Zomblog: The Final Entry Read Online Free PDF Page B

way. The reason I am curious is that, whatever used to grow in that field, it’s now a head-high jungle. I’ve seen a few herds, and they always take the path of least resistance. The main body usually sticks to the road and the overspill will flow into the adjacent yards or fields. This group turned off the road and went into the field…like it was in pursuit of something or somebody.
    Of course we checked it out up close. Not even a straggler in sight. There were the usual bits and pieces. Sam wouldn’t step a foot in the area. Eric had a moment of unusual mirthfulness. We were poking around and he came up to me with an arm! After I gave an embarrassing shriek—and he stopped laughing—he held out the arm to me and insisted that I look. I did, but was obviously missing something.
    “The watch,” he said, holding the arm up for closer inspection. I looked and shrugged. “It’s a Montblanc,” Eric snickered as he pointed to the grime-smeared timepiece.
    I still didn’t get what the dickens he was trying to say.
    “This watch was worth more than I made in a year…and I had a decent job.” He chuckled, and then tossed the arm into the tall growth.
    I watched it sail, proud that I refused to make a comment about how time flies. As we resumed our search for a place to sleep, I began to wonder. What was wrong with our society that a man—it was definitely a man’s arm—could wear a watch that cost more than what a “normal” person made in a year? I mean, I get the whole “haves” and “have nots” thing. It is a fact of life…even today. I have seen groups come in with people on the verge of starvation, teeth falling out, skin laced with lesions. Meanwhile, those living along the corridor are eating three meals a day and holding parties complete with alcoholic beverages.
    Perhaps we are unredeemable.
     
     
    Sunday, February 7
     
    Haven’t gone far today. The night brought in some more nasty weather. Everything is coated with about a quarter inch of ice. It looks beautiful, but it is all but impossible to move around in. And as for fighting zombies in it? That’s just asking for trouble.
    I spent this afternoon cleaning and sharpening weapons. There wasn’t much to glean from this place, but it was kinda interesting flipping through photo albums. I played a little game, giving each picture a story and some dialog. Eric was a curiously attentive audience. Sam, on the other hand, could’ve cared less. All that mattered to him was the occasional scratch behind the ears.
     
    Monday, February 8
     
    Outside, the sounds of Mother Nature kicking ass can be heard. Branches and all sorts of hanging and dangly things are popping, snapping, and breaking. We’ve been lucky, this old house is holding up fine. There weren’t any trees in the yard that could prove a hazard. That had nothing to do with our choice when we picked it, but it gives us something to actually be aware of next time.
    We are keeping a fire blazing around the clock. It is FUH-REE-ZIN outside!
     
    Tuesday, February 9
     
    Somebody died late last night. Sam woke me with his growls. Eric and I were up and armed in a flash before either of us realized what was going on. Peeking out of the tarp-covered window (we do that to hide the light from our fire) we couldn’t see anything in the absolute darkness of a dead world. Then we heard it: The Scream.
    I won’t ever get used to that sound. A human being makes a very distinct shriek when they are being ripped open, torn apart, and feasted upon. I am sure I don’t have to tell you. If you’re reading this, you’ve survived long enough to have heard it a hundred, if not a thousand, times. It is like no other sound in the world.
    The good news is that the weather seems to be clearing up again. We are hoping to move on tomorrow. Good thing…I’m getting a little stir crazy. If I try to sharpen my blades again, or re-organize my cart, I think Eric will smack me.
     
    Wednesday, February