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2028 – Page 1
Uncle Roy and Luanne think it’s a good idea to chronicle the events of the past few years, and whatever is to come. He got me pencils and paper. Lots of paper.
I asked him where I should start and he told me to start at the beginning. The man is no fucking help at all!
Okay. Fine. I’ll start it on the day he kidnaped me.
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2028 – Page 2
I was in my room, earbuds in, less to listen to music than to drown out the sound of mom and dad and their friends. They were partying, as usual, the assholes.
Let me explain. I was raised by people who you had to hide food from if you wanted to eat. The type of people who let their teenage daughter drink beer and whiskey but wouldn’t buy her a coat for winter.
I heard a loud thump outside my door, so I went to investigate. I had not seen Uncle Roy since I was five or six, but there he was, standing over my dad. My mom was yelling at their friends to help. They wound up on the floor too, all bloody and beat up.
Uncle Roy packed me a suitcase and took me away. A week later the zombies, in a coordinated attack, overran the world.
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Let me tell you what Uncle Roy packed for me in that one suitcase. A few pictures. Some books. Some lotion. My cigarette lighter, but not my cigarettes. The charger for my earbuds. My laptop.
Notice anything missing?
Clothes. Yeah. No bra, no panties, no jeans, no tops. Also, no pads, no makeup, no hair brush. Strange, though, that I didn’t question him. I was so happy to get away from my parental units that I didn’t think I might be getting into a worse situation.
We didn’t make many stops along the way. He drove from Texas to Idaho without sleeping, munching on beef jerky and fiddling with the radio to find country music stations.
Wow. Country music. The man was a masochist. Since I had to listen to that shit, I guess he was a sadist as well.
We stop at some general store in the middle of fuck-if-I-know. The woman there, Luanne, knew Uncle Roy well. He kissed her on the lips, so they were more than friends. I mean, I’m fourteen, so I know what’s what in this world.
He tells her I’m a city girl and I need to be “outfitted.” Well, let me tell you what that meant. That meant I would be wearing godawful-looking clothes. I protested but Luanne went from being a nice old lady to a dragon. She gave me a look that turned my blood cold, so I did what she told me to do.
Uncle Roy left his pickup truck there and we rode horses the rest of the way. It took forever to get where we were going, up and up and up. It got cold, too, and it was barely September. I guess Luanne wasn’t so bad with picking out my clothes. I still looked like something out of a lumberjack catalogue.
Uncle Roy lived in a cabin. Pretty nice, but not much furniture. My ass hurt like hell from riding a horse, and sitting on his hard chairs didn’t make matters any better. He started a fire in the fireplace and put some logs in a stove. I had never seen a fireplace or a wood-burning stove before.
But I had my earbuds and my phone and my charger, so all was well. I went to bed, well-fed and warm. And I felt safe. Strange feelings. I could get used to them, though.
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We heard the news on the radio. Most of it, anyway, because we’d be listening and, all of a sudden, the station would stop broadcasting. Ominous, right? I was scared as hell. Here we were, way up on a mountain in Idaho, with no way to protect ourselves.
Or so I thought.
Turned out, Uncle Roy had quite the arsenal. Guns and machetes and knives. Oh my!
He always carried around a wicked-looking knife, as long as my forearm, gleaming and sharp. He used it for everything, it seemed, like it was an extension of himself.
A couple of days later Luanne showed up, all pale looking and scared. She told us about what was happening at the foot of the mountain. It was all pretty horrible, hearing about people running from zombies but getting caught and killed and their brains being eaten. Luanne said she barely got away from the carnage on account of having a fast horse and a shotgun.
Uncle Roy was curiously unperturbed. He went about his business, which seemed to consist mainly of chopping firewood and stacking it against the barn, killing a few small animals to eat, and keeping his weapons sharp.
Luanne laughed at my misgivings. She told me about how Uncle Roy killed a bear with two arrows and a knife. I told her that sounded like a tall tale old men tell others to make themselves look good. She up and gets all stroppy with me, telling me how she saw it with her own eyes and did I think she was telling a tall tale. I told her ‘no ma’am’ and shut the hell up. Uncle Roy may have all the weapons, but Luanne’s the one that scares the hell out of me.
The days pass slowly up here. I’m not as scared as I used to be, what with Roy and Luanne armed to the teeth and always on the lookout for brain eaters. Uncle Roy is teaching me how to use a gun and a machete. I’m not good at it. Yet.
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Uncle Roy killed a bear last month, and I’m sick of bear meat. He and Luanne gobble the stuff up like it was prime rib. I could go for some vegetables right about now, but the only thing green around here is me.
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2029 – Page 322
The snow is starting to melt, thank God! It’s fucking April and I’m sick of the cold and the snow and the isolation. Uncle Roy is gone, on a reconnaissance trip down the mountain. Luanne stayed here to take care of me, and for once, I’m glad of her company. She’s kind of like mushrooms. Takes some getting used to.
Luanne tells me I shouldn’t be using so many swear words in my writing. I gotta be me, right? Besides, whoever reads this in the future may not know what those words mean.
I hope Uncle Roy gets back soon. I worry about him, though Luanne tells me that the man is practically indestructible. Uh huh. She’s in love (or lust) with Uncle Roy, so she thinks he’s God’s gift to manhood. I’ll keep on worrying and she can keep on dreaming of nights with her knight. Ha!
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Uncle Roy is back. With news.
Things are bad, he said, but he learned a few things about the eaters. This is where the chronicles might help future generations.
1) They don’t eat anything other than humans. Uncle Roy said this is good news, but I don’t see how.
2) They don’t like coming up mountains, for a couple of reasons. They don’t do well when it’s below zero, and they get attacked by bears.
3) Sense of smell: superior. Sight: average. Strength: average. Pain tolerance: superior. Speed: below average. Endurance: superior. Reflexes: below average.
4) They can be killed by chopping off their heads or by burning them to ashes. I guess bears rip their heads off. Another reason to be wary of the outdoors in this miserable place.
Uncle Roy said he took out a few of them on his reconnaissance trip. I shudder to think of him being in any danger. I may not be like him, but I damn sure like him. I’d probably be dead or zombified if he hadn’t come for me.
I think about mom and dad. They sucked as parents, but I hate to think of what happened to them. And all the cute guys at school.
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Luanne and Uncle Roy send me outside for walks and such, but I know why. They’re probably bumping ugly. Ughh!
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2030 – Page 545
Uncle Roy is back from another trip down the mountain. Said that Luanne’s shop is a shambles now, but Luanne wasn’t too upset about it. Said that at least she has a place to stay and food to eat. Yeah. She’s all hot for Uncle Roy.
They keep talking about the “tipping points.” I don’t really understand it all, but it goes something like this:
The first tipping point was when the zombies outnumbered the living. Uncle Roy said that that’s the end of the world as we know it. The second tipping point is when the zombies run out of brains to eat. That’s when we can go back down the mountain. Whoever remains alive, though, can be dangerous. People won’t be people any longer, he said.
The third tipping point will be when people become normal again, but Uncle Roy said he won’t be alive to see it. That scares the shit out of me. What will I do when he dies? Well, I can’t think of that. I just gotta keep on writing and learning outdoorsy shit. It’s fucking difficult, living up here.
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We’ve been up here two years now, and I haven’t seen another person except Luanne and Uncle Roy. I thought about how I don’t feel lonely. Odd. When I was at home, I felt lonely all the time, despite all the people around. All I did was hide in my room, listen to music, and read books.
Last week, I killed a rabbit. I was a little sick about it at first, but Luanne skinned it and cooked it up. It tasted great! I’ve learned, slowly, that life up here is all about competition for food.
We found the remains of a couple of zombies down by the river. A brown bear was dragging the bodies to its cubs. It occurred to me that even dead people are in danger up here.
Uncle Roy said that the zombies are getting desperate enough to come up to the mountains now that food – humans – was becoming scarce. We’re all on alert, being vigilant.
I’m less and less inclined to be frightened. I’m wary – of bears, of the odd zombie that may stumble across our little (ha!) patch of earth, of my growing restlessness, of what humanity has become. Now that I’m semi-skilled in the art of killing things, I roam about more, appreciating the rawness of nature. It’s bloody and violent and unforgiving, but it has a beauty that’s undeniable.
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I accompanied Uncle Roy on his next reconnaissance. I felt anxious and excited as we rode the horses down to the abandoned and decrepit store that Luanne used to be so proud of. Uncle Roy started the pickup truck with a generator and jumper cables, checked our weapons, and checked the gas gauge. We took off down the road without speaking.
I’ve learned to keep my trap shut. Mostly.
We went through Sagle, Athol, and Hayden. Deserted. Decaying. Dead. Zombie corpses peppered the main roads, evidence of the second tipping point that Uncle Roy talked about. The undead were newly dead, though, so Uncle Roy suspected that there were still plenty of brain eaters around.
I kept a sawed-off shotgun in hand, ready to blast anything or anyone that needed blasting. My machete was strapped across my chest, and a knife Uncle Roy procured (stole) for me was tied to my left thigh. Uncle Roy filled up the gas tank, and several gas cans, at a Texaco station.
After procuring (stealing) a few items from the various shops around the towns, we headed back. We saw a few brain eaters in the distance. They would look up at the sound of the truck but made no move toward us, even when we stopped. Uncle Roy said that they had given up on survival and were just waiting to die.
We got back early the next morning, just in time to greet our visitors.
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Luanne was tied up, and the three men who surrounded her made sure we knew who was in charge. Uncle Roy laid his shotgun and machete down, as did I, but he kept his knife. One of the men kept on urging the other two to just shoot Uncle Roy so they could have a little fun with me and Luanne. I’m seventeen. I know what they meant.
Uncle Roy was having none of it. Quick as a blink, he gutted one man and slit the throat of another. The third man held Luanne in front of him, threatening to kill her if Roy didn’t put his shotgun down. But he forgot about me.
I stuck a knife in his neck and watched him grab at it, the blood spurting through his fingers like a small fountain. He fell and died, gurgling on blood.
I’m writing this down because I don’t feel bad about taking a human life. Uncle Roy was right about humanity. We had become animals – worse than animals. Even me, who had been safe and well fed, had no qualms about taking a life. I suppose the laws of the mountain are ingrained in me, for I saw the killings as part of what had to be done to survive.
Humanity may never be what it was. Whoever reads these words may not be able to grasp what we had lost, but it crushed me.
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2031 – Page 939
Uncle Roy built me a little cabin of my own, twenty yards from his cabin. I say he built it, but really we all built it. I have the callouses to prove it.
They can have their intimate times alone now. I was almost eighteen, and I no longer ridiculed their sex life.
The winter was a bad one. Uncle Roy killed a bear and a deer, though, and Luanne and I chopped enough firewood to last through three winters. Still, the snow and the winds kept coming. Uncle Roy had to dig me out a couple of times because the snow blocked the door, and he made me fill up most of my cabin with firewood, just in case he couldn’t get out to help me.
When spring came, we all whooped and hollered. Yes, something as simple as a sunny day without freezing temperatures and snow was cause for celebration.
Uncle Roy said that the zombies were probably all gone by now, but that the marauders would be out in force. He was right.
We had to kill a few men (and women) who wanted what we had. By the end of summer, no one else invaded our land.
Our land.
It had a strange ring to it, at once beautiful and ominous. I looked out over the trees, the rolling river full of salmon, the meadows full of sweet grass and deer, and I knew it was mine for all intents and purposes. I owned it. I was responsible for it.
I sat in my cabin and reflected. Uncle Roy and Luanne wouldn’t live forever. Someday I would be on my own, and certain that I would die alone. I had no wish to leave the mountain anymore. I didn’t desire company or love or companionship beyond what I had.
Three years ago, in my bedroom at home, I would have scoffed at what I became. A mountain woman who didn’t care to use makeup, who didn’t daydream about sex with the cute boy next to me in class, who was happy to do without television and streaming music channels.
Life, it seemed, had something in store for me. One of the lucky ones. Maybe the only lucky one. I had Uncle Roy and Aunt Luanne.
She cried when I called her that the first time. I told her to dry up, we had firewood to chop. She dried up, and we chopped firewood.
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2 comments
I like how she grows up and recognizes the important things in life. It's a grand journey you've taken us on. (Though the timeline is a little worrisome) :-)
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Thanks so much, Trudy. And, yes, the timeline tells us to be at the ready, yes? She did indeed grow up, and I'm pleased that you saw her growth over the three years. Her writing matured, and she cursed less as well, so tough times force kids to grow up fast. Again, thank you.
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