Zomblog: The Final Entry (7 page)

At first I didn’t know what the hell Eric was doing when he just turned off the highway and we started walking along this branch-strewn road that was quickly being supplanted by the forest. I could hear the trickiling of a nearby stream as we walked deeper into the gloom.

Maybe he knew this place existed. I’ve been nosing around while he went out to hunt some sort of furry critter. I mostly flipped through dusty photo albums. I guess I thought that I would miraculously find a picture with him in it. No such luck.

Still, this place is nice. We had to take out a lady today who looked as if she’d dressed for an extravagant dinner party. Well…if you take out the fact that she was missing an arm and a chunk of her throat big enough to cause her head to tilt. She was in the bathroom. From the looks of things, her husband came home as one of
them
. He got her in the hallway.

Of course the blood has long since dried, but there are smears and stains on the walls leading away from a huge stain on the hardwood floor in the living room. A well-gnawed bone that is probably her missing arm—part of it at least—was there (stuck to the floor by the congealed and dried blood). It was only part, which made me wonder where the rest is, and where her hand might be.

I took down the husband while Eric, followed by Sam, took out the wife. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, there is a huge portrait over the fireplace that definitely pegs these two as our couple. We put both bodies in the bathtub and covered them with a sheet. Now they are at rest together forever.

There is a loft here. That is where the master bedroom is. Also, there are a pair of smaller bedrooms on the main floor. One of them had its windows broken by a fallen branch. I wanted to put the bodies in that room, but Eric said it might bring more wolves. He said they—the living variety— could jump through those windows without a problem. Good enough for me.

Wednesday, March 10

Heavy rains and wind today. We are staying put. No sense rushing out to be in such miserable weather. I thought we heard screams last night.

Staying alert.

Friday, March 12

Back on the move. It’s clear, but very cold again. This weather is freakin’ bi-polar. At least the home we are crashing in tonight was empty when we arrived.

No sights or sounds since that noise that we are both certain was a human scream the other night. Not a single wandering zombie up here. I can see where this area made for a great location to run to when this whole thing started. The only drawbacks are the weather—which could be as lethal…if not moreso than zombies—and lack of readily available food. I do not know how I would be doing if I’d made this journey alone. Not that I’m not a capable person, I most certainly am. It’s just that if you go into a slump, you starve. And the larger the group—had I travelled with several people instead of only Eric—the bigger the supply issue becomes.

Being a duo, this is monumentally easier. In fact, we have more than we need. We end up wasting a lot of food. I feel only a little guilty about that.

Last night, I was watching the rain come down as the shadows of night were swallowing up the surrounding landscape. I thought long and hard about what I expect to find in Las Vegas. Here’s the kicker: I couldn’t come up with a single thing. At least not one that holds up to scrutiny. This is all about being selfish. I’ve been let loose in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory and plan on seeing everything. I realize that my goals aren’t very lofty at this point, but Europe might as well be another planet. This is just the first step. I mean it could’ve just as easily been Disneyland.

But that would’ve been silly.

Saturday, March 13

We found a small inn…and a lot of dead people. Not zombies, but honest-to-goodness dead folks. There is a church across the road with a dozen more bodies hanging from nooses. Most are frozen solid, but one is merely cold. This place is giving off seriously creepy vibes.

Checking out the inn (that is fun to say out loud), it looks like most of the people were beaten to death. Heads were crushed, but Eric got all
CSI
and pointed out the shattered arms on every single body. These people were trying to fend off an attacker or attackers. Looking even closer—which meant scraping off dried blood or pouring a little water on the body—we found no bite marks or scratches.

The most heartbreaking scene involved a woman who was still clutching the hand of a little girl no older than eight or nine. The rest of the arm and the body it was attached to was several feet away in a mangled heap. Axes were used here as well as blunt weaponry.

Of course we couldn’t stay at the inn. We decided on the church across the way instead. I don’t understand. Not one thing here makes sense. Hangings. Brutal mass slayings. WTF!

Eric and I will sleep in shifts tonight. We intend to be on the road as soon as we’ve both gotten a few hours of shuteye.

Tuesday, March 16

I can’t believe I ever considered making this trip alone. Thank God for Eric. I doubt I would be alive right now if not for him. This is like the mountain version of
Deliverance.

I guess there are little pockets of locals out here; and they don’t take kindly to strangers. These folks are no joke. They know this area well, are outdoor types—most are decked out in layers of furs—and remind me of the pictures that I saw in high school history books. You might remember the ones I’m talking about; the ones that are all grainy, black and white, showing the trappers and gold diggers from the olden days. We ran into the first one when we were leaving the church a few days ago. Literally ran in to him.

We were harnessed up and making for the highway. A noise from the direction of the inn started us jogging. (Seriously, I can not convey how creepy the vibe in that area was.) This guy stumbled out of some trees, crashing into Eric and knocking him over. Thinking it was a zombie, I hit my quick-release buckle and came in with my scimitars flashing. Well, it was kinda dark so they weren’t really flashing, but you get my point. I connected solid with a body shot intended to distract the zombie and keep it from biting Eric. Then the zombie screamed. Too late, I recognized the stink coming off this thing to be of the booze, urine, shit, and vomit variety.

Eric shoved the body aside, wrenching his own knife from the eye socket and sending a spray of blood that turned the snow black in the pre-dawn gloom. I asked him if he was hurt and he said no. We got moving in a hurry, Sam leading the way as he trotted along like nothing was wrong and we hadn’t just killed a living person. Sam is well trained to sniff out zombies, to be alert for their presence. He would be absolutely useless for the next few days. Living people don’t come up on his radar.

We decided to duck into the trees and travel parallel to the road as much as we could. No sooner had we vanished into the pines when some sort of gang passed by on the highway. They were carrying torches…and something else. At first I thought it was a deer hanging from the pole hoisted between two of the group. I can’t even say men because they are so bundled that it was impossible to tell. Then the light from a nearby torch flickered just right and I could see the naked human body bound to it. Whatever it was, there were too many for Eric and I, so we retreated further into the woods.

That is where we discovered ‘Camp Despair.’ Mostly comprised of tents, but with a few log cabins; that place was like an old pioneer outpost. It is walled off by ten-foot high poles made from the abundance of pine trees. We didn’t go in. Eric climbed a tree and scouted it out. He reported twenty men, women, and children inside the walls. There is a huge fire pit in the center of camp. Also, there is a pair of huge stakes with a zombie chained to each one. We moved on, but our level of awareness is probably back up to where it belongs.

We had no choice but to put our sub-zero gear to the real test. We found a dense copse of trees and made camp. No fire tonight. As the sun sets, I can hear the wolves howling. At least I know that they are living. Sam doesn’t care for it at all.

Wednesday, March 17

Met a small group of locals. On. Accident.

We’d broke camp and were moving along, just off the highway. By the way, big chunks of pavement are buckled or missing as the weather and lack of any department of transportation to tend it have let the road fall into a state of serious disrepair. Anyways, we were moving along when Eric gave me the signal to freeze. Ironic since I was already teeth-chattering cold.

I don’t know if I am just oblivious or what. However, these people stepped out of the trees—skinny ones not nearly big enough to hide behind in my opinion. They all had axes, blades, and hammers dangling from their furry outfits—many from places that I never considered hanging a weapon.

The woman was scraggly looking with at least half of her teeth missing. One of the men was gigantic. I’m talking Tom Langston big, and that man was the largest person I’d ever seen in my life. The third man looked like the kinda guy who’ve had to register with the local police and isn’t allowed within five hundred yards of a school or playground. Hey…what can I say? I’m a big fan of first impressions.

Of course I was wrong on about every level. The woman, Lisa, was just as sweet as she could be. The two men rescued her from a nasty little gang. Her missing teeth were the result of multiple punches to the face (along with her captors’ lack of concern for the hygiene of their victims).

Ryan, the human mountain, worked with the elderly. He held out with a dozen senior citizens at a nursing home for eight whole months! Once each of the elderly folks under his care and protection had died a natural death, he moved on. That’s when he found Benjamin.

Benjamin Cruikshank, DDS, had to fight and kill his own wife after she turned. He also had to put down all five—yikes! five!—daughters. Not at once, mind you. That might’ve been somewhat merciful. No. He had to do it over a period of eight months. Benjamin is amazingly sweet, but timid. He had nothing but cmpliments for me and Eric on our dental care. He even gave Sam a check-up and suggested that we get something hard for him to gnaw on.

They told us that they were headed north to Canada and perhaps even on to Alaska. They are originally from Santa Fe. They also remarked that this area is very
Old West
in its atmosphere. There are a few tribes—or communes if you prefer—scattered about. There are trading posts as well. The thing about the trading posts is that there are gangs or groups of thugs who lurk in the area and rob folks after they’ve made their purchase or trade. If you go back shortly thereafter, the stolen goods are back on display for sale.

I guess the Mount Hood resort, Timberline Lodge, is like a huge community; sorta the New York City of the area. Lisa, Ryan, and Benjamin stayed there for the past three months. According to them, there are jobs, an entire economy. Gads! What is it with everybody? Why is everybody so intent on bringing back the old ways? Oh well…not my problem.

We shared a lunch with them and got back on the move after awkward hugs and goodbyes. It was nice visiting with strangers. It was nice being around somebody who didn’t want to kill you or cause you harm.

Thursday, March 18

It was actually freakishly warm today. Eric says at least fifty degrees!
 
Felt tropical. We found the community of Welches. It
 
looks
 
like a town from the Old West. Actually, it goes by the name of ‘Fort Bingham’ now, but the old signs still say ‘Welches’.

They’ve adopted the walled fort look here as well. And they have horses! Great big shaggy ones. The largest structure inside the walls is a church. We met Matt Bingham—he didn’t laugh or even smile when I said, “Hey, did you know they named a fort after you?”—and we’re treated like foreigners entering a country. A man asked our names, purpose, and how long we intended to stay.

At first, we were going to press on, but Eric suddenly announced that we would be staying for two days! 
 
I tried to keep my chin from bouncing off the ground, especially considering how muddy it is. We had to pay five cans of food as well as the last of the meat we had wrapped up on Eric’s cart.

Personally I thought it was a bit steep; especially since we were given one room in a trailer that has been partitioned into three very Spartan rooms. I can’t say anything for the other two, but I’m guessing they looked like the one we were given.

I had kept Sam beside me after a half dozen offers from people interested in buying him. And they weren’t looking for a pet. I will let Eric do whatever it is that he’s so keen on here, but we leave within two days or I tell him to catch up to me on the road.

Friday, March 19

A travel-wagon rolled in today. It wasn’t exactly like the old pioneer Prairie Schooners…but fairly close. Just imagine the wagon mounted on shocks with tires that were almost as tall as me. What bothered me was that it was hauled by a team of twelve…men. And it didn’t look like they were doing it happily. I don’t care…I’m leaving tomorrow. No matter what.

Saturday, March 20

So, I guess Eric saw somebody he knows. He called the man “a native brother” or something like that. I feel only a little bad in hurrying him out of here. However, when I asked why he didn’t ask his friend to join us, he told me that they have different journeys to take. I asked what he meant, but that was apparently the end of the conversation.

Tonight, we’re in perhaps the strangest commune I’ve encountered: 
 
All women. Nothing fancy here to differentiate it from Fort Bingham. Same walled-in motif. There has been no effort to change the name from Zigzag…but then, why would you want to?