Zomblog: The Final Entry (8 page)

Not only have they converted a small school into living quarters, but the nearby campground has a fence as well, and evidence of cultivated fields. The health here seems above average. And…make no mistake; these women will put the smackdown on you in a heartbeat.

There are dogs here. Huskies and a pair of Great Danes. Sam didn’t care for it at all. Our ‘fee’ for spending the night was feeding the dogs and cleaning the kennel. Also, we had to help haul water from the river. I didn’t mind a bit. None of the creepy vibe here. I don’t know how, but these women are handling their business.

This
 
is Girl Power!

Monday, March 22

Whether it is the sheer remoteness of this place or the weather—it is snowing again—I don’t know, but I haven’t seen any zombies for a few days. We’ve left Zigzag, even though we were invited to stay another day or two to see what the weather was going to do. We’re actually camped beside this river or creek—whatever the hell you want to call it—with a decent fire going.

Sam is great for the possibility of any zombies that may approach. Eric and I take turns on watch. The only bummer is that Eric says there are no signs of deer in the area. He thinks they know that they have all of Mount Hood National Forest to wander about. The tiny communities of men (or women) are invasive enough to keep the deer away. He says that there is actually more population and human activity here now than before the zombies. (Before…it was passers-through, not entire settlements.) Towns of twenty or fifty are now villages of over a hundred.

One thing…we did meet the sheriffs or whatever they call themselves. A troop of five men and women from the various settlements that travel on a circuit and administer what passes for justice in these parts. Their “pay” is free room and board as well as certain ‘social’ amenities. I wonder if the two women in the group are given the same opportunities in other communities.

They were surprisingly only moderately interested in us. I gave them only the briefest outline of my and Eric’s plans. In fact, I didn’t even mention Las Vegas. I simply admitted to heading south. It is beautiful out here. And after a few days around people, it is nice to be out in the wilderness…alone.

Friday, March 26

Cold, tired, and angry does not make for a pleasant Meredith to be around. I’m currently hiding out in the woods near Rhododendron. Funny how each of these communities are only a few miles apart, but none of them is remotely the same. 

We actually had no intention of staying in ‘Camp Archie’, the name hanging above the large entry gate. Our only reason for even stepping
 
foot inside was because we knew it would be a few days before we’d likely see any other such outposts. The next would be Government Camp. We thought we might check the shops; 
s
ee if there were any supplies.

Just a note, we’ve passed a few independent traders’ huts, all outside of the various communities we’ve visited, and it was easy to spot the vultures. They’re worse than carnival barkers the way they try to lure you to their shops.

So we stopped at Camp Archie and…well, it’s my fault. I was the one who saw the sign that announced: BAR. Eric wasn’t all that interested, but I whined and pouted about how nice it would be to have a drink or two.

The two goons wouldn’t leave me alone or take no for an answer. I didn’t ask for him to save me. It’s not like I can’t deal. When the fight broke out, I was all of a sudden fighting off three bimbos who were accusing me of putting the moves on their men. AS IF! 
 
Eric went down under a bum’s rush of yahoos and that was the last I saw of him. Being thrown out—
through
 
is more correct, but hey—a window is what probably saved me from being “arrested” by the locals.

Sam was barking and I had had enough of getting my ass kicked. I lucked out with the main gate being open and bolted. I’m fortunate that nobody was actually chasing me and managed to grab my cart. I strolled out with Sam as four men on horses were coming in. I had to beeline for the woods. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave Eric; it’s just that when things get chaotic, you have to clear yourself before you can do anything for anybody else. It does nobody any good if we
both
get nabbed.

I’m waiting for that sheriff’s group to make an appearance. The only thing that I know for sure is they took Eric to one of the buildings. All I can guess is that it is their version of jail. That means living out in the woods, staying hidden from the comers and goers. I have been able to keep supplied with water from a nearby stream…but I’ve relied solely on our supplies for food.

Sam is helpful inasmuch that I don’t worry about zombies creeping up on me. However, I do have to stay vigilant for the living. This was just not supposed to happen. We only wanted to have a drink and then resume our trip.

Saturday, March 27

The law patrol arrived yesterday afternoon. Wow…this place is freaky. The only thing missing was a pair of mirrored sunglasses and the potbellied cop saying, “Y’all’s in a mess a trouble.”
 
They weren’t at all interested in anything resembling the truth.

I shudder to think of how this could’ve played out if I hadn’t thought things through with my normal suspicious mind. I opted to stash my cart and even left all my weapons except for a machete and a spiked-tipped pole.

Our so-called fine for disturbing the peace was Eric’s cart with everything on it and permanent barring of entry into Camp Archie. They didn’t take any of Eric’s weapons, but still, it was a total shakedown. If I ever come back this way, I just might burn this dump to the ground. Oh…and the yokels that jumped us?
 
The equivalent of community service. The goons were sentenced to “two weeks on the gate.” Awesome, we get out stuff taken, and they have to open and close the entry gates to the camp.

So, I am waiting for Eric. He’s been allowed to use the public shower. Staying in the holding cell is truly quite nasty. I could actually smell him when they brought him into the makeshift courtroom.

***

I take it back. We got a hefty fine, but they didn’t let the Joe-Bobs off the hook after all. Two weeks “on the gate” is a literal punishment. I thought those guys were just hamming it up for our benefit when the verdict was read and the sentence pronounced.

We left—a little less burdened—as soon as Eric was clean and dressed. He still reeked. His clothes are filthy. On the way out, we saw the three troublemakers locked in the stockade atop the fence. A sign is above them: Assault and Public Nuisance. Wow…maybe they’ll bring back witch trials, too.

As I sit beside the fire watching Eric scrub his clothes in the creek, I’m even more aware than before how crazy we are as a species. Our sentence seemed harsh. But those guys basically got a death sentence. I mean, I wanted them punished, but if the exposure doesn’t kill them, any sort of zombie attack could be very bad. I didn’t see any means of protection in place for them. If anything, they’re
 
bait
. Yeah, they were jerks, but being a jerk wasn’t reason for the death penalty last I checked. Could you imagine if that’d been the case back in the olden days?

Sunday March 28

Finally…something I can understand. Sam’s growls woke me just before sunrise. A creeper was dragging itself from the thick undergrowth. This one had been dead for a while. I couldn’t determine if it’d been male or female. Clumps of hair remain in a few patches on the skull, but most was gone. The nose had been torn off, one eye was missing, and it was practically flayed from dragging itself along the ground. It really looked like little more than a creeping slab of rotten meat.

I didn’t think anything about it as I woke up, grabbed my poker and ended it. The thing was not even remotely threatening. Then it hit me like a fist in the gut.

Eric!

He was on watch. Or…he was
 
supposed
 
to be on watch. I started looking everywhere. Then I found him. He was leaned against a big tree. Thank goodness he’s geared up. The big lug had fallen asleep. I guess he was more tired than he realized.

I’ve actually moved the fire closer and covered him up. He needs his sleep and I can’t afford him to slip like that once we get out of the mountains and return to an environment where zombies are plentiful. Of course when he wakes up, I will chew his ass. He should’ve told me. And he does me no good if he is so exhausted that he can’t stand his watch. I wonder if he slept at all while he was incarcerated. I shudder to think that I might’ve actually had it better than him while I was hiding out in the woods…bitching and complaining about how tired, cold, and angry I was. Hmm. Maybe I’ll make a tasty midday meal of canned beets, beef stew, and fruit cocktail for him.

Thursday, April 1

We are scheduled to leave Government Camp tomorrow. I say “scheduled” because the weather has turned once more and decided to get in its last jabs before spring. This past week we have seen just how overmatched we are by Mother Nature. I guess—according to the signs and the burning in my lungs— that we are at over four thousand feet. And if you think that making this hike on foot allows you to acclimate…you are so very, very wrong.

As the route got just a bit steeper and we climbed steadily upwards, the world seemed to change. It was as if there were an imaginary line where the snow begins and gets deep fast. Here at Government Camp there is a two hundred and thirty-six inch base! Yes! Of snow!

So, we earned a pair of snowshoes during our stay. At the bottom of the mountain there is an outpost that is run by settlers where we can turn them in for trade before continuing on our journey. Yeah, when I said “earned,” I meant we earned the means to rent them.

The cart works well on runners by the way. Good thing, too. This was one hell of a field test. So, tomorrow, when the caravan scheduled to leave here to go down the south side of the mountain departs, we will be going with it. I don’t like the idea of travelling with a group, but that is how they do things here and I don’t get a vote.

We’ve been told that the trip takes five days. When we reach the bottom and arrive at Government Base, we will be required to go through an exam. The military is long gone, but it seems that the civilians decided to maintain the protocol. I guess it helps them keep folks from bringing the infection up or down the hill. Plus, the Native Americans won’t allow anybody to travel through their territory without appropriate medical approval.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that the Natives have exercised total sovereignty over the Warm Springs Reservation land? Well they have. I guess there is some sort of government liaison or detachment of officials that set up at the base of where Highway 26 begins to climb up Mount Hood. They tried to fall back into Warm Springs when a zombie horde came, but the tribal council of Kah-Nee-Tah denied them access unless they agreed to certain terms. The OIC wouldn’t even listen to what the emissary had to say. That OIC and his detachment went the way of Custer.

The local civilians were far more reasonable. Now it seems that the Warm Springs Indian Reservation is now called Confederated Kah-Nee-Tah. They have a much stricter immigration policy than the United States ever imagined; even from the farthest right wing. I think it is something about not trusting the White Devil.

Once more I will be grateful that Eric is with me. Otherwise, I would be forced to go all the way around their land. It seems that, while they do business with those on the border, they absolutely will not allow non-Natives to pass through their land unescorted.

How do I know all this? Eric has spoken with the liason here at Government Camp. It seems that there is an embassy system in place. Eric is very excited by it all. I guess he hasn’t seen many of his “people” since this nightmare began. It never occurred to me what that might feel like. I mean, Eric is slightly darker complexioned. He looks like he is rocking a decent tan…even in the winter. But…how do I say this? He looks …normal. That isn’t the right word. But he isn’t Black or Hispanic. I guess I really never saw him as anything but…Eric.

Sure, he has a cool last name, but I don’t go around saying, “Hey, Grayfeather! What’s up?” He is simply Eric. Perhaps, in a couple of days, I’ll get a taste of how he’s felt this whole time. I am going into his people’s land. I’ll be the only “white man” around.

Friday, April 2

I feel like ‘Polly Pioneer’ as I travel with this caravan. The word is, we probably won’t see any zombies for at least the first two days. The eighteen mile journey to Government Base will take four days provided that there are no problems.

Saturday, April 3

White! Everything is white. I don’t care if I never see another snowflake again. I used to love watching snow drift down from the sky. I am SO over that.

Sunday, April 4

Rain. Blessed and glorious rain!