “Listen, a lot of these outlying communities have nothing when it comes to anything valuable, to them, information is priceless. Storytellers are like rock stars to these people. If you are going to give them information, get something in return.”

  I understood most of what he was saying; I would ask about rock stars later.

  “…Miss Gainey?” a female voice snapped me back to what was going on around me. It was the one introduced as Rhonda Hopkins. She was leaning forward and giving me a very intense stare.

  Since I had missed what had just been said, I simply folded my hands on the table and stared back. After a second, I arched an eyebrow hoping that it came off as stern…but not mean.

  “Very well,” Rhonda said with a sigh and leaned back. “Then perhaps you can at least give us one thing to confirm this claim, it is not like you are the first person to make the allusion that you are the daughter of Sam and Meredith.”

  “Well,” I tried to bite back my agitation, but I doubt it worked, “why would
I want that kind of hassle to begin with? I don’t know what you think…or what you might believe, but being the daughter of those two has been nothing but a pain for most of my life. I have spent every single minute under some sort of microscope while people wait to see which parent I will end up like. Will I be the selfless helper that so many see my father as, or will I be the selfish, heartless bitch that people claim my mother to be?”

  At some point, I had gotten to my feet. I felt my face warm as I blushed and was surprised once more when the comforting hand on my back belonged to Taylor. I sat down and bit the inside of my cheek to try and get my feelings back under control.

  “My apologies,” Rhonda said with what sounded like sincerity. “I need nothing further. Nobody except the real Snoe Gainey would wish for her true identity to not be known.”

  I was becoming more confused by the minute and pray that someday I will be able to go back and look at this entry and have it make sense. I hate to admit it, but this is when I really feel like I am a child. All of the adults are sitting around and nodding and I feel lost. Taylor has a satisfied smirk on his face and I am sure that he feels like he had something to do with my response.

  The rest of the meeting was like any other negotiation. We asked for stuff, they asked for stuff and then both sides came to realistic agreements.

  When they left, Rhonda stopped and took my hands in hers. “I apologize for my demands, but if you ever wish to share some of your stories with my people, we will gladly reward you with an abundance of hospitality.”

  I guess when you have nothing to offer in the way of material things, kindness and goodness is your best form of currency.

  The rest of the day involved the people from our train as well as over two hundred people who just walked out of the woods that lined the tracks literally at the snap of Shawn Forrester’s fingers. As I got ready for bed, the crews were still working.

  Thursday, March 26th

  We are moving again. It actually took until late into the day before the tracks were cleared. Twice, some of the people came down to where I was working and just stood there staring. It was a little uncomfortable. Mary laughed and started coming over every so often to dab my forehead with a rag.