Read Online The Zom Diary by Eddie Austin - Free Book Online

the gate.
         I am greeted again by the guy wearing the Stetson hat.  I offer him a swig of beer, but he just shakes his head “I’m on duty”, and tells the guys to open the gates.  He walks into the enclosure behind me, and, once the inner gate slams shut, the outer one begins to slide open.  He escorts me out and stands behind the chain link fence after it shuts.  He calls to me then to offer warning.
         “We took out three zombies at the fence last night.  One was a big fella; quick, too.  Just sayin’.”  He looks satisfied with himself, and I nod before turning and heading down the road.  Thanks for the warning pal, I’ll be just fine.
         After a ways, I am satisfied that I am out of sight, so I cut into the woods on the left hand side of the road. It takes almost two hours to double back around town and return to the intersection where I first saw the fence yesterday.  The growler is half empty by now, and I am feeling warm beneath the noonday sun.  Sweating, I pause and consider the road.
         This side of Salem has not had the roads cleared of cars or debris or zoms.  Still, I am wanting to be home and I have already decided to chance it.  I sling my AK, deciding to save valuable ammo and get some practice with the katana on my back.  It will work unless I get surrounded or run into someone who can swing back, then the AK will be handy.
         I pull the sword and scabbard from my pack and hold them in my left hand.  I want to be able to get at it quickly if I need to.  In my right hand, I still hold the growler, bringing it to my lips as I weave through the sun-bleached rusty carcasses of automobiles along the road.
         It is shaping up to be a pleasant day.  The sky is clear and bright and to either side of the road, I can see the scrub returning to the former grasslands.  Short hardwoods sprout out of open spaces, and what patches of trees had been beside the road have now spread out and annexed all the land they desire.
         The cars I pass are infrequent now and quiet, but they still trouble me.  Most are abandoned, but about eight miles into my walk, I see one car that I remember from years before.  I had passed it on the way into town after Bill’s house burned.  It is a green sedan, and, as I passed it then, I had noticed the driver, now a zombie, still belted into his seat trapped by the nylon confines, presumably forever, or until he accidentally set himself free. 
         I decided not to bother with him then, and I am curious now if he is still there.  I walk to the passenger side of the car, noting that the doors are all still shut.  What was once clear glass, now appears to have brown residue clinging to the inside like tar on the windows of a serious smoker’s apartment.  As I lean to look at the driver, a hand slaps against the window; white and deeply veined with purple.  I nearly shit myself.
         Somehow he’s gotten free of the shoulder strap of the belt, or leaned over the seat as far as it would give.  I can’t tell.  He is still there, bleached by the sun, a desiccated maggot, fouling the upholstery.  I decide that I will leave the car be.  The smell that would escape from that time capsule is unfathomable, and I don’t care enough to bother with disturbing it.  Besides, he’s lasted this long without escaping, and I don’t really want to make the road to my place any more inviting.
         I walk a few hundred yards and decided to take a break, having left the car behind me.  I polish off the rest of the beer and place the empty jug in my backpack.  I must be a couple miles away from the turn off for the farm and there is plenty of daylight left.  I am drunkish and feeling silly and free from prying eyes.  I draw the katana slowly and focus on the sun’s light as it plays across the wavy edge of the blade.  Razor sharp.  I stand still and prepare to flourish the blade before putting it back in the