More exciting, we are looking down on a tiny town that Roy says is Heron, MT. this is exciting on a few points: First—we made great time on some back roads and only ran into issues late this afternoon. Considering how long this trip has taken in the past, and to know it would be possible that we could be looking at our objective tomorrow feels like a good omen. Second—we have located what looks to be the encamped location of the maniacs who killed Scott, Sasha, Bill, Shannon, and Kyle as well as being at least partially responsible for Sam’s death.
They are set up nicely in Heron. They have big rigs, motorcycles, Hummers, and a freakin’ tank! We actually found them by mistake. Their mistake.
We were setting up by the river deciding that it would be best to hit our target shortly after first light. We hadn’t seen more than a handful of zombies—all stragglers—during the day. And did I mention that it is so very quiet?
A burst of gunfire suddenly echoes. About twenty minutes pass. We have all gone to locked-and-loaded status and on the lookout for trouble to come from any direction. We had just about reached the point where we could relax when Ella, who is set up in some dense brush by the water, starts snapping her fingers (it gets attention without being too loud). A raft is floating down the river. It has a few posts mounted on it. There are a total of seven people fastened to them. Also, lying sprawled on the raft are a few more…and they are starting to stir! The folks fastened to the posts are all dead, obviously shot up.
None of us can figure out why there are some who were shot to death and yet, obviously, several recently bitten folks are left unbound, unshot, and just laying on a raft, then set adrift on a river.
We were rotating in our groups of four, keeping watch on their camp. We had a vote and have decided that even if we have to delay our trip to Noxon/Trout Creek…so be it.
These people are worse than the zombies and need to be dealt with.
Friday, July 18
Nothing worth having or doing seems to come easy. Today is no exception. My team had the second watch. All of us have come to the conclusion that these people have no regard for themselves or others. They make no attempt to hide or be secretive. Sure, this is the middle of the wilderness, but zombies seem able to hone in on sound just as if they could hear. Since I’ve never met one that could tell me one way or the other, I can only guess.
These people have obviously made obtaining alcohol a priority. I won’t say I was surprised when we found a wide variety of drugs as well. They partied until long past my watch shift.
We moved in before sunrise. Since we’d had a couple hours of evening light, as well as their blazing bonfire, it was simple to side-step the barricades and pits meant only to stop or hamper the unthinking, unreasoning undead.
There was no formal sentry in place. These folks were cowboys to the last. They did have a handful of zombies collared and chained to twenty-foot leads. A couple actually got aggressive at the sight of us. Nothing a well placed crossbow bolt didn’t solve. The oddity was the pair that simply sat quietly watching us pass. It almost seemed that they—the zombies—wanted us to come and kill these demented folks.
I can say without question, even discounting their penchant for sadism demonstrated by the manner in which they killed our friends, that this was a sick group. More on that in a moment.
We crept in and made for the biggest concentration. We knew they were crashed out in a trio of double-wides. It was almost too easy to tie off the doors, making exiting a real problem. Then, after dousing the trailers and a good portion of the surrounding ground with gasoline…we positioned ourselves in firing zones and lit the match.
The fire spread quickly. Within minutes we could hear them. About then, Turk’s group, who had our backs, opened up on the few who had sought their night’s sleep in other locations and came stumbling out bleary-eyed and confused to investigate the fire and now growing commotion.
That was also when the middle trailer exploded. I don’t know how we missed the big, white propane tank. A moment later…their ammo started cooking off. They had a lot of ammo.
Doug Keller never saw it coming. At least that is what I’ve convinced myself of since he looks so peaceful. The bullet took him right in the temple in a way that would have made a mob goon proud. He was still smiling that goofy grin, only his dead, glazed eyes made it look a bit creepy.
Doug was our only casualty.
It was while we did a thorough walk-through of this no-stoplight town that the more disturbing finds were discovered. The vast quantities of various drugs were no big surprise. Then we found the gruesome discovery in the tank. I can only imagine what purposes were served by having no less than ten armless, legless zombies in its cockpit or whatever they call the interior of a tank. There is blood caked everywhere as well as unrecognizable remains of whoever was unfortunate enough to be cast inside and locked in.
It was just after the tank revelation that we found HER. I could still recognize her face even in its discolored, waxy, sagging, zombie state. A face seen in several movies and often on the front of those useless tabloids. I seem to remember reading or hearing that she had a huge log cabin style mansion out in these parts.
My guess is this group found her. I bet she thought she’d been saved. Who knows how long they kept her or what they did to her until boredom set in. At some point, they let her be bitten. Not bad, just enough to put her in this state. Only, it seems they had not finished using her for unspeakable, unthinkable things.
She was tied to a pallet. Naked. The pile of used, discarded condoms tell a story I’d rather not dwell too deeply on. I looked into her eyes for a moment. Can a zombie be sad? Her eyes, even in death, looked like those I’ve seen on a few girlfriends who become their significant other’s punching bag on Saturday nights after a few too many cold ones.
I almost felt sorry for her before bringing up the crossbow and ending her career once and for all.
Tonight, we’ll spend the evening in our camp from yesterday. Tomorrow, we move on to Noxon/Trout Creek.
Saturday, July 19
Their names are Julie Barton and Jack Whitefoot. They are the only survivors of Noxon, MT.
We had decided to check the town for supplies before continuing south where we will take the gravel road that will loop us back into the mountains and eventually lead to the isolated commune-cult complex.
We came into town from the northwest using the increasingly treacherous Highway 200. The street or road …whatever…is littered with scattered bodies. These rural areas probably put up the best fights. That helps, since not only was the base population minimal, but the locals took out a high percentage of the undead before eventually succumbing or perhaps retreating.
In Noxon, it seems that the fight went in favor of the living. We encountered twenty or so of the undead former residents as we rolled into town. They came out in typical fashion, attracted by the sound of our vehicles.
We stopped in front of a long, log cabin style building; the Hereford Restaurant. In less time than it takes to write this…we had put down the only visible threat. Just as we finished, a shot rang out and Turk fell to the ground clutching his left leg. Of course everybody except Sugar went diving for cover. Sugar dove for Turk.
A voice called out, telling us that we’d “best get back in our trucks and go back the way we came.” I figured the owner of that voice to be a bit more frightened than we were, even with us being initially the more vulnerable. Mostly due to the quavering change in pitch. I stood up, setting my crossbow on the ground and extending my arms out to try and show I was not a threat.