I swore to my mother that I would be back for her in the old town. But after we passed by the old town yesterday I don’t think there’s a house left that’s been left uninfected. I pray for her soul’s repose.
I will not go back there anymore as my wife is seven months along and could pop any time. Being surrounded by the undead every day is already taxing as it is. To have a pregnant woman in the group, no matter how strong she might be, poses its challenges.
One of the new guys, Lesser, we picked him up way back at a gas station. He was holding off well on his own. He barricaded himself inside the general store and shot at the undead from a gap in the boards he hammered in himself. He would only get short snatches of sleep because he wanted to be always on the alert for the rotting bastards.
He told me that one of them got in one night. He had forgotten to close the service door that led to the small kitchen at the back of the store. He fended the carcass off with a piece of wood.
Bashed the thing’s skull in real good. Now he’s with us because he don’t got no food anymore. It’s one thing to have a fortified place to yourself. It’s another to starve to death and probably end up like the things you hated the most in the world – the stinkers, the one-eyed bums with teeth falling out.
Water’s scarce as gold. We can only take a few swigs at a time from our reserves. The water tastes like shit. We carried all the diesel we could from the gas station where Lesser held himself in for three weeks. We have enough for a month or so.
But you can’t drink diesel. And a pregnant woman drinks a hell lot. Thirsty all day. Hungry constantly. I pray my wife doesn’t suffer too much.
I got into a fight with the colonel today. I wanted to stay put and try cultivating food for once. We chanced upon an abandoned house three stories high with running water. There was still power there as we found working solar panels. The colonel wanted to get going, find a military outpost. He says that where the military is there would be ammunition, arms, power, food, water. The military always has these even in the middle of war. And this is a war. The worst kind of war.
I’m tired. I honestly wanted to stay put. Marietta’s been feeling these abdominal spasms. I fear that she might give birth earlier than we expected. We computed that we have at least 1 ½ months before she pops. I fear that those spasms are contractions and we just might have a baby in the middle of all this madness.
A crawler got in at around midnight. Bit Marietta on the leg. I crushed the thing’s head until its tongue fell out. Angry doesn’t begin to describe it. My chest’s filled with pure hate for those things. I want to consume them myself until they’re no more.
The bite turned black after a few hours. Marietta’s sweating and cold, with fever high enough to fry an egg. I can’t see her like this. I can’t. Her spasms are getting stronger and stronger. There is no way that she would survive this.
I found fresh flowers from the yard. I made a bundle with it, pretty little thing. Blues, whites and pinks. I smelled it. It wasn’t much by way of smell but it was pretty.
Reminded of days gone, back in the old homestead where grandma would tell us stories that kept us warm in the winter. Flowers remind me of home. When I left home at 13 to find my place in the world, I swore to momma and myself that I would build a home for us, far away from poppa’s fists.
A place for our heads, where our hearts would be at ease. Guess some dreams aren’t meant to come true.
I brought the flowers to Marietta’s resting place. She’s at peace now, and so’s our baby. They’re in heaven now, where there’s none of this shit.
None of this shit.
Caught up with Frank and Steve in one of the rundown motels that are too frequent in this city. Apparently the colonel kicked them out when food rations were running low. Guess the old geezer didn’t need two extra pairs of hands against crawlers and runners. What an idiot.
The undead seem to be changing a lot these days. When this all started, we had plenty of walkers and one or two runners or crawlers. The one that did Marietta in was a crawler. Torn in half for whatever reason but with a functioning upper torso. Runners are more agile. Their joints aren’t torn and they’re extremely aggressive.
One time one of them nearly got me. I puked for an hour trying to get the taste of the bastard’s stench out of my mouth. The thing tried to bite my neck. One of the guys pried it off me and I drove my bat into its mouth before wrenching its head and jaws loose.
That’s the thing when you’re undead. You’re pretty much toast when I get a-hold of ya.
Crackers! A ton of them! We hauled as much crackers as we could and packed them inside the car. We found and marked at least three gas stations within 50 miles. Two of them were still working. Thank God for solar panels. We could always go back to get some more.
Now all we need is water. The well’s run dry. And we’re suffering.
We’ve passed the state border and found ourselves face to face with a rebel camp of sorts. They got guns, we got guns. They treated us with respect, asked our names. They got this big bonfire going at night.
We watched as one of the leaders, Bree, took two girls into his tent for the night. No one complained. I wonder why they let Bree have his way with the women. Not that I care. My mind’s rotting after killing so many of those things. Their stench has become part of our fabric. Just got to live with the smell, I tell the boys.
Frank’s been real friendly with Wana, one of the rebels. She seems to like him, too. Wana’s a classic beaut; soft curls, dark bronze skin and a face like an angel. I’m happy for Frank. Any source of happiness is good in this godforsaken land that God forgot.
I think God exists. He just forgot about all of us.
A massive fire broke out in the middle of the day when my castaway crew and I were looking for anything to eat in the small clearing a few miles from the rebel camp. Food rations were depleted, moods now an all time low.
I don’t know how they’re going to manage without food but one thing’s for sure – anarchy’s going to break out if they can’t find a way to fix the food shortage.
As for me and the boys, we got our stash of crackers at the back of the car. It’s locked up tight and no one knows it’s there. We took the tiny rations we could from the kindness of the rebel camp but gave none of our emergency supplies. That’s why it’s called emergency supplies, bub.
We guard our guns with our lives. The last thing we need is having an idiot from the camp snatch it and make us dance like trained seals. No siree, no.
We barely got out alive when they found out about the crackers. This is the most ridiculous thing if you think about it but when you’re faced with no food, you’re going to target anyone with it. And we didn’t give our damn stale crackers.
Unfortunately they sent us off with an abundance of bullets but we’re good. We finally found a small trail that led to the woods. And what do you know, there’s a clear stream in the woods. With fuel running low and souls as weary as the last one-eyed creep I shot in the face, it’s safe to say that we might be here for a long while.
Frank and Steve immediately got to building a temporary hut. I used my training as a biologist to find some wild mushrooms to get some protein into our systems. I pried open logs to find bug larvae we could eat raw.
Out here, protein is gold, like water. Protein makes you feel full. Fills your arms and legs so you don’t look scrawny anymore. Maybe we’ll hunt a pig or deer if there’s some in the woods. Just need to get more calories in before we do anything more taxing than just walking.
I think I’ll like it here.
Steve is gone. He took our guns!
Look for another Zombieworld entry soon!