Zomblog: Snoe's Journey Read online

  Not the most hospitable bunch. Angel and the others did not seem to notice or care.

  Monday, August 22nd

  I guess I should not be surprised that the Natives have people here. I imagine that means I should get you caught up here with the past few days’ events.

  We were riding north. What is it with crucifying people? The side of the road was an alley between rows of these huge crosses containing bodies in various states of decomposition. The only good thing is that it seems they chose to keep them above the reach of the undead, although, judging by the looks, I’d say that might not have exactly been an act of mercy.

  I got a good eyeful of what had to have been a torturous ending. The people had what looked like enormous metal spikes driven through their wrists and feet which were nailed to a little wooden wedge. Over time, some of the arms look to have eventually torn away and the body is twisted at an awkward angle that makes me wince and cringe just thinking about it.

  I noticed that some of the males have had their privates cut off. There a few other forms of mutilation. I saw a few missing hands, and it took me a while to make sense out what it was that seemed so off, but I eventually figured it out. Some of them have had their tongues cut out.

  Of course you really do not get a good look at the damage until you get to the ones closest to the City of the Walls. I’d never seen a real prison before, and I know that my dad was captured by the residents of one out east, but that place just had really tall fences. This place does in fact have enormous walls. However, they have secured a great deal of land around that central facility. They did not play around with stacking cars or any of that sort of thing. They just continued to add on to their walls.

  Freetown would actually give Las Vegas a run for its money. I do not know how this place could be here and we not be more aware of its presence up in Corridor 26. This town/city is huge and has a combination of solar, wind, and steam power up and running that would make even Warehouse City jealous.

  There are schools, stores, and even a playhouse. I mean a house where they put on shows! Since I imagine there are no worries about the original owners coming around and demanding they stop…or pay up, they apparently turn old movies into live productions.

  I may have grown up in the post zombie world, but there are some things from the Old World that are iconic. One such thing is this movie series called Star Wars. Now, personally, I heard Mama Janie talk about it, but I guess you had to actually see those movies to get it, because they just seemed too far out there for me. Space ships and robots? Whatever makes you happy, I guess.

  Anyways, the first night in, we were asked as honored guests (I will get back to that later), to attend the opening night stage show of Star Wars. I sat next to this old guy named Mel Tufo. He almost cried when this little blue and white thing that looked like a giant, upside down drinking glass on wheels came out beeping and whistling.

  “I wanted to be Artoo when I grew up,” he said to me during the intermission. “I think I went as that little droid for Halloween every year until I was twelve and thought I was too cool to trick-or-treat. I actually met my wife at a Star Wars convention. She was dressed as the Jabba’s Palace version of Princess Leia.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was so sad that I wanted to give him a hug. And then I find out that he had killed his wife and gotten life in prison when he was just twenty-four. I tried to picture this old man killing somebody, and I just couldn’t.

  So after the show, there is this group of men and women waiting for us to escort us to some sort of reception area where Angel and a few of the others are supposed to meet with the people in charge. When Angel insisted that I be part of that meeting, there were a few doubtful looks, and even a couple of nasty scowls.

  I didn’t take offense. I think it is obvious that I am just a kid running around with a bunch of adults, but I was allowed to be present for the meeting.

  So, it seems that the Native Confederation has already made some sort of agreement with not only this group—why was I not surprised to discover that there are other prisons that have become central hubs for civilization?—but a half dozen others. It seems that these facilities actually made an excellent bastion to hold out against the undead. Now, some of them apparently fell to in-fighting, but not as many as one would think.

  And here is something that I find interesting. They claim to have an almost ‘zero’ crime rate. Drugs and alcohol? Strictly prohibited! They do say that not all the other prison-based cities have the same rules, but apparently the group that seized power here were a bunch of guys who were die-hard believers in the drug-and-alcohol rehab program.

  They live by their own codes. If you have an issue with another, it is settled in an arena. Strictly hand-to-hand fighting, no weapons. Once the fight is over, the issue is considered ‘squashed’. (That is their term for ‘resolved’ from what I could gather.) Stealing is punishable by exile and sex crimes of any nature are handled quickly. If guilty, the person ends up on one of the crosses we passed. I guess the first thing they did once they took this prison was execute every single sex offender. Unlike the prison Sam found himself in, the numbers were not as favorable.

  This ‘code’ they live by is a bit odd. For instance, the death sentence can be given for lying, refusing to work, not paying a debt, and accusing somebody of something they did not do. All in all, I find these people to be more than just a bit unstable, but this is their house…their rules.

  But that is only one side; some of these men and women travelled to the far ends of the state to try and find their families. The ones that did brought them back here. They also brought people they met along the way.

  And now for the connection to the Native Americans.

  It seems that a couple of the ‘lifers’ (guys who have life sentences…not an overly clever moniker, but I guess it fits) were Natives. It seems that they were pretty well respected, and when they left to find family out on the Warm Springs Reservation, they became heavily involved in closing off their land. One of them was even there when Erik and Meredith came through.

  When the decision came to take Oklahoma, they were a big part of the decision process. One of them turns out to be the person who suggested that they keep ‘agents’ in every known settlement. They put forth the idea that it would be to their benefit to keep an eye on the white man this time, plus one of them was really into the whole ‘Seventh Generation’ story.

  His name was Brian Madison, but his birth name was Brian Greyfeather. He was always considered the ‘crazy’ one. By Old World standards, most people thought he was not only crazy, but a bit of a racist. Now, he is one of the head ambassadors for the Confederated Tribes and has what equates to a mansion here in Freetown.

  Once this meeting began, things got interesting. It seems they knew all about General Carson. Not only that, but the general sent a group ahead to request passage through their territory, which they granted! They did not care one bit as to what the general or the NAA was up to, as long as it didn’t bother them.

  When Angel spoke, this Brian person actually cut her off. “What reason would we have to care what happens to these white people? They rejected us years ago and have had nothing to do with us since we sent somebody to them to discuss the very arrangement that they eventually agreed to with this NAA. Now they are surprised when the snake turns and bites them? Is this the first time that the white man has made a deal and then changed the agreement to suit their greed?”

  I looked around the room at the other people of Freetown who were supposed to be in charge. They just sat there…nodding!

  This was when I lost my temper.

  “So you are just going to sit back and let General Carson do what he wants? And then, when this…snake…when it turns back on you…what then? Using your own logic, is it not just a matter of time?

  “You may not have ever been in any sort of agreement with the people of Corridor 26, but we never caused you any harm. The people of t
hat settlement did not refuse to deal with you because you were Native American, they refused because they were scared of you. You are killers, thieves, and drug addicts. They were just normal people who were trying to rebuild their lives after the unthinkable happened.”

  “And you think that none of them were…” Brian paused and gave me a hard look. “Killers, thieves and drug addicts? Is not that what you just called us?”

  I nodded. Yep, that was pretty much it.

  “And yet you come here now and ask for our help?”

  I could tell that Brian was getting annoyed and just a bit angry. His face was starting to turn red and one blue vein stood out on his left temple. Interestingly enough, his voice stayed level and even.

  “Actually, I didn’t, this was Angel’s idea.”

  There was a long silence in the room and I was pretty sure that I had just blown any chance of getting these people to join us or offer any sort of help.

  “You have quite the spirit,” Brian laughed. And when I say that, I don’t mean that he let go with a little chuckle as he spoke. Nope, He said those words and then he laughed…long and loud; he even had tears running down his face by the time he finished.

  I sat there, glancing over at Angel every few seconds, but she did not seem to want to meet my gaze. I could tell by her clenched jaw that she was not happy. So maybe I didn’t act or behave quite in the manner she wanted, but I really did not care. As far as I was concerned, this little trip was a waste of time.

  That was what I thought until Brian spoke again.

  “Snoe Gainey, daughter of Sam and Meredith, I see now why Erik had such interest in you. You are a fighter, just like your mother, but have the heart and spirit of your father and his blood.” Brian stood at the table and looked at the others, calling for a vote on whether they should help.

  Meanwhile, I was considering the words he had just spoken. He called me a fighter? Wow, I am pretty sure he will take that statement back eventually.

  The vote was not even close to unanimous. There was a great deal of bickering and shouting, but eventually, they agreed to help. A few times, I actually thought that there would be a fist fight right then and there.

  Still, once the vote was over and the decision made, everybody filed out and went to spread the word. I was still sitting there at the table with Angel and wondering if even this would be enough.

  “Erik told me that you have the birthmark…the white buffalo.” Brian was looking at his hands. If I knew him better, I would swear that he was embarrassed. “Could I see it?”

  I didn’t see the big deal, nor did I see the harm. I nodded and he came around the table to me. I guess he already knew where to look because he went right to it. That was just a bit creepy.

  After the meeting, Jimmy was waiting for me on a bench. He waved, I waved. Then he ran to catch up to me, so I guess the wave was more of an implied “hey, come here” gesture. The gist of it was that he was wondering if we might hang out and eat together later.

  I don’t read a lot, but I have read enough stories. Honestly, I don’t know how I was ever born, because the world was in a tailspin when Meredith and Sam met each other. To be honest, the last thing on my mind is getting involved with somebody.

  Sure, he’s cute, and I absolutely like the idea of having a guy in my life at some point. Right now is not that time. How am I supposed to be romantic or anything like that when I have all of this insanity unfolding around me? THAT is the part of the stories in books that I do not understand. Yes, I know we could all die at any moment, but right now, those odds are a little bit higher. Romance is not a priority.

  So, now that I am pretty sure his feelings are hurt, I feel like a total bitch. I just don’t want some guy thinking that I need to be saved or anything like that right now. Also, and this is a big part, I want to show all of these people that seem to think I am worth following (for lack of a better term, because, as far as I am concerned, Angel is leading this thing), that I am worthy.

  Tuesday, August 23rd

  I have to admit, I thought that we were living well on the Corridor. We had nothing on this place. There are stores that sell candy…JUST candy. Heck, candy was an event and an occasion back home. Not only that, but they have huge fields and stuff with all sorts of animals like cows and pigs and chickens and turkeys (which I had never seen before, much less eaten).

  I saw one place that sold dresses. Even crazier, I saw women walking around wearing dresses! Nice ones, too. I owned one, but I only wore it on special occasions. Here, people just walk around and shop. There are three libraries, for crying out loud! And they have a newspaper.

  This all makes me wonder about what it is we were doing, or thought we were doing on the Corridor. Until now, I thought Warehouse City was like, super advanced.

  That brings me to the next part…this place has an armory. I have not been allowed to go inside, but Angel just came back from the place and she was smiling.

  We leave the day after tomorrow. I guess these folks take a few days to mobilize. I am trying to be patient. It does me no good to want to hurry. But my fear is that we will arrive and there will be nothing left.

  I hope that all the people who stayed behind in Warehouse City have been hard at work shoring things up. And certainly they could not believe that this was over just because Dominique left that day.

  There were breaches in the walls that needed to be fixed. And that was my other thought. The Corridor had grown complacent. We had those watch towers along the way that had been built as Warehouse City was connected to the Sunset Fortress, but both of those locations were just a hub. The people that called those two places home just sort of sprawled. It was like everybody was afraid to live close to one another. Maybe there was some sort of residual fear from how things happened when the zombies first came.

  Yet, now, what I see is a huge community. And make no mistake, they have walled off an enormous amount of land. But these people did it in a square that seems to have expanded outwards. As I walk around, I see each section as it was added, centering on the actual prison.

  There are huge, steam-driven construction cranes working right now on the next expansion about a half mile out from the last wall to have been built. The work is non-stop, but there are numerous diversions for people to engage in when they are not working.

  I actually saw a small stadium for sporting events where they were playing baseball…in front of spectators. I know it was baseball because some nice man told me when I asked. This place is almost like looking into what the world that my parents must have known. Only, from what I heard, waste was a real common practice. Not here. They have compost centers, open bazaars where people sell the clothing they no longer want. Where I lived, if you outgrew something, you usually salvaged any of the material and used it in the making of your next set of clothes. Once the material was absolutely useless and threadbare, it was either turned into rags or brought in to be shredded and pressed into something that you used in your woodstove.

  Wednesday, August 24th

  Today, I had a cupcake…it is like a cake, only small, round, and wrapped in colorful paper. It was heavenly. Am I that sheltered?

  Thursday, August 25th

  I should feel sorry for General Carson…but I don’t.

  We left Freetown this morning. The Natives who have travelled with me this far were a little annoyed at first. The Freetown Army just rolled out in a massive cluster of men, wagons, and weapons. So much for single-file.

  Our scouts have told us that the general has been making it a point to roll over every single settlement and tribe they encounter. They are leaving nothing in their wake except death and destruction. Finally, I heard voices that echo my own thoughts.

  Some of the Natives were riding right behind me this morning when we passed through the still smoldering ruins of a village. There were bodies strung up from poles and trees, as well as a litter of corpses just strewn about for the animals to pick at.

  “How can this cr
azy white man hope to have anybody left to rule?” I heard from right behind me.

  “He is a white man, he does not care how many he rules…as long as he is ruling someone,” was the response.

  Friday, August 26th

  We caught up to the trailing edge of a herd of undead that had fallen in behind the general and his army. So, today, I was treated to seeing the difference between my Native army and my convict army.

  The Natives rode in fast, quickly taking down zombies and then pulling back once they were the focus of the undead. The convicts charged in like lunatics. There was a great deal of yelling, cursing, and laughing.

  The real difference was the final outcome. Both sides put down hundreds of the walkers. But not one single Native brother or sister was hurt or killed. If the report that I heard was accurate, the convicts lost thirty-seven members. The crazy thing is that they didn’t even seem bothered by it.

  Also, they have three who have been bitten and are already showing the tracers in their eyes. They left on horseback right after the fight, riding hard for the general’s direction. I don’t know what they think to accomplish; three zombies against an army of thousands?

  Saturday, August 27th

  We should reach Corridor 26 tomorrow. We are currently camped just past Corridor 205. At last, I am once again on familiar ground. It feels strange. I want to be excited, but with all of the damage and destruction that I have seen on this ride, I have a hard time holding out hope.

  Angel told me that she expects this fight to be very costly and she wanted my promise that I would return to the Confederated Lands with her no matter the outcome. I think she is as nervous about that as I am about the fate of all the people at Warehouse City.

  Tonight, she sat down and shared some stories about the struggle of the Native Americans. I feel foolish for being so ignorant, and after hearing some of the stories, I guess I am not surprised that anybody who is not Native American is choosing to let that part of history fade. Only, as long as there are Native Americans alive, that is not possible.