Then we heard automatic weapons being fired. Kevin was carrying a military issue Colt .45 semi-automatic and a shotgun.
Having no idea who or what was shooting, all we could do was make our run. The zombie traffic was thin at first and we split as the girls cut left to the armored truck while we stayed straight the five blocks further to the gas station. As we reached the gas station, more gunfire erupted. Michael froze in his tracks when we heard the screams of what had to be Stephanie.
Ducking through the broken front window, I kicked the door open to the garage. You’d think I would have learned by now as this obscenely obese man in stained coveralls lunged out at me. I slipped in the broken glass and landed flat on my back.
Rick—that was the name on his coveralls—came at me. Thankfully, his six foot, four hundred-plus pound frame did not fit easily through the entryway. My bat had skittered across the floor and under a metal-framed couch with cracking, orange vinyl cushions. I had no choice but to reach for my 9mm. I fired and Rick’s head twitched just slightly. I could barely discern the dark fluid drizzling like cold sap from the hole in his grease smeared face.
Regaining my feet, I looked out front at the twenty or so zombies visible that were now coming my way. Michael was nowhere to be seen! I considered scrapping the plan right there, but decided I would do this for myself if nothing else.
I grabbed my bat and made for the darkened open-bay garage. I figured that if there had been more zombies in there with Rick, they would’ve already made it to the open door. As I stepped over the huge carcass, I glanced down and saw a nasty bite on his left leg at about mid-calf. I froze and quickly fumbled for my flashlight. Sure enough, dragging itself along the bare concrete was the upper torso of an old man that couldn’t be younger than seventy. He looked to have literally been ripped in half.
Two swings of my bat was all it took.
I was thrilled to see a portable battery charger. My luck held as I pushed an LED indicator that read “charged.” I pushed the hand truck mounted charger to the backdoor. Looking out, I saw a few zombies milling, but not towards my location. Of course that changed the moment I opened the door. The loud squeak of the hinges did nothing to aid my cause.
I pushed the waist-high charger in front of me, cutting across the back lot and to the street. I heard more shooting from the direction I was intent on, but at that point I was committed. I ran as fast as I could, dodging the outstretched arms of the growing number of zombies converging on the area. I glanced over my shoulder once. Once. The street was thick with hundreds of the damn things on my trail.
I rounded the corner, not sure what I would find. What I saw froze me. My eyes jumped from one shocking image to the next. All three of the Thompsons were dead!
Amber was closest. A pool of blood lay around her head on the gray sidewalk like a dark halo. A bullet hole had blown a dark hole in her face where her left eye had once been. Stephanie was only a few steps away, a trail of blood showing where she had tried to drag herself back towards her daughter. Unfortunately, the bullet wounds in her chest had not finished her off and two zombies were still feasting from the hole they had torn in her stomach.
Two more zombies lay sprawled nearby where it seems Michael had shot them before taking a bullet in the back. He now lay face down, a zombie feeding intently on his left arm. It glanced up at me as it tore a sinewy strip of meat from the forearm.
A shot rang out and chips of the brick wall next to my head flew, cutting into my face in a few places. I flinched and ducked as a second shot rang out. I was stuck. I couldn’t run back the way I’d come as the street was packed with zombies. I did the only thing I could do, I ran forward. A few more shots ricocheted off the asphalt nearby. I ducked behind the parked armored truck and the metallic ping of a couple more bullets rang out angrily.
I only had a second to catch my breath as zombies were swarming from every side. I glanced around, looking for a place to run. There was no direction that offered any sort of salvation. Reaching over in desperation I tried the door of the armored truck.
It opened!
I climbed in just as I saw Michael stir. The zombie that had been feeding on his arm was already walking my way.
The day has been warm. Fortunately not too much so. A constant cacophony of hands pounding on the flat metal exterior, punctuated a few times by the metal ping of a bullet threaten to break open my skull.
Wednesday, April 9
I am so overwhelmed. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or just sit in a corner and rock back and forth. Greg Chase, Kevin Davis, and several men and women—many “deserters” from the Air Force base—rescued me.
It seems that when Greg and I got separated, he was taken in by a group of survivors who have basically turned Gonzaga University into a fortress. They send out nightly recon groups to try and rescue anybody who wants to come. Also, they do their best to quell some of the lawlessness that is so widespread.
Greg said he has not seen or heard from any of the others. His radio shattered after he landed on it when he jumped over a car. But with the city now effectively blocked off to any sort of incoming traffic he is not ready to give up hope. He was on recon with a patrol—he goes every chance he gets in hopes of finding any of our group—when they found Kevin. He recognized me from the description.
Turns out that our sniper was a sixteen-year-old boy! He was hidden in an office building across the street and halfway down the block from the armored truck. The kid was stocked with enough crystal meth to last a lifetime.
Once I was alone with Greg I asked if he knew that Kevin had been bitten twice and had no signs of turning. Apparently—and understandably—Kevin is keeping that a secret.
* * * * *
Greg, Kevin, and I spent several hours in my dorm room—I have a real bed to sleep in!—discussing what to do. While this place seems safe, organized, and well stocked, we’ve opted to leave. Each for his own reason, but we don’t want to stay longer than a couple of days. Since we’re not sure how this will be received, we’re not going to tell anybody. In a few days we will sign up for a recon and just take off.
Thursday, April 10
Spent today in my room. I really just needed to wind down after everything the past few days. From my room I could look out and see several steps that the folks here have taken to secure the area. Besides fencing, they have several access points blockaded by huge piles of gravel and rock. The zombie’s lack of coordination makes it very difficult to climb. When one falls, he often takes several down with him. Of course once they do manage to climb over, there are coils of razor wire and then open kill zones where those on watch sit and pick off all the over-achievers. Then, when the bodies start to pileup in the street, a bulldozer detaches and pushes the bodies back to the gravel berm and they torch the pile. That also keeps back any approaching zombies in the area for awhile.
They have quite a system. And you’d think that eventually the zombies would thin out.
They don’t.
Other than that, the folks here are friendly. It has some of the same qualities the compound I left behind has. Including the fact that it is confining.
I did discover how they keep the Air Force from just bombing them into oblivion. Some of the deserters brought stingers.
Sunday, April 13
Greg, Kevin, and I are back on the road. We’re joined by Steve Morgan and Colleen Kaufman. Both were members of the Air Force. Both worked as mechanics. They are not your typical poster candidates. They decided to leave when Captain Dahl assumed command. It seems that on his first night of power he made it clear that the citizens of Spokane were of no consequence and that it would be easier to let them die and then scavenge the supplies.