like the worst parts of living in a warzone/horror movie. Besides…one more day in this damn basement and I’m gonna strangle Lynn.
Thursday, December 18
We’ve made it to the Willamette River. It is a disaster beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined. The good news is that the Marquam Bridge looks to be intact. The bad news is that it is the ONLY bridge intact as far as the eye can see.
After spending the past few days ducking in and out of the charred remains that became more and more prevalent as we neared what used to be the sparkling jewel that was downtown Portland, we are finally inside the mostly intact office building situated in between the collapsed ruins of the Hawthorne and ghostly quiet Marquam Bridge. Rotting and blackened corpses are everywhere, strewn like dead leaves in the fall.
We all made it safe. No small miracle. However, I have never known a baby as quiet as Adam. (I did ask his last name; Victor and Lynn say he doesn’t have or need one, that there is no need for a surname because that is the “old” way. Whatever.)
I have the luxury of a room (an office that used to belong to Resource Allocation Manager: Casey Tripp, according to the slightly askew doorplate) all to myself. We are on the third floor. The fourth is unfinished and wide-open. The bottom two are minor disasters and mostly windowless. This floor is a bit messy, and we had to take out a couple of lone stragglers, but the windows on the south and east sides of the building are unbroken. The north and west sides were exposed to what were obviously terrific explosions and fires. I don’t even want to think of what it must look like farther north and around the slight elbow-bend in the river.
There is what was once obviously a marina across from us. The fires were so huge that not a single boat remains afloat, and all the remains jutting out are visibly burned. A large— what was probably a park—is a dark smudge. The snow has washed away with the last couple of days of rain, but blackened tree husks and hedges line the perrimeter of a large expanse of scorched lawn.
Jenifer is dozing in her sleeping bag in the corner office. Jonathan is roaming someplace. Victor, Lynn, and Adam are in what looks like used to be a conference room in the south corner. I am hoping to get a good night’s sleep. My feet are swollen and sore, my back hurts, and I feel like I have to pee…constantly. But tomorrow, we will try our luck at crossing the bridge.
I hear screams, shooting, moans of the dead, and even an occasional rumbling engine. After all I’ve seen, I briefly wondered if I should’ve stayed in Irony (for about two minutes). This is an adventure, and I’m living it.
Sunday, December 21
There are worse outcomes that could’ve been the end results of our excursion…death comes to mind. But if you take that out of the equation, then this is the least desirable scenario. I’m separated from the group…trapped with Lynn. The only comfort I have at the moment is being fairly certain that Jenifer, Jonathan, Baby Adam, and Victor are safe, and that Coach is with me. Oh yeah, and Lynn.
As with most plans, it started out great. We got under way just as the sky was beginning to lighten. There were only a few wispy clouds, and the temperature wasn’t too cold. It was quiet.
Jonathan had located a late seventies model Honda Civic. We doused it inside and out with gasoline after pushing it near the collapsed on-ramp of the Hawthorne Bridge. Once it was in place, everybody except Jonathan high tailed it to the Marquam. The sun was rising just as we reached our spot. Victor waved a white shirt and Jonathan torched the car. He had actually covered half the distance to us when the car exploded.
That brought everything out. Jonathan was doing great avoiding any of the zombies…until a creeper snagged or tripped him as he sprinted past the charred remnants of a police cruiser. When he fell, all of us reflexively lunged his
Thursday, December 18
We’ve made it to the Willamette River. It is a disaster beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined. The good news is that the Marquam Bridge looks to be intact. The bad news is that it is the ONLY bridge intact as far as the eye can see.
After spending the past few days ducking in and out of the charred remains that became more and more prevalent as we neared what used to be the sparkling jewel that was downtown Portland, we are finally inside the mostly intact office building situated in between the collapsed ruins of the Hawthorne and ghostly quiet Marquam Bridge. Rotting and blackened corpses are everywhere, strewn like dead leaves in the fall.
We all made it safe. No small miracle. However, I have never known a baby as quiet as Adam. (I did ask his last name; Victor and Lynn say he doesn’t have or need one, that there is no need for a surname because that is the “old” way. Whatever.)
I have the luxury of a room (an office that used to belong to Resource Allocation Manager: Casey Tripp, according to the slightly askew doorplate) all to myself. We are on the third floor. The fourth is unfinished and wide-open. The bottom two are minor disasters and mostly windowless. This floor is a bit messy, and we had to take out a couple of lone stragglers, but the windows on the south and east sides of the building are unbroken. The north and west sides were exposed to what were obviously terrific explosions and fires. I don’t even want to think of what it must look like farther north and around the slight elbow-bend in the river.
There is what was once obviously a marina across from us. The fires were so huge that not a single boat remains afloat, and all the remains jutting out are visibly burned. A large— what was probably a park—is a dark smudge. The snow has washed away with the last couple of days of rain, but blackened tree husks and hedges line the perrimeter of a large expanse of scorched lawn.
Jenifer is dozing in her sleeping bag in the corner office. Jonathan is roaming someplace. Victor, Lynn, and Adam are in what looks like used to be a conference room in the south corner. I am hoping to get a good night’s sleep. My feet are swollen and sore, my back hurts, and I feel like I have to pee…constantly. But tomorrow, we will try our luck at crossing the bridge.
I hear screams, shooting, moans of the dead, and even an occasional rumbling engine. After all I’ve seen, I briefly wondered if I should’ve stayed in Irony (for about two minutes). This is an adventure, and I’m living it.
Sunday, December 21
There are worse outcomes that could’ve been the end results of our excursion…death comes to mind. But if you take that out of the equation, then this is the least desirable scenario. I’m separated from the group…trapped with Lynn. The only comfort I have at the moment is being fairly certain that Jenifer, Jonathan, Baby Adam, and Victor are safe, and that Coach is with me. Oh yeah, and Lynn.
As with most plans, it started out great. We got under way just as the sky was beginning to lighten. There were only a few wispy clouds, and the temperature wasn’t too cold. It was quiet.
Jonathan had located a late seventies model Honda Civic. We doused it inside and out with gasoline after pushing it near the collapsed on-ramp of the Hawthorne Bridge. Once it was in place, everybody except Jonathan high tailed it to the Marquam. The sun was rising just as we reached our spot. Victor waved a white shirt and Jonathan torched the car. He had actually covered half the distance to us when the car exploded.
That brought everything out. Jonathan was doing great avoiding any of the zombies…until a creeper snagged or tripped him as he sprinted past the charred remnants of a police cruiser. When he fell, all of us reflexively lunged his
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