Zomblog 04: Snoe Read online

  Mobs have been reported (if you can believe what some of the Travellers say when they pass through) to stretch on for dozens of miles. We’ve seen a leading edge arrive almost a week ahead of the main body once. The estimated number was over two hundred thousand.

  Some of the older folks, like Mama Lindsay, say that the mobs are like cartoon snowballs. I guess, in the cartoons, snowballs were rolled downhill and became bigger than houses. I’ve rolled a snowball down a hill…it went about two feet and didn’t really do much of anything. Personally, I don’t get it, but there are a lot of things about the Old World that don’t make sense to my generation.

  Supposedly, people used to sit at pee-sees and type all their conversations to each other. People would meet and get married without ever meeting each other! They could type things and people in whole other parts of the world could read it right then. Seems creepy.

  Some of the old timers say that the reason the zombies wiped us out so fast is because everybody was so busy blogging, tweeting and Facebooking about it. They say that the zombies were at the door before anybody actually tried to act.

  So, last night, I was on watch with Sam Simmons. (He is the Revelationist pastor’s son.) We saw a few coyotes, a bunch of raccoons and a skunk. Not one single zombie.

  We broke camp at first light and headed back. This evening, the second training unit (who took over for us) just got back an hour ago. They made seven kills!

  It is SO not fair.

  Friday, June 8th

  Graduation was this afternoon. Mama Lindsay presented all the graduates with their sword and crossbow. When she handed me mine, I guess it finally sunk in for her. I’ve been to lots of graduation ceremonies and never seen her show hardly any emotion at all, but today, she had a tear in her eye. If you know Mama Lindsay, then you know how rare that is for her.

  We were all given our first assignments at the banquet. I will be travelling with a produce caravan to a settlement that just established itself outside of the ruins of Oregon City. They set up beside the river just east of the falls.

  None of their farms are fully on line yet, but they have a bunch of fish, so we will give them some fruits and veggies and we get salmon. The kitchen is already planning something special when we get back. I’ve only had salmon twice…it is so yummy.

  The wagons have all been loaded and are in line at the North Gate, ready for us to leave in the morning. I hope I can sleep tonight. I’m actually very excited about this.

  I pulled out my birth mother’s journal and flipped through a few pages. She’s killed more zombies in a few days than I’ve ever actually seen. I guess since I’ve grown up my whole life knowing about them, I never gave them much thought. With places like The Sunset Fortress just up the line by the North Gate and Warehouse City as the last stop before exiting the West Gate, and all the little places in between along Corridor 26, this has just always been part of my world.

  The last numbers I heard when Mama Lindsay was talking with Jenifer and a few others were that there are over eight thousand people living within the walls of Corridor 26. Almost nine hundred live around Sunset Fortress where I grew up. To me…nine hundred people just seem like so many. In my lifetime, I remember when dinner was served for the entire Sunset Fortress community in one sitting. Now it is done in three.

  I realized the other night when we were out, just how used to the sounds of people around me I am. It was really quiet out there. I wasn’t totally ready for that. In the morning, I am leaving Corridor 26 for at least a week of that type of silence. Toss in the possibility of having to engage and kill zombies, and I just do not know how to feel about everything.

  Saturday, June 9th

  This evening we are camped in a handful of houses. I’ve never been in an Old World house before. There is so much to see and fiddle with that I think my brain is swollen.

  We travelled over to an abandoned stretch of what used to be called Highway 217 according to the wagoneers. It winds through what were once hundreds of stores and shops. I can’t imagine how many people it would take to need that many shops. Some of the names were still readable on the buildings. My favorite was ‘chen Kaboodle’. I don’t know what it sold, but the name is funny.

  We had very little activity since most of this place is occupied by individual tribes. Not everybody chooses to live in the protected zones. From what our squad leader said, most of the tribes are run by criminals who don’t want to live by rules, have to work to earn their way, or help anybody except themselves.

  Did I mention that my class’s trainer is the ranking officer on this run? I thought it was going to be like training, but he is a totally different person now for some weird reason. He even pulled me aside when we had camp set up for the evening. As soon as I saw the cover of the book, I knew what he wanted.

  I guess it was a popular thing in the Old World to ask for people to write their name on stuff…autographs. He had me sign on the page where it announced my birth. He seemed kind of embarrassed when he was asking.

  So, I wandered around this house with a few of the wagoneers and a handful of other EEFers. The hardest part for me was the smell. It stank so bad in a few of the rooms that it made me gag.

  How did people live with so much stuff? Every room had shelves and cabinets and closets full of clothes and all sorts of things.

  I finally saw a computer. (I thought they were called ‘pee-sees’ because of how everybody used that term when they spoke about them.) How did people sit in front of those things all day? I also saw the biggest bed I’ve ever seen in my life. It took up over half the bedroom. The wagoneer said that king-sized beds were common. When I asked him if the whole family slept in it together…he laughed.

  I saw one thing and asked if I could take it as a souvenir. So I have this really pretty picture frame. When I get home, I will put the picture that Eric Grayfeather drew of my birth mother in it. I don’t have any bad feelings for her. I can’t understand a lot of what she did, but I am grateful that she chose Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay to take me.

  In the morning, we will be changing over to the 205 Corridor. It is just now being settled and has long stretches that are open to zombies. Also, it passes through some heavy woods, which make it doubly dangerous. Thick woods let zombies get right up on you according to the lecture portion of our training.

  So…as I snuff my candle and snuggle into my bedroll, I can hear the occasional sound of the draft horses snorting. I can hear the whispering sound of footsteps crunching around as whoever is on watch walks past. And that is all. It is just too dang quiet out here.

  Sunday, June 10th

  I’ve heard a lot of people say “Be careful what you ask for, you may just get it” lots of times. Now I know what they meant. One of the reasons that I joined the EEF was because I wanted to get outside the walls of Corridor 26, The Sunset Fortress, and see what was out there. I wanted to see this world that makes the older folks get that look in their eyes when they talk about the past.

  I know that some folks are already placing bets on how long it will be before I do like my birth mother and take off, but that won’t happen. I like my home, I love Mama Lindsay, and I like being alive. Out here…I miss the first two, and the third one is in constant jeopardy.

  Today, the caravan ventured into the untamed 205 Corridor. While there is no official national government, there are elements that do still exist. Basically, every territory is left to fend for itself. The state lines are all gone, but there is still a national militia. I guess they operate under the same idea as the old United States Army.

  A few years ago, they gave up trying to actually wipe out the zombies. What they focus on now is trying to help established settlements build a safer society.

  The one thing they have managed to do is utilize the rail systems around the country. I can only speak for what happens with the settlements I am familiar with on Corridor 26, but they seem to show up every nine months or so with heavy equipment. They meet with our preside
nt and offer to help shore up barricades, expand our borders, or whatever we happen to be working on. During that time, they meet with people and see if they can recruit. On the average, six or seven kids around my age usually get a bee in their bonnet and decide to join.

  I say all of this because we were very surprised to discover a detachment of soldiers guarding the entrance to the 205 Corridor. It seems that the reports we received about a few communities banding together to start securing the corridor were only partially true.

  Our wagon leader and Captain Ross met whoever was in charge of the outpost, and there was a lot of yelling. From what I can gather by what I heard and saw, we had to pay some sort of toll to pass through the gates. Captain Ross had to let the soldiers peek through all our stuff and write down what we were carrying.

  That was a bad start to the day. Did I mention that it was also raining so hard that you had to yell to be heard by the person next to you because the rain was so loud hitting all the tarps covering our wagons? That meant all of our strung weapons were wrapped in oil cloth and stashed.

  The 205 has a huge grassy median that separates the two roads. One of the wagoneers told me that he used to drive this road to and from work, and that it was so thick with cars that it would take him an hour to get home. He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly explained that without traffic, he could make the drive in fifteen minutes. I still think I missed the point.

  Once we cleared the military checkpoint, the group split into two units. My part of the caravan was on the southern side (the right hand side). To our left was the tree-filled median. To our right were thick woods and a downhill slope in places that fell away to passing streams.

  I guess the heavy rain is to blame, because we never heard the rear escort call for help. To be honest, I probably did everything wrong an escort can do before we got hit. I was walking with my head down. At some point I’d just gotten sick of all the water in my face. Even with my hooded poncho, I was totally soaked.

  A hand grabbed my sleeve and pulled. My first thought was that somebody was about to get slapped. I spun around ready to really give them an earful. I found myself looking right into the grey-green face of a zombie. Even in the downpour, some of the fresh blood still dripped from its chin.

  My eyes flicked past the zombie for a split second, because on the ground about ten feet away, three of those things were pulling apart one of the other escorts. I couldn’t see who, and I still don’t really know who made it and who hasn’t. (Did I forget to mention that we are all in quarantine at what the residents are calling Willamette Refuge?) That was the first time I have ever seen somebody actually attacked by a zombie. The way they tear a person apart is bad, but I had no idea that the human body smells so awful on the inside—like poop.

  I went for my blade as I jerked away from the one that was yanking on the sleeve of my poncho. I barely had the blade free of the scabbard when an axe came down on the top of the zombie’s head. I jumped back as it fell and slipped. I don’t know how, but I ended up under the wagon I’d been walking beside.

  It seemed to take forever before it rolled past and I was clear to get to my feet. A hand was already reaching down for me and I came an inch away from chopping off all or a good part of it. I am nursing a nasty bruise from where she kicked me. That is how I met Phaedra Woods.

  She helped me to my feet and covered me while I waded into the tall grass where my blade had flown when she kicked my arm to keep me from attacking her. Together, we hacked down a dozen or so zombies and made our way to the last wagon in the convoy where they had lost their horses. Okay…that isn’t exactly true; they didn’t lose their horses. Both of them were easy to spot under a dogpile of zombies.

  The kills were pretty easy. The zombies were so involved in ripping the guts out of the poor horses that they paid us almost no attention. A few managed to look up just as Phaedra or I split their heads open. When it was over, it took my hands about ten minutes to stop shaking. Then I threw up. Phaedra was nice enough to hold my hair back for me while I knelt beside the road and gave up my breakfast.

  Phaedra is probably around thirty and I bet she used to be really pretty. She is one of those rare people who exhibit immunity to whatever it is that turns people to zombies after they’ve been bitten. The left side of her face is a mass of really bad scar tissue. There is a hole in her cheek that you can see through into her mouth. So, before you think that I was out of line for almost cutting off her arm when she went to help me up, consider what I was seeing.

  The wagons have a rule out in the untamed lands: Don’t stop unless you are dead. So, once we helped the wagoneer secure his wagon, we had to jog up to the convoy and fetch a pair of the reserve horses. By the time we had the wagon back on the move, it was just me and Phaedra and the wagoneer.

  There was one point in the trip that I will keep in my mind anytime I think about quitting the EEF. As we cleared the crest of a long and gradual incline, the clouds broke up. In the distance was Mount Hood. I’d never seen it in person before. I know that my birth mother crossed it on her failed trip to Las Vegas. From this distance, it looks beautiful, but I can’t begin to imagine what would possess anybody to travel over it. As I stared out across the valley and just took in the sights, I felt a tickle in my belly.

  We arrived at the gates of Willamette Refuge just as the sun was swallowed up by more dark clouds. A flash of lightning and the sharp crack of thunder made me jump just as the huge iron gates began to open.

  Now I am in a quarantine cell until my blood work returns. The people here appear nice. They are set up right beside the river. That seems so strange, to have a side of your village completely open and without any sort of wall or barricade. I talked with the girl who was examining me, and she said that they placed a huge barricade in the river. The bars are about a foot apart. It is wide enough for fish to swim past, but too narrow for zombies. Still, you can’t see it. That means if something happens and it comes free or a piece breaks off, they won’t know it until a zombie comes walking up out of the water.

  Zombies don’t normally go into the water, but it happens. They may fall in or any number of things. One thing I learned from reading my birth parent’s journals: anything can happen.

  Speaking of the journals, there is a bookshelf in my little holding cell. On it are a few bibles, Edible Plants of the Pacific Northwest, and my birth father’s journal. I thumbed through it and was interested to discover that people had taken the time to scribble notes in the margins: “IRONY USA OR BUST”, “RIP SAM”, and the very popular “(Insert name here) WAS HERE!”

  Tuesday, June 12th

  The people of Willamette Refuge are really different. Yep…different is probably the best word that describes them. They had a huge fish fry for us, but quibbled over how much fish to send with us in exchange for the vegetables we delivered. Also, two of their citizens are coming back to Corridor 26 to meet with the president and discuss setting up embassies!

  I can’t even begin to imagine how that is going to go over. Couple that with the weird military outpost at the junction to the 205 Corridor and I think Jenifer is gonna be super annoyed.

  We leave in the morning.

  Friday, June 15th

  Something is wrong. I think we are in for a nasty surprise coming soon.

  Dang it! I didn’t write anything down from the past couple of days! Okay, I am going to try and put this all down so that I can remember it. This may change the entire landscape of our society.

  It started when we reached the checkpoint we’d had to pay a toll at on the way in. It was leveled. From the looks of things, a much bigger armed detachment arrived and either didn’t want to pay the toll, or didn’t like the military. Most of the place was burned to the ground. Charred bodies littered the area, and from the smell…and the smoke still rising off the corpses, we didn’t miss the excitement by much.

  The only thing peculiar (and I didn’t notice it, Phaedra pointed it out to me) was that th
e sturdy gate system that had been erected was still in place. Whoever did this had a personal thing against these soldiers.

  Phaedra and I talked about it as we walked. I guess she has heard that the military force has been doing things a little different than I was led to believe. They do show up about every nine months to help with all the stuff I mentioned. However, the six or seven kids that they take with them may not all be volunteers.

  If what Phaedra said is true, the commander of the military unit meets with the president and agrees on the number ahead of any work being done. That left me with a lot of questions. First, does Jenifer know all of this? The soldiers are due any time now, and their arrival will be the first during her presidency. Also, does Mama Lindsay know this?

  Phaedra says that the recruits are selected from the men and women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. How have I not known any of this? Do other kids my age know this? How has this been kept a secret for so long in our community if it is true?

  Mama Lindsay is out until tomorrow with a hunting party. When she returns, I have some questions.

  Anyways, the two people from Willamette Refuge met with Jenifer. I was assigned as their escort (which was better than being the person who had to tell the families of those who didn’t make it back). I waited outside the door and heard most of what was said.

  It didn’t start well with Jenifer reading the inventory list of what we brought back. I guess the numbers were no where near what had been agreed on.

  Once most of the yelling was finished, the part about the embassy came up. I was surprised at how readily the deal was accepted. They even discussed sending a joint delegation into the Free Zone where all the independent tribes live along Corridor 217 to put out an offer of some sort.