Story MJOTZY: Mom's Journal of the Zombie Years

Day 103

Sarah has run a low-grade temperature most of the day. Rachel and Waleski both have been monitoring her to see if it is just a reaction to the trauma or infection at the wound site. The puncture wounds are enflamed but not more than expected. We have to continue to watch her closely; it could have been so much worse than it was. Cats often snap the neck of their prey before you can say bob’s your uncle.

Rachel assured me that the antibiotics should be all that is needed to keep her on the road to recovery. I asked her why they hadn’t stitched her leg because it still bleeds quite a bit in my opinion. She responded by explaining so that the wounds can drain. If they were to stitch them up too soon they could actually seal the infection In.

It’s strange but somehow the tiger attacking Sarah has released all of us from an almost complacent stupor. We were just making do; reacting rather than being more forward thinking. Suddenly creative juices are really flowing like they were in the beginning of this plague.

Partly I think it’s the zombies. As an enemy they are almost mythic. They engender a kind of morbid fascination and are definitely real but at the same time something more than that. Our mind treats them either like an avoidable disease or an unimaginable horror that takes all of our time and mental energy to deal with. We forget there are other horrors out there other things we have to be prepared for. We haven’t had to deal directly with raiders in a while though we’ve heard they are still around. But it’s almost a case of being out of sight, out of mind. Unless something is an immediate threat it doesn’t register.

But this tiger attack, it is outrageous but real in a way the zombies mentally aren’t. It struck at the heart of Sanctuary, at the heart of what Sanctuary stands for. It struck our children, our future, what we are working for. And it was the children who defended themselves – and us – from our new enemy. We should have been there for them.

It has changed our way of thinking. The first thing I noticed was that we stopped being stuck on using those storage containers to complete the Wall. Suddenly we branched out and found such an easy fix. There are plenty of semi trailers around. I don’t know why we didn’t see them as a solution before.

And what about using those stationary exercise bicycles to make generators? David has promised Rose a better way to grind corn and wheat with one of those bikes as well. It was a charming offer in a dorky sort of way but maybe that’s what courting is going to look like from here on out.

Those of us who were soldiers are talking about making supplies of black powder rather than suffering through greater and greater shortages of ammo. This made the kids think of fireworks as potential weapons. The grown ups thought of homemade bombs and homemade rockets.

Scott said he wants to bring in a school bus, strip out most of the seats, reinforce the windows and doors and use it for longer-haul gathering runs. Cease said to add front and rear gun turrets and it would be even better. David said to add an extendable ramp at the rear emergency door and pack three or four motorcycles in the rear for short runs. The bikes would use less fuel and they would also make for a quick exit in case a bugout from the bus was necessary.

As far as for my own ideas I have two main ones. First is a large pole barn built next to the library. We could take more picnic tables from Nye and Lake parks and use the covered area both as a “mess hall” and as a school once it gets too warm for the kids to study inside. And of course I want a summer kitchen too.

My other idea is to build several greenhouses. I don’t want to use up good gardening areas so I would likely stick them out in the orange grove. Why I hadn’t thought of doing this since Mabel’s house was demolished I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been thinking too small, or too traditionally; still in lockstep with the way things used to be. Sanctuary has been growing but somewhere along the way I stopped.

A concern that has amazingly enough been raised by Samuel and Sarah is that we need to hurry up and gather up as many domesticated animals as we can. They have no defense against the African predators. It will mean another expansion of our fenced in territory but I think we’ve come up with a way around that. We’ll make at least one layer of the semi-trailers parked end-to-end. We’ll use a mini dozer to push earthen berms under the trailers. On top of those trailers we’ll stack cars that we’ve crushed and cables and bolts to tie them in place. Using broken down cars will also do something with the cars and trucks that we’ve just pushed off to the side of the road to get the out of our way.

This innovative thinking has even stretched into my menus. I pulled out some of my old-fashioned, Depression-era cookbooks and recipe files and found a few new ones I want to try on everyone. A “pretend” apple pie that doesn’t have apples in it, but saltine crackers. “Crab” cakes that don’t use crab but zucchini. A spice cake that doesn’t use milk, eggs, or white sugar. Ways to extend flour by adding various other ingredients. I knew about all these recipes but I had just forgotten them because my focus has become so splintered.

With everyone pulling together we’ve almost finished raising the second layer of the Wall. All that needs to be done is in the fenced sections we need to attach another layer of aluminum fencing.

Tomorrow we’ll finish that work and prepare the crew that is going to Busch Gardens on Monday. We’ve also started the new animal enclosure. We are building a small gate from Sanctuary into the new animal enclosure but otherwise the new “pasture” area will be inaccessible from the outside.

With no more truly wide open spaces left inside Sanctuary we’ve annexed the closest thing to it by choosing to fence in some houses sitting on acreage at our NE corner. We didn’t include them originally because we thought we were limited on fencing material, now we have more than enough to build another wall. After we close the area in we’ll cut more of the grass, right now it is really high. We are going to draw the zombies out of those areas by setting off an air horn a good distance from Sanctuary. We’ll sanitize the few stragglers and then we’ll close the new enclosure in completely.

Not even “Brother Jeremiah‘s Dog and Pony Show” has interrupted our work; although our work has interrupted their plans to continue their seven circuit march. Of course Lawrence’s delusions led him to believe we were making the improvements for his grand entrance that is supposed to take place in the very near future. They left around lunch time taking some of the debris we had tossed out onto US41 … calling it a tithe.

I know we are going to have to do something about the Ehren Cutoff group sooner rather than later … Jerry and Muriel in particular are extremely distrustful of them … but so long as they have the semi protection of the Hale Hollow group we need to tread carefully; no matter how annoying they are, at least for now.

Speaking of Hale Hollow, we had bandied about the idea of asking them if they wanted to go hunting with us – safety in numbers – but they are in the midst of another “reorganization.” A contingent of five families has definitely broken away from that enclave and plan on setting up their own enclave back on the old Geraci Brothers property at the corner of Dale Mabry and Van Dyke Road. Their problem is a lack of food. They had to leave everything behind to escape from Hale Hollow. They stopped by and traded some work for enough food to get their group through two days so that they can get going on their own gathering runs.

The extra hands were much welcomed and that is why we are as far along as we are. They are building a little close for my comfort – we’ll easily have problems with overlapping territories unless they stick to the west side of Dale Mabry – but hopefully we’ll be able to stay at peace and maybe even build a good trade relation. Their group is made up of adults and a couple of teens; no children. People with children are too scared of leaving Hale Hollow, worried that they wouldn't be able to protect the youngest members of their group without support.

They did tell us that they know of a couple of families with kids desperate to move from Hale Hollow. Apparently the Hale Hollow group isn’t for everyone. They have an elitist outlook and what you were before the NRS plague still matters quite a bit. Also, though they say they welcome new comers, new group members start so low on the pecking order that it is almost impossible for them to get ahead enough to influence their situation. Newbies are little better than indentured servants; working to “pay back” what the community storehouse “gave” them to get them started when they came in with nothing. And until you pay back what you owe you don’t leave the compound. Sounds more like a form of slavery to me; like what the railroad and mines used to do to their employees.

Hale Hollow has gone even further and set up a police force that sounds more like a communist committee than public servants. They have a ton of rules (soon to be called “laws”) and infractions against these rules at a minimum result in a “fine” usually in the form of desirable goods or in community service hours. They have exiled a few people but usually they send habitual offenders to Brother Jeremiah for what is termed re-education.

That whole situation up there sounds like it is turning scary. At least it sounds like their numbers are coming back down. They were up to nearly 300 people. Two dozen people left last week to continue north (why do this in the middle of winter I don't know). The New Geraci group numbers 26, leaving Hale Hollow with roughly 250 members. There is a huge schism that could break off another 75-100 people that Greg, the spokesperson for the New Geraci group, said could happen any day the way hostilities are escalating. Their group got out while the getting was good, trying to avoid the potential bloodshed of civil war.

We’ll tread lightly with Brother Jeremiah so we don’t become an outlet, or focus, for all of the antagonism and anger in Hale Hollow.

Well I'm tired. Tomorrow is supposed to be a day of rest but I think we'll have to work through the whole day. It happens like that some times. But if we won't to go hunting on Monday we want to make sure we leave Sanctuary in the best position possible.

Day 104

No physical rest for us today. In fact we worked really, really hard. But we’ve achieved a great peace of mind which is just as important as physical rest is; it lets your mind rest.

Phase Two of the Wall is now complete. We have a good sixteen foot tall wall around 95% of Sanctuary. The remaining 5% is double stacked aluminum fencing that has been reinforced with steel rods, with razor wire and barbed wire woven through it. None of it will ever make the cover of House Beautiful but then again I’d rather be safe than pretty. We can make it pretty when the world returns to a halfway normal place to live. If it ever does. The definition of “beautiful” has changed so many times over the millennia that maybe it’s time for it to change again.

We’ve cut back, and cut down, any trees that could possibly be used by predators – animals and human – to get over the wall. We’ve stacked the resulting green wood to season in case we ever find that wood cook stove I keep dreaming about.

Phase 3 of the Wall project is to complete the animal enclosure wall, already 70% done. While the hunters are gone tomorrow those still in the compound will finish the remaining 25%, barring unforeseen problems.

Phase 4 of the Wall is more like phases 4, 5, & 6. First we are going to add a wall-walk or parapet to the top of the main Wall. This will be made primarily of wood faced with metal sheeting on the outside. Even if the metal sheeting rips away in a high wind, the way Scott is bolting and chaining everything together the framing should remain intact. Once the parapet height is added to the Wall it will be around twenty-four feet tall. Hurray! This parapet area will also have arrow loops cut into it as well as embrasures that will allow for larger weapons to be used. Scott's imagination has also run to defenses like machicolations where missiles or other objects could be dropped down on attackers, murder holes if we ever build a second surrounding wall that hot oil or other deadly devices could be thrown down on attackers, and a trebuchet or catapult; all very medieval, but all very effective under certain situations.

We do worry about wind storms taking our main defensive tool down. It’s been decades since Tampa has sustained a direct hit by a hurricane but we get high wind advisories fairly regularly during hurricane season. This past season has been a dud but I’m not complaining. The season officially ends November 30th and then won’t pick up again until June 1 and I won’t be sorry for the break. We've got enough to worry about right now.

As a consequence of the higher walls we need to increase the number and height of our guard towers; the towers are more difficult to build. So far Scott has been able to get all of the building materials he has needed locally by taking things from construction sites, by dismantling existing structures, and from stuff we’ve gathered from various businesses on US41. He is worried though about making the taller towers stable and structurally sound enough to withstand constant use. He’d like them to be a little like drum towers on castles but affixed to the inside of the wall rather than the outside corners, and square instead of round.

The last major part of the wall construction as far as I know is to increase the height and strength of the front and rear gates. A wall is only as strong as its weakest point. Scott is seriously thinking of a multi-gate system of entry and has nearly convinced Matlock and Dixon that the extra work will be worth it in the long run. The outer most component would be a draw bridge. This would require us tearing up the train tracks and tarmac at the end of the road where it feeds out onto the highway; no small feat and one requiring a bulldozer. We haven’t seen or heard a train since the derailment that started the Big Fire but we'd probably put warning signs a couple of miles along the tracks in either direction just to get rid of any guilt. Scott also wants the railroad ties for some projects he has planned so the destruction would serve more than one purpose. The drawbridge could be raised and lowered with the same type of mechanism used to raise and lower ship anchors and if the appropriate number of pulleys and such were used, even a child could do it in an emergency.

Next component, after the drawbridge, would be a strong portcullis of some type. This would stay closed at all times even if the drawbridge was down and the inner gates open. It would operate kind of like a screen door; air flow but no bugs, the bugs in this case being zombies or other unfriendlies like wild animals and raiders.

Last would be the heavy inner gate that could be locked with a cross beam or something similar. Eventually he said he would like to enclose the entire entrance in a gate house. This would give him a chance to build even more murder holes and defensive mechanisms; but that is some time off. We certainly won’t complete all of that before the hunt tomorrow.

Dixon will lead the first Busch Gardens Gathering Run. I’d rather it was Matlock but that might be a personal and unreasonable prejudice on my part. There isn’t anything wrong with Dix, I just like Matlock more. I'm still reeling a bit from the Patricia/Rachel/Dixon thing I guess. Cease and Jerry are going because they are the two most experienced hunters in Sanctuary. Waleski is going as the medic. It gives me butterflies thinking he might be needed. The last two members going on this run will be Scott and I. I’m not real happy about leaving the kids but we’ve been away together on shorter runs and the world hasn’t ended. The thing is that Scott and I both worked at Busch Gardens when we were in college and we also had yearly passes for the last few years and were there about once a month as a family. We know both the public areas as well as the backstage areas. With two of us we can break down into two groups of three rather than one large group. Considering no one else in Sanctuary has ever been to Busch Gardens this should really expedite our hunting and gathering.

With the six of us gone it will leave Sanctuary short-handed. Now that we have more room maybe we should consider recruiting some of the smaller, nomadic groups out there. A bigger wall means a bigger area to guard. I’ll be honest (this is my journal after all) and admit that I’m not too keen about taking in folks from Hale Hollow or Ehren Cutoff. We have enough problems of our own we are working through, we don’t need to inherit any other problems. I may have to eat those words in the future especially if children are involved, but since this is a private diary no one will know but me, at least not for years and years to come.

I talked to Patricia and asked her to keep an eye on Sarah for me. She said of course and I’m that relieved. Patricia has had her problems, and still does, but she knows what Sarah means to Samuel and has actually fostered their friendship to a certain degree. That’s fine with me. Samuel is a good kid. Patricia’s right; he is plainly the best of both Dixon and herself.

James (when not on guard duty) and Rose, with a little help from Becky and Tina, should be able to handle the rest of the kids including Kitty who is over the colicky stage she was in. David will be around as well when not working on the enclosure. The kids view him as a big brother and he’ll help James with the discipline if it’s needed, though he is a bit of a sucker and the kids all know it.

Becky and Matlock are over their disagreement of the other night and it doesn’t seem to have hurt their relationship any. To be honest it may have helped them to open up and talk about some deeper stuff than what is going on day-to-day. According to Becky, Matlock has some reason to be distrustful of organized religion, but she also said he’s now open to being proven wrong. Apparently parochial school was a nightmare for him and he lumped all organized religion under the same heading rather than weighing churches individually on their own merits. We all have our reasons for why we feel the way we do about things. The trick is to be careful that our feelings – due to mistrust or fear – don’t turn us into the thing we despise most.

I expect it to be nippy in the morning so I plan to be up early to get water boiling so I can fix several thermoses of coffee and tea to take with us on the run. We’ll make a quick breakfast of grits with bacon and cheese added in and I’ll pack a basket of cathead sized biscuits that have butter and molasses in their centers for a midmorning snack for those that get hungry. Lunch will be protein bars this time and we’ll be home before dinner. Just in case though we are throwing a case of MREs in the bus and plenty of treated water.

Aside from the normal expectation of a major run, something tells me that tomorrow is going to be special. I don’t know what it is but my anticipation is pretty high. We’ll head out as soon as the first rays light the sky and roll over any zombies that are in our way.

Day 105 (Part 1)

Wow, this day has been something else. I mean really.

We left before dawn by about 30 minutes. Not my choice, but the guys wanted to get to the park at first light. We gave it the old college try but it didn’t happen, too much junk in the road that a bus simply can’t go around too quickly. Scott said if he can figure out a way he might try and put a dozer bucket or something similar on the front of the bus, maybe even with hydraulics, to facilitate moving road blockages. That's way outside his current skill set though and will require a good study before he can do it. The way things looked a battering ram would have been just as handy though a lot more noisier.

Zombies, unaffected by lack of light, roam all night and we usually have a small group wandering outside the gates of Sanctuary every morning. This morning was no different, but rather than having the guards clear the corpse brigade we used the bus to simply roll over them the same way we would have used the tow truck. I had forgotten that nasty, squishy noise and the weird feeling of the bumps when you run over a zombie. Totally ick. I hadn’t run the tow truck since the time of the raiders. It’s amazing how quickly you can forget something you’d rather not remember.

We loaded the bus late yesterday and double checked everything this morning before heading out. Our food and water was secured under the remaining benches at the front of the bus. The rear of the bus has a heavy-duty, folding trailer ramp hung across the rear emergency door and windows, providing additional protection in that area. The ramp can be used for the four motorcycles that have been secured back there. The remaining windows are covered with grill work. We haven’t had a chance to perfect the two gun turrets on top of the bus, but they are secure and serviceable, if not esthetically pleasing to look at. The windshield is already tempered but Scott added hurricane film to protect the windshield even more. The bus was also given a sort of urban camouflage paint job using supplies from a local car dealership. It isn’t pretty but it is better than driving a big yellow banana.

So we set out as secure as possible but not without some trepidation, at least on my part. I don’t know about the men, they all seemed kind of watchfully excited to be on such an adventure. Especially Dixon who, if he doesn’t get out and about very much, gets to be like a caged lion pacing around Sanctuary’s walls. I hadn’t been any further away from home than Vandervort Road in over three months so my anxiety level took a decided jump as we went beyond that point and turned onto Livingston Avenue and headed south to Bearss Avenue and then over to Bruce B. Downs Blvd. Passing all of the USF housing and what was left of the community hospital was disturbing. I had only heard about the destruction, seeing it with my own eyes … let’s just say I’m ever more thankful that my kids were home and not away at school some place. I shudder at the terror and anxiety that some parents had to go through. Hank hardly talks about his oldest son, but when he does you can see that there is still some small spark of hope left that he got out somehow; that he’ll never see the boy as an NRS plague victim. It’s really only wishful thinking but we all leave him alone about it.

We took Bruce B. Downs Blvd south to Fowler Avenue. As we crossed Fowler I could see that small fires apparently continue to break out here and there on campus. I don’t know if they are man-made or not and we didn’t have time to investigate. The sky was already beginning to brighten and traveling was slow going.

We had decided to enter the park at the employee entrance off of Bougainvillea Avenue. As we continued down Bruce B Downs to reach that road I hoped our memory was correct and that that entrance would give us the turning around circumference that we needed for the bus. Plus, because of the way that entrance was set up, we likely would not be as observable by others who may only know about the main park entrance at Busch Blvd and McKinley Street or the main employee entrance off of 30th Street. There was a small sheriff substation on the 30th Street side of the park but we wound up not having time to investigate it.

The employee entrance we went in was in the rear of the park and abutted right onto Tampa Industrial Park. The corporate offices for the park are at the entrance and housed mainly Accounting and Employee Services. The Tampa Industrial Park was another place we have added to our Run List now that we have a successful mode of transportation. The Yuengling Brewery is in the industrial park and all of the guys wanted to stop there. There are some other warehouses in there as well but some have been empty for a number of years. We simply can’t do everything we want in one day; today’s priority was Busch Gardens and that’s what we stuck with.

We pulled through the gates and idled the engine after we positioned the bus for a quick get away, if needed. Dixon got out and after a couple of moments signaled for the bus ignition to be turned off.

Looking around the parking lot where Scott and I shared many a kiss the first thing that struck me was the lack of zombies. In fact there weren’t even any corpses. It’s rare to be in an area with neither, especially given the cacophony of noise coming from inside the park in the form of bird calls and other miscellaneous animal sounds that should have drawn the zombies like magpies. Wondering didn't get the work done though so everyone grabbed an arm load of canvas bags. Garbage bags don’t hold up for very long and the canvas bags were the same kind that people used to go grocery shopping once so many stores stopped using plastic bags.

First we hit the back offices where I interviewed for my first job what seems like a million years ago. After breaking in we found the offices have been devoid of people for quite a while. They’d never even been looted. It’s possible that because of their location they were overlooked. Truthfully they aren’t all that interesting looking even when you know they are there.

The whole building was musty and the roof had leaked through the acoustic ceiling tiles in several places. There was mold and mildew all over so we popped on our N95 masks and goggles to try and avoid the worst of it. I’ve gotten used to working with gloves on and had already put them on before exiting the bus. I have a favorite pair of leather gloves that fit like a second skin; over the top of the surgical gloves that I do wear like a second skin if I’m outside of Sanctuary.

Cease and Dixon acted as lookouts as the rest of us went from office to office gathering anything that could be useful. Mostly all we found were office supplies, but the ladies restroom and the janitorial closets yielded quite a few things like feminine hygiene products, toilet paper, paper towels, and other cleaning supplies and chemicals. In the break room though we hit our first piece of pay dirt; coffee, tea, creamers, sugars, cocoa, and a nearly full vending machine. We were lucky none of it had been compromised by rodents. The roaches weren’t too bad either which led me to think the building had been treated regularly up until NRS closed the public areas of Busch Gardens. Most of the office plants had died but there were a few I was thinking about trying to save when Scott caught my eye, grinning, and shook his head “no.” Can’t blame a girl for thinking now can you? I love plants and I carried a few outside so that at the very least if they were going to die they could die in the sunlight.

We hauled our finds back to the bus and dumped them into a couple of the large storage tubs we brought along for this purpose. We finally set off into the heart of the park from there.

A short road led us first past the back of the Congo Train Station then behind the empty cages for the white tiger than aren’t within the public viewing area. Dixon was point with Scott right behind him. Cease was the rear guard with Jerry just in front of him. Waleski and I were in the middle. Everyone but me had a gun. I carried my handy-dandy machete that had yet to let me down in addition to a side arm that was less likely to put me on my rear if I actually had to fire it. We were going to check out a couple of restaurants together then break up into two groups and cover the rest of what employees call Area 2 (the rear of the park) with a rendezvous planned at the First Aid Station in Timbuktu. From there we planned to go through the Desert Grill (one of the park’s main restaurants) together and then break up again and cover Area 1 (the front of the park) with a rendezvous point at the front gate. Then as a group we’d go back by way of the main warehouse and then back to the bus and home, picking up any supplies we had piled along the way.

First we hit what used to be called Vivi Storehouse, a restaurant that I worked in for a couple of years that served things like fried chicken, triple-decker sandwiches, salads, and desserts. It was only a seasonal restaurant and wasn’t open when NRS came to town so I didn’t hold out much hope that we would find food there. But I did want to see if I could bring back any of the metal cooking utensils and rolling bins that were kept there.

The rear door of the restaurant was chained shut which they never did when Scott and I work in the park. This was either an additional security measure to prevent vandalism between seasons or they had done it when they closed the park to the public back in August. Either way it didn’t stop us. Scott made short work of the chain and lock with his bolt cutters.

With the roll down doors shut across the front, the interior of the place was pitch-black. However, nearly in the same places they were 25 years ago were the rolling flour bins (empty), the Lucite storage bins lined up on the metal shelving (also empty), and just inside the cook area was the rack where the utensils and knives were. I quietly and quickly loaded stuff into the rolling flour bins while everyone looked over the rest of the restaurant using LED head lamps that left their hands free. There was no talking, no real need for more than the occasional hand gesture; we had all been on so many gathering runs by this time that we worked together as a well-practiced team. I did get a pretty good spook when I turned to set my next load outside when I noticed the open door was allowing several possum-sized rats to exit the building.

With a shudder I remember those rats from when I worked in the park. They have no fear of humans. The Swiss House had been closed for several years when they decided to re-open it and renovate it for corporate events and casual dining. It was horribly infested with these large rats and the construction chased them out into the rest of the park. Because of the water and grassy areas and all of the hidden places in the animal enclosures they became an endemic nuisance that the zookeepers were constantly at battle with, much like the wild ducks that would migrate to the park every year and overpopulation by feeding on all the popcorn that was dropped by tourists.

Rather than going back to the bus every time we got a load of supplies we decided to make centralized piles that we would pick up along the way back to the buss. Luckily those rolling flat beds, like you used to see at Warehouse Clubs, are located at a lot of different places throughout the park. It’s how most supplies are moved around the interior where you can’t use mechanized vehicles. We decided to use those to push the various piles back to the bus and hopefully only have to make two or three trips back and forth to get it all.

Next a little shop that sold soft serve ice cream in waffle cones. We didn’t even bother going into it after we noticed one of the wooden panels over the door had been chewed through and the strong smell of rat feces that bellowed out at the smallest puff of wind. That didn’t bode well for the remainder of our run.



From there we stayed together as a group and passed the kids’ attraction called Jungala. I heard some scurrying and turned to see a gibbon swinging from the fake vines on some of the fake trees. Scott and I looked at each other with our eyes big and round. Gibbons are the fastest and most agile of the tree-dwelling monkeys. They are also very territorial and vocal about it. From the sound of things there was definitely more than one gibbon in there. Scott looked at Dixon and shook his head. We’d be by-passing the gibbon’s domain, at least for now. Better safe than sorry until we knew what we were dealing with.

Before I could turn Jerry taped my shoulder, nearly giving me a heart attack to tell the truth, and pointed to the path behind us. Cease was standing at ready as a large orangutan lumbered across the path we had just crossed. Oh boy. I mean oh boy. I don’t care how cute and funny they look, how remarkably intelligent they are supposed to be. Luckily I’m fairly certain that though they are opportunistic foragers the closest they come to being carnivorous is the fact that they will eat insects and eggs if they are handy. Still, I’ve been a city girl for too many years now and like my big hairy zoo creatures behind walls, or in the care of a trainer and leash, rather than using the same sidewalk as I am like. I felt like an interloper rather than someone who was supposed to be at the top of the food chain.

We avoided sudden movement and continued walking across the bridge into the Stanleyville area; passing the white tigers’ island. There were the remains of two mauled humans on the island. One was wearing the remains of a zookeeper’s uniform and the other body had street clothes on. Both kills looked like they had been bitten more than once. It was hard to tell from this distance how hold the corpses were but obviously no older than about three months. The zookeepers probably ran out of food and in misguided desperation, after the world had ended for most folks, decided to free the captive animals that had a chance of being self sufficient. Or, alternately, the body in street clothes could have been a zombie or looter that caught the zookeeper unaware. Just one misstep by the zookeeper or the other human could have easily let the tigers escape captivity. That would explain the tigers, but too many of the animals were free for it not to be intentional on someone’s part.

At that point we decided to split up into two groups. The group I was in would head deeper into Stanleyville and the group Scott was in would return the way we had come and head through Congo and into Timbuktu. I’d lead my group through Stanleyville and then through the backstage employee area and into Timbuktu from there.

The other members of our group gave Scott and I a moment of privacy to say goodbye, good luck, and stay safe … then we parted.

Cease led our small group. Cease, Waleski, and I passed the Skyride, the Tidal Wave, and Stanleyville Falls as we headed towards the shop and restaurant area around Sheikra roller coaster. The water in both Tidal Wave and Stanleyville Falls was stagnant, green, and stank. Waleski pointed out drag marks in the mulch heading from one side of the wide walkway to the other. My best guess was that the crocs had gotten out or new crocs had moved into the park. The water was too green to see through and frankly I wasn’t going to go wadding and find out though I did look over the edge to take a look. Seeing nothing we continued on.

The first building we entered was the shop called Sheikra Sweets. The doors were standing wide open and the interior of the shop looked like a small bomb had gone off in it. There was stuff strewn everywhere. My guess is that it was monkeys at work. Looters would have taken stuff with them, not played in it. Neither would zombies have done this. The deciding factor was when Cease pointed out several scat signs in and around the building.

The noise coming from the Bird Gardens was almost overwhelming. It was making us all nervous. If the sounds were this loud when we were still another bridge and many yards away, the sound would be deafening in the bird area itself. We wouldn’t be going there however until after we hooked back up with everyone else.

Day 105 (Part 2)

Next spot we hit was the Zambia Smokehouse. The chains were still across the doors so I hoped that the interior wouldn’t be quite so much of a mess. It wasn’t … it was worse. The monkeys had found a way in through the ceiling. The smell was overpowering so we quickly retreated to open air and after a brief consultation decided to work our way around behind the train station in that area and over to the shopping places so I could see if anything remained there that was useful. I picked up a rolling trash can from one of the hidden work stations and pulled it behind me as we walked; Cease on point, Waleski in back, and me and my silly looking trashcan in the middle.

Our luck finally came in a little bit. The stores there hadn’t been bothered. There was a lot of suntan lotion and bug spray as well as rain gear, all things that would come in handy and had a good shelf life. I also dumped in clothes, jewelry, and trinkets that I thought interesting. When Cease and Waleski gave me a funny look I sotto voiced “Christmas for the kids” and they just sort of rolled their eyes but nodded their heads. Humph … let’s see if those two grinches get anything in their stocking this year.

The rolling garbage can was one of those that was nearly as big as I am so even dumping what I could in there it wasn’t full before it was time to go backstage and cut across the Timbuktu. Still I left it chained to a post and tied it shut so that I wouldn't have to pull it uphill and across railroad tracks in the backstage area.

I opened an innocuous looking wooden gate and was fondly remembering some of the events of my employment at this place - like meeting the lead singer of the band The Cars - when what had been an easy run up to this point abruptly turned into a nightmare.

There were bodies visible on the ground as soon as we passed through the gate. And it looked like they hadn’t been there for much more than a couple of weeks. Maybe some of them were zombies at one time … a couple had obvious head shots … but some of them were not. Well, you had to kind of put the bodies back together like a jigsaw puzzle in your head but you could tell that some of the hands, arms, and torsos that remained held guns or guns lay near them.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Cease whispered, “Possible rager? Maybe more than one?” Waleski and I just shrugged our shoulders. We hadn’t really seen enough of the rager type zombies to say that they could or would tear a live human to bits. And if they could why would they throw the body parts all around like this? The ragers we had seen just kind of barreled through barricades and ripped and tore with their teeth, eating until they were gorged and moving on. This was new behavior. Or, maybe it wasn’t zombies.

We must have all thought the same thing at the same time. We wound up with our backs to each other, searching our surroundings even more cautiously than we had already been doing; Cease and Waleski with their guns at the ready and me with my machete in hand.

Without warning something barreled into me, sending me tumbling into the two men. I fell; they didn’t thank goodness or it would have all been over with. As unbeliveable as it seemed, we had apparently violated the territory of a very aggressive troop of baboons and it was likely they rather than zombies had been what ripped the other unfortunate people to shreds.

Male baboons can make sounds that will carry for miles. The loud, angry shrieks and grunts echoed along the concrete block walls of the backstage area, reverberating and coming back to us and giving us very few clues about the direction the group was attacking from. We looked up to the roof tops and down the alley ways and saw the buggers bouncing on everything.

I was scrabbling for my machete that had flown out of my hands when another baboon jumped in front of me and flew at my face. I got my shoulder up and in the way before it could slash me with its teeth. The heavier than usual coat I had chosen to wear saved me from a penetrating bite but I couldn’t help but nearly scream as loud as the baboons when the wicked little beast’s hands, claws, paws … whatever you want to call them … got caught in my hair and it yanked viciously.

I got to my feet and it jumped off my back and I turned for a look at Cease and Waleski seeking their help. Both men were fighting off their own attackers. Cease was shooting at one that was attached to his boot and was nearly knocked sideways by another that attempted to barrel into him. Waleski was battling off a persistent baboon that kept trying to snap at his face. He saw me and yelled, “Run to Scott!” I turned to grab for my machete but was blocked when three more big baboons, one of them a male blue face, blocked my way. I backed up only to find that I was being surrounded on that side as well.

Waleski again yelled run before trying to shoot me a path while Cease tried to cover our rear. I gave him one last look and turned and took off across the railroad tracks screaming behind me, “Head for the tallest building on the other side of this fence!!!!”

I was terrified I had seen the last of those men. If that’s what happened, they gave their lives making sure that I could get away. I could hear the baboons behind me scrabbling along the concrete, banging into things as they went. I ran through the gate into Timbuktu and slammed it behind me just in time to hear them run smack dab into it, hard to make the gate rattle in its hinges. I headed for the first aid station but when I got there the door was chained and locked shut. I remembered at that moment that Waleski had the bolt cutters.

I didn’t want to get pinned into a corner and came back out to see a lone, male baboon still in pursuit of me. Making a quick decision and praying it wasn’t a bad one I headed for the Oasis Snack Bar that was near the merry-go-round. Wonder of wonders the door was open and I ran inside only to hit what felt like a brick wall. Down I went again, seeing stars.

But … walls do not have beards, nor do they resemble a fabled Norseman come to life. I was stunned, thinking perhaps I had finally cracked and was hallucinating. I had just started to say something, although for the life of me I can’t remember what it was now, when the big man stepped around me and brought an honest to God shillelagh down on the head of the male baboon that had been chasing me. The crunch of wood against bone was nauseatingly clear in the quiet that had descended once I had gotten away from the main baboon troop.

In fact, it was too quiet. No gunfire. No more loud baboon screams and grunts. And here I was at the feet of this huge bear of a man. I managed to close my mouth and turn my brain back on before I made another mistake. Thankfully no monkey blood had splattered my face although the rest of me got misted pretty good.

Day 105 (Part 3)

Before I could decide what to do the bearded man put a finger to his lips to give a silent, “ssshhhhh” and then offered to help me up. What was I supposed to do, wallow on the ground in monkey brains? So yeah, I accepted the hand of this stranger to help me stand up. But I wasn’t crazy, I took a few steps back to keep a little distance, doing so I bumped into something warm and fuzzy; two warm and fuzzy somethings. I nearly wet my pants until the big guy grinned. Turns out he has two companions, both red French Mastiffs. They are extremely heavily muscled.

It scared me at first how close they were crowding until I realized they were acting the way that Butch and Sundance act when they are in protector-mode. They were snuffling my hands and it would have been gross if they weren’t so cute … boy, talk about droolers. They made that movie dog called “Hooch” spring to mind. I think Tom Hanks played the lead role in the movie but all I could really remember was the dog got drool everywhere and looked a lot like these dogs did.

After I had a second to register all of that, and for the big guy to give me a sec to catch my breath, I admired how well trained the dogs were not to immediately tear into the monkey’s carcass. They must be well-fed and well-trained which gave me some added confidence.

But I kept coming back to, despite the fact that this man had oh so obviously saved my life, that I was alone with a strange man … something that hadn’t happened to me in a long, long time. The first words out of my mouth were, “My husband should be along shortly. And he has a gun.”

“Hmmmm,” the big man replied. “Was he the one shooting?”

Stupid me just spilled it all. “No. That was two of my other companions. Uhhh, I really need to check on them. They were shooting at the baboons so that I could get away. We were all supposed to hook up at the first aid station over beside that big restaurant.”

“Mmmm. The name’s Angus. Angus Cuddy. What’s yours?”

“Oh. Its … um …” Then after a deep breath and making another split second decision I said, “How do you do Mr. Cuddy, my name is Sissy … Sissy Chapman. You from around these parts?”

I guess Mr. Cuddy thought I was a little strange for being so formal, especially under the circumstances. He laughed quietly and raised an eyebrow causing me to blush a little. But, I’m southern and southern ladies try and use good manners even under the most difficult and embarrassing of situations. It’s supposed to be a sign of good breeding, or so I've been told nearly my entire life. Really, my great grandmothers used to lecture us girls on it.


About that point we both turned as we heard the telltale slap of boots against sidewalk coming at a steady run. The dogs wouldn’t let me move but Mr. Cuddy took a peak around the door and said, “Big blonde male 40-ish or so, older man in a flannel jacket and track shoes, and a dark-headed guy with glasses who looks like he’s about to chew horseshoes and spit nails.”

“That’s my husband and his group. My husband is the dark one,” I whispered frantically as the dogs still wouldn’t let me pass.

Mr. Cuddy gave a short whistle and the men came to an abrupt halt with their guns at ready.

“Steady boys. I got a lady in here that says that dark haired gent is her husband. She’s had a bit of a … “

Mr. Cuddy didn’t get any further. Scott dived passed him and came up short as the dogs growled.

“Mischief. Mayhem. Be polite and introduce yourselves.”

The dogs turned all friendly and head butted Scott as he was wrapping me in his arms. All I could do was blubber that we had to go help Waleski and Cease; that the baboons must have got them. Dixon heard what I had said and became even more obviously concerned; well, as concerned as he ever looks. It’s not always easy to tell with him.

About that time there was a huge slam and crack. Mr. Cuddy and all the men turned with their guns ready as Cease and Waleski fell through the now broken gate. Both men saw us and were gesturing with their hands to “go, go, go!”

The ran-limped in our direction; and then we saw them. The baboons hadn’t given up. Cease and Waleski, after getting turned around a few times, had finally figured out how to get into Timbuktu. They were exhausted from fighting the animals off. There must have been at least thirty of the beasties in pursuit. I was pushed back into Oasis as the men lined up and began shooting gallery style at any baboon that came over the fence.

Cease and Waleski finally made it. Dixon told them to get in with me. The two large dogs stood guard and tore one baboon that came up behind the building to pieces before anyone even realized it was back there.

I grabbed Waleski’s pack and was digging for bandages and antiseptic. They were a mess. I couldn’t tell where monkey blood left off and their blood started. Waleski had a wound on his face that just missed the corn of his eye. I had to be careful cleaning that one. Their hands were cut up pretty good too. It looked like their packs though had taken all of the actual bites except for Cease whose pant leg was shredded near to the top of his boots. But overall he was in better shape than Waleski and even had my machete. He said, “I have got to get me one of these things!”

I figured if he could drool over my machete, the kid wasn’t in that bad of condition. Waleski was shaking pretty good but said he would be OK in a minute. He picked up his rifle where he had set it down and went outside and proceeded to shoot every baboon he saw. When the last baboon went down and no more tried to make it over the fence or beyond the Scorpion roller coaster he said, “Now I’m OK. But if any of those stinking [expletive deleted by Sissy] come near me I swear I’ll feed ‘em to the damn zombies if I have to cram ‘em down their throats!!”

After a deep breath he turned to Dixon and reported what had happened. Scott in the meantime was making Mr. Cuddy’s acquaintance. Mr. Cuddy insisted we drop the “Mr.” And just call him Angus. There was a lot of handshaking and backslapping for a bit, nor would Scott let me out of his sight. He also praised Mischief and Mayhem which seemed to thrill them to no end.

We needed a break and to regroup so we headed over to the first aid station, cut the bolt and went inside. Waleski was thrilled to find a reasonably well stocked med station. No drugs, but that was to be expected. But they did have just about everything else including small tanks of oxygen and some other items you normally would find in a small clinic.

While Waleski wandered and muttered to himself, Angus told us his story. He’s single and originally from Pennsylvania but is the type that will occasionally get itchy feet and just need to take off and explore. He was in one such phase and was exploring Florida when the NRS quarantine closed the state line and there was no way for him to get home. He was quiet about it which led me to think that there might have been some family back home that he tried as hard as the rest of us not to think about too hard. With no family or friends down here he’d pretty much been surviving on his own since the first riots. He’d mentioned running into a few small groups but nothing ever clicked for him. When we told him about the families back at our place he perked right up. He said he hadn’t seen any little kids for a long time. Doubt he had even been near any or the dogs would have taken off to find them.

Scott invited him right then and there to come back to Sanctuary with us. My husband is a quick and good judge of character and I guess despite their obvious physical differences … Scott is 5’8” on a good day, dark and of Hispanic descent; Angus Cuddy is a barrel-chested big man at 6’, has a beard and looks for all the world like a Norseman … something struck a cord between them.

Dixon looked like he wanted to say something but the look on Scott’s face made him re-think whatever it was. I could understand Dix’s position; he had the safety of Sanctuary to think of first. But Mr. Cuddy saved my life. I would have been monkey chow if it hadn’t been for him. And I’ll admit that I liked him a great deal on short notice too. I wouldn’t have even thought about letting him near the kids if something hadn’t really spoken to me about his trustworthiness. He reminded me a bit of the mountain men I used to read stories about in the journals I used to check out at the library.

After some hesitation, Angus assented to at least coming for a visit. You could tell he liked his independence and wasn’t one who liked to be hemmed in just from some of the circumstances of his personal history. But a visit he could handle. I think he may have been a little lonely and ready for some real company, though his dogs were nice. He said he was looking for a base of operations and maybe something in the area of Sanctuary would suit him better than what he had found thus far.

After a group think, we decided not to waste the chance and to continue covering Busch Gardens to see if there was anything else worth gathering. Angus said to forget the Desert Grill itself as the monkeys had done a number on it. I was worried. We only had two supply piles to pick up so far, the one behind Vivi and the one in the trash can over in Stanleyville. Scott’s group hadn’t found anything although Scott had made a list of possible building supplies for another run back to this location. I didn’t want to have come all this way, wasted all this gas, to come back with next to nothing. Although thinking about it, a new friend is certainly not “nothing.”

Day 105 (Part 4)

Scott did ask me one thing before we left the first aid station, “Sissy, why didn’t you have your pistol out?”

Oh brother, all the men looked at me and all I could do was stand there embarrassed. “Um, I didn’t think about it. I had my machete most of the time.”

“Oh Sissy! What am I going to do with you girl?! Pull the damn thing out of its holster and keep it in your hand from here on out. That machete is all well and good but you need to remember that gun … damn it woman. I swear, have a consideration for my heart if you can’t think about your safety.”

I accepted the lecture as gracefully as I could. No one likes to look like an idiot and I admit that not thinking of the pistol when it was sitting right there on my hip was pretty stupid. But if I had had it out I might have shot Mr. Cuddy. This time it turned out for the best, but next time it might not. Lesson learned. I really do need to get used to using the pistol when I’m carrying it; I just like the machete better and have had more luck with it. I guess I’m just not a “gun girl.” But that’s no excuse. These days you can’t get stuck in a rut, you have to be flexible enough to learn new skills and think outside your comfort zone.

Scott really wasn't (and isn't) mad at me. It’s just he is concerned for my safety and doesn't seem to understand that I simply don't think in terms of guns. Knives yes, guns no. If I had had the .22 in my hands I would have remembered it and used it. The pistol just kind of sits there and I wind up forgetting about it in favor of my big, nifty machete. Machetes don't make noise. A gun does. I can lop off the head of a zombie neat as you please and not have to worry about attracting more of the things. A gun will kill a zombie from further away ... assuming I'm actually able to get a head shot ... but makes enough noise to attract more of the boogers and lead them to my location. From my perspective it’s a Catch-22.

From Timbuktu we walked into the Nairobi area. This was the big animal area. As reported, the elephants were loose and had left the park; at least we think they've all left the park. They were probably having the time of their lives on the green spaces at USF. The rhinos were also missing. I noticed all the trees in the park were missing leaves in rather funny patterns; then it hit me. The giraffes must be out, but whether they are still in the park I don’t know. We never saw any. The other major predators were gone from their enclosures as well; the lions, the hyenas, and a few others like that. The grazers though seemed to still be in the area and Cease was practically aching to go on a hunt. Dix said we would try and do a little hunting before we left and that seemed to appease everyone.

It also seemed to mark the turning point in our Run. Or maybe Angus is a good luck charm. The Kenya Kanteen hadn’t been vandalized by animals. There were cases of condiments, salt & pepper, and even some #10 sized cans of things. All were piled into the ever present trashcans and then stood together for us to come back and pick them up on our way out. Waleski must have said something to Dix because he asked if I wanted to stop at the gift shops for stuff for the kids. I was glad to take the opportunity and all but stuck my tongue out at Waleski who had rolled his eyes again. I stuffed two more trashcans full of stuff to take back.

From Nairobi we went into the area called Egypt where we spent over an hour running from place to place stuffing trashcans and other containers full of stuff from the Colony House (formerly the Swiss House) restaurant to the upscale gift shops. From Egypt we went through the Moroccan area. This area was a bit more of a mess but was still jam-packed with useful items. We must have filled ten trashcans in this area alone.

As we passed the Moroccan café where the belly dancers often did shows, I saw several of the guys stick things in their pockets. I kept the observation to myself but something told me that the kids wouldn’t be the only people in Sanctuary getting gifts for the holidays. Knowing David would be upset at missing the opportunity to pick up something, I grabbed a scarf that I thought Rose would like. He wouldn’t want Rose to not get something when the other women were getting things. If he winds up not giving it to her because he wants to do his own “shopping” that’s fine too. Whatever works, but at least he won't feel left out. I'll tell the other guys they can pick something out of the tubs as well once I get things organized if they want to.

I thought Scott would drool as much as the dogs as we passed the wooden roller coast called Gwazi. I know he was imagining all that he could build with a supply of wood and bolts that big. He looked at me and made a mock dramatic sigh that nearly had me giggling out loud. He and Angus have already been discussing projects and alternative building materials including an obvious one we had overlooked – using wooden telephone poles as beams or using them like Lincoln Logs by notching the ends so that they lock together. Scott had a few rude words for himself for not thinking of the poles. I don't know how he believes he is supposed to think of everything. Besides, in the beginning we all kind of had an expectation that things would eventually go back to normal. Phone lines and electrical lines are part of "normal" infrastructure so why would we intentionally compromise them as building supplies. But nobody thinks normal is going to come back any time soon any more. And even if it does, it’s going to be years before we get there.

Scott tried to help Angus by giving him a few suggested locations to look at that might fit the description of what he wants for a place to call home; multi-storied, concrete block, with enough flat roof for a garden. In fact, there are a couple of places like that between Sanctuary and the Feed Depot which would mean he would be close to us but still able to maintain his independence and come and go as he pleased. The question will be how much interior work needs to be done on those buildings to support a roof top garden.

The volume of animal noise picked back up as we passed into the bird gardens. It was a defeaning as I had thought it would be. Suddenly a bass roar could be heard and the birds quieted down for a short period before picking right back up. Scott and I stopped short for a moment, our good humor evaporated. It was time to remember where we were and why we’re here.

“What the hell was that?!” Waleski asked quietly, obviously close to being totally fed up with all the wild animals.

“Sounded like a male gator,” Scott responded.

“I thought the gator pond was back the other direction,” Cease said.

“It was.”

“Then why is the sound coming from … oh. Right.”

A flock of flamingoes, losing their pinkness now that they were no longer being fed the shrimp that turn them that color, hustled across the cobblestoned walkway.

Jerry piped up and said, “if I were us, I’d probably follow those birdies and avoid whatever it is they seem to be trying to get away from.”

That’s just what we did. We passed by the Hospitality House, now shuttered and closed. But it wasn’t NRS that closed it. It was the Belgian takeover of Anheuser-Busch. They closed it supposedly in favor of a more family friendly atmosphere. All they did was make some of their adult patrons unhappy and less inclined to bring their children to an expensive park that had nothing to offer them. I found another one of the rolling trashcans and loaded it with stuff from the pizza parlor in that corner of the park; several #10 cans of pizza sauce, a few nice pans and utensils, and several containers of powdered garlic and grated parmesan cheese. Another rolling trashcan I filled with stuff from the gift shops.

On the other side of the bird gardens we could have taken the bridge and gone back into Stanleyville but we decided to bypass it and go into the backstage area on this side of the park. This was the location of the physical plant and the main warehouse.

Rats had gotten into both places. I had to put my mask and goggles on because I was determined to leave no stone unturned. The only thing in the physical plant that hadn’t been looted or destroyed was a large supply of canvas aprons and head scarves. These were pieces of the uniform used by food service personnel in the park. I filled a whole trashcan full of them and left the building. We had better luck in the warehouse though you could see the rats had been to work in there as well.

No fresh food remained in the warehouse. If there had been any it was eaten by the rats so long ago that not even evidence of scraps remained. However, there were plenty of metal cans. There were #10 sized cans of pizza sauce, puddings, fruit fillings, vegetables, and ice cream toppings like butterscotch and caramel sauces. There were metal containers filled with baking supplies. There were large, heavy metal sheet pans that could be used like shields. There were lots of empty five gallon buckets, although the rats had chewed a few. There were glass, gallon-sized jars of pickled fruits and veggies, some of peppers, and some of relishes. There were also some metal drums of cooking oil and several black plastic barrels containing things like Greek Peppers, olives, soda syrups, and even several small barrels of chocolate sauce.

We loaded all we had gathered onto several large flatbed carts and headed back into the park proper by coming out behind the roller coaster Sheikra. Doing so we had to pass by one of the main security booths.

The booth contained two corpses. One an obvious suicide as the nearly skeletal hand still propped a gun barrel in the corpse's mouth. The other it was difficult to say what had killed him or her; the rats had mangled it pretty badly. The suicide was in a Busch Gardens Security uniform. The other corpse had a uniform of some type but it was difficult to tell what it had originally been, the rats making little difference between material and flesh. It was also difficult to tell whether the two corpses had even died during the same time period. There were no handy pathologists around and we were just about guessed out at that point.

Dixon emptied the booth of all remaining ammo, even offering some to Angus, but left the gun after seeing that it as rusted and caked from the suicides bodily fluids. We grabbed a couple of hand radios that were in the booth as well, hoping that even if they didn't work they would make for good spare parts. Mischief and Mayhem made their own opinion of the location clear by leaving a couple of doggie calling cards.

Once back in Stanleyville we were all cautious but the baboon troop seemed to have lost its lust for fighting. We gathered the trashcan of supplies from there and then headed back to Vivi and picked up the supply pile there before all trooping back to the bus to stow our bounty. I caught one rat on the Vivi stuff but it hadn't figured a way into the sealed can yet. I didn't bother shooting it or even slicing it with the machete. I punted the football-sized body several yards to the sound of a satisfying squeak and thump when it landed. Mischief wanted to chase pretty bad but Mayhem kept her heeled even though he wanted to play chase with it as well.

Getting all of the flatbeds over the railroad tracks was a little challenging but we did. And when we got back to the bus, the ramp really came in handy. We just pushed and pulled the flatbeds up the ramp and tied them in place inside the bus and blocked the wheels to keep them from rolling while we were in motion.

At this point we had thought to walk back into the park until Dixon asked Angus what his mode of transportation was. We all were kinda blown away when he said, “Garbage truck. It’s parked over at the main gate.”

After a quick consultation we decided that it made more sense for us to drive over to the main gate and pick up the rest of the supplies from that location. This would also set us up to leave as a convoy more quickly, saving us some time. Scott drove the bus and explained to Angus the different modifications that had been made. And also some of the modifications that he wanted to make like mounting swivel chairs for the gun turrets rather than a bolted-in-place stool.

Despite a few road blocks, it didn’t take us that long to get over to the main gate. We just barely squeaked under the overpass though. The gun turrets took a lot of our clearance space. And then there was Angus’ truck in all its glory. It was a standard city garbage truck with a front loader for dumpsters. He explained that he could scoop up any number of zombies with open sided dumpster that he had welded in place and them dump them into the part in the back that squished them up. Angus figured he could fit just in excess of 100 zombies in the compactor before it needed to be emptied. The bonus was that the compactor didn’t dribble body fluids; everything remained contained until he found a safe place to make the dump that wouldn’t compromise any water sources.

I was gagging at the graphic description but Cease, Scott, and Jerry were fascinated by the contraption. Even Dixon looked impressed. Waleski liked that Angus was health conscious enough to avoid contaminating resources and I think that went a long way to sealing his good opinion of the man. We disembarked from the bus and secured it, but allowed both bus and garbage truck enough room to turn around on their own if need be.

Jumping the turn-styles of the main entrance we headed back through Morocco to pick up the supply piles we had left there, in Egypt, and then the stuff from Nairobi. Once all was loaded on the bus, and with no incidences to speak of beyond being dive bombed by some young chimpanzees when we passed the Myombe Reserve area, it was time for the other reason why we were there. The hunt.



It’s been years since I’ve been hunting. Scott would go with my dad and brother on occasion, but the time it took to run our business pretty much precluded hunting as a serious sport for us. Dad would bag us a buck every year he went to visit my uncle so I know how to cook and preserve venison. My understanding is that venison and antelope are not that different.

That’s what we were apparently going for today. African antelope. Although a water buffalo wouldn't be turned away either. We had a couple of different antelopes that we might've been able to bag. There was the impala that was about 36” at the shoulder, very agile, but not long runners. There was the kudu which was a larger animal, standing 57” at the shoulder and it avoided using concealment rather than agility. The waterbuck is nearly as big as the kudu. The Oryx is smaller than the waterbuck but a male can weigh up to 500 pounds. Then there was the other potential game like the ostriches that were running rampant in the pretend savannah area of the park. Or maybe even a zebra, though the sound of that doesn't tickle my tastebuds at all.

As you can guess I got most of that information off the little plaques they had stationed throughout the nature trail around Rhino Rally and Edge of Africa displays. I had thrown in some postcards and animals books just for Sarah and Samuel. I’m not sure what those two are going to say about what we brought home but they have gotten more prosaic about the animals being part of the food chain … our food chain.

Why is it me that always falls into the muck first? The men hadn't really wanted me along on the hunt. But none of the guys wanted to be left out either which meant I couldn't be left alone. Scott and I finally compromised and they had left me with the dogs near an empty pen while the big “he-men” went to play heap big Tarzan hunters.

Honestly? I really wasn’t as upset as that makes me sound. I was more amused than anything. Not to mention I was more than a little tired and ready for a break. And to be truthful I'm not the best shot and have a tendency to "squeak" and make noises when I get scared or nervous. Nope, it didn't bother me at all not to have to deal with the guys rolling their eyes and holding onto their tempers when I accidentally scared off a potential target.

Day 105 (Part 5)

I was sitting on a picnic table watching a family of marmosets trying to play inconspicuous up in one of the trees, and trying to remember if I’d ever seen a marmoset at Busch Gardens before, when the dogs started making these woofling sounds and digging around this big rock. The last thing I needed was for Angus to think I let his dogs get into trouble so I went over to see what they found so interesting. Holy crap! The “rock” moved and turned out to be one of the huge tortoises that used to live in the pens on this side of the park. I finally convinced the dogs to leave the poor thing alone – it was huge and must have been one of the really old ones – and come sit back down with me. I turned to go back to the table and splat, down I went again.

Geezley crow! I was eye to eye with either a boa or a python. I didn’t know then and still don’t care to be honest. I’m not scared of snakes or anything but I do have a healthy respect for them. And this one … it was longer than I was tall. Luckily the large bump in its middle let me know it had eaten recently and likely wouldn’t be interested in me or the dogs.

The dogs, not liking the snake much more than I did, each grabbed the end of my pants and pulled me backwards and then got between me and it. I swear those are some smart dogs. They were also smart enough to not do much more than growl low in their throats. Eventually the big snake decided to find another place to take a nap and sleep off its dinner. Just hope it wasn't anyone that I knew.

I decided that the top of the picnic table was a much better place to be and had the dogs get up there with me. With an arm around each one I felt much safer being up off of the ground. No sooner had my heart returned to beating its normal rhythm than I spotted not one, not two, but three good sized komodo dragons slouching along. Could I have my heart attack now and get it over with?!

I kept a firm grip on the dogs’ collars. They were inclined to stay with me which was a good thing. If they had really wanted to take off they probably could have dragged me for hours before getting tired. Eeeewwwww. I have had enough of nature to last me a good while. I nearly stopped breathing while the smallest dragon went right under the table I was setting on, thumping its tail on the leg brace.

By that time I was almost to the point of having hysterics. I’m no chicken. I really am not and the dogs were there, but come on, tell me what person in their right mind can just sit with equanimity while those kind of critters stroll by like they own the place? I finally climbed up on a real fake bolder and dragged the dogs up there with me.

What scared me about the dragons was that they headed off in the same direction that the men had gone. Not ten minutes later I heard the first shot, then another, then a third all in quick succession. I kept waiting for the men to come back; the area wasn’t all that big after all. This wasn't really the plains of Africa. About twenty minutes after the first series of shots I heard two more and then a single shot about 30 minutes after that.

I was starting to get really cold and only the body heat from the dogs kept me from shivering uncontrollably. We were having our first major cold-snap of the season and on top of worrying about the guys, now I was starting to worry about my plants back in Sanctuary.

The men had been gone over an hour and it had been at least twenty minutes since the last shot sounded when I heard them coming back. Lordy they looked pleased with themselves. They were pulling the carcasses of three impala, an oryx, and a kudu.

The dogs jumped off the bolder nearly taking me with them and headed straight for Angus to sniff him and give him a good doggie scolding for being gone so long. Scott the happy hunter said, “Hope you weren’t too bored.”

“What, me, bored? Oh no, not at all. I got to play African safari and count the animals … and Cease what the heck do you think you are doing with that ostrich?!”

Cease had just come around the corner with a big, goofy grin on his face leading an ostrich by a lasso around its neck and belly. “Son, when we read that part in The Swiss Family Robinson you do realize that was just a story right? You can’t really saddle an ostrich and ride it.”

“Oh come on Sissy, don’t you think the kids would get a kick out of … “

“You guys are not seriously expecting us to get an ostrich in the bus are you?!” I asked looking around at the men who all refused to meet my eye.

“Well, we could put it in my trailer,” Angus pointed out. “The dogs ride up front with me anyway.”

Good gravy. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it. Six grown men wanting to bring home an ostrich as a pet. What was I supposed to say, even Dixon looked like a kicked pup when it didn’t appear that I shared their enthusiasm.

“If you want it, you take care of it. And I don’t want to hear a single other word about it. And if that thing so much as looks at me funny I’m going to be designing some ostrich recipes.”

We hauled the spoils of the hunt out to the bus, loaded as best we could into the coolers and chest freezer we had stuffed into the bus and then proceeded to try and coax a suddenly unwilling ostrich into Angus’ trailer. I finally managed to wrap a bandana around its head in the hope that ostrich and chickens at least had one thing in common … what they couldn’t see didn’t scare them. After that Orville the Ostrich was a breeze to load.

It was really getting chilly at this point, probably low 50s and the sun hadn’t even gotten near setting yet. We might even have a freeze tonight which is why I’m still awake writing this account … well, that and other things.

We explained our route to Angus and we set off making our slow way back to sanctuary. We ignored the few zombies we saw though they didn’t want to ignore us. Angus would make the occasional jag to the right or left to scoop up a zombie or two and dump them into his compactor.

The whole way back home I had to listen to the great white hunters tell me about their feat of prowess. Actually it did sound pretty cool after I had warmed up and gotten over being miffed. I'll have to write it out later after everyone has had their chance to explain their part to me. As it is we have more important things to deal with at the moment.

As we came within site of Sanctuary we noticed that they had the tow truck out near the front gate and a whole lot more smushed up zombies than there had been when we left. James was signaling from the main guard tower telling us to enter by the rear gates. It wasn’t easy for us to make the turn but we did and headed back to the rear gate via a couple of back roads. Once there we pulled into the compound enough so that Mr. Cuddy could also pull in and park his garbage truck and trailer beside the bus.

There were a lot more people in Sanctuary than there should have been; at least four or five dozen more, a handful of them kids. I still haven't got the number sorted out. Most everyone was milling around the hospital. As soon as they knew we had returned Rachel and Rose were frantically waving for Waleski to come lend them a hand.

We stepped off the bus into a madhouse; women wailing, kids crying, animals making a ruckus, and generally a lot of people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. McElroy jogged up to Dixon and reported.

“Sometime last night all hell broke loose in Hale Hollow. Survivors says it’s been like WW3. It started with an assassination and armed combat between the two remaining factions. Death and zombies followed. Some folks tried to get over to Ehren Cutoff for helped but found a mess there too. Hyenas and zombies. About midday we started having groups straggle in here but we’ve also been dealing with zombie hordes coming down out of the north and not all of them from those two compounds. Matlock needs some help dealing with an old Colonel that seems determined he has ”seniority of command” or something like that despite the fact he’s been retired a good twenty years.”

That’s basically it. We’ve been trying to help the injured and dealing with the dying. Mr. Cuddy was kind enough to work with Cease and Jerry to process the meat into the cold room we set up and I’ve been making sausage and canning by firelight and getting stuff ready to go into the smokehouse. I ran the last batch a couple of hours ago and it must be about two AM now. We finally sorted family groups into some of the empty houses but we wouldn’t let any of the injured, severely or otherwise, go anywhere except in the hospital or in tents right outside the hospital where they could be watched for signs of turning. We’ve already had to put three people down. Call us brutal but what else are we supposed to do? We'll try and bury them out in the orange grove tomorrow if their family consents, if they have families.

The zombies are getting worse and we probably got in during one of the last pauses between waves before the main horde showed up. Sanctuary is surrounded. We’ve sent out a warning to anyone listening on the radio and several folks called back their thanks. The New Geraci group said they have holed up in a concrete out building and will keep in touch as they are able. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from them so who knows what their status is.

Tina has lost it completely. Rachel, taking a break to drink the next gallon of coffee to stay awake, said that her breakdown was even worse than Patricia’s was. So bad in fact that she has become completely incontinent and may very well have suffered a stroke or something. That’s another situation that we’ll have to deal with. Her husband is distraught but doing his part to help defend Sanctuary and its denizens.

We have men all over the Wall. No one is shooting though, it would be a waste of ammunition. The horde may move on, it may not. Lot’s of things that we’ll have to see about in the morning when there is light enough to see. We are catching sleep when we can but at first light I plan on having as many pots of high-octane coffee and tea ready as I’m able to fix. Breakfast will be biscuits and scrapple. What a mess this is. We don’t even have enough dishes to serve everyone at the same time even if we wanted to. Our group has more than doubled in size in less than 24 hours and there is no way we can support that, especially not if this weather kills back my garden. How do we explain to these people they aren't going to be able to just stay here?

I’m going to doze for an hour or two and hopefully we’ll be able to find some constructive solutions to our problems in the morning.

Day 109 (Part 1)

What frustrating days this has been; scary too, but definitely frustrating. I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been a heck of lot better though; this certainly hasn’t been my favorite days in recent history.

First off I guess I better get down what happened in Hale Hollow and Ehren Cutoff or nothing else will make sense. We got most of the details from Col. Byrd and his son and daughter-in-law. Turns out that the Colonel really is a cool dude with an exemplary service record but he’s in the early stages of dementia and stress can make his confusion worse.

Hale Hollow used to be a great community to live in prior to NRS. The homeowner’s association (HOA) wasn’t a burden, the neighbors were great, and the community provided a happy place for retirees and other families. It had a mixed population with a broad range of ages, income levels, and interests.

Then the economic crisis that began in late ’08 began breaking down their safe haven. The unprecedented combination of deflation in some markets and hyperinflation in others caused job losses, bankruptcies, foreclosures, and any number of hardships. Their haven gradually turned into a hell of vacant and uncared for homes and yards. The now unmanned security gates did nothing to keep out the vandalism of empty homes nor break ins of occupied ones.

The once laid back and amendable HOA that had stayed out of everyone’s business so long as they weren’t a nuisance became rigid and militant. Everyone let it happen just so they could have the illusion of safety. Then the NRS plague struck.

The Hale Hollow HOA leadership became the leaders of a survivor’s community; and for a while it worked. But ultimate power corrupts ultimately. Those that didn’t fall in line fell by the wayside or were forced out. People died. Schisms occurred. New people came in but were forever outsiders.

A ragged stranger named Jeremiah Lawrence staggered into the community one day bringing with him a vast knowledge of NRS. He gave them new ways to deal with the zombies and new ways to organize their community; and for a while it worked.

Then a major power struggle within the original HOA leadership led to a schism that nearly rent the community in two. One group left Hale Hollow forever and the other stayed continuing the status quo. The group who left included Jeremiah Lawrence but they had the bad luck of having too many chiefs and not enough braves. Everyone wanted to be boss and too few were willing to do the work.

This imbalance finally caught up with them in the form of a zombie attack. Overnight they lost 75% of their group and Lawrence became “Brother Jeremiah,” falling deeper and deeper into his delusions. But the man was also charismatic enough to now begin drawing his own followers independent of Hale Hollow. And so Ehren Cutoff became a distinct community of its own, all be it still closely tied out of kinship and necessity to Hale Hollow.

And the Hale Hollow leadership watched Ehren Cutoff’s transformation and learned from their mistakes. The remaining Hale Hollow HOA leaders decided to develop in the opposite direction; and for a while it worked. The community grew by leaps and bounds. There was the appearance of success for all. People living in Hale Hollow followed their leaders blindly, offering obedience in exchange for safety, shelter, and food. They trusted them to do the right thing.

But power without balance is a poison. Trust turned to tyranny. Safety to censorship. A police state was born where rights were abused. And for a while it worked … until it became your rights that were being abused.

Cracks is the façade of affability began to appear. The leaders of Hale Hollow saw this as a form of ingratitude for all that they had done; of treason against the deserving powerful. They tried everything tyrants have tried since the beginning of time; and this time it didn’t work.

Someone smuggled in a gun … they had to smuggle it because the community had allowed their guns to be taken away from them. The leadership would protect them after all. Hadn’t they appointed that special unit to watch over them?! Sure that group had extra privileges and didn’t always apply the rules consistently. Sure their friends seemed to do better than their enemies. But it was all for the best. Right?

Then one night someone couldn’t take the injustice any longer and killed one of the heads of the hydra that had sprung up in their midst. And two more grew in its place. Another head fell and another two grew. Soon however there were too many heads and not enough brains … and no one was watching the gates.

The dead and dying inside Hale Hollow called to the dead outside. It’s possible that Hale Hollow would have fallen even had they been at full strength but we’ll never know. They never tried and it was a massacre. Over two hundred people dead in a matter of hours.

The few who did escape headed to Ehren Cutoff thinking they were brothers-in-arms. Members of the same family. That they could join together to build a new and better community. It was not to be.

Brother Jeremiah finally believed too much in his how hype, his own invincibility, his own nascent godhood. The “devils” had come back every night despite the prayers of the faithful. They scratched at the doors seeking entry to the sacred domain; but the doors had kept them out. Until the night someone was careless. Or perhaps God had simply become weary of the blasphemy He witnessed and meted out his own judgment on the man who would be god.

This time the doors flew open. The “devils” paced down the aisle, hackles raised, “laughing” at the puny humans before them.

His true followers crying out for his protection, Brother Jeremiah turned on the intruders shouting exhortations and exorcisms that made no sense but gave the musky animals pause.

Then the leader, a large female who could just remember the thrill of a hunt on a real savannah in Africa when she was a cub and who had recently begun to train her clan on zombies, sniffed the air and smiled as only a dominant female hyena can.

With a lunge she pulled the man-thing who would be a god down and closed her massively powerful jaws on his face. Before he could finish his first (and last) scream her jaws bit down and his skull was crushed; arterial blood arcing onto the alter. The sacrificial blood only enflamed the beasts more.

That was the signal the remaining clan members needed to annihilate the good brother’s faithful followers. Those that hadn’t been that faithful, and there were a few that had begun to have second thoughts about their leader’s mental state, lived by escaping to a concrete outbuilding with a metal door. That’s where the survivors from Hale Hollow found them; in shock and without leadership, unable to make the simplest plans for their own continued existence.

The first wave of zombies hit pushing as many as could fit into the outbuilding. The press of bodies alone kept the door shut. Those that hadn’t fit had died a gruesome and tortuous death. It was hours before anyone dared to see if the zombies had gone.

One of the remaining Ehren Cutoff members was a young man who had been with Brother Jeremiah on one of his excursions to Sanctuary. It became a place to go. A place to aim for. A dream of safety behind the big walls the young man described to the others.

Off they started. On foot it took hours for the first of them to make it to Sanctuary. Before Matlock had a chance to decide whether they were lying about their circumstances or not James, using a telescope, spotted the next wave of zombies overtaking the stragglers that were furthest away.

Matlock brought the whimpering vestiges of Hale Hollow and Ehren Cutoff in and sent the F350 to bring in as many as they could pick up. The panicked people were like drowning swimmers. They nearly overwhelmed McElroy, coming close to destroying their own rescue. David and Hank got into the tow truck and did their best to give the last of the stragglers a running chance. There were several ragers in that wave of zombies and despite the best efforts of the rescuers, there were some that never made it.

The young man who had told the others about Sanctuary was one of the ones worst injured. He had fought off a zombie who had been trying to rip out the throat of a child abandoned in the middle of the road. At the end, before the infection overwhelmed his humanity and forced Rachel to use the undertaker’s tool smuggled out by Jerry, he kept apologizing for believing in Brother Jeremiah. “I just wanted this mess to actually mean something. For there to be a higher purpose. I just wanted to forget about the hell of this life and believe in a heaven in the next. There has to be some reward for surviving doesn’t there? Doesn’t there?!”

He was the first of three in the small pool of survivors that had to be sanitized. Another was a woman who had a heart attack and the third was a man that seemed simply to give up and sit down and die.

We still have two in the hospital that aren’t responding to treatment. We’ve stopped using our medical resources on them and have simply made them as comfortable as possible and await their final disposition.

There was a fourth death but that one will be told when it is time.

Day 109 (Part 2)

The day after the hunt was as chaotic as any I have experienced in a long time. Too many people in what felt like too little space. It reminded me of the days in the beginning, before we even had created the concept of Sanctuary; when we had over 30 people in our home.

We actually have enough physical space in Sanctuary to accommodate the extra people; but it was a case of too many, too soon. I’m sure I was not alone in the feeling of near claustrophobia. Everywhere I turned there was someone needing or wanting something; strangers grabbing at me for attention and getting inside my personal space. We were even forced to lock the doors of all the buildings within the walls, including our home because people started staking out “their space” and "their stuff."

I quickly learned that politeness and manners did not work. Many of the Hale Hollow survivors lacked boundaries. They seemed insatiably curious about everything and many had expectations that we would simply give them supplies to replace what they had lost. I despised the entitlement mentality that had run rampant before the NRS plague. I had even less tolerance for it now.

Matlock and Dixon were quick to realize the potential for disaster. By midmorning the survivors of Hale Hollow and Ehren Cutoff were given work assignments; man, woman, and child. No one was excused without the word of Rachel or Waleski. When several of the men said they hadn’t traded one set of dictators for another Dixon finally snapped. It was not a pretty sight.

He must have expected something like this would occur and had made plans accordingly. All it took was a hand gesture and Cease, McElroy, June, and Scott rounded up the malcontents and marched them to the front gate.

In the best First Sergeant’s bellow I had heard in many years Dixon’s voice rang out, “Your choice. Obey, or leave.”

One of the women in the crowd cried out, “You can’t do that!”

“Madam, we can and we will. This is not a debate. This is not your home. Sanctuary is ours. We’ve opened up our home for your safety. We have willingly provided you food and medical attention out of human charity. However, we will not be taken advantage of.”

At this point Matlock stepped forward while Dixon worked hard to control his temper. “Look around you. We worked to get where we are. Nothing has been handed to us. We started with less than you lot. We’re not simply going to give it away or watch you trash it with you lack of consideration. You are guests, very temporary ones. You had best remember that.”

Dixon closed the discussion by saying, “We can do this easy or hard. Easy means you follow our rules, do your part, behave civilly and keep your hands to yourself, and take part in protecting Sanctuary while you are within these walls. Hard means you take a trip over the Wall and get to see if the zombies are better hosts.”

There was a lot of mumbling and grumbling but the point had been made. And it was emphasized when they realized that even our children could shoot a slingshot well enough to kill a zombie … or any other opportunistic nuisance.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it but one reason why Scott and I owned our own business is because you could say he doesn’t always “play well with others.” He’s not unsociable or a curmudgeon; he simply has a low tolerance for certain types of people and situations. Over the years he’s been forced to learn a certain amount of tolerance, but some instances still make his psyche feel like someone is running fingernails across a chalkboard and he has to get away.

The warning signs were out and flashing frantically before I could even get lunch off the fire. David, not as disturbed by the Hale Hollow bunch now that Dixon and Matlock had laid the ground rules, came to tell me that Scott and Angus were up in the far NW guard tower with James.

I set Sarah (out of the hospital for the first time since the tiger attack) to reading the next chapter of Robinson Caruso to the children that had gathered on our lanai. I asked Bekah not to let her get over tired and to take over if she needed a rest. Patricia, herself too overwhelmed by the crowd to be out amongst them, said that she would be around if the girls needed her.

After that was taken care of I poured a thermos of fresh coffee and filled my speckleware pail with the chili I had made using chunks of impala. I stuck some mugs, bowls, utensils, and a loaf of fresh baked bread in a tote. Lastly I grabbed a large canteen of water and trudged with the whole load through the orange grove and around one of the ponds to the base of the guard tower. It was time to calm the savage beasts by offering them something to fill their bellies. I knocked letting them know I was on my way up and then climbed the stairs.

James met me half way and took the pail and thermos to lighten my load. Three growls met me when I finally put my foot on the landing; stomach growls. I chuckled quietly and passed around bowls of chili, sliced bread, and their choice of beverage.

The chilly breeze reminded me to be thankful that there hadn’t been much more than a dusting of patchy frost the preceding night. The weather had done less harm to the garden than the irresponsible feet of some of our “guests.” The smell that came on the breeze reminded me to be thankful we had finished our Wall. Easing over to the side I looked over to see hundreds, maybe a thousand or more, zombies.

“Where did they all come from after all this time?” I whispered.

“Notice how many of them are wearing jailhouse orange?” Scott asked. “A prison may have fallen recently or it simply took this long for them to migrate this direction.”

Indeed, the orange jumpsuits of the Florida prison system made up roughly a third of what the zombies were wearing.

“I haven’t ever seeing so many ragers in one place. And every rager we’ve seen has had one of them orange jumpsuits on,” Angus added.

And James said, “The orange makes ‘em easier to snipe in the crowd. Matlock has ordered us Sharp Shooters to give the ragers sanitation priority whether we have a silencer or not. It’s just they are pretty packed together right now.”

“As soon as we clear out as many ragers as we can, Angus has invited me to take a ride in Juicer,” Scott grinned.

Oh boy, I knew that grin. Turning to Angus I said, “I assume … uh … Juicer … is your truck.”

“Kinda fitting. Wait ‘til you see her in action. She’s a real thing of beauty.”

I obviously wasn’t going to be changing their minds, you could tell by the wicked delight and expectation on their faces. I sighed, gathered up the dishes once they had finished eating and simply asked, “Come tell me bye before you take off.”

“Will do Babe,” he said, kissing me soundly, likely as a reward for not squeaking about his plans.

Angus wolf whistled and Scott laughed, “Go get your own.”

James just rolled his eyes at the incomprehensibility of adults.



Not too long after the last person in Sanctuary had eaten their portion of lunch, Scott came to tell me he and Angus were heading out. Dixon himself made sure the garbage truck’s fuel tank was topped off. You could tell he longed to take a ride as well but knew his place was temporarily at least still within the Wall.

They were leaving by the rear gates. The problem was those gates were nearly as clogged with zombies as the front gate was. McElroy and David have been setting up some contraption of their own over the last few weeks and they helped to distract enough of the zombies so that Juicer could get out without letting more than a couple of zombies in. Those were quickly sanitized.

I don’t understand all the engineering and electrical work involved but basically they took smoke alarms, removed the “smoke” part, and made them louder. They hooked them up so that they could be set off remotely with coded signals using a radio. I thought they were wasting time when they first started building their “toys” but I’ve become a firm believer. When those noise makers started going off it was only a few minutes before Angus and Scott could leave in Juicer.

My gut was in a knot watching them leave. Mischief and Mayhem sat close beside Butch and Sundance, all four dogs extremely unhappy to be left behind. At first the truck rolled over more zombies than it scooped up. After they had completely cleared the gates however it became obvious Angus had considerable practice at utilizing Juicer and that he was raring for the challenge this horde presented.

He started on the outside edge of the horde, scooping up anywhere from five to two dozen at a time in the front loader. When the front loader was full he would dump its load in the compactor. The compactor appeared to hold a hundred to a hundred and fifty squished zombies in a load. Maybe a few more if the load held very decayed zombies.

When the compactor was full they had to run it down to our dumping ground about five miles off to the northeast. The dumping ground was little more than a long trench we had dug using a back hoe that was lined with visqueen, a heavy-duty pliable plastic sheeting. It’s far from a perfect solution but there isn’t an incinerator handy and we can’t just leave corpses lying around or NRS won’t be the only plague we have to deal with.

Scott said that was the worst part. It was like dumping rotted orange pulp. It didn't all want to slide out, and when it did there was this disgusting plop, splash, plop that could be heard even over the big truck's engine, not to mention the smell would gag a maggot.

Angus and Scott used and emptied Juicer multiple times until dark was less than an hour away. Again the sound traps were used to allow them through the gates. They had easily halved the number of zombies in the horde and planned to finish up the rest the next day.

But we awoke the next day to find another horde had joined the first during the night. Now we had even more zombies than before to deal with. Matlock told me he estimated there was around three thousand in the morning and despite Angus’ best efforts by late afternoon there was closer to four thousand as straggler groups continued to join the main horde.

We had begun to worry that the press of zombies against the Wall was going to compromise it so when we weren’t on work details we all spent time combing the Wall for potential gaps. The only one found was near the front gate. The sheer number of zombies had pushed a steel container a few inches out of line with the next one to it.

Those of us inside Sanctuary slept fitfully that night wondering how many zombies there would be when we woke up.



No new zombies had been added overnight. In fact the horde had thinned with those on the extreme outer edges losing focus and moving on sometime during the pre-dawn hours. The guards said it was like listening to the rustle of unnatural leaves blowing away on the wind.

Angus, this time with McElroy who adored Juicer and was determined to build its twin, set out after a breakfast of toasted Spam, egg, and cheese sandwiches.

Because the horde was so tightly packed, more zombies could be scooped up at a time. By lunch the horde’s number had been cut in half. By dark barely 50 remained and those seemed confused and directionless. Because of this they didn’t clump together and were more time consuming to scoop up.

Rather than waste fuel, the marksmen on the Wall took over at that point and Juicer and its driver came in to resounding cheers of enthusiasm. I think no matter where Angus ultimately chooses to live, he’ll be a welcome addition to the community. Certainly Mischief and Mayhem were happy to have him back under their watchful eyes. A yard full of children were all well and good to play with for a while but it was The Man who had found them, washed and doctored their wounds, and kept them fed since the bad-stinky-things had killed their other masters.

We all slept better last night. It’s not that things are suddenly right in the world, it’s just that things have been broken down into more manageable pieces. Sanctuary may have received most of the focus of the main horde but there were and are still plenty of zombies wandering around. At that point we hadn’t even heard from New Geraci and still haven't the Driscoll Compound. MacDill had begun reporting a higher than normal zombie count the day before but there has been only silence from them since.

Today has brought us a different set of problems.

Once the zombies had been cleared it was time for the Hale Hollow refugees to leave. That was much easier said than done for a variety of reasons. There were six children in the group, five of them claimed by families and one a little orphan girl no one seemed to want. We would have offered the families with children a place here in Sanctuary if their parents hadn’t been amongst the biggest trouble makers. Everyone kept asking us what they were supposed to do, how were they supposed to survive once we “kicked them out.”

Then mid-morning the remnants of the New Geraci group showed up expecting help and to take shelter with us as well. Their compound was a complete loss after it became the focus of several ragers.

On top of that the two groups acted like male dogs after the same bitch; snapping and snarling at each other until I was ready to tear my hair out.

After listening to too much shouting and lamentations from the two groups we finally managed to convince them none of them were staying. We would feed them one more meal and then they were going to be on their way … willingly or not. In the end we had to put them out the gate one at a time with a frisking because they tried to take so much with them that wasn’t theirs. We allowed them to leave with what they had arrived with and nothing more. One woman had even tried to hide stuff in her baby’s diaper which really was the last straw for me. How low can you go?

We had thought to ferry them back to Hale Hollow in the bus but after a threat by one of their newly elected leaders to take what they wanted, by force if necessary, the offer was summarily withdrawn. Not even a quick new election and a new, more diplomatic leader caused us to relent.

There were only two families we did quietly offer a home to but they both turned us down. Col Byrd and his family and then the man named Greg from the New Geraci group because he and his wife had quickly adopted the little orphan girl as quickly as they heard she had no one to protect her. Both families had high quality members with sound leadership skills. It was Col. Byrd’s unique take that summed up their refusal.

“Your group already has enough roosters for this hen house. We’ll travel back to Hale Hollow with this flock of chickens and see if we can’t help ‘em find their heads before everyone pecks each other to death.”

It was mid-afternoon before we lost sight of the last stragglers walking up US41. James used his spyglass to tell us that they at least crossed SR54 all in one piece. Despite everything I hope they make it. But, it could be weeks or longer before we know.

It felt as good as the first stretch of the morning to have Sanctuary back to ourselves. We were in a jolly mood even faced with the mess that the refugees left us to clean up. No sooner had I begun to check over the garden for unsalvageable damage than Rose, now assigned to help Rachel and Waleski almost full time, came running at full speed. I thought she had come to get me but she didn’t even stop but ran passed and up to her Dad and some of the other men who made a quick grab for Jack whose knees had started to buckle. This wasn’t good.

Day 109 (Part 3)

It had to have something to do with Teri. Again turning and running back the way she had come Rose stopped only long enough to tell me that Rachel needed some help.

I made the door just as Dixon and Matlock’s long strides got them there as well. The smell in the hospital was awful. Even with the windows raised I could smell vomit and loose bowls. Standing in the kitchen I saw the cabinet that held the narcotics had been torn off its hinges and several bottles were open and on the countertop.

Rose called, “Mom, in here. Hurry.”

I ran to one of the back bedrooms to find Rose trying to help Rachel who was holding her forearm close to her chest. There was blood everywhere.

The one time I finally thought to grab for my pistol I didn’t need it. “Mom, the blood isn’t hers, its Teri’s. Help me get her on the table and get these clothes off of her so I can see how bad things are.”

Having my daughter order me around like this was surreal. She was my daughter and yet she was something more. My chest expanded with pride and I was so glad that Scott and I had taken the time to get her apprenticed to Rachel and Waleski. And even with the last vestiges of childhood now forever erased from her face, it was nice to note that it was still to me she turned when she needed help.

Dixon was trying to come in the door when Rose practically slammed it in his face. “We’ll call you when and if we need you. Just help Waleski take care of the other problem please. He banged his head on the edge of the sink pretty hard.”

Oh. Oh my. I would have given a whole lot to have seen Dixon’s face at that moment but I had more important things to deal with.

We got Rachel up on the table and I could tell she was in a lot of pain. But there was terror in her eyes too. She looked at me pleadingly and said, “Don’t let me turn into one of those things. God don’t let me … Argh!!!!”

Rose had moved her arm and was trying to slowly slide a thick BBQ glove off of it. The glove was one of a pair I remember finding and they were like thick firemen gloves.

“She was feeding the fire barrel out back so that we could burn some of these dirty bandages that had piled up. I was taking the vital signs of that lady restrained in room three when I heard a crash. Waleski, Rachel and I all came running from different directions. It sounded like something had fallen in the bathroom. Waleski entered first and slipped in puke. His head went down onto the rim of the sink. Rachel just had a glimpse of Teri before she tried to rip into Waleski’s arm that he was using to try and stand back up with. Rachel bear-hugged Teri from behind and gave Waleski a chance to catch his balance. Just as he did, Teri bent over and bit down on Rachel’s arm. They duck walked her into exam room one but Waleski round up having to … having to … “

I put a hand on her should. “Its OK honey.”

“Waleski wound up having to pin Teri to the wall with that big auger bit that heart attack lady had been using as a cane. We hadn’t had time to get rid of it. Teri wouldn’t let go of Rachel’s arm. He didn’t have a choice. It was the only thing … “

She was pretty green but I got the picture. Rose had finally managed to remove the glove and we both sighed in relief to see that there was no broken skin. Rachel wouldn’t believe us until we helped her to sit up and showed her. She broke down crying in relief. It was deja vu ... I remember Cease being the exact same way so long ago when he thought the zombie had bitten through his boot.

The door was practically being pounded off its hinges. “Better let them in or that doorframe is going to buckle.”

I had just turned the knob when Dixon practically tore it from my hands. “Hey, take it easy. We said we’d call … “ And then I got a good look at Dixon’s face. He has that pale Nordic complexion going on even in the middle of summer but I swear it looked like all the blood had drained from his face. He was as white as fresh copier paper. He was also shaking so bad I thought it might be a good idea if someone took the gun from his hand which is what I tried to do. He looked at me and let it go and I quickly turned the thing over to Scott and Matlock who had also entered to the room.

Into this circus entered Patricia with impeccable timing. She looked at Dixon and then at Rachel and asked quietly, “Is she OK?”

I was the only one that managed to answer her. “Yeah, she’s messed up but she’s not going to turn if that’s what you were asking.”

Then she sighed, “God Dix, then stop standing there like a damn statue and go over to her will you. Rachel, you are really going to have your hands full.”

You could have heard a pin drop. We all watched as Dixon and Rachel both gave Patricia the strangest look. She said, “What?! You expected me to say something else? I’m not blind you know. Deal with it.” And then, “Dix, we’ll figure out what to tell Samuel when we need to. Just … just go to her already, the tension is making me sick.”

As Patricia left the room she gave me a look of mute appeal. I glanced at Scott and left the room and followed her out and into the orange grove where she finally broke down crying.

“God I hate this. I cry at the drop of a hat these days. Stupid hormones.”

I just held her and let her cry. She said, “I told you I’d let you know when I had made up my mind.”

“Yeah, but it still sucks doesn’t it.”

“God yes. And I still don’t have a clue what’s going to happen.”

“None of us do. For right now why don’t you let tomorrow take care of itself. I think you’ve taken enough of a huge step for a while. And you let Dixon do the talking to Samuel first. He’s going to have some things to answer for and he’s going to need to be the one to deal with the consequences.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let him off the hook that easy. I’m no martyr,” Patricia said in a watery chuckle. “But I don’t want things to go bad between them either. He’s a good Dad even if things didn’t work out between us.”

I led Patricia back to my house. Becky and Tina were standing there and it was apparent that the news had already travelled. The two women brought her into the house to lie down for a while and I returned to the hospital.

I’m still not sure what to make of Dixon and Rachel but I’ll take my cues from Patricia since she was the one most injured in the triangle. I couldn’t quite meet their eyes as I passed by them. They were billing and cooing and it was too hard for me to watch that bit of happily ever after. I went back to Rose who was in the exam room with Teri’s now sanitized body. There was a bloody patch on the wall and it looked like Scott was measuring for a new section of drywall.

He said, “It’s not worth the chance of painting over. I’ll just cut it out and replace it. Angus said he and David would split my watch so I could go ahead and get it done.”

I turned to Rose and asked, “What happened after Waleski pinned her and we took care of Rachel?”

“She was a fresh turn. It looks like she OD’d on some narcotics she stole from the medicine cabinet. Mom, she took two whole bottles, she meant to commit suicide.”

Waleski walked in and said, “Yeah, and she did it on the last of our pain meds. If we don’t find another source we’re sunk.”

“Wait. I thought Teri was in little more than a vegetative state.”

“That’s what we thought but it looks like she snapped out of it enough to decide she didn’t want to be a part of this world any more. As long as she has apparently been an addict she had to have known that that number of pills was gonna kill her. I offered a sedative to Jack but he won’t touch it. You got any of that special tea handy? He might be willing to do that. I think Teri’s habit has given him a prejudice against all drugs.”

"Ok, so Teri OD'd and then turned. What ... "

"She was a fresh turn Mom. She might have even been a potential rager. She had more strength than the really fresh ones normally do. And she was violent. Normally we have a better chance of sterilizing them."

Waleski added, "She was thrashing around so much I couldn’t get a good bead on her skull to use the UT."

"The what?"

"It's shorthand for undertaker's tool. It’s better than calling it a brain scrambler."

Obviously Waleski was returning to normal if he could be this acerbic. God help Junie if they stick it out. “I’ll see what I can do about Jack. And I’ll also ask Dante’ and Hank if they can come over and help you inventory the medicine cabinets to see if anything else is missing.”

“Yeah. Yeah. That’ll be good,” he replied in a very tired and worn voice.

I left to go find Dante’ who had one of the kids relay the message to Hank to come after his watch was over. From there I put a kettle of water on to boil and asked Becky, “Is anyone with Jack?”

“Believe it or not, Patricia is.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. She says she doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her and that the quickest way to make sure that everyone understands that her and Dixon’s break up was mutual is to keep active and act as normal as possible.”

“I never thought I would say this but Patricia is one gutsy lady.”

Tina said, “I don't know. She still makes me uncomfortable. I can’t help but remember how she used to be; before all of this NRS stuff I mean. She was definitely the privileged corporate queen.”

I sighed, “We’ve probably all changed some. She’s had a lot happen and not much of it good. Now she’s pregnant and has no man around to help her through it. I certainly wouldn’t trade places with her for love or money.”

I took the tea kettle and tea over to the house that Jack and Teri had shared … when Teri had actually been well enough to live there that is. She spent more time in our hospital than in the house. It took a while for me to convince Jack that the tea wasn’t drugged, even having to go so far as to drink a cup myself. He finally consented to have some. I reminded Patricia not to drink the herbal tea and handed her a couple of regular tea bags.

“Thanks,” she said and then went back to patting Jack’s hand as they sat at the little breakfast table by the window. As I was leaving she gave me a calculating look and said, “Sometimes you just have to let life happen.”

I wasn’t taking that particular thought any further. I had had more than enough drama to last me a good long while. Patricia was a grown woman. I just hoped she knew what she was doing.

At dinner that night we took stock, literally. Dante’ and Hank reported on how much having the refugees here had depleted our supplies. The news wasn’t good. It wasn’t terrible either but it was going to take some work to bring things up to where they had been before. The hunt had definitely helped out so another one was scheduled for the not too distant future.

Angus was getting itchy feet to check out the places that Scott had told him of. He said, “It’s been great to be with you folks but a little togetherness goes a long way for me. If I can, I’ll use one of those locations and stay nearby but I do need some space.”

We all understood, I think Scott in particular did. The kids on the other hand all said, “Aw, do you have to Uncle Angus?” Obviously he’d made some fans.

Angus looked at a loss so I told them, “It’s not like he’s not going to be coming for a visit now and again, but you have to remember, not everyone is made to live inside walls.”

That appeased them, at least for the time being. I expect to have to have the discussion a few more times until the kids get used to Angus leaving and coming back on a regular basis.

We also discussed the need to find a new supply of narcotics. Jack looked guilty until Dixon reminded him that no one held him accountable for Teri’s addiction. The loss of the drugs had hurt us though. We were less prepared to address a medical emergency.

The other reality we were facing was perhaps the worst of all. Our ammo had taken a severe depleting. We absolutely had no choice but to find some replacement rounds. The issue was so important we discussed going all the way across the county and trying our luck at MacDill.

Dixon didn’t think that was too good an idea. One, if the base had been evacuated they would have taken all of the weapons and ammo. Two, if the base was still occupied it would let a potential enemy know how bad off we were. Three, that was miles and miles further away than we had ever been and would likely take more than a day or two to accomplish and until we knew if there would be any more problems with the remnants of the zombie horde it wasn't a good risk.

Then James mentioned what turned out to be the best idea of the night. “What about the Homeland Security offices and the Port Authority offices. Dad, remember when we went there with the troop? There were places we weren’t allowed to go because they were too close to their guns and ammo.”

Scott slapped his forehead and explained that while the Port of Tampa wasn’t used by the military because of the number of cruise ships and international barges and ships constantly going and coming both Homeland Security and the Tampa Port Authority kept large numbers of personnel stationed and supplied in the area. They had some inconspicuous offices on Channelside Drive and some other ones right in the dock area itself.

So we now have plans to do two things. Tomorrow a group will go on another hunt and then the day after a contingent will head to the Port to see if we can find more ammo.

If it’s not one thing it’s another. My schedule is all shot to smithereens, but at least I’m alive to complain about it. It feels like it’s trying to warm up again and I need to make sure that the garden is ready. I won’t be going on the hunt tomorrow, I have too much else to do. Besides if … no, not if but when … when they bring home whatever they bag on the hunt I’m going to be working my tail feathers off.

I’m not sure who will be going down to the Port and we are all too tired to plan it right now. A lot may depend on what happens on the hunt. And speaking of, I’ll try to write down a narrative of the first hunt tomorrow. I think I’ve just about heard everyone’s side by now and have it straight.

Please, oh please, oh please let’s just have a few quiet days. That’s not too much to ask is it?

Day 110 (Saturday)

Oh, it is so good to be off my feet. I have been up since four this morning and going the whole time.

Breakfast was home fries with canned bacon and cheese mixed in and skillet toast that was browned in the bacon grease and a little butter for flavor. Before NRS that would have been a heart attack waiting to happen. These days with all the work we do, we can’t seem to keep enough fat in our diets. Everyone has lost weight. I do my best to make sure the kids get a little extra but it isn’t easy.

Our hunters left with the changing of the guards at 5:00 AM. Dixon offered to stand aside and let Matlock lead this one but Matt was more interested in drawing up plans to implement some of the additional elements for the Wall that Scott had talked about. He was also going to measure out a bombing range out in the orange grove and see if he could get a few homemade pipe bombs and hand grenades to work. When Dixon heard that he wanted to stay home and play too. Honestly, grown men and their strange toys.

Jerry had the beginnings of a miserable cold, so Cease was going to need another marksman as a partner. Shock of shocks for me is that James was the one they picked. Apparently James isn’t just blowing smoke when he talks about being a “sharp shooter.” Dixon told me tonight that had he still been recruiting he would have recommended that he consider enlisting and eventually trying out for something called “Scout Snipers.” I’m not sure what to make of that. On the one hand I’m proud and on the other hand it turns my mother’s heart a little cold. I’ve had to fight really hard to let James be the man he is growing into … but I can still see my little boy if I look closely. Maybe I always will.

Scott and Angus also went of course. Angus ‘cause you probably couldn’t have kept him out of the jolliness and Scott because they needed someone that had the park’s layout memorized in case they needed to use some of the backstage areas.

Junie was supposed to go but requested to stay in camp when a damp wind kicked up late last night and started her shoulder to throbbing hard enough that three extra-strength Tylenol didn’t cut it by much. The only other four that could have gone at that point were Dante’, Hank, Jack, and David. Dante’ has a permanent limp from his broken leg and wouldn’t do well if they needed to run. Hank knows even less about guns than I do. Jack wasn’t really in any condition to go. He buried Teri last night in a private ceremony in a grave he dug himself in our little cemetery. We had all offered to help but he said that Teri didn’t believe in anything and wouldn’t have appreciated it. He appreciated the offer of our help and support, but it was the last thing he could do for her so he wanted to do it alone. He’s in a real fog and Patricia is the only one that seems able to penetrate it.

That left David and even though he was just coming off guard duty when the hunting party left, he was wide awake and raring to go.

I guess someone might ask what about McElroy and Waleski. Because of Rachel’s arm – not broken but badly bruised – Waleski needed to stay in case the two remaining patients in the hospital required sanitizing. Rose simply isn't up to the task yet.

McElroy’s reason for not going is a little more embarrassing. Seems he had been using the old crow’s nest lookout as a private getaway spot. But the floor of the former guard station up there wasn’t very comfortable. He had made himself a good sized cushion out of Spanish Moss and had been sitting on it for a few days. Obviously McElroy isn’t from the South. Spanish moss can be full of chiggers. The poor guy. And Waleski didn’t help when he announced his ailment at the dinner table as a warning to others.

I had chiggers on my rear bumper area once when I was a kid. Trust me, once is all it takes. McElroy spent most of the day in and out of an oatmeal bath, calamine lotion, and Benadryl lotion. I can pretty much guarantee he’ll think twice about what he sits on for the rest of his life.

So the hunting party was made up of Dixon, Scott, Angus, Cease, David, and James. If I knew them at all they were determined to not come back until they had caught their limit, or in this case caught all that would fit in the coolers and chest freezer.

I knew they would also come back hungry. That meant I needed to make sure there was plenty to eat. For lunch I made pimento cheese from blocks of Velveeta and served it on thick slices of fresh baked whole wheat bread. And while good, this made sure that everyone would be hungry come dinner.

Between raking and hoeing and weeding I supervised the kids cleaning and chopping enough root vegetables for a huge vat of stew that would be served after the hunters came home and had a chance to wash up. I figured to grab a bite to eat early and while everyone else was eating, get started on processing the meat.

Today was also Baking Day so the other women and I baked bread, crackers, cookies, pretzels, and made all the other items we normally made on this particular chore day. I know it sounds like a lot of work, and make no mistake it is, but it was also nice for us to be able to get back to our normal schedule. Well, normal for these times anyway.

The hunting party came back earlier than I had expected them to. I had forgotten they wouldn’t be spending any time exploring Busch Gardens except to track animals. It was only about 3:00 PM.

They made better time on this trip and went straight to the front gates, parked, and secured the bus. The only thing different was a handful of zombies in the remote parking area. Thankfully none had made it into the park itself yet.

OK, tell me what I am supposed to do with warthog? Two warthogs?! They aren’t listed in any of the wild game cookbooks I have. But since they look like a pig … sort of … I’m treating them like pork; kinda along the lines of wild boar which is in my cookbooks. Oh what I’d give to have the internet back for a couple of days, heck even a couple of hours. It’s been a very difficult transition away from having near instantaneous information and answers at my fingertips. Thank the Lord I never got away from books completely.

Books lead me to mention Brandon’s latest project. Not only is he Sanctuary’s librarian, apparently he’ll be our historian as well. Oh I know I have my journal and memory books but that’s private stuff. Brandon is making a real production of it. And he’s taking pictures. They’re digital and then he prints them off on those camera gizmos. He’ll eventually run out of ink and the right kind of paper of course but Josephine is a very good artist and has volunteered to help if he needs it. Budding romance? Not at all. I think those two were lost before NRS struck and they’ve simply begun to find themselves. It’s certainly an interesting process to observe.

I’m listening to Sarah cough and it reminds me that she has taken a temporary turn for the worse. We had no choice but to move her out of the hospital. The refugees, some of them nasty, were just all over the place and needing immediate medical attention. We also didn’t want her over there when the ones who died turned and had to be sanitized. But her resistance was down because her body was spending all its energy and then some healing her wounds. Add in the cool, damp weather and too much excitement and Jerry isn’t the only one who got sick. I probably shouldn’t have let her on the lanai, but she is one of those people who gets depressed without enough sunlight. Scott and I thought bundling her up would be enough. We were wrong.

I expected a lecture from Waleski, +but he actually blamed himself saying they need to come up with a step-down plan to move critical patients out of the hospital and back into their homes. They were able to give Dante’ and Junie their full attention for an extended period of time. Even Patricia’s earlier issues got a lot of extended, hands on attention. But between Teri and then the advent of the refugees, and the fact that she didn't complain much at all, Sarah fell through the cracks. And now with the two possible sanitations still in the hospital to deal with it’s not a good idea to move her back there again. They’ve had to add a decongestant to her treatment plan and I’ve already seen an improvement thank goodness. We’ll just have to watch her more closely for a couple of weeks until her immune system has strengthened back up. I’m going to start her on the “Three Broths” plan tomorrow; a cup of chicken soup, a cup of broth made from greens, and a cup of broth made from garlic. She will also get a cup of apple juice and an extra vitamin tablet for at least two weeks just to be on the safe side.

Wow, I must be more tired than I thought. I realized I got completely off track from what I meant to write. The great hunters came home. I wrote about the two warthogs, but they also brought home another impala and they also got an eland (the largest of the African antelopes as I was informed by Samuel) that weighed in at 1300 pounds. Yep, one thousand and three hundred pounds. This thing was huge and was a real problem for them to get back to the bus and loaded. They wound up having to remove some of the offal and leave it behind just so they could fit the pieces into the buss. Even then we still wound up having to slaughter it like a cow; it was just that heavy. All of that meat should hold us for a while and it’s a good thing too. The animals are getting harder to hunt. Scott thinks they are either being hunted by others or are getting smarter about surviving in the “wild.” They are also spreading out.

When I asked him what he meant he said they spotted a rhino over in the grass that had grown up in the Tampa Industrial Park. Uh huh. And when I asked what they were doing over in the industrial park when they said they were just going to Busch Gardens I noticed a couple of attempted quick exits.

“James? David? Did you two have a good time today while you were … hunting?”

“Awwww. Come on Mom. Pick on somebody else. If I rat ‘em out I’ll never get to go on another … oh, man.”

All I could do was laugh and turn back to Scott with my eyebrow raised. But even Dixon had one of those goofy grins guys get on their face when they’ve gotten away with behaving naughty.

I sighed, “You might as well spill it. You know I’ll find out eventually.”

A few other of the women had come over while we were talking. Becky said, “If she doesn’t, one of us will. And I see you Matt. The look on your face is as bad as theirs so you must already know.”

James and David were laughing at the older men getting caught. At least David was until he spotted Rose standing there with her arms crossed. He choked back his laugh real quick after that and tried to look contrite.

They were all trying … and failing miserably. It was apparent they’d had fun doing something.

Turns out “something” was raiding the Yuengling Brewery. I hadn’t looked in the back of the bus because the men were bringing the meat to me. Honestly, you’d think I was an ogre wanting to spoil all their fun. Or I don’t know, maybe half the fun was seeing if they could pull the wool over my eyes.

How is it that I turned into everyone’s idea of a grumpy Mother Hubbard? I like to have fun too. Truth is I miss being carefree. I miss not really having to think about what I am going to fix for dinner or worry about running out of stuff permanently. I know for a fact that all of us women would love to have a girls’ night out on the town. But where could we go and what could we do? We have too many responsibilities. No, I don’t blame them for having fun. I just wish I could find a little of that for myself.

Maybe I’ll shock everyone and dye my hair and get rid of this gray that has begun creeping in ever more quickly. Heck knows I need to do something about my clothes again too. I’ve cut them down and made them over just about as much as I can. I joke and laugh about the fact that I’m half the woman I used to be but in reality, it’s scary not recognizing the woman in the mirror anymore. It’s scary starting to feel old right when I need all the energy I can find.

Whew! Enough of that maudlin crap. Scott still wants me … maybe more than before if that’s possible … and the kids still call me mom. What more could I possibly ask for?

I’m done for tonight. I’m just going to staple in the story of the first hunt. I’d write it over and make it neater but I'm just too tired for “neat” tonight.



The following is a report on Sanctuary’s first big game hunt as pieced together by Sissy Chapman after listening to the men talk about it … ad nauseum … for hours … and hours. Actually it was kinda neat to listen to what transpired and watch the guys get some real satisfaction out of what they had accomplished. I just had to forget about all the critters that I had been avoiding while they were off playing great white hunter.

Apparently no one was quite sure what they were getting into. The grass, while clipped in some areas where the animals had munched it down to the roots, was for the most part taller than even Dixon could easily look over. There just was not enough density of animals to compete with Florida’s warm rainy season. The grass grew faster than the animals could eat it.

That made going forward that much more dangerous. Once they left the concrete sidewalks and got out of site of the gift shops and snack carts it seemed like they really were out in the African bush.

The impalas were first. The animals were so used to being fed by humans that even after nearly three months any human smell they might have caught a whiff of didn’t disturb them too much. The guys had been watching them frisk about a bit and bounce around. Scott said it was almost a shame to kill them but then he thought of the kids and how thin they stayed even with us women doing all the cooking we could.

Scott’s glasses were fogging up so he shook his head that he couldn't take the shot. Cease, Jerry, and Dixon all took an impala each in close succession but that really set the small heard to bouncing. Their .30-06 rifles didn’t do too much damage and was relatively easy to clean out when we were processing the meat.

The impala all leapt away with a show of amazing agility. Some of their bounds easily reached 8 to 10 feet in height and probably twice that in length. It didn’t take the little antelopes long to disappear from sight.

The shots had also started the other animals in the area. The men fanned out but stayed in sight of the man on either side of them. They slowly made their way through the tall grass but found nothing until they reached a miniature clearing around a tree. Standing right there scratching its horns against the trunk of the tree was a gorgeous scimitar oryx. It was a male and his horns were (are, they are mounted on the wall in the library as of today) beautiful. He stood about 36 inches at his shoulder and wound up weighing in at about 400 lbs. The white coat and russet face and chest caused him to blend in very well with the tall, dry grass.

Cease tried to take the shot but had a bee fly at his face right as he was pulling the trigger. Luckily Angus and his “Mauser” was able to bring the animal down. I think that’s what he calls his gun anyway. Something about .308 but all I know is I could hear it when it went off so it must have been pretty loud. If I had been one of those animals they were hunting I would have gotten gone as fast as I could and stayed hid.

They decided to hang all four animals in the tree to keep the bugs off of them and hopefully keep any other predators away. They hadn’t seen any sign of the lions or other predators that used to inhabit this part of the park but that didn’t mean that weren’t still around. They hadn’t seen any fresh sign of scat either. Jerry later said he thought the big animals took off after easier food like domestic dogs and cats. They would also be more curious about exploring their environment and expanding their territory than the grass eaters would have been.

Scott said he was getting frustrated at that point ‘cause he hadn’t even taken a single shot. The 300 Winchester Magnum that he was carrying that day even had a special scope on it but it didn’t do him any good if he couldn’t see through it. His glasses are really turning out to be a problem and he wants to see if on my gathering runs I can find him some of that stuff that will keep his glasses from fogging up. What happens when those of us that wear glasses need new ones I’m really not sure. Scott and I both wear bifocals. It’s a real concern and scary too. Neither Scott nor I can see at all until we put our glasses on in the morning. We have our spare sets but what if our eyes get worse? It’s not something I have fun thinking about.

After they had hung the carcasses, not too difficult because of the low branches and the fact that Cease can climb like a monkey, the men continued through the bush. They were out of the grass now and into an area where small bushes and trees made up the landscape. You could see large hoof prints all over the place so they knew that the zebras must come that way frequently, probably to get to the water in the fresh ponds that have been dug in the landscape.

Cease hopped up on one of the man-made boulders to try and look around. He said he nearly had a heart attack. Right on the other side of the boulder was a kudu that had been hiding. Cease startled the kudu and it came from around the boulder so quickly that it startled the other men. Waleski never even made a pretense of firing. He said he just wanted to get out of the thing’s way. Dixon and Angus were too close. Jerry’s gun misfired. Scott said it was just dumb luck more than skill that he managed to get a solid hit into the top of the creature’s back.

They thought it had been a solid hit when the kudu dropped after kicking both back legs. But before they could make sure, it got up and ran off. It was losing a lot of blood so they tracked it for about ten minutes before finding it under a tree breathing its last. Dixon put it out of its misery with a herculean neck snap. After Scott told me that I decided I never really want to see that man out of control. Something tells me it would be a nasty incident.

They were wondering how they were going to get all the meat back to the bus when Angus spotted one of those large wagons that can be pulled by hand. They put the 500 pound kudu on the wagon and pulled it back to the tree.

There, asleep under the tree was a huge ostrich not bothered at all by the fact that there were four dead animals up in the tree above it. Cease said it was easy as pie to lasso it and walk it along. How none of them got their guts kicked out I don’t know. The ostrich must have been tired or something. It may have just been running from a predator. Either way they have got to be the luckiest sons a guns ever. Ostriches are nothing to fool with. Their legs are powerful enough to shatter your insides or break a human leg bone. Their beak can be pretty nasty too if they are in the mood.

With Cease leading the loopy ostrich the other men put the meat on the wagon and pulled it back to the concrete area. There they were able to pick up a flatbed and move the oryx and impalas off of the one that kudu was on.

And that’s how they showed up looking pleased as punch with themselves. The meat was worth it; though with the refugees to feed it went too fast. We still have some tucked away in the smoke house and I’ll have to write out how I made sausage another day … after I find out if it is going to be edible.

Day 111 (Day of Rest)

We opted to put the Port Run off one more day. It’s such a potentially important trek, and so potentially dangerous, that we wanted to make sure those that were going were completely rested and fully outfitted. I have to admit that I am glad.

Matlock is going to lead this run. Dixon came down with whatever is going around and his eyes are swollen, runny, and itchy. I don’t think he’s gone 15 minutes today without a sneeze or two. First thing this morning I handed him a pile of handkerchiefs and told him to use ‘em or I would drown him in Lysol. I assume he got the message, although he does need to talk to Samuel. Poor kid is confused and sad and spending a lot of time at our house sitting with Sarah. On the one hand he’s glad his parents aren’t arguing anymore and are happier. On the other hand he would prefer if his parents could have found some way to be happy with each other. I’m so glad Scott and I were able to work it out the times we’ve gone through some rough spots. I’m sure Shakespeare probably said something witty and appropriate that I could quote but in my own words, relationships are a lot of dat burn work and the moment you forget that, or give up trying to fix things, is when the problems can become insurmountable.

It can’t be one-sided either. At least not for long. Look at the mess Jack has been left with. I know he loved Teri and is grieving for her like crazy, but I’m not sure at the end that he liked her very much. You gotta have a little of both for balance. Just like with Patricia and Dixon, Jack and Teri used their son to bridge their differences. But when he died there wasn’t enough left to see them through the hard times. I hope Scott and I don’t forget and let the kids become the only glue that binds us. God willing, even Kitty will grow up one day and have a life of her own. What will we do then? Who will we be then?

Argh! I don’t know what I’m feeling so insecure about. Maybe Scott leaving to go on the Port Run has me spooked. With all the preparation and work over the last several weeks we haven’t had much alone time; not even for a walk in the orange grove. The few times we have managed to be alone and not too tired, just when things start to look interesting someone interrupts; the baby cries, someone’s boo-boo needs to be tended, something breaks and only Scott can fix it, we’re missing something vital to finish a recipe, etc., etc., etc. I don’t know how the other couples are managing things.

The other people going on the run are McElroy, Junie, Jack, and Angus. The only one I’m a little iffy on is Junie. It’s not that she will be the lone female. She’s nearly as taciturn as Waleski; it’s her shoulder. I guess Dixon and Matlock need to see if she is still up for her job.

They leave tomorrow morning at the changing of the guards. At least this time we’ll be able to stay in contact. Those that didn’t have specific duties throughout the day helped raise a new, larger antenna for our radio shack, hopefully that will take care of any reception problems on our end. They also installed new radios in the bus, the F350, the tow truck, and Angus’ Juicer. The only two vehicles going however are the F350 and Juicer.

Scott will ride with Angus and they’ll drive point and hopefully push any blockages out of the way if possible. The other four will ride in the F350. That won’t leave a lot of room for supplies but the bus is simply too unwieldy to take into unknown territory. The F350 is an extended cab long bed work truck; it will haul, just not as much as the bus could. I’d rather that they come back with less and uninjured, than try to bring back too much and have an accident.

We still haven’t heard from MacDill or the Driscoll Compound. There’s not much we can do about MacDill right now. If they don’t want to talk to us there’s nothing we can do about it. But, the decision has been made to drive by Driscoll’s to see what their status is.

The crew will take Nebraska or Florida Avenue all the way into Downtown, depending on which one turns out to be freer of blockages. They’ll check out Downtown for ideas for a future run then head straight over to Channelside Drive and from there into the heart of the port itself. Even without complications it will be late before they get in; possibly after dark which could slow them down immensely. All I can do is pray at this point that no “complications” occur.

Just because I could, I decided to go overboard and do dinner up big. Last night after I found out the run was going to be pushed off another day I had the men give me all the warthog ribs. I seasoned them with kosher salt, black pepper then added garam marsala just to give it an African kick. I left them in a small battery powdered cooler to marinate overnight.

Right after lunch I put the ribs in some of the big pans I brought back from Busch Gardens, covered them with several bottles of beer I snagged out of the Yuengling supplies and then set it all to bake in my big trench for a couple of hours until they were tender.

While the ribs were roasting I made a glaze out of canned pineapple chunks, fresh ginger, basil, allspice, ketchup, red wine vinegar, cayenne pepper, soy sauce, and just enough water to thin it out enough that after simmering it for a bit I could puree it all.

When the ribs were tender I basted them with the glaze and then heated them back up just enough to make the glaze bubble.

Oh … my … word. You would have thought some of the guys had died and gone to culinary heaven. And weren’t they happy the battery the cooler was plugged into had lasted long enough to put frost on some bottles of adult beverages. I even managed to fit in some bottles of my homemade rootbeer for the kids.

The dogs were happy as clams to get the scraps. If I’m honest, I’ll be happy as a clam to get this run done and over with.

Day 112 (Monday – Wash Day)

It’s a good thing I’ve been so busy today or I probably would have gone nuts.

Scott’s not home, well I mean none of them are. They got caught in some firefight between a group based out of MacDill and pirates. Yep, pirates. They were at the port so why not?! I swear, just once it would be nice to have a normal sort of problem. But since NRS came into our lives the surreal is real and “normal” is surreal. Lord I need to sleep. I'm starting to sound as bonkers as I feel. I tried to sleep but after tossing and turning for a couple of hours I decided to just get up, come in here and spill my guts in this journal. The damn bed is too big and lonely anyway.

They had already missed three pre-arranged call times and I was flat ready to have a break down. I had to keep a cool head though. Becky was already a nervous wreck and Waleski wasn’t much better than the kids who were about to drive me to drink with their incessant questions about whether Daddy had called yet. It was like being in a car full of kids going, “Are we there yet? When are we going to get there? Are we there yet? How much further?” Anyone that has kids will know exactly what I mean even if they’ve only experienced it once. It makes for a great piece of comic relief … until you are the one actually experiencing it.

I kept saying to myself and praying, “Let it only be a radio malfunction. “ Dixon, not at his best himself, looked like he was ready to strangle the next person who asked if our crew had called in.

I had gone over to the shack to annoy Dixon one more time when the radio finally crackled to life.

Jack, sounding extremely harried and unlike himself radioed, “This is Juicer 1 callin’ the Dog House. Repeat this is Juicer 1 calling the Dog House. Do you copy Dog House?”

“This is the Dog House calling Juicer 1. We read you loud and clear. Are you coming for dinner?”

“That’s negative Dog House. Aw crap … just a sec. Hey you, lend a hand will ya?”

We all just looked at each other. The break was long enough that Dixon almost keyed the mike when another voice came on.

“Eh. This is … uh … Juicer 1 calling the … uh … Dog House. You still there Dog House?”

“That’s affirmative caller. Please identify yourself. Voice recognition is off.”

The reason why Dixon asked for the caller to identify themselves was because none of our people had a distinctly Australian accent and that person certainly did. None of us knew quite what to make of it.

“Juicer 1 kindly gave me an assist with a mutual enemy. My new friends are a bit tied up at the moment in some kind of discussion with some gentlemen wearing USAF uniforms. They asked me to let you know that they’d be forced to put your invitation of a visit off for a day. Do you copy that Dog House?”

“Roger that Juicer 1. We copy and say affirmative. Any other info that you can relay?”

After a short pause the man came back on and said, “Yeah mate, one of the gentlemen said to tell Mother Hen that everyone still has all their fingers and toes but that they had run into a problem with … uh … huh? … oh … a problem with Johnnie’s favorite Veggie Tale song. But not to worry, they were working on a happily ever after. Did you copy that Dog House?”

“Roger that Juicer 1. We ... uh ... copy.”

Dixon looked at me standing there with my mouth hanging open and asked, “You do know what he’s talking about right?”

All I could do was nod my head.

“Sissy? Yo, Sissy!”

I came out of the fog I had slipped into. I just couldn’t believe it. I had to clear my throat twice before I could answer. “Johnnie’s favorite VeggieTale song is The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything.”

Dixon yelped, “The what?!”

“Pirates. He must mean pirates.”

“You still there Dog House?”

“Affirmative Juicer 1. You caught us by surprise.”

“Know what you mean, mate. They didn’t do me any good either. Got another message for you if you’re ready to receive.”

“This is the Dog House. Go ahead Juicer 1.”

“SM says he’ll call Kitty’s bed time plus two, repeat Kitty’s bed time plus two on prearranged alternative channel number three. Bit a news, but it requires some thinking how to tell it. But repeat, everyone has all their fingers and toes so no Rolaids necessary. Do you copy all that Dog House?”

“Roger that Juicer 1. Bedtime plus two and no Rolaids.”

“That’s affirmative Dog House. Over and out.”

Kitty’s regular bedtime, which Matlock would know because he, Becky, Jenny, and Tom haven’t moved yet, is 8 pm and I’m religious about the ruckus being brought down several notches at that point. Add two hours to that and it meant Matlock would call at 10 PM. I didn’t understand why so late, it was only 4:30 pm at that time. I also didn’t understand at the time why they couldn’t talk then and why he’d have to think on how to say it; especially if everyone was OK.

At 10 o’clock on the dot Matlock called in. Rose said she would stay with the kids so Becky and I could go hear what was said but Matlock asked everyone but Waleski to remain outside. I didn’t know whether to pout or get angry. So we stood outside on pins and needles until he came outside and told us what was going on.

We don’t have all the details yet – Matlock was apparently worried about their location being compromised – but in a nutshell MacDill is being evacuated. And Junie opted to accept the call to return to active duty because the medic in the MacDill group said she could qualify to have surgery to correct her shoulder. But, because Junie knew about one of the stockpiles they had gathered, our group had to move its location after she left in case she turned the information over. We were all pretty blown away at the double blow - Junie and MacDill.

Waleski is some tore up. Junie didn’t even bother to send him a good-bye message. Waleski may get on my nerves on occasion but even at his worst I’m sure he never would have done that to Junie had their positions been reversed. I don’t like to call names but what a total skank of a thing to do. Waleski had been nursing her for weeks and if nothing else deserved some consideration for that alone.

James will be home from guard duty any minute and I don’t want him thinking I was waiting up for him. I’ll sign off here and try and get some rest even if I can’t actually sleep.

I have a strange feeling that Dixon didn’t tell us everything. He was angry about Junie I think but he was also excited about something … unless the decongestion was making him hyper which is also a possibility. And who the heck was the Australian guy and how does he fit into the story?

I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. The guys apparently plan on being home about mid-day. Why is it time never flies when you want it to?

Day 113 (Tuesday) - Part 1

I spent the day letting down the hems of the kids shorts and pants and quietly going crazy while waiting for Scott to come home.

The sewing isn’t busy work either. The kids are growing so fast I can hardly keep up. I know most people would probably think I should just chuck the worn clothes into the rag bag and gather something from out in the community but it’s not quite as easy as it sounds. One, you have to find a house that held kids. Two, the kids have to have worn the same size you are looking for. And three, if you do find a house with children’s clothing in the right size and sex it might not be appropriate or hard-wearing enough. It’s the same for shoes though we aren't having as much trouble with those yet.

We’ve found to our detriment that a lot of modern clothes just wear out quickly between the work we do and the way we have to wash them. I know it’s not been quite four months, but stuff is already starting to fall apart. The stitching is usually the first thing that gives way. Buttons and zippers are next. Then the fabric itself wears thin or just rips.

Even James is running into a problem. He’s wearing 28 x 31 jeans right now and the pants legs are sitting above his ankles. I just can’t find anything in the storage sheds that fit in the waist and the length at the same time. Rose and David aren’t having the same problems though David could use another couple of work pants and at least one more flannel shirt. They are in adult sizes and there plenty of that available. All of those that work nightshift guard duty could use some long underwear. And don’t even get me started on the other kids. The other women are complaining of the same thing.

I’m doing the best I can with what I have. I cut up worn or broken items and use them to lengthen or patch other items. Things were getting so bad with Sarah that I finally just took a bunch of old worn jeans – broken zippers, rips for fashion rather than practicality, etc. – and made a couple of long jean skirts with a drawstring waist. She calls them her prairie skirts and they hold up even under the rough conditions of taking care of the animals. And she says they are warm on her legs but don’t make her feel all bound up. Now all the girls want “prairie skirts.” I wouldn’t mind wearing them myself but they aren’t practical for working around the cook fire. For the youngest girls I’ve simply begun sewing very long ruffles on the hem of oversized t-shirts. If the skirt/dress gets too short before they outgrow the t-shirt I’ll just sew another ruffle on the end to lengthen it and I can patch any holes by adding appliques.

We really do need to make a run to a fabric store. I’ve talked to Dante’ about moving it up the priority list but I can’t seem to get him or the other men to understand how important it’s going to be. There’s also an antique “mall” down by where the Big Top Flea Market was I want to go to. When everything went crazy I know they were in the middle of a Chapter 11 Bankruptcy but I’m almost positive they still had their warehouse full of inventory because they were going to start doing auctions 'cause Scott and I were gonna go.

While I was working and thinking all of this, lunch came and went and there was still no sign of our crew. I was trying hard not to be upset. We’d gotten a confirmation this morning that everything was going according to plan and that they would be back around mid-day. I was just starting to darn another pair of socks when Bo ran up to tell us that a convoy had been sighted.

He said “a” convoy had been sighted; not “the” or “our” convoy. I grabbed my .22 and bag of bullets and headed to the wall after asking Josephine and Maddie to watch the kids and to also watch for the lock down signal. I would have preferred Rose and Melody but they were both working at the hospital.



Even as I was running over to my assigned position on the Wall, Dixon was waving me down. I bee-lined for him and he asked me, “Could you please make sure the kids stay well back form the road. It’s our people and they’re coming in with extra vehicles. Those sons of a guns hit pay dirt Sissy!! They’re bringing in a tanker and a crap load of other stuff. Until we get it in and locked down I don’t want the kids anywhere near things.”

OK, besides the fact he didn’t actually say “crap” but something a little more earthy, he looked really strange. You don’t often see Dixon in such a jovial mood. He also doesn't curse all that much, at least not in mixed company. Whatever the guys were bringing in, I knew at that moment it had to be pretty darn special.

I turned right around and wondered how long they expected me to be able to keep a bunch of overexcited kids corralled. I couldn’t chain them up like dogs although I’ll admit I’ve thought it a time or two when they’ve just about run me ragged, but I did think of the macramé cord that I had found for Sarah to give her something constructive to occupy her time while she was unable to walk around. I took one end of one of the spools and tied it to a fence post on one side of the yard, then I ran it over to the carport and tied the other end off there.

Next I showed the kids what I had done and set the ground rules. “If I catch any of you on the other side of that line you are going to be in bad trouble. If any of you older ones let any of the younger ones passed that line you are going to be in worse trouble. Anyone passed that line without express permission will lose all of their free time for a minimum of two weeks and will receive extra chores until I feel like you’ve had enough. Does anyone have any questions?”

Of course Johnnie and Bubby wanted to know why, like they were weighing whether it was worth getting into trouble over. At least half my gray hair comes from the creativity of those two. By the time I finished explaining why it was important for them to be obedient, the trucks had begun to pull in. There were six, each with a single driver, and what a sight they made.

First came Juicer with Angus driving, pulling a long and fully loaded flatbed trailer. Next, Scott drove in with a dump truck full to capacity and covered by a tarp; attached to the dump truck was a large enclosed commercial trailer which I was to learn later was full to capacity as well. Then came McElroy driving a fuel tanker; everyone cheered when they saw that one. After him came a small propane tanker driven by a man I did not recognize. Next to last came Jack driving a flatbed rig that had two steel storage containers on it and also pulling a second trailer piggyback style; I used to hate driving near those things on the Interstate. Bringing up the rear was Matlock driving another flatbed that had the F350 chained down on it and several wooden crates with D.O.T. stenciled on the outside.

As the gates closed everyone in Sanctuary was out and celebrating; even the guards on the Wall were hooting and hollering. We made enough noise to draw a small crowd of zombies. It wasn't until we noticed that that we all began to quiet back down. I decided it was best if I stayed with the kids to help them avoid the temptation of stepping past the line I had set up.

Standing back as I was it was interesting to observe the interactions between everyone. After Matlock and Dixon greeted each other with a lot of male back-slapping and guy theatrics, Matlock gathered Becky - who had run up to him as soon as he was out of the truck - in one arm and then hurried over to pick up Tom and Jenny and swing them around a bit. They made a cute family group, and I knew they'd be soon moving into a house of their own now that their commitment was fully cemented.

After leaving Matlock, Dixon shook Jack’s hand. Patricia stepped up to Jack and gave him a hug though there was nothing sexual to it at all. She's smart enough to know that he's not done grieving for Teri yet, but she was marking her territory so to speak. Dixon did a double take but didn’t say anything. Jack looked at Patricia then at Dix waiting for his reaction. Dix gave a barely visible nod and half smile and then stepped up to the next man, leaving his former lover with apparently whom she has chosen to be the new man in her life, whenever he is ready.

McElroy walked back to introduce the stranger to Dixon and the three of them walked up to where Scott and Angus were standing in the midst of James, David, Cease, Rose and several other people. Eventually I saw Scott looking around for me. I waved with one hand while holding on to Johnnie and Bubby with the other. He understood, smiled and made hand motions that he’d be over as soon as he could. The kids were all jumping up and down, as excited as the adults were, except for Sarah who sat in a chair and waved tiredly, but happily, at her dad.

Glancing to my left I saw Rachel and Waleski standing in front of the hospital, near but somehow outside of the celebration.

Waleski had a blank look on his face. Not angry or lost, nor even unhappy; but you could tell he was stretching himself to not be one of those things. He may be a curmudgeon but he’s our curmudgeon and I hate to see him suffering. We all need to walk with consideration for his feelings for a while until he can get through this. The loss of Junie, the fact that she left him with no notice or goodbye, has to be gut wrenching for him.

Rachel had her own carefully blank expression on. She was staring at Patricia standing there with Jack and then she looked over at Dixon who was talking unconcernedly nearby. I haven’t a clue what she was thinking but she didn’t look happy with her thoughts.

Muriel showed up about then and told me she’d watch the littles so I could go over to Scott. I like Muriel. She reminds me of some of the women in my family; a lady but still no one to trifle with. She’s fun but she doesn’t take any guff off anyone and the kids all know it; and probably respect her all the more for it.

Thanking Muriel for her thoughtfulness, I walked over to Scott as he started heading my way with the stranger.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet Jim. He’s from out of town and doesn’t have any family on this side of the world. Jim this is the ‘Mother Hen’ we all told you about. She also happens to be my wife.”

“How do you do ma’am,” said Jim with the same distinct Australian accent I had heard over the radio.

“Please to make your acquaintance Jim. Please call me Sissy, everyone does.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then all the men were called to bend their backs to start unloading the big stuff from the vehicles. Josephine and Maddie, assisted by Bo and Tom, laid out tarps so the women and older girls could lay out some of the smaller items before they were inventoried and put away into storage.

While we all worked together, the story of the Port Run was told. There was more than a few details come out that were both shocking and upsetting.



After our crew left at 5 AM they travelled south on Florida Avenue as far as they could before having to switch over to Nebraska Avenue so that they could swing by and check on the Driscoll Compound.

It was obvious immediately that something horrific had occurred there. Corpses, permanently dead ones, littered the ground within 200 yards of the Driscoll warehouse. The warehouse itself had sustained significant structural damage.

Against their better judgment the men decided to stop and see whether there were any survivors. The inside of the building was a carnal house. With the younglings about the men didn’t go into detail but Scott later told me it’s one of the worst things he’s ever seen. Bodies and parts of bodies, old blood, brain matter, and internal organs were everywhere you looked. Jack puked first and then Junie started. That set everyone heaving, even Angus and Matlock. There’s just something about the sound of heaving and then vomit hitting the ground that makes extreme nausea contagious.

When everyone had their stomachs back under control they continued looking around trying to figure out what had happened. Oh, it was obvious that zombies had gotten in but how? And what had caused the roof to collapse?

Then Matlock spotted the man behind the glass walls of the main office space. He was a suicide – the rifle still lay in his lap with the barrel tucked under what remained of his chin – and well into the advanced stages of decay. His height and hair color led Scott to the conclusion that it was Mr. Driscoll Sr. himself. The note he left behind confirmed it.

Day 113 (Part 2)

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,

ALL I TRIED TO DO HERE HAS BEEN FOR NOTHING. IN OUR ARROGANCE WE BROUGHT IT ON OURSELVES. WE HAD HELD OFF RAIDERS AND ZOMBIE HORDES SO MANY TIMES WE GOT COCKY AND THEN SLOPPY ABOUT CHECKING THE BUILDING FOR DAMAGE. WE GOT OVER CONFIDENT AND PUT TOO MUCH IN OUR ROOFTOP GARDEN. THE RAINS CAME AND WE PUT ALL THOSE BARRELS UP THERE TO CATCH WATER TOO.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAST STANDOFF WITH THOSE NRS FREAKS THE CORNER OF THE ROOF GAVE WAY. ON ITS WAY DOWN IT BUCKLED THE BACK WALL AND THE DOOR POPPED OPEN. THAT’S ALL IT TOOK. I WATCHED THEM POUR IN. I WATCHED AS MY FAMILY WAS TORN APART. MY OWN DEAR WIFE WAS BITTEN AND BEGGED ME TO STOP AS I RAISED MY GUN TO PUT A BULLET IN HER BRAIN.

COWARD THAT I AM I RAN AND HID IN THE VAULT WHILE EVERYONE ELSE STOOD AND FOUGHT. I FINALLY FOUND THE COURAGE TO COME OUT AND FIGHT ONLY TO FIND THAT IT WAS ALL OVER WITH. I’M OVER WITH. I CAN’T GO ON ANY LONGER. I CAN’T LIVE WITH WHAT I DID. AND EVEN LESS WITH WHAT I DIDN’T DO.

WHO EVER FINDS MY BODY I’D JUST MAKE ONE REQUEST. TAKE THE KEY IN THE TOP LEFTHAND DRAWER, OPEN THE VAULT, AND USE WHAT YOU FIND THERE TO PUT AS MANY OF THOSE SONS A BITCHES AS YOU CAN IN A PERMANENT GRAVE.

T. DRISCOLL

Matlock found the key where promised and opened the vault. It was a goldmine, at least by today’s definition. On shelves lining three walls were thousands upon thousands of rounds of ammunition. No wonder they never seemed worried about running out. Mr. Driscoll must have also gathered all the weapons in the compound and locked them in there as well, though some of the guns were damaged beyond repair.

It was almost decided then and there to call off the Port Run and simply take what they had found and call it good. Instead everyone grabbed a double supply of ammo for their weapon. Matlock relocked the vault room and moved a book case in front of the door as camouflage and removed the suicide note so that no one else would look for the now hidden room.

Back in the vehicles and now behind schedule, they began heading Downtown. What during normal times would have been at most a 30-minute drive on the I275 took them two hours on side roads.

Downtown was a mess; shattered windows, gridlocked cars that Angus pushed to the side as best he could, and zombies in various stages of decay here and there on street corners, weirdly mimicking the homeless that once stood there instead. The sound of the vehicles echoed through the skyscraper canyons and confused the heck out of the walking corpses. Occasionally one would come tumbling out of a high rise building to land in a quagmire of rust colored stains and body parts where previous zombies had tried the same exit strategy.

The Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center where Scott and I had gone less than a year ago to see The Jersey Boys to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary was basically rubble. It looked like a couple of small bombs had gone off inside the bottom floors of the building, right at the entrances. Several of the Downtown buildings looked like that. The library didn’t look too bad but the lexan walkway between the main building and the annex had several major cracks in it.

Matlock decided that was as good a place as any to stop and call in since it was about that time. The group needed to get their bearings anyway and to wash the taste of puke out of their mouths. They stopped an hour and while there they made a pile of books, DVDs, etc. that they wanted to bring back. Scott picked a bunch of books on carpentry and home repair for him and threw nearly the entire collection of cookbooks, craft books, and gardening books on the pile for me even though he knew there was no way they'd be able to bring them all back. McElroy grabbed some books on building small electrical and solar devices. Matlock grabbed some books on metal work and gunsmithing. Junie didn’t seem much interested in anything the library had to offer but half-heatedly threw some books in the pile on home and natural remedies apparently for Waleski. Jack and Angus had a good-sized crate of books and movies each as well. Scott said at the time they wished they had had more opportunity to be picky but they moved everything into a pile for later pick up and headed back outside.

From the library, unmolested by the zombies who had strangely begun migrating to the west like they heard some call no one else could, our crew headed in the opposite direction to Channelside Drive to stop at the Port Authority building. That’s where things started going wrong.

Day 113 (Part 3)

Not far from the building they had been aiming for, the F350 blew a tire. Luckily they had come prepared with two spares but it was still a time consuming mess to unload the truck, jack it up, and then change the tire on the big truck. Jack had taken a short break and was leaning against a doorway when it gave way.

He fell inside what turned out to be a small office and warehouse space. Unfortunately, he knocked his head pretty hard on the way down and was discombobulated and had a gash on his forehead that had to be cleaned up and pulled closed with butterfly bandages. While our crew gave Jack a few minutes recovery time, Angus and Scott decided to see if the warehouse held anything interesting.

Amazingly no zombies, nor rotting corpses, were anywhere in the area. It was like they had all been cleaned out. Under tarps inside the warehouse space were cases of canned goods and liquor. Other tarps hid crates of jewelry, coins, gold, art, and other museum quality knick knacks. There was also what looked like a pretty big supply of both legal and illegal drugs. The men quickly brought Matlock and the rest over to see what they had found. It looked like someone’s private stash of black-market goods that was waiting for a new economy to develop. While some of it made our crews search for things to bring back to Sanctuary easier, it also made everyone leery of who was already working this area of town.

Matlock said the sooner they could finish going through the specified locations the better. Such a big stash of wealth was unlikely to be left unguarded for long. Nor would they be very happy that someone had been nosing around their stuff. The crew was on their way again immediately and was soon parked in front of a nondescript building with a small plaque announcing it belonged to Homeland Security. The vehicles were secured and they had just begun to enter the main offices beyond the entrance foyer when gunfire sounded from the side of the building that faced the water. A quick exit became impossible when men in uniforms rushed into the room in retreat.

The uniforms – a mix of several different branches of the US military, but all wearing the black armband of the NRSC – nearly opened fire on our crew, but were prevented from doing so when the people already firing at them ran in as well.

Scott quickly rolled over to Matlock and translated that it was pretty safe to assume that the men shooting at the uniforms were the bad guys. It was unlikely that the good guys wanted to catch people to have a zombie feeding party. “¡Divirtámosnos cierto y alimentémoslos a los zombis!” cried several of the ferocious looking brigands in Spanish.

With little hesitation our people added their fire power to the uniforms’ and the bad guys – who it turned out were pirates who had been harassing MacDill and the surrounding area for several weeks – were caught betwixt and between.

It didn’t take long. Then there was the trouble of convincing a very young, very new, and very nervous lieutenant that our crew wasn’t just another bunch of bad guys. Once the introductions were over with, our group found out the main group of pirates was moored in the port and had some captives from the Base.

Our group had been indecisive about joining the rescue mission until they found out the pirates were beginning to make incursions further inland and were even beginning to use the Hillsborough River as a liquid highway. That could put them way too close to our home base.

That cinched it for our group. We already have enough problems without allowing another one to take root in the area when we could nip it in the bud early. Between our crew, the military patrol, and a second patrol that had come to relieve the first, it was a near route.

As violent and as ruthless as the pirates were, they were still no match for the number of trained military personnel combined with and our hardened survivors. Some of the pirates were even “on duty” drunk or high. Their lack of discipline was their ultimate undoing.

In the middle of the battle Scott spotted a tall, thin man who he thought was one of the captives trying to escape. He gave the man covering fire to allow him to get into a more secure position. This man later said to Scott, “Thanks mate, appreciate that. I was beginning to think I was going to have to take them bastards on all on my lonesome.”

Our Australian’s name is Jim; or “Jimmy to the ladies if they’re so inclined.” The perpetual twinkle in his eye proclaims him to be somewhat of a rascal but he’s serious enough when the situation warrants. He is a displaced businessman stuck here in the States when the international flight quarantine was put into effect. He’d been wandering his way to Tampa Bay from Orlando for weeks thinking to find himself a sailboat and figure out a way to get home. The pirates put a period to that idea and the loss of this fantasy that had kept him going made him extremely angry; he just hadn’t found anything more worthwhile to occupy his time until we showed up.

After the pirate battle, the two military units reported in and included the information about our crew’s assistance. After identification was confirmed and permission granted we were given some pretty disheartening news.

Despite the best efforts of US military forces the zombie population in the USA has reached critical mass and is currently uncontainable. The bulk of the remaining government and military forces are pulling into the Midwest to wait out the winter and see if weather-related factors lowered the zombie numbers. In the meantime they would secure the nation’s bread basket and set up perimeters that offered some protection to a smaller geographic area, using the Rocky Mountain Range and the Mississippi River as natural barriers. Offenses will be planned again for the Spring after the regrouping is completed.

Colonel Martin is now General Martin and he is in charge of the evacuation and closure of all military bases along the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts. They had hoped, due to its strategic location, to maintain an outpost at MacDill AFB but the last horde overran the base leaving a lot of the infrastructure unsalvageable and most of the base indefensible.

The evacuation was nearly complete when a pirate attack captured several high-ranking officials as well as munitions best not left in the hands of civilians. Now that they had been successfully rescued it was time to complete the necessary closing of the base. Since all the civilians they had space for had already been evacuated, only Matlock, McElroy, and Junie received invitations to join the withdrawing forces. There was silence at this.

Scott said he told Matlock that he needed to do what he thought best but Matlock immediately responded with a negative about leaving, he had his family to consider; McElroy responded nearly as quickly with the same answer. Junie on the other hand, who had been talking with one of the rescued medics, took Matlock aside and informed him that she was accepting the invitation.

Everyone was shocked by her response. At this response she became rather defensive and stated that anyone that could get out was crazy if they didn’t take the opportunity that was practically being offered to them on a silver platter. Not only that but she wanted to have her shoulder fixed “right, by professionals, and not by someone just doing the best they can with what they had.” Under the circumstances it would have been difficult to impossible to stop her from going though McElroy tried to talk her out of it. When Matlock asked what he was supposed to say to Waleski she said that they didn’t need to say anything, he would either understand or he wouldn’t and nothing she or they said would change that.



The military forces gathered their people, the stuff that had been stolen from the base (rocket launchers anyone?), and everything else they could from the area and left; this included what they thought was the pirates’ "treasure trove." Junie didn’t even bother to wave goodbye.

The young lieutenant did pass along the information that there were plans in the works to make regular flyovers of the area and that come spring they’d be making call again on the channel they used previously to contact Sanctuary. I suppose that was supposed to make us feel like we were not being left in the back of beyond with hardly anything but zombies between us and the bulk of what remained of our country thousands of miles away.

Needless to say it didn’t work. But at the same time, we weren’t overly concerned either. We’d pretty much been on our own from the beginning. More people should have listened when the government said we’d be YOYO for at least a short time in the event of a major catastrophic event. YOYO means “you’re on your own” and this has certainly been true for those of us experiencing the ZPAW.

No sooner had they driven completely out of sight than Matlock turned and said that they needed to go back to the warehouse and take what they could and find a place to stay for the night. Jim, in a strangely cheerful mood said, “That’s just them dole bludgers’ little stash, though it’s got some nice things in it. You want to see their big stash. Now that’s a beaut. I was gobsmacked the first time I saw it.”

Jim was not understating things at all. He had been observing the pirates for nearly two weeks and had found most of the stashes they had built. It’s actually how he was finding food and staying alive. He’d hole up in whatever stash location they had just left and it would be at least two or three days before they would come back; he was safe, dry, and out of the reach of zombies then he would move on to the next one. He also had his pick of whatever was stashed there because the pirates didn’t keep anything written down. If something was missing they assumed one of the other pirates had taken it for their own use, assuming they noticed at all. The pirates, in hindsight, seemed so disorganized and inept that if MacDill had had the personnel to dedicate to the problem they could have gotten rid of them before they had a chance to become entrenched.

In the large warehouse right down at the water’s edge where the pirates kept most of their contraband Jim warned, “You want to watch some of those guns they have. They are a bit bodgy; watched one blow the hand off the guy who was using it just the other day. Ammo is decent enough though. Hasn’t given me a bit a trouble and I’ve been using it for over ten days now.”

That example seemed to typify what the pirates had been collecting. There was no rhyme or reason to it. There was expensive, museum quality pieces of art next to Elvis painted on velvet paintings in cheap frames. Bottles of expensive scotch and vodka sat in laundry baskets with cans of cheap beer and boxes of even cheaper wine. Heavy gold chains and gem encrusted pieces of jewelry were thrown into the same containers as chunky plastic bangles and dime store earrings that would turn your skin green if you even thought about wearing them. High quality and expensive firearms were thrown onto the same shelves as cheap flea market vendor paintball guns.

The quality of the equipment that the pirates had gathered was just as haphazard. Ropes removed from multimillion dollar yachts lay in piles next to ropes that might have barely qualified to act as clothesline. Rusted gas cans were lined up with shiny and well-maintained industrial grade tanks. DeWalt and Milwaulkee brand tools, and even higher end tool brands, were clumped together with bent screwdrivers and broken wrenches from the Dollar Tree. The inventorying system the pirates used barely qualified as a system at all and made deciding what to bring and what to leave behind even more time consuming.

They threw the gold, jewelry, coins, gems and other items of that sort into a single large wooden crate and set it aside. Jack asked, “Despite it being a shame to leave all of it behind for someone else to find, why bother boxing it up? Isn’t it a waste of time?” Matlock suggested that it be taken back as far as Driscoll’s warehouse and then stored, at least temporarily, in the vault there. No one was quite sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Kind of a like an insurance policy or savings account for the residents of Sanctuary.

The more they looked the more they realized that there was no way for them to bring back all that they wanted to. Even attaching trailers to Juicer and the F350 they couldn’t bring back a tenth of what Sanctuary could use. Just as they were all reaching the last stages of extreme frustration Jim mentioned that if we could find a way around the gridlock he knew where some more big vehicles were parked.

Over where the cruise ships loaded and unloaded supplies and luggage there was a supply dock with nearly all of the vehicles they eventually chose. The fuel tanker they found near the Port Authority’s building. There was another tanker they had to leave there that was about half as full as the one they brought home with them because there weren’t enough drivers. That’s on the list to go back and pick up soon. The propane truck was parked behind the Hilton where it must have been making a delivery when it was abandoned. The front windshield was cracked but it was still drivable at the speeds they would be going.

By the time they finally gathered the last of the convoy and had pulled them into the warehouse, it was getting dark. They closed the warehouse and secured all the entrances. The pirates had already blacked all of the windows so that when they started up the generator (sound proofed by the pirates and vented to the outside) hooked to a series of halogen lights no one could see from the outside in. This let the men continue working late into the night, even after they had called in and let us know their status at 10 PM.

Because they had been up so late after such an exciting day everyone slept in an extra hour except for Matlock who had taken the last watch. He called in to say they were on schedule and then woke everyone up. They were stopping by the library on their way home.

Here they ran into a few problems. Some of the zombies that had seemed to leave the preceding day had returned. Scott knew for sure at least two of the zombies were the same ones because he recognized them in their distinctive clothing. They were likely college kids from the University of Tampa just across the bridge from the library. You don’t forget a female zombie with fluorescent pink hair and one breast missing or a male zombie with the types of piercings this one had, revealed because he was wearing no pants.

Now we have to wonder if zombies are drawn to the same areas over and over for some reason. That would seem to mean they have rudimentary recognition skills. Now we have new questions to ponder. Do all zombies have the recognition skills or were some just fundamentally “smarter” than their fellow zombies? Was it a true form of intelligence or simply another bit of life being mimicked using the vestiges of information left in the infected human brain?

When they finally made it over to the library there were too many zombies to be worth the trouble and time it would take to clear them out. Hearing this I wasn’t the only one disappointed. Brandon became almost clinically depressed. OK, maybe that is being a bit facetious but he certainly was morose until Matlock said that they wanted to make another run downtown within the next couple of days with the library and that second tanker as their primary goals.

It was more challenging driving back to Sanctuary than they had anticipated. While most everyone had rudimentary experience using the large trucks, driving them for any distance was another story. Angus had cleared a good-sized swath when they were on their way into Downtown, but he had to make several places even wider on the way back home and when it wasn’t possible, as it turned out to be in three places, they had to find alternative routes that would accommodate the large trucks.

Eventually they reached the Driscoll warehouse. It had not been disturbed. While the men off loaded the gold and such and then replaced it with the ammo they had stopped to pick up, they discussed how many people likely remained in the area. There may be small family-sized groups sprinkled throughout but with Hale Hollow, Ehren Cutoff, and MacDill gone it looks like we are the only enclave of any size in at least a thirty-mile diameter. There's been a little radio traffic from way out east of the county, but it’s been barely discernible from the static and comes very irregularly.

Matlock was going to call ahead, but just in case they were wrong and there were others out there listening, he maintained radio silence and waited until they were within sight of Sanctuary to make contact.

Now the trucks are all unloaded, the kids are tucked in, and most all the adults in Sanctuary are likely asleep. Except for me; I sit here trying to get everything down in this journal. There are only a few pages left in this one and I’ll be forced to begin a new book before the week is over most like. Seems like I don’t get quite a month in any of these little books. I should probably switch to notebook paper and binders but I’m trying to save that stuff for the kids’ schooling. Like everything else, when it’s gone it will be gone and what we’ll do to replace it is anyone’s guess. Go back to writing in the sand or on clay tablets?

I should be happy. The Downtown Run 1 has brought in more than I ever imagined it would. More than any of us imagined it would. Tomorrow we’ll all take turns trying to help Dante’ and Hank organize the remaining stuff before storing it away. That’s been a heck of a job to do by hand, though a necessary one. Rachel and Waleski have locked up all the drugs into one of the exam rooms until they can sort and count what they have and see if any of it is too out of date to be worth keeping.

Day after tomorrow there is going to be a Downtown Run 2. This one will focus on the smaller pirate stashes that Jim knows of, the second tanker, and the library. Scott, Angus, and Jim will certainly be going on this run. I’m not sure whether Matlock or Dixon will be leading it. My understanding is that Brandon might go with his long list of books and movies that everyone has requested and so that we can make the most out of a single library run.

Dixon is taking Junie’s defection and the evacuation of MacDill somewhat in stride, but you can tell he is also kind of angry and shocked by both events. If it was Matlock, I’d know how to talk to him about it, but Dixon’s an odd duck in some ways. Of course, why I feel it is my responsibility to make everyone feel better is beyond me. I’m still stuck trying not to put my foot in it and say something I shouldn’t to Waleski who really has reason to be upset. I’ll leave Dixon to Rachel since she wanted him so much.

And now, it really is time for me to go to sleep. Scott was barely cognizant by the time he finally agreed to go to bed. I was just too wound up and still had too much stuff to put away. Thank goodness for solar lamps and wind-up flashlights or I’d be sitting here getting an ulcer in the dark unable to get rid of my stress by writing or working. Scott gets angry when he sees how tired I am some mornings, but I ask him would he rather see me walking around and a little tired or in a grave from a heart attack? He hates it when I ask him that. I get tired of hearing him get angry about the same old things. I think we both need a vacation.

Day 116 (Friday)

The Downtown Run 2 was another success; if you call bringing in a bunch of stolen goods and eradicating the remaining pirates/zombies in the area to do it. The group ran into a lot fewer problems than they had the first time and those they did run into – nothing is ever perfect in this world – were easily handled using established protocols. The only major problem ironically, was convincing Brandon that there was no way he could bring everything back from the library that he wanted to. We simply don’t have the room to store books that aren’t going to get read more than once or twice. Matlock finally had to put his foot down and say useful books or classic literature or books that completed a series that we already have part of. Scott said Brandon still managed to fit a few books in there that weren’t really on the list.

Our library has literally begun to overflow the space we have available. It was so bad today that Scott and Jerry agreed to put some of their other projects on hold to help Brandon build floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall shelves in most of the rooms. They even gutted the kitchen and put a small efficiency set up in the small room he converted to an apartment. With several of the men working it won’t take much longer for them to finish and then Brandon will be able to begin organizing all the books that have come in. Some of the books however will be stored in other locations. I’ve agreed to keep most of the cooking and gardening books, at least until those subject rooms are organized enough to see how many will fit. Dixon has a lot of the area maps (topography, geology, etc.) in the office of the house he is in. The books on electronics and ham radio and similar such subjects are in the radio shack. I think some of the animal books are sitting in boxes in my kids’ bedrooms and I’ll be glad to get them out from underfoot. The really useful books are getting too spread out and we need a check out system as well so we can keep track of where they all are.

The six who went on the DR2 were Matlock, Scott, Angus, Jim, Brandon, and Cease. Scott said that Brandon did a whole lot better than he expected him to. With a goal the boy seems to be as driven as any of the grown men; maybe we’ve been undervaluing him all this time. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants. Here we’ve got another, nearly grown, male and we haven’t been letting him work to his full potential.

There’s a possibility of a third downtown run in December to hit a couple of security offices in some of the skyscrapers as well as the University of Tampa; but we’ve got too much on our plates here to even consider bringing in more stuff before we’ve found a place to put everything we already have. There hasn't been much rain so tarps have kept things dry that haven't been put away yet.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than thankful to have all the stuff we have and I’m certainly no neat freak; but having things shoved and piled all willy-nilly is making me nervous and cranky. I can’t find anything I need and when I can I have to move a bunch of stuff before I can get to it. For instance, Scott and I don’t smoke but I’ve been collecting all the cigarettes, cigars, and pipe tobacco I run across. I know that sounds strange but there is a method to my madness. Waleski and Rachel had a hard time understanding why I wanted them to put some of the cigarettes and cigars over in the hospital. Well, it’s a natural remedy for stings but they just don’t believe me and call it an old wives’ tale. Hope they get stung on the butt.

So what happens? Sure enough a couple of kids were pulling weeds out of the hedges to throw on the compost today and wham, they got attacked by those tiny wasps that build their homes on the undersides of big leaves and mother-in-law type plants. I have to stop what I’m doing, remember where I stuck the carton of cigarettes since I didn’t have room in my medicine cabinet, and then dig them out without making too big of a mess.

Bekah and Laura got stung pretty good; Laura worse than Bekah. I showed Sarah what to do and she wet the tobacco from inside the cigarettes and put it on Bekah’s stings like a poultice; it acts as an analgesic sort of. I then went over to give Tina some of the tobacco to put on Laura’s bee stings. Waleski and Rachel were on death watch for the two poor souls that we still hanging on in the hospital and weren’t really available for house calls anyway. I’m wondering to myself if maybe all the houses shouldn’t have little “home remedy” kits available when Dante’ and Hank came in talking about the volume of inventory we have and how long they think it will last. That conversation catches my attention, and I was glad that Josephine and Patricia were in charge of watching the food dinner so that I could listen in to what they had to say.



They don’t think adult-sized clothes and shoes are going to be a problem as long as we can keep them in good repair. In kids’ clothes we are missing a lot of sizes and the inventory is low, so we’ll eventually need to find a way to bump that up, but we are making do for now.

Ammo is in good supply though it certainly won’t last forever so Matlock’s experiment with making explosives is going to helpful … and not just fun for the big boys (aka the men of Sanctuary). They’ve been blowing up groups of zombies, some dilapidated structures along the fire break from the Big Fire, and basically having fun putting holes where there weren’t holes before. I’m worried someone is going to get hurt but try telling that to those men. Honestly. At least Scott promised to keep James and David out of it. Seriously, if they don’t get the measuring and packing down better someone really is going to get hurt and I’m not just being a mother hen. I’m always being treated like the wet blanket but sure enough every year on Independence Day we had some seriously injuries here in the Bay Area because of firecrackers. These things the men are concocting are a whole heck of a lot more powerful that firecrackers.

They kept talking but when they spotted me, they wanted me to take a look at the ledger that they keep for the food supply. After a few calculations I figure we easily have a year’s worth of food for about 50 people so long as we use things wisely and don’t have any unexpected losses due to spoilage. We can make that last twice as long … most of it anyway … by growing as much fresh as we can. I then asked them whether they had factored in wild foods and they gave me this blank look. Looks like one of my next projects will be to start putting some wild foods on the table to get people used to them so that they can supplement the commercially canned stuff that will eventually run out. There are a whole slew of trees behind the orange grove that I need to get to that have lots of native Florida fruits just about ready for picking. The former owner of the grove had, for a little while, given growing native fruits a try to see if he could develop a specialty market but the trees didn’t produce enough to be worth the trouble of developing the contacts.

Meat will also be a problem for a group this size, but we might be able to get around that by hunting and by raising our own if we can grow the field crops needed to keep our own domestic livestock fed. And that in turn means making sure those fields have the nutrients necessary to grow the crops and it also means finding a way of plowing and cultivating those fields … which means fuel. If we can just get the system started I can see where it would be self-sustaining; it’s just a matter of getting it going the first couple of seasons. But first we need the animals.

Sweeteners and salt are going to be a problem come about 18 months from now, I think. The salt we can probably get around by harvesting sea salt. That is a long and tedious project. I know I read about this same problem in Alas Babylon but I don’t think it’s going to be realistic for us to just find a sand bar to harvest from. Nope, we are going to have to eventually trek to the Gulf which is a heck of a lot further than we’ve been so far. I’m not even able to think about that yet. And whether the salt that results will even be useable is another question that I don’t have a lot of experience with. I think Brandon brought back some books on the daily life of the Seminole Indians from the library; at least I hope he did. Then there is the Seminole Museum over by the Hard Rock Café. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could simply trade for the salt. In the meantime if we don’t need the salt for preservation then I can season food to taste salty using herb blends. That’ll help a little.



The sweet stuff we have won’t last forever either. We will eventually need be able to create our own. Honey would be one way to have our own sweetening, but I know next to nothing about beekeeping. I hope someone else in our group does. The sooner we establish a bee colony the better. They’ll also help us in the garden and in the orchard by pollinating.

There are so many, many, many things that we have to find solutions for. The tankers have temporarily relieved the fuel shortage problem but that’s just one more thing that won’t last forever. We’ve exhausted siphoning all the cars we can find. A lot of people, as well as gas stations, had simply run out of fuel by the time the power finally went out for good. Even if we do run across vehicles that still have fuel in them we have to be very careful and make sure it is still good and won’t gum up the engines. We’ve run through an amazing amount of Stabil (brand name fuel stabilizer for long term storage) and that’s just one more thing in short supply.

We are looking at creating bio-diesel but it won’t be easy. The one I’m most familiar with is where you take used cooking oil and send it through this kinda percolator system to create a kind of fuel that you can run in vehicles that had had their systems altered. We don’t have cooking oil in that amount though we are saving what we can’t reuse even one more time. Jerry, who was interested in that sort of thing pre-NRS, said you can also make bio-fuels from garden waste and other bio materials. Well, we use the garden waste in our compost piles so that we can grow more food in better soil and right now there is barely enough of that for what we need. I don’t see how we are also going to use it for bio-fuel. I mentioned reading about methane as a fuel as the animals make quite a bit of manure and the left over from the process could still be used to enrich the garden soil. Jerry said he would look in his books and see if it was feasible. Then the other fuel we might be able to develop is the “white lightening” type. It would mean growing more … a lot more … corn or potatoes or other starchy vegetable. But, if we could make a mash and then run it through a still we might be able to make something pure enough to run in an engine without too many problems. Angus perked right up and I think he and Scott are already just about ready to get into some trouble with their designs and plans; like two school boys who are up to mischief.

I’ve been giving this some serious thought, but I don’t know how we are going to be able to do all of this work ourselves. I mean I know we have about forty people but a good number of those are just kids. And even with the kids doing an adult share of the work the diversity of projects is almost overwhelming. I was hoping that we could come up with some kind of trading partnership with Hale Hollow and New Geraci … even with MacDill … but all of that has been shot to flinders over the last couple of weeks. It’s nice not to have to worry about other people too much but at the same time a little bit of trading would have been nice. Now we have to figure out how to do everything ourselves and I just don’t know how we are going to make that happen.

I know I might be borrowing trouble, but I just can’t stop worrying about stuff like that. Scott says that I’m my own worst enemy and maybe so. Doesn’t change the facts however. We are on our own. Totally and completely. If we can’t make it work no one is going to be there to catch us when we fail. And Scott and I have the kids to think about even if some of the others are unattached or unencumbered. I sometimes wonder if it means as much to them as it does to me. Maybe I just look at things differently ‘cause I’m female or married or a mother; who knows.

For instance, yesterday I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I’m probably nosey on top of everything else. I finally found Waleksi and alone and just bluntly asked him how he was doing. At first he looked like he was a cross between being angry that I would bring it up, embarrassed that I would bring it up, and affronted that it was a really stupid question. But then he settled back down, he probably figured I wasn’t going to leave it alone until he said something, and said that he was as well as could be expected. I mean what can you say to an answer like that. I tried to think of a comeback but couldn’t so I patted his shoulder and made to leave and give him some privacy.

As I was leaving he said quietly, “I don’t know what I did wrong. I know I’m not the most romantic guy but I gave her all I could … at least all she would accept. Was she just using me?”

Well, I was the one that started it so I turned around and leaned against the wall while he organized first aid supplies. “To be honest what she did blew me away. I didn’t know her that well, but I never would have expected her to just go off like that. Y’all kept things pretty private so I can’t tell you whether you should have expected her to act like that or not.”

“I know she still thought about her husband but that was OK with me. I mean, it’s stupid to be jealous of a dead man. All we’ve got is today. We only have tomorrow maybe. Yesterday is already gone and it’s not coming back. It’s just crazy. Couldn’t she have at least said goodbye?”

“I’m not excusing her but was her shoulder bothering her that badly?” I asked.

“Her shoulder, even with operations by a highly qualified surgeon, is never going to be what it once was. There was too much damage. She might be able to get close with surgery and a lot of long-term therapy, but that’s only might. And she knew this. Either she is living in a dream world, or it was just an excuse. I haven’t figured out which,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I wish I could give you the answers you seek. I’ve been wondering how she could have just left. We have a good thing going here in Sanctuary. Not perfect, but good. And we have room to breathe. I imagine that whatever they are doing in the Midwest people are going to be crowded on top of one another and rationing is going to be more strict than what we have here.”

“The thing is … “ and he stopped, seemingly too embarrassed to go on.

“What?”

“Well, how would you like to be one of the few single people in a place like Sanctuary? All the females are either attached or too young. It’s not like I was expecting to find happily ever after the first time around but now I don’t even have a place to look. There just isn’t anybody. Hale Hollow is shot to hell and if they’ve made it I’ll be surprised. MacDill is gone. Those other two groups we used to hear out on the other side of the county hardly make a sound anymore and they are too far away to pick up a date for Friday anyway.” He ended on a lopsided grin letting me know that though upset he wasn’t really heart broken. “What am I supposed to do, wait until some pretty little thing drops out of a tree and into my lap?”

I would have smiled if I hadn’t been so sad for him. This Friday was our schedule Thanksgiving Celebration and everyone was really excited about it. The women had been planning for a week what we would cook and eat and the men had even agreed to set up a dance floor and radio. Waleski’s words really made me think about the future of our little community. Who were our kids going to eventually pair up with when they became old enough?

Rachel called from the room where they had the two dying patients strapped down so our conversation was over but I had added another thing to my worry list that I couldn’t do anything about.

Day 117 (Saturday)

Normally today would have been Baking Day but we still have so much inventorying to do and dealing with the storage issues and other things that the ladies and I just said basically to heck with it. We can’t do everything at once. I wish I could have cloned myself about six or seven times just so I could get about halfway caught up. And all of us would like to see the grounds picked back up, or at least organized, before our big Thanksgiving celebration this coming week. There are pallets and piles of stuff all over the flaming place and we don’t know what we have, what we are running out of, what’s critical, and what’s ridiculously oversupplied.

Dante’ and Hank don’t want to put anything into storage until it gets inventoried and cataloged. I can understand that but again, we are dealing with the fact that there are only so many people that have to do so many jobs. We can’t simply go out to a temp agency and hire someone to lend us a hand. They are going to have to compromise on some things.

Scott and Angus worked for a couple of the early hours but then took off to check out some of the properties down US41 to see if they could be turned into Angus’ Outpost. I heard them talking stills, pool tables, and dart boards. Men. At least Angus was also talking about turning a downstairs area into a smokehouse, or at the very least having an add-on or outbuilding for that. Scott said Angus is getting the urge to explore and he wants to have a base of operations before he takes off.

That new guy Jim is turning out to be a godsend. Apparently he knows quite a bit about farming as he had a finger in some of that back in Australia. The climate and critters are different but the actual mechanics are the same. I’ve talked with him a few times and he seems nice, but kinda sad too. Apparently his fiancé opted to not come on this trip like she normally did when he travelled to the States so she’s half a world away and he has no idea what her fate is. I hope he doesn’t start pining for her. The realistic chance of him getting back to his home for any number of years isn’t very high. If she is alive she has no idea about his fate either. It’s just sad and depressing to think about a situation that can’t be unique given the way things are. Do you start over or hold out hope and wait? If you wait, for how long? Gives me the emotional chills and I have to say yet again how grateful I am that our family was together when it happened. Although I think of my parents and brother and nephews and I just kind of go blank. Do you know I almost forgot what my nephews looked like? I could see everyone else’s faces in my mind’s eye but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what they looked like. I had to pull out my photo album. Will it get so bad one day that I even start to forget what my parents looked like? Brrr. Enough of that thinking, back to the day-to-day.

In addition to sundry and other things I realized that if we didn’t collect the pecans the squirrels were going to get them all. The huge old pecan tree in the neighborhood only produces every other year so we can expect to get zero of them next year squirrels or not.

I’m not much of a tree climber anymore. In fact, the older I get the less I like heights. I’m not scared, just not inclined as it were. I guess it’s because the older you get the more you realize you aren’t invincible; broken bones hurt and don’t mend as well. Unfortunately, all the limber young things were occupied helping Dante’ and Hank; that left me and the littles.

I tied a heavy metal steering wheel on the end of a long rope. The steering wheel was off of a car that McElroy was disassembling in an effort to teach some of us in Sanctuary about car mechanics. On the other end of the rope I tied one of those roll-up emergency ladders that you can keep on the upper floor of a house or apartment. I used the steering wheel to throw the rope up and over a sturdy limb on the pecan tree. I kept pulling on the rope until the top of the ladder hooked over the limb. Once the ladder was secured at the top, I secured the bottom of the ladder to the ground with stakes so that I wouldn’t’ be swinging around anymore than necessary as I was climbing up and down.

I had the littles spread out tarps under the pecan tree then I did my imitation of a monkey. I climbed all over that dang tree shaking smaller branches and jumping up and down on bigger ones. Some of the tougher nuts I knocked off with a bamboo fishing pole. I nearly threw a bunch of nuts at my sons ... James and David saw what I was doing and started making monkey noises. They thought they were so cute. I wish Scott had been around to see them; course he probably would have joined right in assuming seeing me up in the tree didn't give him a heart attack.

By the time I was finished I was shaky and the idea of coming back down that ladder was even more nauseating at that point than going up had been. But the reward was worth it. When the littles and I finished picking those nuts up off the tarps we had nearly 60 lbs. of pecans. The nuts weren’t the really big ones you can get from the commercial farms so figure about 50 to 60 nuts per pound harvested. I know where there is another pecan tree, but it is outside the Wall by nearly three quarters of a mile. That one will just have to wait, assuming there are still nuts left by the time we can get to it.

I left the littles putting the nuts into mesh bags so they could be hung to dry and finish curing. I hope there is room in the food house garage or we’ll have to figure out some other way to secure them against the squirrels. I can see it now, taking all that time just to provide an all-you-can-eat buffet for tree rats. That would really burn my biscuits.

The morning was already half over, and I still hadn’t done the one thing that I started out to do. I let myself get distracted from going over to the native fruit grove and checking to see what, if anything, was ready to harvest. I had to use my machete to get over there ‘cause the grass had gotten so high. That’s another problem we’re having. Before, with all the mechanized assistance from yard equipment like lawn mowers, weed eaters, and leaf blowers, landscaping was a breeze; or you could hire a company to do it for you. Not any longer. Everything is returning to its natural state. If we are having trouble now, I can’t imagine what it is going to be like this summer. I might need to consider letting the goats wander where they will; or tying them up in different places to keep the green spaces at a manageable height. It will be overtaking the roads before you know it.

When I finally got there, I wished I had made the time to get over there earlier in the month. Frankly I could have kicked myself … nope, put myself in a butt kicking contest where I was the target. We’ve already lost a lot of from we could have really used. I’m becoming too dependent on this stuff we are gathering. That can’t continue because sooner or later all that stuff is going to be used up or go bad. Then where will we be? We’ll be only as far as we can take ourselves.

The fruit that could be harvested were soursops, sweetsops, atemoyas, velvet apples, black sapotes, aceroles, and ambarellas; none of which were what you would normally find in your average produce section of the grocery store. There were also some macadamias (the few the squirrels hadn’t gotten), as well as some avocados, pomegranates, and canistels to go with the ones that I was already growing in tubs in my yard. I wonder how much I could have had if I hadn’t left it so late.

I made fresh guacamole for dinner with the avocados. The macadamias I gave to Sarah to pick through and bag up. That’s something she could do from her sheltered place on the porch. She’s doing better and is up walking more, but she still tires easily. Waleski has warned us to give her as much time to get over this persistent cold thing she has going on so that it doesn’t have a chance to turn into pneumonia, with her injuries still healing she could be a prime candidate for it.

Thinking of ways to work around Sarah and her needs I cleaned the fruit so that we could have a big tropical fruit salad to go with lunch. Poor kid, she misses the animals so much. Scott and I finally agreed to letting her keep the little pup in her room or on a leash with her all day it’s just that is the jumpiest dog, she’s whiney and irritable with most everyone. I think the trauma of losing her mother early and being out amongst the zombies has affected her. I told Sarah and Samuel that if that dog was going to stay around that they would need to train it. The last thing we need is to have a biter. She’s already nipped me a couple of times.

After lunch I gave Patricia, Tina, and Becky a break in the food house. They would watch the littles and make dinner while Muriel and I stocked shelves. It’s a lot easier to work when you aren’t running into people all the time and frankly it’s just getting complicated keep everything organized and know what we have and in which room and on which shelf it is located.

At first some people thought gutting the once really swank two story house was a terrible waste. Turns out even with about 3800 square feet plus a three-car garage we are running out of room for food storage. The food comes and goes more quickly than you’d expect but I guess that is what it is. People will be forced to wise up once we’ve “harvested” everything we can from our surroundings and we are left with only what we can produce ourselves.

We’ve built all the shelving good and sturdy using materials from where we are gutting homes outside of the Wall. After we’ve recycled everything from those places we can, we will raze them to the ground in a controlled burn or we’ll use the dozer and push them over.

There’s more than one reason for doing that. For security we need to move everything back from the Wall as far as we can. It will take away cover for any potential enemy; human, zombie, or anything else. For the number of animals we will need to be self-sufficient we will need more grazing space. Those empty buildings also pose a serious fire hazard. Lastly, and incidentally our most immediate problem, we need to get rid of population centers for rodents.

Rats and mice control is getting to be serious business. Mice and bugs may not be able to eat through metal cans and glass jars, but they can destroy the paper label which makes it next to impossible to know what is inside. We’ve started dating and coding the cans with permanent markers like Sharpies.

Part of the problem is that those sticky traps and poisons that we used to just go to the store and buy will be gone before you know it. That leaves us with manual traps … and we have a whole trailer full of those suckers now … and natural remedies. I’m planting all sorts of herbs and such but we aren’t for sure which works best yet. When it is time to plant hot peppers I’ll be planting them in every corner I can find. Hot peppers will kill mice and they’ll be renewable resources.

Renewable resources; that’s what we really need to keep our eyes on. That’s the real prize. All this gathering does serve a purpose but as a way of life it sucks. Between the fuel and the time that it takes, not to mention the danger we get into, we waste (or spend depending on your view) nearly as many resources as we bring in.

Scott and Angus were back about thirty minutes before the sun set and the cold really set in. Angus has found him a place, but it is going to take some work to fix it up. Right now it’s not even safe for him to stay in overnight. There is a good fence around the back lot of the building and room to put one around the front if he winds up so inclined. It’s a tri-level. The bottom floor abuts to a second floor which is actually a former loading bay and then the top level Scott thinks may have been the executive offices. It’s not a huge place but it is decent sized. The one thing that it needs is a garage for juicer and I overheard some of the guys saying that they would help Angus go to Driscoll and grab aluminum and steel to put one together that would be attached at the loading bay.

Of course Angus wouldn't be Angus if he hadn't managed to bring back something for the kids. Scott said this one place they looked at (wound up being too hard to defend) was attached to a candy store. He brought back a whole case of those little Tootsie Rolls. I was peeling Johnnie and Bubby off the ceiling and had the worst time getting them ready for bed. At least he waited to sugar them up until after dinner. The sugar high did wear off, it just was an hour and a half passed their bedtime when it finally happened.

Tomorrow I think some of the men said they are going to help Angus get started on his outpost. The rest of Sanctuary is opting to take a Day of Rest because we've been so busy. I have a little bit of gardening to do in the morning and I want to get another load of stuff onto the solar dehydrator. Also, I like to try and have a little bit of quiet time meditation on those days of rest but afterwards I'm going to take all the pomegranates I have right now and can some homemade grenadine. After that I really need to work on fine tuning the Thanksgiving menu, making sure we have the ingredients for everything, and setting up the schedule for what I need to start when this coming week. I also have some papers the kids wrote for school that I need to go over.

Geez. So much for a "Day of Rest." But you have to make hay while the sun shines. The sunshine might not last forever. It never does. Nothing ever lasts forever.

Day 119 (Monday – wash day)

Wash day … ugh! Wish we could have put it off as easily as we put off the baking on Saturday. I can’t tell you how fun it’s been doing the laundry outside in the cold. My hands, face, and lips are so chapped tonight I considered pulling out the Crisco and slavering it on thick. Wouldn't that have been attractive? I could just see Scott's face.

We had a pretty good cold snap yesterday and last night. It dipped into the 30s and snagged the tomato plants. I still had quite a few vines that were producing so I’m kinda bummed. I pulled some tomatoes that had a blush on them and put them on a table in the pool cage in full sunlight to let them finish ripening as much as they can. And then, between loads of laundry, I have been dealing with all the green tomatoes.

I made a batch of green tomato jam. Out of the green cherry tomatoes I made some green tomato dill pickles. I canned some other stuff too taking advantage of the supply of propane though it looks like I’ll be getting that wood cook stove sooner rather than later. I canned sweet green tomato pickles, green tomato chutney, green tomato mincemeat, and ginger tomatoes. I’ve got two vines that that didn’t get too badly damaged and I’m trying to save them until the oranges are ready to be picked, then I’ll make tomato marmalade. It’s been years since I’ve had any but I remember it as being really, really good.

My brain is so full of odd bits and pieces of trivia. Did you know that tomatoes were not cultivated in North America until the 1700s, and then only in home gardens like we are doing now? In colonial America (1620-1763) tomatoes were thought to be poisonous and were grown as an ornamental plant called the "love apple." The odor of the leaves (the smell is like uncured tobacco in my opinion) made people think the tomato was poisonous. President Thomas Jefferson was raising tomatoes by 1782. Most people of that century paid little attention to tomatoes. Only in the next century did they make their way into American cookbooks, always with instructions that they be cooked for at least three hours or else they "will not lose their raw taste." Talk about changing times. Argh, and talk about useless information. I don't know what good it actually does to know all of that stuff about tomatoes but it’s better than some of the useless trivia that will occasionally ooze out of my brain cells.

I still have nearly two five-gallon buckets of green tomatoes left. Tomorrow I’m going to make candied green tomatoes that can be used in fruit cake recipes. I want to use them for a fruit cake for our Thanksgiving Celebration and maybe also try to brandy a fruit cake and hold it for Christmas. I’ll use the rest of the green tomatoes for a couple of pies for that day and maybe some fried green tomatoes which I really like as well. Tina, Trish and Patricia just kind of looked at me when I told them my plans, but Muriel and Becky did a little happy dance. You can tell the folks that aren’t from the South. I nearly fell out of my chair laughing after I finally convince Patricia to give the chutney I made a try. She’s been munching on the last little bit of a jar that wasn’t full enough to process all day long. She really can be funny when you get to know her. Or maybe she is just more relaxed or something. She certainly is a different woman than the one I first met three months ago.

Lucky for us the tomatoes were the worst of the damage in the garden. Quite a few things are producing their last as it is and I’m glad none of it is going to go to waste. Hopefully I won’t have to pull all of it just yet. I wanted to wait and do as much of that as I could the day before Thanksgiving so that I could just put stuff right into a cook pot rather than having to preserve it or whatever. I did have Sarah, Bekah, and Laura snap and string a bunch of Yardlong beans for leather britches. I want to take advantage of the humidity being so low and get things dried as quick as possible. Normally our humidity runs between 90 and 100 percent even on “dry” days but with this cool weather I bet the humidity is below 80 percent. The wind should certainly help dry the beans more quickly.

Anyway, about the good news of my wood cook stove; well, not my wood cook stove exactly as it will be set up in the summer kitchen for all of Sanctuary’s use. Right now, all of the pieces are sitting under a big tent that Scott got at one of those equipment rental places. He and Jim also brought back a bunch of folding tables and chairs. The mismatched picnic tables we were using to feed people on will be moved over by the building we eventually plan on using as a schoolhouse.

When Scott and Jim were at the rental place picking up spare parts and all sorts of other amazing stuff, they found the wood stove back in the back corner of a shed that looked like it was used for broken or defunct items that were rarely rented. Scott said it was heavy as heck to move and get up into the trailer until Jim found one of those dollies that is also a rolling jack sort of contraption. They still struggled to pull it up the ramp but overall it could have been worse. After I helped move some of the smaller pieces like the smoke stack I’m surprised they didn’t strain something. It still needs to be cleaned and put back together but hopefully that process will be started tomorrow. I wouldn't cry if someone found another wood cook stove. It would be nice to have one inside our house just in case but Scott's got a plan for that.

Scott will fabricate some “pot bellied” type wood stoves using some metal drums that were stacked over by Angus’ Outpost. You can only cook on top of those but that'll be better than the nothing we have right now unless you count the propane camp stove that I've been using at night to make Kitty's bottles with. Scott's making a stove for Angus, one for our place, one or two extra to go in the summer kitchen, one for the hospital then everyone else’s will be first come first serve if they give him a hand getting them finished. He’s making them assembly line style so they should go a little faster but he is only one man with a lot of other projects in process.

The main problem with installation of the wood stoves will be making a chimney and venting. Angus is going to vent his into a second floor “smoke house.” The summer kitchen will be easy because it will already be open to the outside. Scott’s going to install ours in place of our current oven and then vent the exhaust through the roof where our microwave and oven exhaust fan used to vent through. It shouldn’t be a problem getting it to work that way. Its going to be getting the dry wood to keep the wood stoves going that is going to require a lot of manual labor. Cease, David, James, and Marty took the F350 and an open trailer and went over to a tree cutting service not too far from Vandervort Rd. and snagged all the wood they had laying around. That will get us started and we’ll just keep trimming back any trees that are near the Wall and set that for curing.

We’ve got other changes coming to our home as well. Matlock and Becky are making it official. They are going to have a ceremony at the opening of our Thanksgiving Celebration and then that night they’ll move into a house that they picked out and have been renovating. It will definitely be strange to have our house relatively back to ourselves. That only leaves Melody, Belle, and Trent and I’m not so sure that Melody and Cease won’t have made a commitment by Christmas. Seems like they are certainly on their way and pretty quickly too.

I thought Rachel and Dixon would have made some kind of open commitment and moved in together by now but either they’ve cooled off or something else is going on. I wonder if Dixon is waiting to see if things work out between Patricia and Jack? Or maybe he’s enjoying being single for a while. More than likely it has at least a little to do with Samuel. The boy isn’t openly hostile to Rachel and Dixon but there’s certainly some avoidance going on. He spends quite a bit of time at our house when he isn’t on duty or doing chores. Normally I’d ask what was going on but I don’t want to have to deal with the drama of potentially taking sides. I’ve got enough to deal with.

I nearly freaked thinking that Rose and David would want a commitment/marriage ceremony and a home of their own soon. I was getting so knotted up about it – and Rose doesn’t really talk to me as much as she used to – that Scott just sat the four of us down on Sunday and we discussed it. They say they know they believe they want to spend the rest of their lives together but that they also believe that neither of them is ready for that kind of step yet. Rose won’t turn 18 for a couple of months and she wants to complete more of her apprenticeship first before the responsibility of husband and home get laid on her. David, who can be really blunt, said that sex and marriage was more responsibility than they wanted right now. Scott and I appreciated his candor, but we got a little green around the gills when he said it, especially when Rose added that she was nowhere ready for kids of her own. Woweee. I wish there was like an owner’s manual for children; this parenting thing does not get any easier as the kids get older. At least we know now and I can relax and not worry quite so much. But seriously, thinking about my kids having sex turns my stomach inside out.

More change is in the air. Patricia is thirteen weeks pregnant and starting to show just a little bit. Watching her I find myself missing being pregnant every once in a while, but at the same time I’m relieved its nothing I have to be scared about happening to me. Pregnancy is a temporary state. Parenthood is forever and I’ve got almost more parenting to do than I can keep up with. I finally told Scott that Johnnie, Bubby, and Trent were getting into so much trouble that I needed some serious male help. He’s put those scamps to work and for the last couple of days they haven’t had the time or the energy to get up to mischief. They are picking up fallen branches from around Sanctuary and moving them to the new, centralized large wood pile. They are fetching and carrying anything and everything that the men need them to. And they are going to be helping with more of the big chores like emptying stuff into the compost piles. Come December they are going to help harvest the citrus trees and work on keeping the grove mowed down. Samuel also asked If he could have some help cleaning the animal pens and Scott was delighted to volunteer the boys for the job.

Scott has also taken over reviewing their schoolwork each night. That means that not only do they have to do their chores to his satisfaction but their schoolwork has to be done to his satisfaction each day as well. Talk about a learning experience. It’s been so quiet the last two days that I almost haven’t known what to do with the extra time I haven’t had to spend getting those three mischief makers out of trouble.

I simply cannot forget to write down the next couple of items. First, we have a little herd of cows. No bulls but four of the prettiest little heifers you could ask for. OK, cows aren’t exactly beauty pageant material but whoever eventually reads this must surely understand how great this is. Now if we can just find a bull … or maybe two. That means the lady cows and the bull can get friendly, have a calf or two, and then we’ll have fresh cow’s milk, cheese, butter, sour cream, etc., etc., etc.; at least for a little while. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. We already get a little milk from the goats but only enough for Kitty with a little left over for cooking. Cease and the boys spotted the cows when they went to get the wood. The poor things were skittish and hungry as they became stuck behind a concrete fence when a large limb fell and blocked the gate shut. They were crying so pitifully and the boys had to clear out a bunch of zombies that had gathered around the wall. After the zombies were gone, the heifers came as easy as you please when they were offered grass. Cease tied them in a string and they drove them slowly home.

We’ve also added some more hens. Samuel had gone outside the fence to help check the Wall for damage or maintenance issues after the usual morning gate clearing of zombies and he found three little hens sitting in a low slung tree branch. It was early so they were still pretty sleepy and he was able to gather them up in his coat and brought them to me. We’ve got them penned separately until we make sure they don’t have any disease, but they look pretty healthy if a little thin.

The final thing I want to mention was the look on Jim’s face when he saw our Ostrich. His eyes bugged and his mouth fell open. It was so funny. I know I shouldn’t have laughed but the look on his face was priceless.

He asked, “Do I want to know the story?”

All I could say was, “Well, he just sort of followed us home from Busch Gardens.”

“[Highly colorful expletive phrase not repeated by me but it was really funny],” Jim sputtered.

After I told him the story he proceeded to tell me just how dangerous ostriches could be. I had known they were cranky birds and strong and could do some damage, but I hadn’t really considered them any more dangerous than your average wild animal; the kind where with proper attention you’d be fine. Seems I was wrong. Ostriches are peculiar and cranky. They don’t like being watched while they eat which explains a few things. Seems we were also over-feeding the large bird and didn’t need to have a huge tub of water for it because ostriches don’t drink much, they make their own water internally from what they eat.

Other fun and strange facts I learned about the ostrich is that it can run up to 40 mph for sustained periods. A female ostrich usually lays about 60 eggs per year but can lay up to 100 if it has enough feed and feels like it; and an ostrich egg is equal to about two dozen chicken eggs. Ostrich leather is just about the toughest leather in the world. And that the kicking and toe claw of the ostrich can be very deadly; the front end of the bird is nothing to mess with either. Ostriches have one of the best feed to weight gain ratio of any land animal in the world and are also one of the only environmentally friendly animals in the world. Who knew?

Really, our ostrich is more of a pet than anything else. OK, sort of a pet. OK … a drain on our resources but the kids love her. And it’s a her and not a him … at least Jim says so. We’ve had to change its name to Olivia. If we could find a male and maybe another female, then we could have a breeding group and we’d get a lot of meat and eggs that way. For now I’m just happy to have some of the mystery solved about the animal. Jim told me there's plans for another trip to Busch Gardens or over to Lowry Park Zoo. If he sees any of the beasties he said he’d try and bring back another pair.

The other thing he mentioned is that ostrich meat looks like beef and cooks like beef and is really healthy. Yeah, I can really see trying to explain to the kids that we were going to eat Olivia. But, if it comes to that we will. I don’t mind them getting attached to a few of the animals, that’s just kids for you, but farm animals exist for only one reason and that is to feed and clothe the farmer. I’d prefer not to eat the bird, just like I’d prefer not to eat Mrs. Broody, but I won’t let the kids go hungry. That could be years off however. Last fact Jim told me is that ostriches are really long lived … as long as thirty to seventy years. The blasted bird could outlive me for Pete Sake.

Tomorrow’s another full day so I’m going to put my pen down here. Scott asked me if I wanted to go on a gathering run and I agreed though it wasn’t my first choice; I’ve got so much to do. It’s only going to be for a couple of hours in the morning so it shouldn’t be too bad. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and besides I think he and Angus are up to something. They had the same “innocent” expression on their face that Johnnie gets when he has a secret. I guess I’ll find out when I find out. If I start worrying about what their shenanigan is going to be this time I’ll never get any sleep.

Day 120 (Tuesday)

I’m not exactly sure how I would categorize today. It certainly ran the gamut.

I’m not what you would call cranky in the morning. I kinda enjoy getting up early and having 30 minutes of quiet to myself before the normal chaos of the day starts. I need that quiet before the chaos; it gives me a chance to collect my thoughts. Today however Scott set the alarm to go off at 4 AM and was elbowing me in the side saying, “Wake up sleeping beauty. Time to get your rear in gear.”

Like I said, not normally cranky. Normally. But there are some things that just put pepper in my wheaties and that’s one of ‘em. Not only that but his excessive exuberance woke up Kitty who started howling to be fed which in turn woke up everyone else.

Scott is not normally like this in the morning. He’s normally one who likes to be left alone until he pulls himself together so this excessive show of jocularity immediately put me on guard. The man was up to something, the question in my mind was whether I was going to enjoy it as much as he seemed to think I would.

Breakfast was porridge with enough different flavorings set out that everyone could fix their favorite. It didn’t take long for everyone to pile into our outdoor dining hall and grab a bowl full, myself included.

I nearly choked though when I found out what we would be travelling in. I just knew something had to be up. Scott had gotten the Avalanche up and running. That copper-colored, chromed up dream machine had been sitting in our carport for months. I hadn’t had the heart to ask Scott to do something with it even though it really was in the way.

Dixon and Matlock were both there at the gate to let us out in the Avalanche followed by Angus and McElroy in Juicer. I thought they were coming with us but they only went as far as Angus’ Outpost. We continued on driving toward USF.

When I tried to get Scott to tell me where we were going he said it was a surprise. I was so tired that I would start to nod off only to be awoken each time Scott would drive over a zombie. “First time out and she’ll already need a wash,” Scott chuckled.

“Ha. Ha.” I thought. “He thinks he’s being funny.” We finally made it through the maze of derelict vehicles and were over by the Citrus Park Mall area. I hadn’t been in this part of town since before NRS hit the US. With the economy the way it was I tried to avoid the temptations of places like the Mall; I guess it was maybe May or June but it seemed like a lifetime. Then Scott pulls into a shopping center and I started to smile.

“You stinker!! Why wouldn’t you tell me? I could have brought containers to put stuff in,” I squealed.

“Because my love, it was a surprise and I already had the boys put things in the trailer to hold all your goodies,” he grinned.

We had pulled up in front of a huge craft and fabric store. It may not have been that exciting for other people but I was in hog heaven. We only had a couple of hours so I set to it with vigor. I pushed buggies to the fabric center and loaded every bolt of material, every spool of thread, every card of buttons there were. I grabbed notions like zippers, elastic, Velcro, hooks, pins and needles. I grabbed sewing kits, scissors, thimbles, quilting templates, measuring tapes, and transfer paper and every other thing from the racks. From there I headed into yarns, laces, and edgings. You could have put me on one of those stupid game shows that tested to see how much I could pack into a shopping cart.

I packed all of the patterns in large plastic bins. After I had emptied the fabric and sewing part of the store I went over to the craft part. Glues, beads, wire, sequins, paints, stains, varnishes, etc. all went into tubs. Books and supplies for candy making and candle making were thrown together with supplies for soap making and "Junk to Treasure" projects. Scrapbooking, leather working, wood burning, and rock polishing; you name it, I grabbed it off the shelves.

We had to stop briefly twice to deal with an accumulation of zombies. That should have bothered me, but it didn’t and frankly we were less harassed than I thought we would be. Maybe it was just because it was the two of us and we weren’t making that much noise.

I couldn't take everything; that would have been impossible and made no sense. But I think I did a fair job of getting everything useful and then some. I even grabbed all the kids’ stuff like stickers, clay, markers, marbles, and I can’t even remember what all at the moment.

We finally got everything packed up and I was ready to get home and find a place for it all but Scott wasn’t pulling out.

“What’s wrong? I thought we needed to get home.”

“Look Sissy, we need to talk.”

Oh boy, no woman wants to hear those words out of her man’s mouth. They are always a prelude to something that they are not going to want to hear.

“I take it then my surprise was just to put me in a good mood,” I said instantly disappointed and somewhat hurt.

“Yes. I mean no. Dammit. Look Sissy, Angus and I found this place Sunday and I was going to bring you here as a surprise anyway but then something came up yesterday … and … I wanted to bring you now in case … “

I sighed, “In case what? What is it? What could possibly be so bad that you had to do it this way?”

After a moment’s silence he said something I hadn’t been expecting at all, “The day after the Thanksgiving celebration Dixon, McElroy, Angus, and I are heading up to your parents’ place.”

“What?!” I cried. I was shocked; torn between anger, disbelief, and a hidden hope.

In a nutshell, as Scott explained it, we need information. We need to know if there are other groups out there like ours. We need to develop some kind of lines of communication if possible. We knew from Jim that Orlando was history. We knew from Hank and Trish that most of south Florida was toast and the few enclaves there that remained were violent and/or very isolationistic. That left going due north.

The men were going to take Interstate 75 as far north as Gainesville and then cut west, cross through the little rural communities and stop at my parents’ place before pushing through to Chiefland, FL. In Chiefland they would pick up US19 and then return south along the coast to SR54 and from SR54 over to US41 which would bring them home.

“We don’t plan on being gone more than four or five days tops, and we have the radios.”

“Four or five days?! Scott …” I was flabbergasted.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want to know about your parents and brother … “

I huffed, “Of course I do, but …”

“No buts Sissy. It has to be done and as many times as we’ve travelled in that area I’m the one that needs to go. I know all the little back roads and the communities too, especially if we run short of supplies. And if … look, if I see your parents I’m sure I’ll be able to convince them to come back with me.”

“You’re going whether I’m OK with this or not aren't you.”

He got real serious and said “Yeah.”

I didn't know what to say but the words just fell out of my mouth anyway. “I hate this. I hate it with a passion, and you have to promise me that no matter what you’ll fight your way back home. I won’t be like Jim, not knowing, perhaps never knowing for sure. I absolutely refuse. I won't sit around wondering and hoping. I’ll come looking for you, do you understand me?”

“I promise honey. Oh Sissy, don’t cry.”

But I did. I was having so much fun and then to just have to deal with the idea of Scott going so far away just got to me. Before it would have only taken three hours from our front door to my parents’ front door and been no big deal. Now, who knows how long it will take? It would be like they were going to the dark side of the moon. And what if they ran into another big zombie horde?



We returned to Sanctuary in near silence. What was there to say? As soon as we pulled in I headed inside to change. I fed Kitty who was getting fussy and then I went outside to start the fruitcakes I had wanted to bake. At some point during the morning someone had put the wood stove together. It was a beautiful classic and I wanted to be happy and admire it but I just couldn’t. Everyone was giving me a wide berth until Patricia walked over and sat down and started cleaning carrots.

I quietly asked, “So who knew and for how long have y’all known?”

Patricia answered, “Matlock and Dix called a meeting right after you and Scott pulled out. I guess some people knew before then but most of us didn’t. I’m guessing it would have been better handled in a different way.”

I humphed and said, “It certainly could not have hurt to try and let me know in a different way. I know I can be emotional. I’m probably every bit the mother hen that everyone is always joking about. But you know, I think overall I’ve held up pretty damn well. No major hysterics. As little drama as possible.”

“Better than me,” Patricia said.

“Patricia, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … look, I just don’t get why everyone always treats me like I’m too fragile for reality or like a bomb about to go off. No, I don’t like the plan, but I understand the reason for it. I really don't like it that Scott is one of the ones going. I didn’t like the delivery that’s for sure. But it’s like I’m being treated like a child who’ll throw a tantrum and ruin everything.”

“Hey, I’m on your side. But I can see Scott’s too. You can get touchy and it’s not like there are too many places you guys can go to have a private argument … um … conversation, whatever. And the thing about stopping at your parents’ … the way I understand it Scott had to fight tooth and nail for the concession and only the fact that Angus said he and Scott would just take off on a side trip of their own finally made Dix back down.”

“Is it that big a problem? Are they going to be going that far out of their way to check on my parents?”

“I don’t think it was that so much, more the appearance of favoritism. That and Dix still doesn’t know how to categorize Scott.”

“What? I don’t understand. What has that got to do with anything?”

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way but you and Scott don’t really fit in the puzzle the way that is very comfortable for Dix. Matlock and his people are easy, they are almost military. Dix and his crew, they are military .. or were. The other civilians also fit his preconceived idea of people being pegs and everything fitting together a certain way. But Scott … and now Angus … are both very alpha males. I suspect Jim too though I think he’s laying low on that until he finds his place. The good thing is they are all good guys. They aren’t the type to constantly need to jockey for position. They are what they are, take it or leave it. They basically say "Follow if you want but I don’t need to be followed to be a leader. As for following, I'll do it if it fits my needs and those I take care of." Ninety-nine percent of the time this works out but it’s that one percent when Dix isn’t sure how to handle it. The fact that he owes so much to Scott adds to the confusion. And now with Samuel preferring to be at your house rather than being in Dix’s shadow, well that makes it even harder on him.”

“Argh! This makes my head hurt. Is Dixon’s attitude something else I need to worry about?”

“No. Not really. Dix will get over it. He’s just having a hard time adjusting … in his own way. I think I was actually better prepared for the split than he was. I think that all of that combined with the MacDill pull-out and Junie’s defection has rattled him more than he’s willing to admit; tack all of that onto the already surreal NRS pandemic and he has to redefine himself and redefine his normal operating procedures in ways that he never anticipated. I also don’t think Rachel is making it any easier on him for some reason.”

That’s someplace I didn’t feel like going. “Look, I don’t think I want to know … “

Patricia quickly broke in and said, “Look, I’m not saying this to gossip or hurt them. That's not at all what this is about. I do want you to understand Dix a little better. He’s a simple man with simple tastes. He's used to getting his way so easily that he simply took it for granted and it didn’t mean much to him. Maybe it was too easy for him. Now things are different. Very different, and he’s struggling to change with the times. It’ll happen but it’ll be a challenge for him. His inflexibility is one of the things that caused us problems over the years.”

She took a breath and continued, “And look at Angus. He needs to take this trip. I don’t know what he was like before, but he reminds me of a man I once knew. That man had to seek out challenges or he would have withered and died. I think Angus is the same. I don’t know what McElroy’s thing is; he’s a hard one to get to know. But Scott strikes me as another one who needs fresh challenges and new goals on a regular basis.”

After thinking about it I said, “In other words you think the men all need this trip on a personal level; it’s not just for us as a group.”

Without hesitation she answered, “Yes. And I think Scott needs your support or he’ll pull out even if it means a personal setback and disappointment. He’ll put your wants above his needs.”

While we worked I mulled it all over. I also mulled over the unexpected fact that Patricia might turn out to be the best friend I’ve ever had next to Scott and my parents. I damn the whole zombie situations from start to finish every day, but I’ve certainly been gifted with some good things as well. I need people in my life that don't just give me the answers I want to hear because they love me too much or are afraid of my reaction. I need people that care enough to tell me the truth and spell out the bottom line when I don't want to see it.

“Do me a favor? Could you watch these cakes? I won’t be long.”

She grinned and said, “Sure. And he’s over in the NW guard tower if you’re interested.”

“Thanks,” I said as I left to go apologize for being such a prig.



Amazingly there were no interruptions so Scott and I turned the apology into some much needed make-out-and-then-some time. I think everyone was purposefully giving us some privacy. But I was determined that not even the zombies were going to take this time away from us. I thought woe to the man, woman, or child that knocked before we were ready. It was a tad on the cool side but that just made us laugh even more. Nothing quite like resurrecting those teenage hormones ever so often. We had been so burdened with the lack of privacy and time that to suddenly have it to spend with one another, even if it was but for a very short time, was very rejuvenating.

It’s not like the dread and worry have gone away. To the contrary it’s with me with every breath I take and I keep thinking of things that could happen, that could go wrong. Overlaying this is also the dread of what Scott could find at my parents’ place. I know what he could find and yet I don’t want to know and finally put it to rest one way or the other. It hurts now but I know it could hurt infinitely worse.

After Scott and I came down from the guard tower we headed our separate ways once again. He to meet up with Angus and McElroy to discuss logistics and I had a meeting with a “new” cookstove that I needed to get to know.

When I got back the other women had returned from wherever they were hiding and had started to slice and dice for the evening’s menu. We were having one of my favorite meals; cornbread, stewed potatoes, and white beans with ham hocks. The hocks were from the warthog but to be honest I couldn’t tell the difference. Apparently on a certain level pork is pork.

Everyone enjoyed the foray into very traditional Southern cooking because there wasn’t a cornbread crumb left. And both the bean pot and potato pot had been scrapped clean making for uber-easy clean up. Heck, even all the plates looked like they had been licked nearly spotless.

There were four hocks so each of the big dogs got a leftover bone. The pup got the leftovers that Kitty had made a mess out of plus a little puppy kibble. I’ve been grinding table food up for Kitty for about a week now and she eats it more often than not though I wouldn't say that all of it actually makes it into her mouth. Sarah was up as well, and we bundled her up and let her walk with her big brother and Samuel to see the cows as all the animals were put to bed for the night. The boys wound up carrying her back and she was crying and embarrassed. It took me a bit to calm her down and convince her that yes, she would eventually finish getting better and be able to do all the things she did before with the animals. But she’s just an eleven-year-old girl; I’m sure to her she feels like she’s been hurt or sick forever.

After everyone headed for their own homes or to guard duty Scott and I sat the kids down and explained to them about Scott going. The older kids knew but were glad of the chance to ask some specific questions. The littles think Scott is indestructible and basically omnipotent and have complete faith that everything will be fine. I wish I could go back to such blind faith in everything being OK.

I have thought of one thing that will make me feel a smidgen better. I’m going to pull out Scott’s chainsaw chaps and sew them to a pair of jeans. If they’ll stop a chainsaw, surely they’ll stop a zombie. I’m also reinforcing his jacket at the collars and cuffs with chamois. Lumberjack boots and a good solid cap with ear flaps will complete the ensemble. I can hear Scott’s exasperated response now. He just better hope I don’t find armor and chain mail before they leave.

Thanks Kathy!

Lili

Love this story Kathy!

Lone_Hawk said:

Love this story Kathy!

Click to expand...

Fully prepared to love it once I catch up to the rate of posting but yeah - top shelf!

Thank you Ma'am.

Love it! MOAR Please!

Mom’s Journal of the Zombie Years

December: Heartbreak and Heroism
Days 121 – 153



Day 121 (Wednesday)

I’m no more comfortable with Scott going away than I was yesterday but I am a bit more resigned to it. Frankly I’ve been so busy today that there just hasn’t been time to brood about it. Of course, here at the end of the day with nothing but this journal and the sounds of the occasional zombie banging into something on the other side of the wall to keep me company it’s another story.

I was awake and in the garden before breakfast had even been started. I left Scott to feed Kitty, which he is a dab hand at, and bent my back to getting everything in that we would need for tomorrow.

I needed to dig the last of the potatoes and have the kids help wash and scrub them. I pulled two pumpkins for baking. One would become pumpkin chips and the other I would turn into pies. I pulled a few hard shelled winter squash for the same reason. After I cleaned the pumpkin and squash seeds out I toasted them so the men could have them as a light weight snack on their trip.

With the tail end of the pole beans and Yardlong beans I made a huge mess of green beans that I seasoned with onions and warthog bacon drippings. I pulled beets and cooked them to make pickled beets and for a small pot of apple-beet sauce.

Tomorrow, along with the last of the red tomatoes, I’ll bring in the Bibb lettuce, last of the carrots, and a small tray of radishes that I’ve been nursing along out of season. With those I’ll make an enormous fresh salad. I’m not touching any of the plants though that I’m letting go to seed. I’m not sure how long my packages of seeds are going to remain viable so I need to learn how to make my own. Its not like the seed catalogs are going to come in the mail this year.

We’ve been baking loaf bread, rolls, and cornbread most of the day. Tomorrow all we’ll need to do is make the cakes and pies, heat stuff up, and get the meat ready.

Angus and Jim provided our main dish. They came back almost as quickly as they had left this morning. So quick, Dix and Matlock rang the alarm bell. We all stopped what we were doing and ran to help. Angus’ pant leg was ripped and bloody and Jim looked like he’d been on the losing end of a good sized bar brawl. But the way they looked was all out of whack with the fact the two of them were laughing like loons.

From the trailer that Angus pulled was coming this god-awful banging. We thought he had a zombie stuck in there until Matlock bellowed, “You’re kidding me.”

Of course he didn’t say “kidding” but referred to manure. I wish the guys would be more careful. I had the worst time explaining to Johnnie why we should not use those words; especially why five-year-olds should not use those words. I don’t think I convinced him, only convinced him he better never use those words where I found out about it.

Anyway, the banging wasn’t getting any better and the sides of the trailer shook with every crash. I heard Scott yell above the noise, “Geez man, you found some mean ones.”

Turns out that Angus and Jim decided to go over to the Geraci Brothers’ place to see if there was anything worth salvaging. They hadn’t been there but a second when they heard a banging in what was left of the main house. They looked in the windows expecting to see raiders or zombies. Instead they caught sight of really pissed off pigs. Hey, if you’ve ever been around pigs and hogs you know that can be scary all on its own.

They backed the trailer up to the front door, climbed in a back window, and proceeded to try and chase the pigs into the waiting trailer. Easier said than done. From the sound of it I wish I would have had a movie camera. The mean old boar brought what was left of the ceiling in one of the rooms down onto Jim. Angus nearly had his leg gored before he jumped up on the island in the kitchen.

I’m amazed no one got hurt. That old boar was mean and wild. There was a younger and more laid back boar and a fat sow with five piglets as well. Rather than put the boar in with the other animals they backed the trailer up to the gate of the large enclosure where we planned to put the cows, and put him to pasture out there so he could run himself down without hurting anything. The young boar, sow, and piglets were put into a pen next to the other pigs. We’ll put them in the same pen once they all settle down and get to know each other a little better.

Tomorrow at dawn that old boar is going to meet his maker and we’ll cook him whole (after he is gutted, drained, and cleaned) in a pit the guys dug today. I’ve never cooked a whole pig like that but Cease and Jim have. I have eaten it like that and my mouth is watering just thinking about it. I can still remember how tender it was. One of Scott’s tenants invited us to his son’s Confirmation party. It was a big honor apparently for “Don Scott” and his family to come to Miguelito’s son’s fiesta. Miguelito was killed in a construction accident less than a month later. Scott gave his widow some money and she took their children and went to live with her parents in Mexico; but before she left she told Scott that her husband had been so proud that El Don had come to his child’s feast. Strange how the little things can mean so much. It really puts things in context.

While the men take care of the pork I’ll be teaching Rose, Melody, Josephine, Sarah, Laura, and Bekah how to make some old fashioned cakes and pies. Maddie may join us as well if her mother can convince her to. Let’s see, I have the following on the dessert menu: molasses pie, vinegar pie, buttermilk pie, sauerkraut cake, molasses cake, applesauce cake, apple butter pie, pumpkin custard, Irish potato pie, elderberry pie, pineapple custard pie, squash pie, and green tomato mincemeat pie. This didn’t include the fruit cakes that I made yesterday or the pies I made today from sweet potatoes. We’ll also have plenty of side dishes but I’m leaving some of that up to the other women.

The other thing I did today was make some granola bars, pony express bread, GORP, and some other instant trail food for the men to take one their trek north. The men will also take a couple of cases of MREs we’ve been holding back and each vehicle will also carry ten gallons of water, a water filter, and purification tablets. Each man will carry his own bug out bag in case they have to abandon the vehicles for some reason, a rifle, and plenty of ammo. Each vehicle will also carry reserve fuel and have a shotgun and case of shells. I know there is plenty I’m not listing out but they are traveling heavier than they are comfortable. It’s just they don’t know what they’ll be facing.

I’m going to bed tonight tired in body and spirit. I just wish I could get my mind to stop running like a hamster wheel.

Day 123 (Friday) - Part 1

I just didn’t have the time or energy to write yesterday. This morning Scott and the other men left and will be back basically when we see them pulling up to the gates. They originally said up to five days at most but from the sound of their travels thus far that might be overly optimistic.

Yesterday was a good day. Everyone was up early and about mid-morning we held Matlock and Becky’s commitment ceremony. Becky was very beautiful in a found wedding gown that we had altered but it was really strange seeing Matlock dressed up in a suit and tie. I don’t think I’d seen a tie on anyone but a zombie for months.

Scott officiated the ceremony, saying phrases similar to what a pastor would have said at a wedding ceremony prior to NRS. Then Matlock and Becky read vows to each other they had written themselves. The ceremony was closed by Dixon who said, “Let all here witness that, knowing to the best of their ability that all bonds with their previous partners were completely and irrevocably severed, Sgt. Murphy Matlock and Ms. Rebecca Trublood have made a public and lifetime commitment to each other. A copy of their vows, certified by their own signatures and that of witnesses, will be placed with the other official documents of Sanctuary. Would all here affirm their decision by saying Aye!”

You wouldn’t think so few people could make so much noise. We weren’t just affirming Matlock’s and Becky’s commitment to each other, we were all affirming a commitment to our future – as individuals and as a group. For richer for poorer; in sickness and in health; ‘til death do us part.

During the ceremony I watched all the couples in Sanctuary look at each other; from Jerry and Muriel to David and Rose. All but one couple glowed with their feelings. Dixon was standing by Samuel but wasn’t looking at Rachel and Rachel was studiously ignoring Dixon as well. It was especially strange because standing on the other side of Samuel was Patricia with Jack protectively at her side. Despite there being no reason for Dix and Rachel to hide their relationship any more they seem to be hiding it more than ever. But it’s not my problem and I refused to let the conundrum ruin my day.

After the ceremony the ladies and I put out some odds and ends that people could graze on while the pig finished cooking. We took turns on short shifts on guard duty so that everyone could enjoy the day as much as possible.

Finally the pig was ready. I didn’t know until yesterday morning that the men had actually decided to slaughter the pig during the night. I guess they did this because they were worried that a predator would get it ‘cause the stupid thing kept making so much racket that it even drew zombies. They burned a fire in the pit using some granite rocks we had gathered over the last couple of weeks for about three hours which was just about as long as it took to catch, slaughter, and prepare the mean old boar.

They rubbed the pig with citrus juice and put some onion and seasonings in the body cavity. Three good sized hot rocks were also stuffed inside the pig’s body cavity and James said it made a wild hissing sound as hot rock met cold flesh. The pig was then wrapped in several layers of heavy duty aluminum foil. We could have used banana leaves, may have to if we ever get a chance to do this again, but the foil was better at keeping dirt out. The pig was then put in the pit with the rest of the hot rocks and we used wild grape vines and a thick layer of pine needles to insulate everything. The hole was refilled with dirt and a long meat thermometer was stuck into the center of the whole mess to track the internal temperature of the meat. The pig was put into the ground at around 3 AM and it came off just after one o’clock.

We set up several tables to accommodate the meat and all the other food we had prepared. It was quite a buffet. We all ate way passed being full. That was an experience after so many weeks spent conserving food and eating jsut enough rather than until we were full. Even all the animals received extra rations yesterday and were glad for it.

The celebration lasted the whole day. Games of sport including an impromptu football game were played beside games of skill like archery, slingshot, and how fast could someone breakdown their rifle and put it back together. The kids played games like sack races, pin the tail on the donkey, and lawn bowling which they renamed “knock the zombies down.”

Everyone contributed something hand made to Matlock and Becky’s new home. The men pulled together and made them a wood stove and a pie keep to go in their kitchen space. Sarah, Bekah, and Laura had sewn them a sampler with their names and the date of the ceremony embroidered on it. Rose and Melody made them an herbal wreath. The older boys, with David’s help, had found an old chest and lined it with cedar for them to keep their treasures in. The younger children made them cards. The women and I made over some curtains and a table cloth, turning what used to belong to someone else into a useful gift that would forever be uniquely theirs. Brandon and Melody’s gift stunned everyone.

Brandon had claimed to be taking pictures for the History of Sanctuary that he is writing but after disappearing for a bit he and Melody presented Matlock and Becky with a wedding day portrait in a hand-painted frame. What was adorable was that the picture he took was one where Tom and Jenny were standing with them. They looked like a family.

We were all surprised. We knew he had been scavenging computers and printers but we had no idea he had really been able to pull anything together. Given the quality of the work everyone has vowed to keep on the lookout for all the toner and photography paper they can find and paints and art supplies as well. When we notice particular skills in someone we try to encourage and nurture it. We all benefit from it in the long run.

Scott spent as much time with the kids and I as he could but late in the afternoon I noticed he would slip away and meet with the three other men to go over Juicer and the Avalanche yet again. They were leaving the F350 here, but were taking one of the smaller enclosed trailers that they reinforced the day before. They had also cut small, cross-shaped openings on all four sides to act as gun ports.

I knew it was time for things to wind down. Everyone had thankfully done their own dishes and stacked them in the drainers to dry. There really wasn’t that much food left over compared to what we started with but there was enough to pack two meals for the men with enough left over that I made a big pot of stew that fed everyone twice today.

After all the food was put away we carried Matlock and Becky to their new home for their honeymoon night. It was hilarious and raucous at the same time. The youngest kids didn’t get it but there was plenty of ribald chuckling going on between most of the adults. The teens just stood around embarrassed at the antics and thinking adults were a few bricks shy of a load. Several of us offered to take Tom and Jenny for the night but Matlock and Becky both said they wanted to start as they meant to go on; as a family. I don’t think there is any need to worry about the two of them. They seem to have a solid idea of where they want their future to go.

After that everyone but the guards headed to their own home. Scott took some time with each child individually; youngest to oldest. He took David and Rose aside last and I can only guess what he said to them. I didn’t ask. I’m not sure I want to know. Rose cried whatever it was … in a good way, but there were still tears.

After everyone went to bed Scott and I lay for a long time saying nothing, just holding each other. Sometimes you need to talk, sometimes you just need the quiet of each other’s company and comfort.

Morning came too quickly as did their leave taking. They called in every hour at first and the news was not good. The interstate borders on impassable for miles and miles and miles; as far as the eye can see there are vehicles of all shapes and sizes. There are a few locations where it looks like someone has tried to push the worst of the mess off to the side but mainly Juicer just took the lead and smashed anything that they couldn’t go around. Some of the cars still have zombies pinned inside and in other cars it looks like something has burst out of them. Every business and building close to the entrance and exit ramps has been looted as far as they can tell. There have also been lots of fires and other types of damage.

It took them three hours just to get to the Webster exit in Sumter county. That was a drive that normally would have taken only 45 minutes. Once there they were met by armed men protecting the exit ramp into that small city. It was only due to Angus’ charm, and the fact that they were conserving ammo, that they didn’t start firing at the men as soon as they had slowed down. When they were finally allowed to pass unmolested, they were told to be careful as there were raiders through the area just two weeks previously. They got some other information from that group but not much. They had suffered quite a bit of depredation by raiders and road pirates so didn't trust anyone else.

It took them another hour and a half to reach Wildwood. What should have taken them one hour had taken them four and a half hours. They were extremely stressed and tense and needed to pull over for a short break and to grab a bite to eat.

In Wildwood itself they found the end result of anarchy and chaos. From the few straggling survivors that eventually crawled out of the rubble they got the story.



The men used pre-designated codes so that their actual position was not compromised but we understood their explanation just fine. Anyone monitoring the channel we were using though would have not only had to know the geography well, they would have had to know some of the individual quirks of Sanctuary. Juicer kept its name but the Avalanche became the Penny (as in a copper colored one). Their code names were also changed from what they normally used around town. Dixon remained the generic Sergeant. Angus became Viking. McElroy was called Rat for some reason. And Scott became Rooster. The cities and landmarks that were passed had numerical designations and I had a hard time keeping up with them when they spoke too quickly.

In addition to code words, we've developed a flyer. Every so often the men stop and hang one up that has a message and a radio frequency listed on it. We'll monitor that frequency for messages from people who want to make contact.

Bekah, still fascinated by the radio shack, actually can translate the radio jargon faster than some of the adults. Luckily she is still young enough that she misses most of the nuances of what is being transmitted to us. Some of it is really grim.

A band of survivors of the mayhem on the Interstate system had come together around the big truck stops at the Wildwood exit. They figured to hold onto the food and fuel as long as they could, and to the security it represented, until they were rescued. They had started out well enough all things considered despite refusing to believe that they could possibly be left on their own forever by the powers that be. Someone somewhere had to be responsible for helping them right?!

The first problems began when their group’s population began to exceed their resources. Wildwood is one of the major stops for food and fuel along the I75 corridor and every survivor for miles in either direction headed there thinking the authorities would be there and tell them what they needed to do or provide them with transportation to where they wanted to go. They eventually thought enough to forage through all of the vehicles along the roadways but it still was not enough. As the zombies continued to be a problem and decimate the survivor's numbers, the group began to run out of ammo. But as a whole the group lacked the creativity, and were too handicapped by their fear, to mount less traditional defenses.

Then the raiders started appearing. Just a few at first so they could hold them off, but then a large and ruthless gang came that easily over-powered the entire Wildwood enclave. The raiders took care of the problem of overcrowding by executing the elderly, sick, injured, or anyone that complained. Their brutality also included using the youngest children and the least productive adults to bait zombie traps.

The truck stop survivors thought of their lives as a living hell and lost all hope, merely existing from one moment to the next. In truth it actually became a living hell about a week and a half ago when a large zombie horde ripped through the raiders’ over confident, and in reality haphazard, fortifications.

Day 123 - Part 2

By the time the zombies moved on barely a half dozen people remained of the nearly four hundred they had started with back at the very beginning. The last of their captors had been torn apart as he tried to escape just hours before the zombies, heeding some unheard call, headed west toward the coast. The few people remaining were dazed and listless. They didn’t seem to have enough motivation to even dig into the remaining food supplies or rebuild the meanest of shelters. They certainly didn’t bother stopping our men when they broke into the fuel supplies and topped off the tanks of Juicer and the Avalanche. Neither did they say anything when the men grabbed several empty fuel canisters laying in the debris, filled them up, and split them between the two vehicles. They didn't try to protect the one commodity that they could have used to build themselves back up into a viable community.

The people just sat there confused and zoned out while all of this was going on, at least that’s how Scott described them. When Matlock asked Dixon if he intended to offer aid to those survivors. Dixon answered, “No help for those who aren’t ready to help themselves. We don’t have the time or the resources and it wouldn’t do any good anyway; they aren’t ready to listen. Like Mother Hen says even a turtle knows he must stick out his neck if he is to get anywhere. These turtles are stuck in their shells.”

They left Wildwood with a bad taste in their mouths. After another four hours on the road with one major backtrack and detour where an overpass had collapsed they finally made it to Gainesville. They drove around town for a bit but never saw a single living soul. They thought they had seen movement in one of the buildings on the University of Florida campus but it was hard to tell whether it was people or zombies.

The men reported that Gainesville really did feel like a ghost town; or maybe closer to a freaky carnival funhouse. At least two major fires appear to have destroyed large sections of town. Hardly any intact windows remain though it does appear that for a while some people tried to board up the damage. They have holed up for the night in a D.O.T. maintenance garage that wasn’t too far off one of the interstate overpasses. It was the most secure location they could find after returning from the Devil's Millhopper Geological State Park. The park is basically just a huge sink hole with some seepage type waterfalls along its sides, but the park is inundated with zombies with many having fallen into the sinkhole itself. They got close enough to see the bodies squirming around at the bottom. Scott said between the slithering sound of all the mangled corpses stuck down there and the smell he came really close to puking. The rats in the park were also really bad and no longer afraid of humans which was even worse.

They reported that the zombie infestation in the whole area is pretty intense though not unmanageable so long as you are careful. On the other hand, it’s bad enough that if it hadn’t been so late and the road so bad they would have left and headed on to the Newberry exit to get out of town. Scott said Payne’s Prairie right there at Micanopy was just freaking weird.

The “prairie” is a huge grassland like a Savannah and is totally unique to the Florida landscape. It just kind of squats where it is with no encroachment by other types of habitats. It had - or maybe has but the men didn’t see any from the interstate – bison, wild horses, and a large population of alligators living in it. What they did hear was the roar of a couple of what they think were lions. And the tall grass swayed and bent in unnatural rhythms. Scott said it took just about everything he had not to jump back in the cab of the truck and push through the stalled traffic at dangerous speeds. Dixon agreed and added that it was almost too tempting just to set it all on fire to destroy whatever the freaks were wandering aimlessly in the bush and overgrowth. If Dixon was admitting to being spooked I know it had to be bad.

Tomorrow the calling schedule will change. They plan on making contact every two hours assuming they can get through. We are dealing with more interference or static or whatever you call it on the radio but we don’t know if it is on our end or theirs. For all we know it could be sun flairs or spots or some such. If they miss a call-in appointment they’ll wait and try again at the next appointed time. If they miss a second appointment time they will call in as soon as they are able to get through.

Today was Cleaning Day around Sanctuary and the kids and I spent most of the day working on our home. We rearranged several rooms to take into account that Matlock, Becky, and the kids moved out. Two adults and two kids and all of their stuff leaving gave us back quite a bit of space; it’s not that it hasn’t brought relief but it is taking some getting used to, especially at night. All the work has been a two-fold mission. First it was to help us get through this first day of Scott being gone. Second, I told the kids if we can get everything finished between today and tomorrow we would decorate for Christmas on the next Rest Day.

I know that today is December first but it’s just hard for me to get in the mood for anything with Scott gone. No, not gone just away. Gone makes it feel like he isn’t coming back and thinking in that direction will drive me mad. I’ve been jumpy and jittery all day. Jim and Waleski (believe it or not) have stopped by several times today to see if I need anything. I think they both understand what I’m going through perhaps better than everyone else. Jack knows for sure Teri is dead and Matlock knows the same for his ex-wife. But with Jim and Waleski … its one of those gone but not gone kind of things. And seeing what they are dealing with helps me in a bizarre way because I see at least there is a likelihood that Scott is coming back; they don't have that. I’d talk to Rachel but I think she is hacked off at me because Patricia and I are now friends of a sort. Maybe I hurt her feelings but I didn’t like the position she put me in over her relationship with Dix. Patricia seems to be holding less of a grudge against Rachel than Rachel is against me which makes no sense in my book.

And I’m not the only one feeling the men’s absence. All of our able-bodied people have to take up the slack created by their absence. Today the last of the comatose or vegetative patients, whatever their condition was, from the Hale Hollow refugees were finally put to rest so at least the hospital doesn’t have to have an on-site person 24/7. But still guard duty has become a chore in creative flexibility. David and James will likely be on night duty until the other men come back and Bo and Tom will have to be on the Wall during most of the day. All of the women have had at least an hour added to our normal shifts on the Wall as well. This has a trickle down effect to the other chores like cooking. To make matters worse all of this is happening right when we apparently have a new security issue to deal with.

Samuel and Marty were walking perimeter outside the Wall when they found several places where it looked like something or someone had been digging under it. No one has seen or heard anything unusual and we don't know what was the objective of the holes either. The holes are located right at a juncture where Scott has been unhappy about the lack of visibility because of an odd crook we had to put in to accommodate a couple of canals. Scott had plans to build an extra tower there for that very reason but hadn’t had the time yet.

Human or animal we can’t let it continue. The hole has been backfilled with a mixture of dirt, broken chunks of concrete and pieces of scrap metal with a layer of chain link fence laying on top of the ground. An animal won’t get through that but might try digging in a similar location. A human might try moving the fence before going around it. It was just odd how that particular location seems to have been singled out. We didn't find any other holes along the Wall at all. Let’s just hope the flaming zombies haven’t started to tunnel or we are in more trouble that I want to imagine.

And on that cheerful note I’ll toddle off to bed. I nearly asked the kids if they wanted to sleep in the bedroom with me but I figure that will only cause more harm than good in the long run; best to maintain normalcy as much as possible when we can. I’m a big girl. I just wish I didn’t feel like crying myself to sleep.

Day 124 (Saturday)

Don’t feel like writing much today. We’ve lost radio communication with the guys. Matlock doesn’t believe it is on our end because we’ve checked it using the remaining radios we have around Sanctuary, even going so far as to take the F350 and drive up to the county line to check for distance. All we know for certain is that they made it off of the Interstate, through Newberry, and as far as the outskirts of Trenton and made much better time than they had the previous day.

If they made it to Trenton they were only about 30 minutes from my parents’ place. I’m scared. Did Scott go out of his way only to meet with catastrophe when he tried to check on my family? Did something else happen? My stomach was so full of acid that I couldn’t even eat dinner. I think I avoided anyone noticing though as I stayed by the cooking pots then sat down and fed Kitty and then helped to clean up. No one said anything thank goodness. That would have made things worse. As it was all anyone seemed to be able to talk about was a conjecture on what had happened.

I spent most of the day baking and working in the garden. I pulled the last few vines that were give out and tossed them on the compost piles and then raked away the leaves where I want to plant another garden patch. I also helped Becky clear out some dead and dying bushes from around her house so that she can plant some flower seeds and herbs plants.

The kids finished up a few of the household chores that hadn't been finished last night and then started pulling Christmas decorations out of the attic. I told them they couldn’t start decorating until tomorrow and I had to deal with some pouting all evening. I almost lost my cool until David and James came in and told them to knock it off and give me a break or they’d have to wait another week to decorate. I know they meant well, but honestly that made me feel worse. If something has happened to Scott how am I supposed to make the kids mind me? Scratch that thought. Totally unthink that thought. Nothing has happened to Scott. He’ll be home soon and life will go on the way it always has. That's just got to be the way it turns out.

Ugh. I know I sound like a wuss in this journal but truthfully this is the only place I can let those feelings all hang out. I have to keep a stiff upper lip out and public and here in the house I can't break down where the kids will see me. Not even my bedroom is a safe zone right now because the kids keep barging in and out asking questions. Its only now, after everyone has gone to bed or gone on guard duty that I can let my own guard down.

We found a couple of more places around the Wall where some digging has taken place. One was over near the little bit of chain link fence that we have left. Luckily we had buried cast iron fence rails in the ground. There isn’t any digging through that and since they go roughly five feet into the ground and are seated in concreted your average person isn’t going to be able to tunnel under them either and an animal wouldn’t bother. And with the bars and barbed wire we have woven in the fence itself, simply cutting the fence with bolt cutters isn't possible either.

We noticed that there were a few places that looked like whoever had tried to dig a hole and then filled it back in for some reason. We almost missed the hole that told us we had humans on our hands. Humans, not zombies and not animals. Whoever dug that hole covered up the opening with a piece of plywood and then covered the plywood with sand and oak leaves. It was so cleverly camouflaged that if David hadn’t stepped right on top of it we would never have known.

I never realized it but Matlock can be vicious. We caught a couple of rattlesnakes out in the retention area up near the road when the rain drove them out a couple of weeks ago. They are pretty big suckers too so Matlock wanted to keep them and eventually kill them and have rattlesnake something or other and he wanted to stretch the skin for a belt. He’d been feeding then mice waiting for them to get a little bigger in hopes of getting a belt for both him and Tom but he's found a better use for them. He irritated the snakes and then dumped them down into the hole and recovered it with the plywood, sand, and leaves.

Next the guys took some old wooden pallets we hadn’t broken down yet and stacked about five of them at the top of the Wall right over that hole. Cease and David were going to put the dogs on leashes and spend most of the night walking Butch and Sundance back and forth in that area. When and if the dogs sense that someone was on the other side of the Wall again James, who was going to be up in the nearest guard tower, was going to run and tip the pallets over onto whoever was below.

That means we had two chances to catch the perpetrator(s). Either they could get snake bit or they could get hit by the pallets. If that doesn’t work tonight then we’ll have to think of something else.

Maybe I’ll just sit here tonight and wait to see if we are needed on the Wall. Maybe sitting on the porch and focusing on something else I’ll be able to let go of the gnawing worry that is eating at my gut.

Day 125 (Rest Day … supposedly)

I’m so wound up I don’t know where to start. What’s that old saying? Something like I’m so fired up I could chew horseshoes and spit nails.

First off there’s been no news from the men. I’m trying really hard to have faith; have faith in my Faith and have faith in Scott. I’m the one that is weak. Didn’t Scott have to have a certain amount of faith in me so that he could leave? I keep telling myself that when I start getting wound up. Over and over I keep telling myself that.

I didn’t come unglued when Scott and James were out of contact for two weeks at a time, first at the Northern Tier where they canoed nearly 100 miles up in the border country between Minnesota and the Canadian border and then later when they went to Philmont Boy Scout Reservation in New Mexico and hiked nearly 75 miles. I admit to worrying a little bit when the two of them went to Costa Rica to go fishing and hiking but it was more about the planes they would be on than anything else.

But there is one major difference between then and now. Zombies. God-cursed, rank, decomposing, NRS-infected, walking corpses. Argh!

I know I’m being somewhat unreasonable. The world has changed and I need to change with it. Intellectually I know that. However emotionally I haven’t even started to throw the tantrum I’m capable of. And all the while I’m having to smile, be polite, nod my head and listen to people’s praises about how strong I must be, what a good example I’m setting … blah, blah, freaking blah.

I know I shouldn’t be so nasty. They mean well and I’m well aware of that fact. I would never tell them that their platitudes are getting on my last nerve, that the pats on my back weigh me down rather than bolster me up ... and make me feel guilty for my true feelings. I actually read somewhere that many people that give comfort are actually most often in need of it themselves. It’s one of those philosophical contradictions you learn as you grow older and wiser. Right now I feel about a hundred years old so I should be plenty wise. Not!

The other thing I’m completely PO’d about is that you can’t really help anyone these days. OK, so maybe there’s some but the number is limited to a small and select group. We took those people in and this is how they repay us. Again, I have to admit not all of them, but apparently quite a few of them.

Last night about one o’clock AM the dogs set up a fearful racket right over where we found and booby trapped that hole. James tripped the rope that allowed the pallets to fall. The snakes got one man, the pallets took out two and the resulting racket drew a crowd of zombies who took out several more.

At first light Matlock, Cease, and David, with help from guards on that side of the Wall, rescued two fools who had gotten treed by around three dozen of the NRS infected corpses. It took Matlock a while to calm them down and then interrogate the SOBs to get the whole story out of them.

Supposedly the same day the Hale Hollow refugees returned home the in-fighting and grasping for power started right back up again. Apparently they hadn’t learned anything from their previous tribulations. A few days later several families had simply had enough; Colonel Byrd’s family and Greg from the former New Geraci group were among them. They loaded a few vehicles and headed north on US41 to start over someplace else.

Those who remained developed a deep-seated envy of us here in Sanctuary. They ranted about how unfairly and uncharitably we had treated them. Then the ingrates decided that if we wouldn’t give them what they “deserved” they would teach us a lesson and take what they wanted by force. The plan was to tunnel in and bring enough firepower to surprise and overwhelm our guards.

The scary thing is that though they failed miserably they could just as easily have succeeded. Had they thought to try and bury explosives at the edge of the Wall they could have succeeded horrifically. We’re going to have to design and implement additional fortifications; possibly a skin of telephone poles on the outside of the Wall. The other thing I heard someone mention was a moat but being from this area all a moat brings to mind are mosquitoes, gators, and moccasins … all of which we would get stuck dealing with 24/7 just on the off-chance they prevent raids. A moat could also soften the ground under the Wall and eventually cause a collapse.

We don’t have a jail, haven’t needed one. Plus keeping those two would have been more trouble than it was worth, not to mention a drain on our resources. Matlock, however, was no longer in the mood to be lenient. Truth is he was terribly furious in a way I’ve never seen before, not even in the early days of the zombie hordes. He normally uses humor to relieve everyone's stress, not this time. I swear you could see steam rising off of him he was so hot.

First the two men were forced to do all the body clean up; from digging the grave-pit to scraping up all the bodies and spare parts the zombies hadn’t eaten to refilling the pit with dirt and replacing the sod over it. Then they had to throw down winter rye seed on top of that which would eventually provide fodder for our animals allowing us to get something good from the bad.

Then the two men were bound and gagged, tied on the end of the tow truck’s rear clamp and unceremoniously hauled back to Hale Hollow like worms on the end of a hook. I was shocked to learn from David that Matlock broke each man’s arm before dumping them at the gates. He then went even further. Using some of his homemade “grenades” – really, just oversized and juiced up fireworks – he busted several large gaps into the wall surrounding that community.

At dinner that night Matlock stood up and explained what he had done and why he had done it. The people left up there in Hale Hollow would either have to spend their time more constructively repairing and refortifying their community or they would have to move on if they wanted to survive.

There was stunned silence for a moment until Jack said, “Well, if we’re taking a vote, I vote they move on. Those kinds of neighbors we don’t need. You think we can give it a week and then go check?”

And just like that the discussion moved on to the fact that Jim thought one of the heifers might be pregnant and the kids asking if anyone wanted to make homemade Christmas ornaments during lessons tomorrow.

Matlock took a second to come to grips with the fact no one blamed him for his actions and I watched him play with his dessert rather than eat it before splitting it between Tom and Jenny. I guess he expected some kind of ruckus and was confused when he didn’t get one.

I had guard duty right after I put the kids to bed, leaving them in the care of Rose and Melody. I watched Matlock walk the Wall a few times, backlit by one of those smelly little cigars he smokes once in a while. He finally climbed up to my perch and said, “This is how tyrants are made.”

I replied, “No. This is how a good leader takes on the personal responsibility for the security of those he leads. You didn’t ask anyone else to do it. You did it. And you were willing to take the consequences for actions you chose and the punishment you met out.”

“Maybe. But did I do it to be a leader or did I do it because those turds pissed me off?”

I shrugged, “The question you need to ask yourself then is whether you got mad because it was a personal affront or whether you were angry because those men put all of Sanctuary at risk, including our children.”

However he answered himself, he seemed to at least come to some kind of acceptance and it seemed to ease his mind.

The rest of my watch was uneventful and I looked up at the stars praying that Scott and the other men were some place safe watching the same stars.

And now here I sit, finally calming down after having yet again written things out of my system. I may not sleep well but at least now I can sleep. I’ll sleep and dream Scott’s home and maybe tomorrow that dream will come true.

Day 126

No news. Haven’t the heart to write more.





Day 127

Thank God! Oh, thank God!! We’ve heard from them. They are all OK. The signal was very weak but there was no mistaking it was them.

The details are sketchy. They are working on radio repairs. They are in Chiefland just about to come south on US19.

They have picked up a few people and are travelling as a convoy. Scott asked me to please not cry but none of the new people are my family. He would tell me more, privately, when he got home. Of course I cried anyway. Several times. But it’s a confirmation of what I’ve known in my heart all along.

No more tonight. My heart is too full. Both of happiness and of sorrow.

Day 128 (Water Day)

We know a little more today though we won’t get a full report until they’ve made it home.

In Trenton they ran into a roadblock run by people professing to be acting under Divine direction. Basically zealots had developed within the ranks of the town’s survivors, and they eventually gained majority control and took over the running of things. They were operating a toll booth at the intersection of CR26, CR47, and US129 and became angry when rather than paying the toll our men tried to turn around and take the back roads. Some shots were fired but after both groups turned their energies to eradicating a small horde of zombies that had arrived on the scene, a truce was called. After an exchange of information our group got the dubious distinction of being called “Sovereign Agents Protected by Grace.” After promising to keep the little SAPG signs on the dashboards of the vehicles our men were allowed to pass.

From there they made it to my parents’ place where they stayed the night. They stayed the next day and night there as well though they didn’t share why, at least not in my hearing. The next day they picked up the family group. They had to pass back through Trenton only to find that something had happened at the roadblock. The few survivors of the original roadblock gave the now larger convoy no trouble and they passed through without stopping except to pick up a young woman who’s about five months pregnant. The old community leaders had turned her out ‘cause she was unmarried and the members of her family that had supported her had all been killed by zombies or raiders.

They overnighted at an abandoned dairy farm just outside town where one the new families, farmers in their previous life, suggested they load some of the dairy cattle and hay into a trailer and bring it back to Sanctuary.

The next day they didn’t get very far either after meeting up with a small band of survivors in Chiefland. Our group was hosted for the evening in exchange for news and for having Juicer eradicate a persistent horde of zombies that seemed to wander back and forth between Fanning Springs and Chiefland every few days.

This morning they picked up US19 and finally started heading south towards home!! The problem is that US19 is a mess, but thankfully even in the worst locations they were able to detour through parking lots and medians to escape complete road blockages without having to do any major backtracking.

They made it across CR24 at Otter Creek and passed Yankeetown and Inglis before having to stop for the night in Crystal River at CR44.

Tomorrow their route takes them closer to the coastline and in that area the roads are more narrow with fewer right of ways they can utilize to bypass backups. They hope to get as far as New Port Richey which would mean that they could be home the day after that! Two days. Surely I can stand it for two more days.

I tried to keep myself busy and pass the time between call-ins and additional information but it wasn’t easy. Today was Water Day but with no rain for over a week there wasn’t that much to do. Our potable water storage is still in fine fiddle from all that rain we had a couple of weeks ago. No problems with our non-potable water either, especially now that we’ve completely changed over to the port-o-potty system.

Instead of wasting my time on the water teams I spent extra time in the garden. I planted beets, broccoli, brussel sprouts, cabbage (regular and Chinese), carrots, cauliflower, celery, collard greens, kale, lettuce, mustard greens, onions, parsley, English peas, radishes, spinach, and Swiss chard. Basically the main crops are cool season greens. I planted just about all the seeds I have for those things. I’m afraid to let the seeds get too old or they might not germinate. Also, where possible, I’m planting heirloom varieties. Becky is pretty good with helping in the garden. I was wondering if as the wife of one of our community leaders she would look to having other responsibilities but so far she’s being really cool and not acting any different than she did before. That's a relief to be honest.

December I won’t harvest too many fresh veggies which means we are going to have to dig further into our stockpile of canned goods and dried foods. What I won’t harvest in vegetables I should be able to more than make up for it in fruits. I pulled the first bushel of navel oranges and boy were they delicious. I’m saving citrus seeds as well as everything else I can lay hands on. I hope the seeds germinate and then grow true but I’m not real sure. It’d be nice to enlarge the grove or at the very least replace any trees that die over time. There are lots of individual citrus trees around the community but most of the groves were bulldozed during the last few building crazes.

I’ve already candied a big batch of orange peel and lemon peel. I’ll give the kids a piece after it’s had to time age and set up a bit.

I’ve also continued to pull fruit from the native grove: velvet apples, black sapote, avocados, canistels, and ambarellas. I got another small bag of macadamias and the first of the Tropical Apricots are ripe as well. The tropical apricots I made into a batch of jam.

And being the busy little bee that I’ve tried to be today I also did something that drew a crowd off and on. Jim and Jerry especially kept dropping by because they, along with Angus, want to build a still so they can make corn liquor or maybe a version of moonshine rum from sugar cane. I know we’ve all talked about going up to that small vineyard and winery off of SR52, I think it was called Florida Estates, and then there was a winery off of Little Road called Empire. Florida Estates would be closer because it is in Land O’ Lakes. Empire is all the way out in New Port Richey. The guys want to pick up barrels and casks, bottling equipment, and vines to plant their own vineyard. I wish them better luck than what I’ve had over the years. Angus specifically mentioned the microbreweries over in Ybor City too for some of the same reasons. And now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind having a few of those bottles and corks myself and you’ll see why in a second.

What I did isn’t quite so involved as a still. I start with an end-product. Today I made liqueurs. Another day when I have time I’ll make cordials and shrubs. The cordials are alcoholic like the liqueurs but the shrubs are not. The good thing about the liqueurs and cordials is that I start with cheap vodka, cognac, rum, or gin. It doesn’t really matter if it’s the really, really cheap stuff either because the sugar and other ingredients mellow and smooth it out.

For instance the first one I made was an orange-flavored liqueur. First I took the juice and peel from four oranges. I cut the peel into strips and added just enough water to the juice to make a whole two cups of liquid. I put the juice, peel, and two cups of sugar into a saucepan and brought it to a boil and then turned the heat down and simmered it for five minutes. After that I took it off the burner and let it cool. While that mixture was cooling I cleaned and scalded a half-gallon jar with a screw top lid. When everything was cool, I poured the juice into the jar and then added two cups of vodka (could have used rum for this one as well for a tropical flavor). Then I screwed on the lid, sloshed it around to mix it well, then set the jar aside to be left alone for three or four weeks at room temperature. When that time is up I’ll strain it and bottle it.

Before … before NRS I mean … I made this stuff as gifts; either in bottle form or I’d make liqueur flavored cakes or chocolates. I’m not sure what I’m doing this time. It just felt right to be doing it for some weird reason. No one seemed to object to me using our liquor supplies. I’m actually growing the supplies if you think about it. I turned two cups of rot-gut vodka into five cups of smooth liqueur. Now if I was using the expensive stuff someone might have squeaked but I don't know. I'm about as close to a teetotaler as we have here in Sanctuary but even I'm not averse to having a sip every now again under certain circumstances. On the other hand none of us appear to be overly enamored of liquor and we really don't have the luxury of taking the chance on being rolled up in case there is an emergency. We all celebrated Matlock and Becky's wedding with a toast but we wound up pouring the last of the second bottle into a sauce for some poached pears and cooking it down.

I made several other batches of liqueurs. Let’s see … orange and coffee bean liqueur, plain coffee liqueur, chocolate and chocolate mint liqueurs, ginger liqueur, cinnamon liqueur, and then some like peppermint, spicy herbal, allspice, and vanilla-pecan. Last thing I made required both vodka and brandy. I made a couple bottles of homemade amaretto. I mostly did it so I could have it for baking but Muriel said that she and Jerry normally have a cup of amaretto-laced coffee on Christmas Eve for dessert and was grateful that I cared enough to do this for them. Traditions can be good. We’ll try and keep some of the old ones and make a few new ones too.

I guess you can tell I’m more hopeful, believing that there is a future. Just hearing Scott’s voice yesterday lifted my spirits beyond measure. I know when he gets home I’m not going to like the entire story but I’ll have him home. I dreamed last night that my parents drove in the gates with him and I really cried hard when I woke up and realized that a dream was all it was. All of that emotion I’ve been putting off is going to have to be dealt with but not until I’m ready to. At least I hope I get to pick the date and time I take it out and shake it up to see what falls out. I’ve had enough surprises for a while.

I’m so anxious for Scott to get home I’m having a hard time falling asleep, but the bed is where I need to go. Oh wait, looks like I get a reprieve. Kitty is awake and letting me know she is wet and hungry. Who would have thought I would have ever been grateful for that kind of distraction in the wee hours of the night.

Day 129 (Thursday)

They aren’t going to make it home tomorrow after all. I’m upset but at least they are closer. OK. So I came home, closed the bedroom door and cried so no one would see just how upset I was, but at least they are closer.

Because they are traveling convoy style it is taking them longer to get on the road in the morning and longer to travel any distance. It’s one family in particular that is problematic, not out of intent to be a problem but because they have a special needs adult child that is having a lot of trouble adjusting to the world we now live in. This morning they also had to deal with zombies, cows, and bears … oh my!

They woke up to the sound of the cows being hysterical. There was a large bear trying to get into the cattle trailer. It looked like a Kodiak according to McElroy and Scott said it probably came from the Silver Springs bear exhibit. Luckily the stupid thing was just curious and not hungry. The zombies that came due to all the racket the cows and people made were another matter. They were very hungry and freaked the cows out even more. After dealing with the zombies it was decided they needed tarps to keep the cows from seeing out of the trailer which of course took time to find and attach.

After they finally got on the road from Crystal River they started having more and more traffic problems to deal with. Homosassa wasn’t too bad but trying to get through the US19/US98 intersection was a nightmare. They stopped for a late lunch/early dinner and raided some of the businesses on either side of the road, not that there was much untouched after so long. The area looked like it had seen a great deal of looting, but looting with a purpose. You could see where some businesses had been selectively picked over vs. those that had been ransacked indiscriminately. They still haven’t seen any more survivors but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. They are also continuing to post the flyers with the radio frequency on it though we haven’t heard any calls.

From that point they did OK, but because of road conditions and the need to make camp before dark they didn’t get any further than Weeki Watchee that is at the intersection of US19 and SR50. I can’t say I’m not disappointed because I am … badly. But they are still progressing and that’s more than I knew not that many days ago.

Today hasn’t been as hectic as yesterday though I’ve worked my buns off. Today is the day of the week we normally focus on food. It was a little on the cool side this morning but I still worked in the garden, picked enough oranges to provide everyone with all the orange juice they could drink and managed to have enough leftover to can 14 quarts of juice for later use. I also canned some orange segments in light syrup. The acid was really starting to eat my fingers up from trying to juice everything by hand when Jim noticed. He got David to help him move one of those bicycle generators over to the kitchen area. If everyone just takes a little ride we are able to keep enough batteries charged that I can use an electric juicer instead of an old manual one. It’s better at getting the juice out AND it saves on the wear and tear of my cuticles.

We pulled the first couple of heads of cabbage today and made slaw to go with dinner tonight. I made salmon croquettes and hush puppies and the slaw went with it perfectly. I’ll cut some collards tomorrow and we’ll have a mess of greens with cornbread for lunch. For tomorrow I think I’ll be able to fix huckleberries with dumplings for dessert, we’ll have to see. If not tomorrow night the night after that.

I added another layer of pine straw on a couple of pathways in the garden because the ground looks like it is trying to compact too much. There isn’t a whole lot you can do to make sand better on its own, that’s why I’m desperate for my compost piles to work. I think James knew more about my state of mind than he has been letting on. He’s the most like Scott of all the kids and yet there is a whole dipper full of me in there too. He surprised me this morning with a new composting gadget modeled after one I had been drooling over for a couple of years. It’s a barrel composter. You put the stuff you want to compost in the barrel and then you rotate the barrel five turns a day and at the end of two weeks you are supposed to have compost ready to use. I had a friend who had one and she said that you could over stuff the barrel and you had to make sure you had a good mix of stuff in there but it did work. Sometimes it took closer to three weeks than two but what the heck, that’s still better than taking months. I’ve already started a load of compost and I can’t wait to see if it will work. If it does I’ll see if he can help me make several of these things so that I can get them all going on a cycle and maybe have fresh compost on a weekly basis for side dressing the gardens. I have really got to add organic material to these sandy garden beds if I want them to produce more than a season or two.

Strange to think that compost made me happy. It’s one of those bizarre kinds of things that has changed. It used to be candy and flowers a girl wanted (diamonds for those that were a little more sophisticated) but not these days. I saw Tina go all misty-eyed over wool socks and I thought Becky was going to squeeze the breath out of Matlock when he brought her a can of WD40.

It was really more that James took the time to do something that he knew specifically would make me feel better that means so much to me. I tried not to be too mushy about it but I couldn't help but tear up a bit. Nearly grown man that he is he teared up as well and said he was sorry about Memaw and Pawpaw (his grandparents). I can’t think or say more until I hear what Scott has to say but if the worst is truly realized I think it might be a good thing to have a little memorial service just amongst our family; something that will close that chapter of our grief and give us a chance to continue on less painfully. Sometimes I miss my mom and dad so much that I can’t breathe and then sometimes it’s like they’re just on a trip and I’ll see them again real soon.

I know I’m not the only one that has to feel some grief at the losses we’ve all experienced. I can’t be the only one; but the few times I’ve tried to bring the subject up I’ve been met with blank stares or an abrupt change of subject. Maybe the losses are just too big to take in yet. Maybe most of us are still just in survival mode and there isn’t room for anything else.

It’s not that I want to intrude on other people’s grief or slam through the grieving process myself, but it’s important. And I want the kids to know it’s OK to feel loss but I also want them to know how to deal with those feelings constructively. I don’t want to see the next generation grow up with the inability to build deep relationships because they are too afraid to feel deep loss.

Speaking of loss, Patricia is on complete bed rest until further notice; a week at a bare minimum. She was sitting, talking just fine one moment and the next she was out cold on the ground. We put her on a stretcher and rushed her over to Waleski and Rachel. She was gray-faced and her blood pressure was way down. Apparently she was spotting a little bit too but that has stopped. She’s nearly 15 weeks pregnant so if she miscarries it will be a big deal physically for her. That doesn't even begin to cover the emotional ramifications.

Rachel said she may be anemic so they’ve upped her iron intake and I’m going to look in some of my herbals and see if I can’t find a tea or broth to help. For now she will remain at the hospital and Melody and Rose are splitting shifts over there since Rachel and Waleski are needed as guards. Samuel is sleeping at our place for a while. Jack’s very concerned and spent quite a bit of time with Samuel tonight actually asking him if he minded him visiting his mother. I think Jack is trying to handle things the right way which is encouraging.

I talked with Patricia myself and she said despite what happened today she is feeling better and more hopeful about the future and the baby. That’s a good sign I think. And she looks … happy. Yeah, I think that’s what it is. She and Jack both look happy and like they’ve had some burdens lifted from them. I know they are both fresh out of other relationships and that this is awful quick to be plowing into something serious, but I hope it works out. It seems to be good for both of them.

I miss Scott. He thought I could be a busy body and a little nosy … both true though I try to keep it reigned in … but he would humor me and talk to me and understand that I didn’t mean any harm by it. I don’t have anyone else I can talk to like that; no one to share with. Talking to any of the women is out because it could be misconstrued as gossiping or favoritism and create hard feelings. Talking to any of the other men wouldn’t be appropriate in my opinion … even if any of them were inclined to listen to my jibber jabber. Oh I just miss my man and I want him back home so badly; back home where he belongs. Let the others go gallivanting where they will, when they will. I hope Scott keeps his travelling to a minimum. Fair or not, that’s how I feel.

Oh geez. I’m falling asleep as I try and write. I’ll finish this tomorrow or I’m likely to wake up in the morning face down in a pool of my own drool.

Day 130 (Friday)

Argh!! Dammit, dammit, dammit! They won’t be home tomorrow. This is torture!!! It’s for a good reason but I am getting really down right perturbed, and that’s being polite about it.

They had another slow start from Weeki Wachee. One of their vehicles died which meant finding another that ran, unloading, reloading, and then transferring the fuel. It wasn’t Juicer or the Avalanche is all I know for sure. They almost decided to take SR50 to Brooksville and come home that way but in the end the continued south.

First they hit Hudson and then Bayonet Point right on the coast at the tip end of SR52. Travelling had become a little easier since US19 had finally widened up but it also meant that there were more cars to swerve around. They passed Port Richey and had just pulled into New Port Richey when they spotted a group of men and women fending off a small horde of zombies. Juicer went to work and got the mess of infecteds down to a manageable size so that the other group could extricate their vehicles and do their own share of the clean up.

The new group is based out of Tarpon Springs and holds the whole wharf area there, defending it against zombies, pirates, and land raiders alike. They are interested in building a trade relationship with Sanctuary and our convoy has been invited to stay the night. Under the circumstances it would have been rude to not accept.

They’ll be there most of tomorrow if not a second night and then backtrack to Elfers to catch SR54 all the way to US41 and then it’ll be a straight shot home. That means that they should be home on Sunday. I swear I’ll be lucky to have any color left in my hair by the time they get home.

Patricia is doing better. Her blood pressure has stabilized and she’s managed to keep more food down. I hadn’t realized she still had morning sickness so bad. Not putting on enough weight probably hasn’t helped her health. She’s staying better hydrated and that is helping as well.

Regardless, even if she gets off of bed rest, she is out of the major chore cycles. No guard duty certainly because no stairs. No laundry duty because no heavy lifting. No garden duty for similar reasons. She might be able to help Dante’ and Hank some with clerical work but again maybe not because no heavy lifting or bending up and down. But I did think of something and that’s helping Brandon catalog the books in the library. I don’t know, we’ll have to see how things progress.

Today was cleaning day yet again. Didn’t really get too much of that done beyond the basics because when the kids decorated for the holidays they went whole hog. It looks like the Spirit of Christmas spewed all over the house. I don’t begrudge them but it’s surreal to be outside living our current day-to-day lives of self-reliance and zombies and then to come inside to something that mimics our previous life so closely that it is almost painful. It makes me miss my family all the more.

But there is no going back. Some of the things we do mimic our previous lives, but imitation is all it is. We have to find a way to go forward dragging some of our traditions with us, but we also need to forge new ways of doing things and create new traditions that better serve and suit our new lives.

I felt at such loose ends by lunch time that I went on one of the Gathering Runs, something I hadn’t done all week. As a community we haven’t really been focused on the runs as much as we once were. Whereas before we took anything and everything, now the runs are more focused. Sanctuary’s storehouses are full to overflowing and we are still playing catch to get everything inventoried and put away.

Now there is talk that each individual household should stock up on food and supplies just in case of emergency. All agreed that those “personal” supplies would be voluntarily donated back to the community should the need arise, but I’m thinking that this might be a way to eventually cut back on one of the meals served in the dining hall or at least cut out one or two meals a week. Again, it’s not a matter of begrudging working for a group purpose or benefit but every once in a while I miss the feeling of a quiet family meal. The meals we eat now remind me of a college cafeteria or a noisy buffet restaurant; fun and entertaining most of the time but irritating if that’s the only option and you aren't in the mood.

Privacy is a rare commodity these days. We’re slowly getting a few opportunities to experience it which I feel is healthier than the way we have been living. On a personal level I really dislike living in a fishbowl. I know that’s a contradiction since I seem to get so much out of people watching but I try and give people their privacy if I’m aware that I’m invading their space too much. The problem is that humans are gregarious and social by nature. There are only a limited number of people here in Sanctuary. By necessity we have to work closely together and by necessity we all need to get along together almost constantly. There are just some moments when I don’t feel like getting along, I don’t feel like totting the party line, when I just want everyone to leave me alone. This must be how Angus feels. I know Scott gets like this and he and I have both used his shed for a little bit of “me and me alone” time.

Maybe the addition of the new people will help with this and maybe it won’t. I don’t think Matlock would have invited them into our community if there wasn’t a significant chance that it could work out. Even if he had made some boneheaded choice, the other three men would have called him on it. Kind of a leadership with checks and balances. All I know is that we are being asked to prepare for four families; we don’t even know their size or make up yet because they don’t want to put too much information out over the airwaves. What we do know is that two of the four family groups are actually close extensions of the same family. That could mean same family different generations or maybe sibling groups, but again we won’t really know until they roll up and everyone gets introduced.

I hope they have a decent number of adults or older teens that can help with the additional work load. Losing … temporarily … four adult males from the work roster is taking its toll. Cease came down with a bad cold today due to having to work nightshift on the Wall for longer hours on the cool nights we are having. James also sounds like he is getting congested. If he gets it you can bet its likely to run like wildfire through our home which could mean that David and Rose, and maybe Samuel too, catch it taking two or three more people out of the work rosters.

I’m going to take James’ evening shift on the Wall tomorrow and James is going to fill in for Cease’s daytime shift assuming he isn’t hacking up a lung by then. My shift will run from four to ten o’clock PM. I’ll be up in my favorite NW tower and Matlock has said that as long as I’m OK up there by myself, during the daylight hours it would be alright to bring up some of my other work with me. Using the dogs was so successful the other night that he has some of the younger boys scheduled to walk the dogs from 6 pm to 8 pm and then the remaining nightshift will be split between him and whoever else is still available.

And since I’m going to be up so late tomorrow … this time on duty rather than due to insomnia … I’m going to head off to bed right now.

The men will be home day after tomorrow … I just keep telling myself that.

Day 131 (Saturday)

Ugh, this is brutal. We lost contact with the men mid-morning. It was in the middle of a nice, calm transmission so there’s no reason to think there’s any problem. They were down to one patched up radio so maybe the patch failed. The altercation in Trenton damaged both radios or the antennas or something so maybe it’s just a result of that. We don’t know for sure.

Now we don’t know when they are coming in tomorrow. We didn’t even get a confirmation that they definitely would be coming in tomorrow.

The day didn’t get any better after that either. I nearly got in a brawl with Rachel. I don’t know what her problem is all of a sudden, but let me tell you I nearly blew a gasket. I wound up losing all patience with her. I’m not the only one she managed antagonize either.

I admit I was upset and let my frustration show on my face and by groaning. It wasn’t directed at anyone. I wasn’t even talking to anyone when I did it. It was mostly just me being a little dramatic to vent some steam and wasn’t really anything more than a groan and me slamming my fist down on the table when I realized what had happened. Well Rachel, who had been standing there during the transmission, turned to me after my little outburst and said thoughtlessly, “You need to get ahold of yourself. This is just the way things are.”

OK, so maybe she didn’t mean it to be hurtful or sound like an unfeeling wench … but that’s exactly how she made me feel; like my emotional response to the situation was uncalled for and invalid.

At the best of times my temper can catch me off guard so I have to really pay attention and consciously work at controlling it. I’m not explosive most of the time but I can burn low and cold and keep it to myself until I snap and flair up at whoever happens to have set me off. But this wasn’t the best of times and I wasn’t at my personal best either. It took everything I had not to blow my stack. I’ve been keeping my fears to myself and no one really knows how upset I’ve been. I’ve played the good girl … the good little soldier. I was and am prepared to continue playing that role by my own choice; but no one is going to dictate to me how I feel on the inside.

She wouldn’t stop though. “Did you hear what I told you?”

In a controlled voiced I told her, “Rachel, I suggest you leave me alone.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said leave … me … alone. Your advice isn’t helping.”

After telling Matlock, and Waleski who was also there, where I was going to be and to please let me know if radio contact was re-established I went to leave. “It wasn’t advice. I was telling you what you were going to do.”

That was it. After days of making myself sick with worry I just didn’t have the where with all to stop my own mouth. I turned around and looked her straight in the face and said, “You must have me confused with some other woman that thinks someone died and left you in control.”

Waleski just stood there with a “What the crap?” look on his face. Matlock stood up and started ushering me out of the radio shack and frankly I was letting him. I hadn’t completely lost it yet and was still capable of realizing a fight would not help the situation.

Then Rachel looked at Matlock and said, “Sir, are you going allow her to talk to a superior like that?”

Oh yeah, the estrogen started zinging in my veins. Now don’t get me wrong, I grew up in a military family and I have the utmost respect for those who serve or who have served at some point in their lives. Even more I have a great deal of respect for those of us in Sanctuary who were active duty military or National Guards called to active duty. But ... BUT … Sanctuary is not a military base. Nor was I drafted. And our central government has abandoned us to fend for ourselves until further notice. Where Rachel suddenly pulled the fact that she was in any way my superior I have no idea.

Waleski said, “Damn Ragosa.”

She responded, “And you’re another who is letting way too many things slide.”

Well, my politeness took flight at that point and I put her on notice real quick. “Rachel if you somehow imagine that you sleeping with Dixon in anyway makes you superior to me I suggest you take another look at that.”

Now Matlock and Waleski both had the “Oh crap” look on their faces.

She looked like I had just slapped her. “What the hell are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. You and Dixon had and have a private relationship going on. It was one that you both choose despite the fact that it began when he was supposed to already be in a committed relationship to someone else and there was and is a kid involved. If you think however … “

“You are way out of line lady.”

“My name is Sissy or Mrs. Chapman, take your pick. I’m proud of both. But if you think I’m currently in the mood to act like a lady where you are concerned you have oh so sadly misjudged this situation.”

This time it was Waleski that tried to usher me out and again I was willing to go simply because I really didn’t want to fight on top of being worried about Scott.

“I’m not done with her.”

Uh oh. Now she’d stepped in it with both Matlock and Waleski but if everyone was calling dibs on their place in line I was still first. I looked at Matlock and said, “I’d prefer to handle this myself please.”

Then I turned to Rachel. “I really don’t know what your problem is but if you need to have it out fine. You want to know why I’ll listen to Matlock, Waleski, and maybe just about everyone else right now, before I’d listen to you? It’s because Matt and Waleski proved themselves to me long before you came on the scene. Because they have my respect and continue to behave in ways that prove they’re due my respect. It has nothing to do with uniforms or rank. I grew up military and uniforms and ranks don’t impress me, it’s the people in the uniforms that do. Yes, I had a problem with the affair you had with Dix; but Patricia solved that by making a hard choice and by how she’s chosen to behave since then. I promised myself that I would never hold a grudge she wasn’t willing to hold. You … you and Dix … are the ones that seem to continue to have the problem.”

She opened her mouth on an angry retort but I continued and cut her off.

“If you miss Dix and are worried about him and disturbed and maybe a little angry that this run hasn’t gone as planned you have my understanding and empathy because that's how I feel with regard to Scott and this run. Frankly it’s been eating me alive and that small display of frustration you witnessed is nothing compared to how I really feel. On the other hand if you’re just PMSing and dealing with some other kind of issue then you need to understand one thing. The people … the government … that gave you that rank you seem to be so ever-loving fond of at the moment … well they are gone and may never be back. They left us here. They left you here. There is no structure that any longer gives you any right to command in this geographical area. All you have now is your own personal merits. It’s no longer what do we owe you because of some stripes on your arm. It’s what can you do for Sanctuary? What can you give? And how do you measure up on a day in and day out basis?”

Oh, she was furious all right. Maybe Dixon wasn’t the only one having trouble dealing with the MacDill evacuation and what it represented. “You little … “

Matlock stepped in and said, “Ragosa, you better rethink whatever is about to come out of your mouth. We are a small group. Even if you don’t agree with anything else Sissy says she is right about the fact that things are different. We don’t lead based on the authority we used to have. The only authority we now have is that given to us by the people living here in Sanctuary. Your attitude about that is going to have to adjust. Even Dixon has been coming to realize that and I know that his new understanding of the situation is one of the problems you two are having.”

I think Matlock saying that out loud was his way of giving me a clue to tread lightly, that there were other things going on that I wasn’t aware of.

With absolute conviction Rachel stated, “They’ll be back and the USA still stands.”

I said, “I want to believe that and I know that part of it still does but you don’t really think that the government still exists in the format it did six months ago do you? The population of this country is less than half what it was and probably a good deal less than that. Maybe less than a quarter that it was, maybe a tenth or less. All of the large population centers have been decimated by NRS. That would shrink the size of the government, not leave it the same size it was. And what are they going to use to pay their bills which include your military salary with? Their looks? The industrial centers are gone. Tax income will be nonexistent for years. Paper money means nothing anymore. Neither do precious metals or gems. You can’t eat them or plant them and they are of no practical use for protection against the zombies. However things used to be … they’ve changed. Things have changed permanently. They are not going to go back to the way they were before. I may not like it but there it is in a nutshell. And, we are just going to have to be flexible enough to live with that; on a social level and on a personal level.”

It was like trying to reason with a brick wall. She crossed her arms and attempted to stare me down which was stupid. I dealt with teens and tweens on a daily basis. I have a black belt in the stare down technique.

“Look, as a medic I have the utmost faith in your abilities. Even when you’ve lost patients you’ve still gone above and beyond to do more for them than anyone could have expected based on your level of training. I give you a lot of respect for that and I would bring my kids to you any day of the week without hesitation. Scott and I even have placed Rose’s apprenticeship and education in your hands because we think it is the right thing to do. But don’t talk to me about how I should or should not comport myself when it comes to my husband. On that particular subject you don’t have good standing with me. If it was just my general behavior you had a problem with fine but let me tell you about this from my stand point. I was in a room with three other people that I thought would understand and forgive the fact that my feelings and concern for Scott would make me emotional. I was not out in the middle of the three dozen other residents of Sanctuary doing this. If that had been the case I would have chosen to go off by myself to express my emotions. You don’t need to tell me how to act or how to feel. And quite frankly, it’s a waste of your time and mine to try because I will never give up that autonomy that I have an inalienable right to. I'll take suggestions. I won't be dictated to.”

I walked out on my own that time, afraid if I didn’t I would eventually say something way on the other side of stupid.



It took me until lunch time to get rid of the adrenaline shakes. Strange thing was I was hungry when by rights I probably should have been sick to my stomach over everything. I’m just glad I didn’t have lunch or dinner detail today. I grabbed a quick bite to eat and then hoofed it away from everyone. I haven’t seen Rachel since this morning but did have Matlock and Waleski look me up out in the orange grove where I was pulling oranges; first Waleski who said everything and nothing and left and then Matlock.

They were both trying to see whether I was still angry I think. Thankfully they didn’t try to defend Rachel. On the other hand they didn’t say anything against her either. I told them that I was fine, that I was not going to go around picking any fights, nor was I going to go around gossiping about what transpired. I told them, “My fights are my fights. I don’t expect other people to fight them for me. I understand your concerns and part of me shares those same concerns. I just hope you are making sure that she isn’t stooping to those lows either. “

Matlock sighed and said, “Sissy don’t take this so hard. I have a responsibility to everyone here in Sanctuary. If you and Rachel can’t get along there could be serious consequences.”

“And that’s why you are in the position you’re in and why Scott and I respect you; you don’t just take things for granted. Really Matt, I’m not spoiling for a fight though Rachel hasn’t made this any easier for either of us. I’m not the one that had the affair and while it may not have been my business in a technical sense in another way it sure as heck was. I’m raising kids under difficult enough circumstances. Dixon is considered one of the leaders of this very small community. Rachel has a lot of standing as well because she is one of our medics. My kids see that and they are all young enough, even Rose and James, to be influenced by the behaviors they exhibit. They are accountable.”

“Come on Sissy, I’m not sure that had anything to do with what was going on. You're the one that brought it up.”

“Matt, I haven’t said anything, not even to Scott. because I thought it was just between Rachel and I but you have got to understand something. Before I found out about her and Dix Rachel and I were turning into really good friends. Their affair put me in a very difficult position when I stumbled upon them and they asked me not to say anything ‘til they worked things out. Patricia wasn’t very well at that point if you will recall and Samuel spent as much time at our house as any place else. I was afraid to even talk about it to Scott ‘cause he can be really funny about that stuff that could affect the kids. Then Patricia said she knew and Scott basically told me that everyone knew … call me a prude but yeah, I was confused and upset. In my opinion Rachel and Dix weren’t setting good examples. They weren’t living up to their positions of accountability. But I was willing to let it go after Patricia decided how she wanted to handle it. And now, in a really weird turn of events, Patricia and I are becoming friends. But because of that, and maybe because she and Dix aren't living happily-ever-after, Rachel has been acting really strange towards me. Not really hostile exactly … ok, yeah, hostile just the passive aggressive kind. I’ve not said anything and I’ve basically been letting everything slide because one, I don’t want things to be any harder here in Sanctuary than they already are; two, Patricia doesn’t need the stress because she could lose the baby and Samuel is like one of my own kids; three, Dixon, while maybe not someone I easily understand is still one of the accepted leaders here in Sanctuary and democracy is what it is; and last, because Rose is Rachel’s apprentice and I don’t want to mess that up. But I’m getting tired of pussy-footing around. I can’t continue to just let things slide. They aren’t getting better. In fact it’s just getting harder and more complicated from my standpoint.”

Sighing, “I didn’t know about the other stuff. Can you hold on a little longer? She and Dix aren’t working things out as easily as I guess they expected to. The military was just about their whole lives. Of everyone I’ve talked to about the pull-out they are taking the MacDill evacuation the hardest. The bit you pointed out about the central government is just that much more for them to take in. Their whole way of looking at life is being tested.”

“Matt I’m not going to go out and cause an intentional fight. You saw I was willing to walk away several times. She’s just intentionally pushing my buttons every time I turn around and right now that’s awful hard to take.”

Matlock raised one eyebrow and said, “Mother hen?”

“Smart aleck. Look, I know I should have experience with that kind of behavior. I expect that out of the kids, I didn’t expect it from a grown woman that I once could say without a doubt was a good friend. But … to the best of my ability … I will try to avoid any confrontations with Rachel. Is that good enough?”

He nodded and chuckled. He wasn’t making fun of me or belittling me. He’s just one of those people that try to use humor to defuse stressful situations. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. This time it kinda did.

I don’t know, maybe it’s time some of this whole mess gets aired out. I get tired of stepping around these new and different relationships that are forming in the wake of all the changes NRS has wrought. It started when I had to learn to be a different kind of mother to James. I was certainly better prepared to let Rose grow up than him. We’re square now but I still feel like I always have to be careful and I’m afraid that I’m somehow going to upset the apple cart. Scott and I have to change the way we do things as well. I know we’ll eventually work it out, we’ve always eventually worked things out, there’s just so much these days that gets in the way.

And all of this micro-sizing of things doesn’t help with privacy to do the working out in. Out of well over a million people in our county the only people we can say for sure are still alive is our small band of less than 50 people; less than one percent of the previous population. The odds are so stacked against us it’s not even funny.

But, “peoples are peoples.” We bring all of our human foibles with us no matter where we go or how many of us there are. I’ll try and work things out with Rachel but I can’t do it all myself. If she isn’t willing to do her share I’m not sure how much will get accomplished.

After I left the orange grove I took care of the kids, made James some tea and honey for his cough, and then got dressed to go on guard duty. And now here I sit up in this blasted cold guard tower watching the sun set; yet again wondering where Scott is and whether he is OK and when will he be home. And …

Gotta go ring the alarm bell, I heard some rumbling being carried this way on the wind and the spyglass shows something big coming down US41 but it’s too dark for me to see it clearly.

Day 132 (Sunday) - Part 1

This has been a fantabulous day. It’s also been one that I wouldn’t relive for all the tea in China.

I got Scott back last night. I mean Scott got back last night. It turned out the “big thing” that was coming down US41 was our convoy. The fact that it was 8 vehicles all driving slowly and close together is what made it confusing from far off. We need a better set of binoculars in each guard tower.

It was nearly full dark by the time they got to the gates and then we had to figure out where everyone was going to park. The kids were absolutely crazy by that time. Scott couldn’t even get out of the cab of the semi he was driving before Johnnie, Bubby, and Sis were swarming all over him. Our other kids, regardless of their age, were just as bad but at least they let him get both feet on the ground. Even Sarah refused to be left behind. Scott picked her up and carried her back to our driveway which turned out to be the centralized meeting point. As they kept walking away all I could do was stare. The semi he was driving, at least the cab of it, was my brother's. I could tell because his name and independent trucking license # was stenciled on the side. James put his arm around me when he saw what I was looking at and pulled me over to join the crowd. Scott knew I had seen it but he shook his head. I had to wait to find out what it was all about.

It really was getting late for all of this and with no outdoor electric lights to speak of beyond those solar gardening lights we have strung up in various locations, we had to pull out all our batteries and plug in some of the halogen spots lights that we keep for emergencies or in case of nighttime raider problems. We all traipsed over to the dining hall because milling around was making it too difficult to get organized. Several of us heated water for coffee, tea, or cocoa while everyone else found a seat so that we could get the introductions out of the way.

You could tell the new people were nervous about sitting out in the open like we do but we assured them that the Wall had stood for months now and that it was impervious to zombie attacks. When one of the new kids asked whether “ragers” could get through the new adults became even more nervous. We did what we could to set them at ease but it’s just going to take some time. They’ve obviously all been through difficult experiences. After that we got down to business. First our four men were officially congratulated and welcomed back home. Next the twelve new residents of Sanctuary were introduced.

The patriarch of the clan is 70 year old Mr. Paul Morris, a widower of many years. With him will live his daughter in law Reba, herself a widow of nearly ten years. Reba’s children made up the rest of that household: Clay Jr. aged 19, Claire aged 18, Clark aged 15, and Callie aged 13.

The next household is headed by the 50 year old son of Mr. Morris. Kevin and his wife Betty have two children and one grandson with them. Rilla is 25 and worked as a substitute teacher when she wasn’t pursuing her degree in education. Her son Ty is two years old; the father of the boy – they never married – refused to leave Trenton and basically abandoned them “to the fate they had chosen.” Their son J. Paul is 20 and was home on leave from the Army for a couple of weeks before being deployed overseas. He was cut off from his unit that was still stationed along the Texas border when Florida was quarantined.

The last is a household of one. Rhonda is a spitfire pure and simple. I think I’m going to like her. She is twenty-two, single, and five months pregnant. She lost everything and then some and still refused to give up. She stood in the middle of the road to make Dixon stop and then managed to talk her way into a place in the convoy. She even drove a loaded down pickup truck herself the whole way here and asked for no special treatment. The baby’s father, away pursuing his doctorate degree when the New York City riots started, was a second cousin or something like that to Reba which is how our men met the other four families.

The Nicholson’s and Brady’s decided to remain in Tarpon Springs. Scott thinks they’ll come to regret it. In his words the Tarpon Springs enclave may be a nice place to visit but he wouldn’t want to live there. Rather than live in a subdivision or similar type community where each family can have their own home, that enclave has chosen to turn the businesses along the Wharf into a multifamily type setting. It’s not quite apartment living but it’s not quite group living like you would have in a commune either. Angus complained of there being too many people in too small of a space and no one disagreed with him.

The Nicholson’s were the parents of the adult-aged special-needs child. They simply refused to go any further than the first large compound they came to. The Brady’s – the other family in the convoy – chose Tarpon Springs because of the fishing fleet. What were our men supposed to say? Those two families had agreed to come to Sanctuary in exchange for safe passage south but they changed their mind. It was a loss because both men were metalworkers by trade.

After the mutual introductions were over the cattle needed to be dealt with. There were two bulls, one full sized adult and an adolescent that was definitely happy to be out of the trailer, then there were a half-dozen Jersey heifers. In addition to the cows there were two nanny goats, fourteen laying hens and a rooster, two sows and one boar hog, six of the nosiest geese you have ever run across, three bird dogs (one female and two males), and an old male house cat Rhonda rescued while they were stopped in Weeki Wachee who subsequently decided to adopt her.

By that time it was very late. After learning from Jack that Patricia was in the hospital, Dixon offered his house to the senior Mr. Morris until they could set up a house of their own. Kevin and Betty opted to stay there as well. Rhonda said she would stay in the women’s barrack until she figured out a few things which worked out quite well.

We all separated to our homes or assigned duties. After Scott and I finally got the last kidlet to lay down and go to sleep we settled in for a quiet and private welcome home celebration of our own. Afterwards as we lay wrapped in each others’ arms I finally had to ask.

“Scott, what about my parents, brother, and his boys?”

He sighed deeply, “Sissy, it’s not something easy to talk about. Are you sure you want to get into this now?”

“I have to know. Please Scott. I’ve waited as long as I could stand.”

“Babe … you’re parents … ,” he cleared his throat and then tried again. “Your brother left a letter for you in case you ever showed up at the home place. I’ll give it to you tomorrow and you can read it when you are ready. Basically your mom ran out of some of her medications. Their last refills never came in. She started having some of her spells and she … you know how depressed she could get. She couldn’t stop crying. They had all gone to a community meeting to try and figure out who needed what. Your dad had been under a lot of stress and hadn’t had his pills either and in the middle of the meeting he collapsed. Your mother lost it and when someone tried to giver her a tranquilizer she had some kind of seizure and then passed out. They both wound up at that clinic outside of town, unresponsive. The local NRSC rep found out about it and … it wasn’t just them Sissy; other patients were euthanized too.”

By that time I was crying so hard I could barely listen.

“Your brother and some other people stormed the clinic but it was too late. He took their bodies and buried them himself on their property. It looks real nice if that means anything. He packed up nearly everything in the house and locked it in his semi-trailer that he had hidden behind their home. Then he loaded some food and a few other things in your dad’s old Ford pickup and he and the boys took off for your relatives in Kentucky. There’s no way to tell if he made it there or not.”

Scott was exhausted. I didn’t blame him for falling asleep after holding me for a while. Eventually I couldn’t lay there any more even if it meant I had to give up the only comfort I had which was holding onto him. I went out and sat in the backyard and listened to the birds wake up. As the first rays tried to peak out of the east, I went inside and got Kitty before she could wake Scott up and I watched the sky lighten as I fed her.

Sanctuary was more quiet than usual. By first light most people normally are up and working, laughing, or at least moving with a purpose. I thought of breakfast but then remembered I wasn’t on that crew today. Then I thought about the animals, wondering whether they were being cared for and by whom. That’s where I decided to go after leaving a note for Scott in case he woke up before I got back.

Walking towards the large enclosure with Kitty in a sling on my back, I could hear cows complaining even before I got there. As I went to open the gate I heard a woman laugh and say, “Lordy Dad, but I do love me a nice strong wall. I feel safer than I have in a long time. I don't mind the fenced in feeling as much as I thought I would. You can’t even hardly hear those monsters moving around out there. I am so glad you agreed to this move.”

Then as I came through the gate I saw the elder Mr. Morris nodding as he milked one cow and Reba as she milked another. I startled them both when I asked if there was anything I could do to help. We all chuckled a little self-consciously when I tried to apologize for scaring them.

While we got to know one another I milked the three nannies who were bleating their own opinion of humans who could not keep up with their schedule. It turned out that Reba knew my mother from the Quilting Guild though they attended different chapters and Mr. Morris had met Mom and Dad a few times at Williams Auction House in High Springs. They both expressed their sympathy and Mr. Morris in his gruff but kind voice said, “They were real fine people. I was proud to know ‘em.”

Their sympathy was almost my first undoing of the day. I told myself that I had to get used to the reality, much like everyone else had, and accept my parents being gone from this side of forever in my life. I did my best to acknowledge their sympathy appropriately but it wasn’t easy. They understood anyway and Reba patted my shoulder as we finished up and took the milk over to the dining hall.

During breakfast, which Scott had been awakened for by our kids, Mr. Morris asked if we had a creamery or well house. Getting a negative response he made a few suggestions that we all were interested in. I think that was gratifying for him and seeing the old man grow more and more comfortable in his surroundings helped the rest of his family do so as well.

Butter, cheese, cottage cheese, sour cream, and everything else made from fresh cow’s milk plus whatever we can make from the goats’ milk will be a very welcome addition to Sanctuary’s pantries. There’s a trick though to making and keeping these types of items from spoiling in Florida’s near constant warm weather and high humidity. You need to create a reasonably cool environment where the temperature can be somewhat controlled and you need to keep a good rotation of the dairy items in mind when planning menus.

Scott and I volunteered to show the Morris family around Sanctuary. This served two purposes. We stayed together most of the day but continued to provide a service for Sanctuary and it gave Scott a chance to see what had occurred during his absence.

After we showed them all the nooks and crannies of Sanctuary it was time for me to help prepare lunch while Scott took some time to be with the kids. I had gathered quite a bit of fresh fruit when I was showing off the native fruit trees and orange grove. I used it to make a large bowl of fruit salad. We pulled out all of the loaves of bread we baked yesterday and cut them into sandwich slices. Then I made a large bowl of tuna salad, a large bowl of chicken salad, and a jar of peanut butter.

After lunch we cleaned up while Matlock and Dixon helped both Morris families to pick their new houses. Rhonda intends to remain in the women’s barrack for a while. Scott asked everyone to make a list of any repairs that needed to be made and he would get to them as soon as possible. Mr. Morris just laughed and said, “Son, I been doin’ my own fixin’ for over 50 years now. You wanna come hep me dat’s fine but you ain’t gotta do ‘em for me.”

Scott was surprised but in a good way. I think it’s going to be nice for him to not be the only one that knows how to do the repair and maintenance on the houses. That also means there’ll be another person that can help teach others to be more self-sufficient in that respect. Excessive specialization of abilities is out these days. We all cross-train to do different tasks and trades. We are too few to lose even one person who may be the only person that knows how to do some vital task. Personally I think Mr. Morris will be a gold mine of information as he has been farming here in Florida most of his life as were his parents, grandparents, and great grandparents before him.

After that Scott and I had a little time to ourselves. We took a walk through the gardens and I showed him what I had done. He talked to me about what they had seen and done while away from Sanctuary. They kept a Road Log of the run and it’s been put in the Sanctuary files in the library which Brandon takes care of as our archivist and historian. I asked him if he would write his side of the story out and allow me to stick it in this journal and he said he would start tomorrow.

Slowly we worked our way around to my brother’s truck. Scott opened the trailer and said, “I didn’t have time to make sure everything was packed so that it wouldn’t break but it looks like your brother did the job right. Honey, I know it’s awful soon to start going through this stuff but we can’t leave the semi here in the middle of the field and the trailer could be used to enlarge the animal enclosure. And there’s canned goods and food in there that needs to be put away too. Dix said he would make sure everyone knew that this stuff is off limits but we still need to get it moved within the next couple of days.”

Maybe Dixon was more sensitive than I have him credit for being. It was thoughtful of him to be the one to bring up that my parents’ stuff was mine to do with what Scott and I would. Of course the whole idea of going through my parents’ remaining worldly goods was overwhelming and I started crying again. It wasn’t for long. I had begun the process of accepting their deaths back when I lost contact with them. This was just the next phase of the grieving process. I watched Scott go through this when he lost his parents. I thought I understood the enormity of it then. I hadn’t. Unfortunately, now I do.

Scott was right. I couldn’t just leave all of that stuff in the semi until I felt “ready.” I don’t think you are ever truly ready for something like this; but, whether I was ready or not it had to be done. He and I grabbed some of the closest boxes from the back of the trailer and took them over to the house to begin sorting through them. Scott got called away to some kind of debriefing so I was left to do this on my own.

Day 132 - Part 2

I didn’t start right away because I needed to deal with Kitty, or maybe I was just delaying things as much as I could. Most of the time the baby is such a good little peanut that I can work with her in a sling on my back all day. Today though wasn’t one of those days. She’s getting bigger and heavier and now she is getting old enough that she wants to get down and explore her world. That’s fine when there is someone to watch her but a lot of the time there isn’t. And she will let you know when she wants something other than what you are offering her. She is turning into quite the little character. I have a sneaking suspicion that she will give Johnnie and Bubby a run for their money before too much longer. The idea of a little female Johnnie gives me the shivers.

Lucky for me Rose and Melody were having a getting-to-know-you chat fest with Claire. Josephine and Maddie were over also. Sarah asked Laura to invite Callie as well so basically I had all the under-20 females in Sanctuary out on our lanai having what amounted to a tea party, although there were no frilly hats or stuffed animals to be seen. As soon as they saw me struggling with Kitty they volunteered to watch her for a while so that I could open the boxes and tubs one at a time in my bedroom, privately.

After the first few boxes I knew I was in trouble. I hadn’t thought what I was going to do with my mother’s various collections. She has … had … all this stuff; milk glass, carnival glass, antique jewelry, antique linens and laces, etc. Then there were all the knick knacks and stuff that she had inherited from her family over the years. If the kids ever wound up moving out and having homes of their own this might work but I had a feeling that for now a lot of this was going to have to be repacked and put in our attic.

I don’t know what all that my brother stuck in the trailer. Scott said that he appears to have packed in everything he could move by himself. That would have meant all but the largest furniture since he had all his moving dollies and pads packed into the back of the trailer as well. I hadn’t read his letter yet at the time and felt a building frustration that came from trying to imagine how I was going to condense what amounted to two full houses of stuff (their primary home and all of the stuff out of their storage buildings) into one house that was already stuffed with kids and our own flotsam of life.

I took Scott’s dollie with me to the semi-trailer next time I went and nearly blew my back out when I didn’t think to test the weight of a plastic storage tub before I tried to move it. Adding insult to injury I nearly fell out of the back of the trailer too. But I stopped cussing and fussing when I found out what was actually in the tub. It was the majority of my mother’s cast iron cookware. Looking at each piece I ticked it off in my memory. There were the two skillets that she reserved almost exclusively for baking cornbread in. There was the giant skillet that we fried sweet potatoes in every Thanksgiving. There was the tiny, square one that she told me she would scramble my eggs in when I was a baby. There was the spider that belonged to my great grandmother and there was the dutch oven my grandmother used to make blackberry cobbler in for the men who came to chop tobacco on their farm. Some of the pieces I didn’t recognize so they likely came from the auctions and yard sales that my parents enjoyed going to.

After that tub I became cautious. I looked for containers that would be easier for me to lift. I peeked into garbage bags and totes full of linens and my mom’s sewing and craft stuff. I could just see my mom's big sewing basket next to my great great grandmother's treadle sewing machine cabinet. Up in the very front of the trailer I thought I caught a glimpse of my dad's gun cabinet but at the time I couldn't tell if there was anything in. Then I opened a bag and just had to sit down and smell. The bag held some of my dad’s shirts, his jacket, and his two Sunday sports coats. I must have looked deranged hugging an overstuffed garbage bag to myself like it was a real person.

Finding that bag set me off again. I put my dad’s jacket on despite it being miles too big. I knew most of the clothes would have to go into Sanctuary’s storage in case someone could use them. That’s even what my parents would have wanted me to do but for now I wanted to be surrounded by the comforting smells of my childhood one last time. My mother made her own laundry detergent and despite many, many attempts I've never been quite able to duplicate it.

Scott, James, and David came by not too long afterwards and ignoring my tear stained face and lack of response, began to help me unload everything and put it into our carport. There’s just no way I’m going to go through everything and find it a new home in just a day or two. We’re talking about the accumulation of stuff from over 45 years of marriage. We’re also talking about my own emotional attachment that I will have to break one item at a time.


After that I was pretty much rolled up physically and mentally but life must go on and we have twelve more people in Sanctuary. That will increase the workload of individual tasks even while it will lighten the overall workload after they all get worked into the chore schedules.

I walked over to do my share of the dinner preparation even though the thought of food was the last thing on my mind. I had almost completed putting my public face on when Bekah ran up to me. After she told me what was going on I nearly lost it yet again. Rose and Melody had organized all the girls, including Sarah and the new young women, to take my place so that I could have a night off to deal with things. I almost couldn’t express my gratitude. As I teared up so did the girls so I just gave them a group hug. When I found out that it was actually Patricia who had put the thought in Rose and Melody’s head I had to drop by the hospital and thank her too.

I was sorry I hadn’t visited earlier in the day and told her so after I got there.

“Honestly Sissy. I can see I’m really going to have to work on your tendency towards martyrdom and excessive self-effacement,” she laughed. “Look, being friends doesn’t mean we have to live in each other’s pocket. Besides I know Scott just got in and you’re dealing with all the fallout from finding out about your parents. You should have seen me when my dad died a couple of years ago. My mom left when I was a baby so it was just dad and my grandparents who raised me and he was the only one left by then. If anything, I wish I could help you organize stuff. Dixon was over here and said it was a mess.”

Having a friend who understood and was willing to share the burden did help and I was able to half heartedly joke back that at the rate I was going, there would still be plenty for her to help with when her baby was a teenager.

From there I went straight back home. I didn’t feel like dinner and I really meant to get to some more of those boxes. But when I got to our room to get a different jacket I saw my brother’s letter sitting on my dresser. I must have looked at it for ten minutes before I actually picked it up. And it was nearly as long before I sat down in my rocking chair and un-taped it where Scott had sealed it back up.



DEAR SIS (& SCOTT),

SOMEHOW I HAVE A FEELING THAT YOU WILL EVENTUALLY READ THIS. I DON’T KNOW HOW I KNOW BUT I JUST DO, IT’S ONE OF THE FEW THINGS THAT BRINGS ME ANY COMFORT IN ALL THIS.

I HATE TO BE THE ONE TO TELL YOU THIS BUT AT THE SAME TIME I WOULDN’T WANT IT TO BE ANYONE ELSE. MOMMA AND DADDY ARE GONE. THEY WENT TOGETHER AND FROM WHAT I’VE BEEN TOLD THEY DIDN’T SUFFER. THEY CERTAINLY DIDN’T SUFFER THE WAY MANY HAVE.

THE STORY ISN’T A NICE ONE BUT I FEEL YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO KNOW. THINGS WENT FROM BAD TO WORSE AFTER THE BOYS’ MOTHER ABANDONED US. I CAN’T EVEN CALL HER MY WIFE ANYMORE ‘CAUSE I BELIEVE SHE IS PARTLY TO BLAME FOR WHAT HAS HAPPENED. IF SHE HAD JUST TRIED A LITTLE MORE … BUT I DON’T HAVE TIME OR ENERGY TO GO THERE. I’M NOT SURE I CAN EVER FORGIVE HER THOUGH FOR THAT AND FOR JUST LEAVING OUR BOYS WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT. MOM AND DAD GOT REALLY STRESSED OUT AND I HAVE TO TAKE MY SHARE OF THE BLAME FOR THAT. I SHOULD HAVE SEEN HOW ILL THEY WERE BECOMING.

MOM WAS DETERIORATING AND DAD WAS HAVING CHEST PAINS. THE REFILLS FOR THEIR MEDS NEVER CAME IN. I LOOKED ALL OVER THREE COUNTIES AND COULDN’T GET THEIR PRESCRIPTIONS FILLED AND THEN THE QUARANTINES STARTED. BY THAT TIME THERE WERE LOTS OF PEOPLE IN THIS AREA THAT WERE SHORT OF THINGS THEY NEEDED.

A COUPLE OF LOCAL CHURCHES GOT TOGETHER AND PLANNED A COMMUNITY MEETING HOPING THAT BY SHARING MAYBE MOST OF EVERYONE COULD GET A LITTLE BIT OF WHAT THEY NEEDED. DADDY WAS HOPING THAT MAYBE GETTING MOM OUT OF THE HOUSE FOR A BIT WOULD HELP HER EVEN THOUGH HE WASN’T FEELING A HUNDRED PERCENT HIMSELF.

AT THE MEETING EVERYTHING WAS GOING JUST FINE AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN SOME OF THOSE NRS FREAKS WERE SPOTTED IN THE PARKING LOT. PEOPLE STARTED TO PANIC AND THERE WAS A LOT OF PUSHING AND SHOVING. A COUPLE OF GOOD OL’ BOYS PUT THE FREAKS DOWN AND FOLKS WERE JUST STARTING TO CALM DOWN WHEN DADDY GRABBED HIS CHEST AND COLLAPSED. WHEN THE DOC THAT WAS THERE SAID THAT HE’D LIKELY HAD A MASSIVE HEART ATTACK MOMMA LOST IT. IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE SEEN HER HAVE A SPELL THIS BAD, EVEN WORSE THAN THAT FINAL ATTACK SHE HAD THAT FINALLY GOT THE DOCTORS TO START LISTENING TO DADDY THAT SOMETHING BESIDES FEMALE PROBLEMS WAS HAPPENING.

WELL SOMEONE TRIED TO GIVE HER A SEDATIVE AND SHE HAD A BAD REACTION TO IT OR THE DOC SAID SHE MIGHT HAVE HAD A STROKE FROM HAVING TO GO OFF HER MEDS COLD TURKEY. WE’LL NEVER KNOW FOR SURE. EITHER WAY, WE GOT THEM OVER TO THECLINIC AS FAST AS WE COULD. NO ONE SAID ANYTHING BECAUSE THE NRSC GUY AROUND HERE IS A REAL BASTARD. HE HAD ALREADY BEEN OVER ALL OF THE NURSING HOMES AND ALF’S WITH HIS LITTLE GIZMO FROM HELL.

SOMEONE MUST HAVE SNITCHED THOUGH. I HOPE WHO EVER DID GETS EATEN BY THE ZOMBIES A SMALL BITE AT A TIME. THAT SUMBITCH EUTHANIZED SIX DEFENSELESS PEOPLE THAT MIGHT HAVE HAD SOME LIFE LEFT IN THEM IF WE COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM GOOD MEDICAL CARE. NONE OF US COULD STOP IT EVEN THOUGH WE RUSHED THE CLINIC DOORS AND BEAT DOWN THE NRSC REP AND HIS LITTLE BITCHES THAT GUARDED HIS SORRY ASS.

THERE WASN’T ANYBODY TO HELP WITH A FUNERAL OR ANYTHING. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO BUT BRING THEM BACK AND BURY THEM HERE. I HOPE TO NEVER HAVE TO LIVE TO DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT AGAIN. ALL I COULD DO FOR THEM WAS TO PUT THEM SIDE BY SIDE OUT BY MOMMA’S ROSE BUSHES. I MADE SURE TO PUT THEM DEEP SO NO ANIMALS COULD GET TO ‘EM. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO MAKE A MARKER FOR THEM BUT I GUESS MOMMA’S PLANTS IS ABOUT AS GOOD A MEMORIAL AS ANYTHING ELSE. AT LEAST THEY ARE IN THE GROUND, TOO MANY OTHER FOLKS AREN’T AND THE SMELL ON THE AIR HAS MADE ME SICK MORE THAN A TIME OR TWO.

AFTER THE SHIT DOWN AT THE CLINIC MOST FOLKS ABOUND HERE LOST ALL HEART. SOME HAVE JUST HUNKERED DOWN TO WAIT THINGS OUT BUT A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE LEAVING TO TRY AND CROSS THE STATE LINE, HOPING RELATIVES IN GEORGIA AND ALABAMA WILL TAKE THEM IN.

I’M SORRY BUT I JUST CAN’T TAKE CARE OF THE BOYS BY MYSELF. I’M JUST NOT CUT OUT TO BE LIKE YOU OR SCOTT. HELL, THE BOYS MIND SCOTT BETTER THAN THEY EVER MINDED ME. I SHOULD HAVE MADE MOM AND DAD JUST COME WITH US BACK TO TAMPA WHILE THERE WAS STILL TIME.

I WAS GOING TO TRY AND MAKE IT TO TAMPA BUT HEARD ON THE RADIO THAT NOW THE ROADS ARE IMPASSABLE IN PLACES AND THAT THEY’VE GOT ARMED CHECKPOINTS TO KEEP PEOPLE OUT OF THE BIG CITIES. EVEN GAINESVILLE IS A NIGHTMARE FROM THE STORIES.

I’VE THROWN WHAT EASY TO FIX STUFF MOM AND DAD HAD LEFT INTO DADDY’S PICKUP. I ALSO TOOK GRANDADDY’S SHOTGUN, DADDY’S LITTLE GERMAN LUGER, AND THAT .22 THAT WE BOTH LEARNED TO SHOOT ON. I GRABBED WHAT LITTLE MONEY WAS LEFT TOO, I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND. THERE WASN’T MUCH OF IT TO BE TRUTHFUL. KNOWING SCOTT YOU ALL ARE PROBABLY REAL SET IN THAT DEPARTMENT NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS. I’M GOING TO TRY AND GET TO HOPKINSVILLE, MAYBE PADUCAH IF FT. CAMPBELL WON’T LET ME THROUGH. AT WORST I’LL HEAD TO ELKTON AND SEE IF THE MENNONITES THAT BOUGHT THE OLD FARM WILL LET ME CAMP OUT ON THE BACK FIVE AND HELP AROUND THE PLACE IN EXCHANGE FOR OUR KEEP. EVEN IF SOMETHING EVENTUALLY GETS ME, I’M SURE SOMEONE WOULD TAKE THE BOYS IN UP THERE.

PRAY FOR US SISSY ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU PROBABLY ARE EVEN THOUGH YOU CAN’T KNOW WHAT HAS BEEN HAPPENING. I TRIED TO CALL BUT I CAN’T GET THROUGH. I’M NOT SURE I REALLY KNOW WHAT I’M DOING BUT I CAN’T JUST SIT HERE WAITING FOR THE ZOMBIES TO EAT MY KIDS. IF WE ARE MOVING THEN AT LEAST WE’VE GOT US A FIGHTING CHANCE. I’VE HEARD YOU CAN OUTRUN THESE MONSTERS REAL EASY.

IF I CAN, I’LL SEND WORD WHEN WE GET SOME PLACE SAFE. TAKE CARE AND PLEASE DON’T BE MAD AT ME, I JUST COULDN’T STAND IT HERE ANY MORE.

LOVE FOREVER AND ALWAYS,

YOUR LITTLE BROTHER

P.S. I COULDN’T ABIDE THE IDEA OF LETTING MOMMA AND DADDY’S STUFF JUST GET LOOTED. I SPENT A COUPLE OF DAYS LOADING EVERYTHING THAT I COULD INTO MY TRAILER. YOU’LL SPOT IT IF YOU LOOK FOR IT, BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO LOOK GOOD. I ALSO UNHOOKED ALL THE UTILITIES SO NOTHING EXPLODES. YOU KNOW HOW MOM USED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT WHEN THEY WERE GOING TO BE GONE FOR MORE THAN A FEW DAYS.

Day 133 (Monday)

Well, nothing quite like feeling hung over to get a Monday off to a great start. OK, I wasn’t really hung over but I sure did feel like it. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Scott said he brought all the kids back from eating supper to find me crashed out on our bed with my brother’s letter in my hand. He said the only thing that kept him from freaking out was the fact that he knew that I would be the last person to choose suicide. That shocked me. I guess I was acting a lot more out of it than I was aware of. Bad. Here I have been talking about setting a good example for the kids and first time I really had a chance, I don’t think I did it very well. I know my parents wouldn’t have been happy knowing that they had caused me so much pain. My parents always considered death a natural part of the life cycle and called funerals “life celebrations” or “home goings” more than anything thing else. That’s also how I was raised and is part of my faith but … no excuses. I’m going to consciously try and do better from here on out.

Of course today would be laundry day and boy howdy did the men need their laundry washed. They were filthy. Their clothes were filthy. And all of their equipment, except for their guns, was filthy too. And everything stank really, really badly. I wound up having to boil all of their jeans and socks three times before they were clean enough to be rinsed out and hung to dry. One of Scott’s shirts I didn’t even bother trying to clean as it had already started to mildew and smelled so bad that I used it as a fire starter instead of putting it in the rag pile.

Speaking of laundry, the men brought back some bigger troughs for us to use as wash tubs. The small troughs are convenient but we have to do so many loads that it takes forever to get things clean, especially when we have to do any kind of bedding. With the bigger troughs we’ll be able to do bigger loads or several loads at once. We’ll just need to remember to put names on clothing tags like on shirts and jeans. We’ll probably continue to do underclothing separately from each other. It will just be easier that way. Sometimes things just get so dirty you can't use them over. Scott has taken to wearing coveralls when he is doing something really filthy to try and save on laundry.

The troughs aren’t the only things the men brought back but I haven’t had time to hear everything. Scott brought me one particular present that he gave me today. He said he picked it up in the back of a pawnshop they stopped at along the way looking for guns and ammo. Most of the pawnshops were pretty well ransacked but there were a couple where back rooms and locked cabinets were overlooked. He brought me a Luger Mark III .22 long barrel pistol. I haven’t had a chance to fire it yet but I hope to later this week just so I can get used to the kick. It’s pretty in a gun-ish sort of way. What I like is that it will use the same ammo as the .22 rifle I keep around for using on the Wall-duty and that it is stainless steel. I couldn’t do much more than tell the difference between a pistol and a rifle a few months ago and here I am slowly learning all the makers and models of guns and which ammo goes with which and what it will do best. Life has changed so much.

I told Scott to take the rest of Daddy’s gun and knife collections and do with them what he thought best. The only thing I asked was that the knives Daddy made himself weren't just thrown in the storage bins. I wanted them to have good homes. I really don’t have a clue about what would be best to go where and to whom, but I would like them treated with respect. There were some guns that Daddy used to keep for show pieces like his 1800s Colt revolver so I’m not even sure if that is usable. And he also kept a few of his extra fancy buck knives in sealed cases, but for the most part Daddy was one of those men that saw beauty in how useful something was and not necessarily how much he paid for it. I still have to decide what to do with all of Momma’s “pretties” as she called them. There is still a ton of stuff to go through, some useful and some not. The cookbooks were pretty easy to decide what to do with. If it was a duplicate of something I had I put it in the library with a hand written note in front explaining where it came from. If it had any of my mother’s hand written notes inside I kept it and put it on my own shelves even if it was a duplicate; the girls will eventually inherit them. My grandmother’s recipe box is sitting on my nightstand waiting for me to see if I can find all of her canning recipes and my grandfather’s fruit wine instructions. Granny’s dandelion wine recipe should be in there too as should Mammy's recipe for Blackberry Jam Cake with Caramel Icing. Some of the large plastic containers that my mom saved I’m taking over to the food storehouse as I get them emptied. I figure they will eventually be needed over there as we get rid of more and more of the commercially processed foods. I still have a lot of stuff to do but like I wrote yesterday, it’s going to take me days to go through it all. And frankly I’m not at all certain what to do with some of the furniture. I’ll just have to think on that another day.

The commercially canned food I donated to the Sanctuary storehouse without qualms. The home canned foods and Momma’s jars, rings, and lids I’m keeping until I go through everything and make sure nothing has spoiled. Also I want to make sure I have the recipes for everything. Daddy had canned a lot of the last batch of venison he had gotten from my uncle and I’m putting that up in our hidden pantries as well. I’m not being selfish but I just want to think about things before I give them all away. I might wind up making some burgoo with some of it so it’s not like other people won’t be eating it. I guess I just want to dole it out and not see it wasted in any way or rushed through and not appreciated.

I saw the funniest thing at lunchtime. Butch and Sundance can be hysterically comical, so can Angus’ two dogs. I don’t know if they were always naturally thus or if hanging around my kids have driven them a little nuts. They are good working dogs but they also love to play. Of course Mischief is very maternal and adores the littles. Well, Kitty was wanting down again today and it was just warm enough to put a blanket on the ground and let her roll around so that the rest of us could eat in peace. The four dogs had her corralled in. She’d try and crawl off the blanket and the dogs would box her in. Well, Sarah had finally coaxed the little pup … we think she is some type of spaniel … out and she too was laying on the blanket but she was playing and not being helpful in the least. If anything she was winding Kitty up even more than she had been before. The big dogs started boxing the pup in with the baby to keep her from rolling off the blanket too. Well, Mischief finally looked at me and gave me this doggie look that said, “I don’t know who is worse, the baby or the puppy. They have both pulled my tail and bitten my ears several times already.”

Before I could say something to Scott, Mr. Morris comes over and the three bird dogs are following him. We all made a grab for our four dogs, the pup, and Kitty since we weren’t sure what would happen. I swear if those dogs didn’t look at us like we had lost our minds. All any of us could do was laugh. After a few minutes of smelling each other and establishing their “packness” I guess you would call it, they all lay down together as easy as you please. Mischief still isn’t partial to the two male bird dogs getting near Kitty but she doesn’t mind Lady, the female bird dog, coming near her. Lady is a little skittish around Mayhem but I think in the end they’ll all learn to get along. All the male dogs eventually decided it was too tame to sit around watching a baby so they went for a run while Mischief and Lady watched the pup and Kitty.

Sarah said she is going to write a storybook for Kitty that tells her what being a baby was like in Sanctuary during our "pioneer days." That should prove interesting. Josephine said she will teach Sarah how to draw animals and Brandon said that he’ll put the book in the library when she is through. You should have seen that child’s face light up when she heard that.

Angus left after dinner to go work on his outpost. Scott said he picked up odds and ends, including a wood burning stove, while they were on the run. I can understand it. He’s put it off for quite some time to lend a hand around Sanctuary. He will be missed though. I packed him up a bunch of home canned stew, soups, and chilis to get him started and also gave him a jar of sourdough so that he could make bread if he is so inclined. Scott and Jim plan on going over tomorrow to give him a hand with the heavy lifting. He was explaining at lunch that he just felt the need to hurry up and get his place secured. Makes my nerves itch to think of why he would need to “hurry up.”

We haven’t had a large horde of zombies in a while though we’ve had several smaller groups to deal with. They never go away and as bizarre as it sounds we've begun to treat them like we would any other dangerous, wild animal. We’ve been lucky. Scott said that on the run they kept seeing fresh, and relatively fresh, corpses where you wouldn’t expect there would be any. There may be more people left alive than we think but most people are cut off and just keeping to themselves for whatever reason. Not in the big cities though. Those places look like they were emptied with scavengers and refugees piling into the suburbs and rural areas and moving through like locusts; especially along any major roadways.

The other thing I worry about are raiders. When Matlock told them about what had happened while they were gone I don’t know which of the four men were angrier. Dixon had already had a bad taste in his mouth from when the refugees were in Sanctuary. I think there is serious talk about not taking in any more refugees but I don’t know. We may have to wait and see how what individual circumstances turn out to be.

Rachel let Patricia up as long as she didn’t lift anything or move around. Scott and Dixon brought over a folding chaise lounge for her to lie on. Jack sat nearby during lunch but didn’t try to push things while Dix talked to Patricia to catch up on how she and Samuel had been during his absence. I saw Dix and Jack talking later on and they shook hands. At dinner it was Jack sitting beside Patricia. I guess all that will work out eventually. And Samuel seems to slowly be coming to accept it.

I wish I could say the same with Dix and Rachel. I had sliced my hand on a sour orange tree thorn and went over to the hospital to get some help cleaning it out. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I caught the tail end of a conversation as I walked in.

I could hear Dixon say, “I’m not going over it again Rachel. I don’t agree with you and no amount of your pushing is going to change that. Let it alone or you’re just going to cause problems that I’m going to have to deal with and you may not like my methods very much.”

Whoa. I tried to turn around and leave before they saw me but Dix said, “Its OK Sissy, we’re through talking.”

I didn’t know quite what to say as Dix walked out the door so I told Rachel what had happened and asked her opinion on whether I should cover the scratch up or let it breathe.

“Here, let me see. Did you clean this yet?”

We both tried to act like I hadn’t heard Dix’s last statement and I think we were both trying to get beyond whatever the problem is that is causing us to brangle.

“How do you and Scott do it?”

Not sure what she meant I asked, “How do we do what?”

“You know. How do you two go through all this crap and still get along, work as a team, whatever.”

“Rachel, you must have Scott and I confused with some perfect people you read about in some marriage counseling seminar or something. Scott and I are far from perfect and we have our problems just like everyone else.”

“But you don’t seem like it. You sure don't boss each other around. Do you just know what the other person is thinking or wants? How do you pull it off?”

“Look, Scott and I have had our fair share of problems, especially the first year or two we were married. We are both strong-willed with have strong personalities. You've undoubtedly noticed I can be a firecracker that goes off with bad timing. But Scott and I are both committed to making our marriage work. We don’t just love each other, we like each other too; we’re best friends. And when they say marriage is work that’s an understatement. Ask our kids, we’ve done our fair share of bickering and we haven't always handled things as well as we could. We’ve gone through some very dark times and we’ve had some really great times. When the dark times roll around, and they always will, we try hold on to the memories from the good times.”

“What about now though? Who’s the boss? Who has the last word and why?”

“You want the truth? I’m perfectly happy leaving being ‘the boss’ to Scott. We’ve always had a traditional kind of relationship and that’s what works for us. But Scott takes being the ultimately responsible individual very seriously. He’s always put the rest of us first even when it was hard or unfair. For over ten years he worked two jobs so that we could get someplace where we didn’t have to worry so much how we were going to put food on the table, keep a roof over our heads, and take care of our kids. I never forget all his sacrifices. Not a day goes by that I don't give him credit for all he's done and all he is doing right now. And he's been good about remembering that I make similar sacrifices and appreciate them.”

“That … sounds … I don’t think I could live like that. I was always told that marriage is supposed to be a partnership. No one partner is the boss of the other. What you are talking about is just too old fashioned. I've worked hard to get where I am at.”

I laughed. “Did I say we weren’t partners? We discuss everything and there are very few big decisions we make without consulting each other. But even in a business partnership there are rules and usually one partner has seniority over the other, at least in some areas. And as for work, just because it’s been a number of years since I officially worked outside of our home doesn't mean that I haven't worked. I helped with our business. I've spent years raising and educating our children. Girl, there is no job on the planet that pays enough for someone to do the job of wife and mother for financial consideration alone.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“You don’t really think Scott and I got it the first year either do you? It’s the rare couple that doesn’t have all sorts of growing pains they have to go through. You are either growing or you're dying. You just have to decide which it is you want to do.”

She got real serious. “I want this to work with Dix but I don’t know. I thought if he wasn’t with Patricia any more everything could be exactly like we wanted it to be. It’s not like that at all. If anything it’s harder.”

“I’m going to give you a bit of advice and I hope you don’t take it the wrong way. Sex is … hmmm … sex is a big responsibility. When you have sex with someone you aren’t just having sex with that person, you are having sex with every person that that person ever had sex with. Common sense when it comes to being safe. But love is the same way. And Dix is a package deal with responsibilities to people that come before whatever relationship you two have. Even though he and Patricia aren’t together any more there will always be their history together. And Samuel is his son and at a very impressionable age and Dix has to consider that as well. When you two were … well, before Dix and Patricia were over with you two put aside all of those responsibilities. It’s like they didn’t really exist in the fullest extent of the word. Now they do. The more serious you take the relationship the more serious everything about the relationship becomes.”

Rachel shook her head and said, “I’m not sure I totally agree with that. Dix and I always were serious. We didn’t set out to hurt anyone.”

“Of course not. Think of it like this. Relationships have levels and plateaus. Well, you all have reached the next level, the next challenge. But it’s one of the harder ones. Now the rules have changed. His rank isn’t what is going to keep him a leader here in Sanctuary. And that rank isn’t what is going to keep him a leader in your relationship. You are going to have to see each other for who you really are without the sauce of forbidden fruit to put the spice in your relationship and without the stress of a failing relationship – Dix and Patricia – keeping you together. Those things don’t exist anymore, now you have to find out what does exist.”

In a frustrated voice Rachel asked, “And if we find that that’s all there was? Where does that leave me?”

“I don’t have those answers for you Rachel. That’s something that is between you and Dix.” But I couldn’t just leave it at that. “But if it means anything, I do think you and Dix stand a fighting chance. And I do think that Patricia doesn’t hold any of this against you which should go a long way towards smoothing y'alls future here in Sanctuary. But, if worse does comes to worse … I’ll be there if you want to talk. OK?”

“Yeah,” she answered, but grudgingly.

I’m not sure if Rachel gets it or not. She seems to have spent her whole life achieving one huge goal after another; overcoming a rough childhood, getting through college without any financial aid, being a woman in the military, getting medical training despite her normal workload. But relationships don’t always work by a predetermined set of rules. And she asked “where does that leave me?” and not where does that leave us. That doesn’t bode well for a soft landing.

Aside from a few incidences here and there, the day was pretty mundane. That was welcome relief from all of the stress I had been feeling. I think everyone was happy and I know more than a few have stopped by the Morris families’ new homes to see if there was anything they could do. So far so good.

After dinner I came home to find that Scott had left a sheaf of papers on top of my journal with a note that it was a start on the promise he had made. When I picked it up I realized it was the beginning of the North Florida Run from his perspective. I’ve read what he has written thus far and am sticking it between my own journal entries as he gets each section finished. Anyone reading this in the future might wonder at the change in handwriting … assuming you can even read Scott’s hen scratch. His brain moves faster than his hands can keep up.

SCOTT’S VERSION OF THE NORTH FLORIDA RUN
(Part One)

I’M WRITING THIS BECAUSE MY WIFE ASKED ME TO. IT’S A RECORD OF THE NORTH FLORIDA RUN WE STARTED ON DECEMBER FIRST.

THE DECISION TO GO ON THE RUN WAS MADE QUICKLY; ALMOST TOO QUICKLY. YEAH, I LIKE TO GET OUT AND GET MOVING WITHOUT A LOT OF FUSS BUT AT THE SAME TIME I HAVE A FAMILY TO THINK OF AND PREPARE FOR IN CASE SOMETHING HAPPENED. ONE OF THOSE EVENTUALITIES COULD HAVE BEEN THAT I WASN’T COMING HOME. THESE DAYS YOU NEVER KNOW FOR SURE.

WE BARELY HAD TWO FULL DAYS TO PREPARE AND PACK. THAT WASN’T A PROBLEM UNTIL LATER IN THE TRIP WHEN WE WENT OVER THE LONGEST EXPECTED DURATION OF TIME WE WOULD BE AWAY. SUPPLIES WOULD HAVE BEEN A PROBLEM IF WE HADN’T STOPPED AT MY IN-LAWS’. FUEL WAS A BIGGER ISSUE, ESPECIALLY WHILE WE WERE DEEP INTO RURAL AREAS.

THE MEN WHO WENT ON THE RUN WERE MYSELF, ANGUS CUDDY, SGT. SAM DIXON (US ARMY), AND PVT. HENRY MCELROY (TENNESSEE NATIONAL GUARD). THE TWO VEHICLES WE TOOK WERE ANGUS’ SOOPED UP GARBAGE TRUCK KNICKNAMED JUICER FOR ITS UNIQUE WAY OF DEALING WITH ZOMBIES, AND THE CHEVY AVALANCHE I “CONFISCATED” FROM OLD MABLE’S HOUSE BEFORE IT WAS DEMOLISHED. BOTH OF THE VEHICLES HAD THE NEW COMPLETELY WORE OFF OF THEM BEFORE THE TRIP WAS HALF WAY OVER. SO DID WE FOR THAT MATTER.

I DON’T KNOW HOW SMART IT WAS FOR US TO HIT THE ROAD AFTER A BIG PARTY. WE WEREN’T AS RESTED AS WE COULD HAVE BEEN. THE WHOLE TRIP I FELT LIKE I WAS TRYING TO CATCH UP ON SLEEP AND RUNNING THREE DAYS BEHIND. THE ONLY GOOD THING WAS THAT THERE WAS ENOUGH FOOD LEFTOVER THAT SISSY PACKED US SOME GOOD EATS FOR THE FIRST COUPLE OF THE DAYS WHICH MEANT WE DIDN’T HAVE TO COOK.

WE HIT THE ROAD AT 5 AM SHARP ON FRIDAY MORNING. WE KNEW THAT THE INTERSTATES WITHIN TAMPA WERE A MESS AND THAT WE NEEDED TO AVOID I275 TOTALLY. WE TOOK LIVINGSTON AVENUE OUT TO SR56 AND GOT ON AFTER THE I275 AND I75 MERGE.

I KNEW JUST AS SOON AS WE GOT ON WE WERE IN FOR HELL ALL THE WAY. IT TOOK US 15 MINUTES JUST TO NAVIGATE THE ON RAMP. ANGUS, ON POINT DRIVING JUICER, PUSHED WHAT HE COULD OUT OF THE WAY. THERE JUST WASN’T THAT MUCH SPACE LEFT TO PUSH VEHICLES INTO. THE ON RAMP AT SR56 AND I75 IS A BIG ONE; ITS TWO LANES WIDE WITH A DECENT CURB FOR BREAKDOWNS AND EMERGENCY VEHICLES TO PASS. INSTEAD OF TWO OR THREE CARS ABREAST, THERE WERE FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX CARS ABREAST AT DIFFERENT PLACES. IT LOOKED LIKE SOME OF JAMES’ OLD GAMES HE PLAYED WITH HIS “BEEP-BEEPS.” WHEN WE FINALLY GOT ONTO THE INTERSTATE PROPER IT WASN EVEN WORSE.

TO BE HONEST THE SLOW PROGRESS DROVE ME NUTS. ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT, BESIDES ALREADY BEING LONELY FOR SISSY AND THE KIDS, WAS ABOUT HAVING TO DRIVE LIKE THAT THE WHOLE WAY TO THE HIGH SPRINGS EXIT. THE ONLY THING THAT MADE THAT TRIP BEARABLE WERE THE GAMES THAT ANGUS AND I CREATED. WE DEVELOPED A POINT SYSTEM FOR HOW FAR WE COULD PUSH CARS, POINTS FOR DIFFERENT KINDS OF CARS, POINTS FOR CARS WITH ZOMBIES IN THEM. THE INSANITY WAS THE ONLY THING KEEPING THE BOREDOM UNDER CONTROL.

SOMEONE HAD BEEN THROUGH LOOTING MOST OF THE VEHICLES. IN ADDITION TO ALL THE DAMAGE FROM WRECKS, STALLS, ROAD RAGE, AND ZOMBIE ATTACKS, LUGGAGE AND LOTS OF OTHER STUFF WAS FLUNG EVERY WHERE; SOME OF IT WAS IN NEAT PILES BUT MOST WAS NOT. THERE WAS EVEN STUFF UP IN THE TREES ON EITHER SIDE OF THE INTERSTATE. SOME LOON TP’D A COUPLE OF TREES WITH EVERY PAIR OF UNDERWEAR HE COULD FIND. THERE WERE YOUR TIDY WHITIES, TRADITIONAL BOXERS, GRANNY PANTIES, AND THEN A BUNCH OF THEM DAMN TRASHY THONGS LIKE THE HOOKERS DOWN ON NEBRASKA AVE USED TO LET HANG OUT THERE PANTS LIKE ADVERTISEMENT. I TOLD MY GIRLS IF I EVER CAUGHT THEM WEARING THOSE THINGS THEY WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN FOR A COUPLE OF WEEKS.

DON’T KNOW WHY BUT I GOT SO MAD SEEING THOSE THINGS HANGING IN THE TREE THAT I DEVELOPED A LITTLE ROAD RAGE MYSELF AND JUST ABOUT HAD A DEATH GRIP ON MY REMINGTON SPR94. I FOUND THE GUN IN A HOUSE OVER IN LADARA AND THE FACT THAT IT IS BOTH A SHOTGUN AND A RIFLE IS A PLUS. MAYBE IT’S A LITTLE WEIRD. I KNOW SOME OF THE GUYS KINDA GAVE ME A LOOK FOR BRINGING IT, BUT I JUST HAVE A FEELING THAT BEING ABLE TO USE IT FOR BOTH SHORT RANGE AND LONG RANGE HUNTING OR PROTECTION WILL BE THE PLUS I NEED TO MAKE IT WORK.

WE CONTINUED INCHING ALONG THIS WAY FOR THREE HOURS. IN SOME PLACES IT LOOKED LIKE SOMEONE HAD ALREADY TRIED TO CLEAR LANES BUT THERE WAS NO CONSISTENCY TO IT. IF YOU COULD GO OFF ON THE GRASS THEY DIDN’T CLEAR LANES. WE ALL GOT TIRED OF WEAVING IN AND OUT AND EVENTUALLY WE JUST PLOWED THROUGH AS MUCH AS WE DARED. SOME OF THE CARS YOU COULD TELL HAD BEEN STRIPPED FOR PARTS. THERE WERE A LOT OF CARS WITHOUT TIRES ESPECIALLY. WHEN WE FIRST NOTICED, WE PUT IT DOWN TO LOCAL SCAVENGERS AND SMALL COMMUNITY SURVIVOR GROUPS. THAT MAY HAVE BEEN SOME OF IT, BUT IT WASN’T UNTIL WE RAN INTO THOSE PEOPLE AT THE WEBSTER OFF RAMP THAT WE FOUND OUT WHERE THE MAJORITY OF THE DAMAGE HAD COME FROM.

NORMALLY IT TAKES 45 MINUTES FROM OUR FRONT DOOR TO REACH THE WEBSTER EXIT. I KNOW THIS BECAUSE SISSY ENJOYED GOING TO THE BIG WEBSTER FLEA MARKET A COUPLE OF TIMES A YEAR. THOSE TIMES I DIDN’T GO WITH HER SHE WOULD CALL ME AS SHE WAS GETTING OFF THE INTERSTATE AND THEN AGAIN WHEN SHE GOT TO THE FLEA MARKET ITSELF; I KNEW TO THE MINUTE HOW LONG IT SHOULD TAKE. EVEN IF YOU ADD IN THE FIFTEEN MINUTES IT TOOK AT THE ON RAMP BACK IN TAMPA IT STILL TOOK US THREE TIMES LONGER TO GET TO THAT POINT THAN IT SHOULD HAVE. OUR TOP RATE OF SPEED NEVER GOT OVER 30 MPH AND USUALLY IT RAN BETWEEN 15 AND 25 MPH.

THOSE PEOPLE BLOCKING THE INTERESTATE WERE VERY NERVOUS. THEY WERE ALSO ANGRY. EVERY ONE OF THEM LOOKED LIKE THEY HAD SOME SORT OF INJURY THEY WERE FAVORING WHICH DIDN’T MAKE US FEEL REAL COMFORTABLE.

THE ONLY THING THAT SAVED US FROM HAVING A SHOOT OUT WAS ANGUS AND THOSE CRAZY DOGS OF HIS. HE TALKS TO THEM AND DAMN IF IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE THEY TALK BACK.

YOU DON’T MESS WITH PEOPLE THAT HAVE A ROCKET LAUNCHER AIMED AT YOU. THEY TOLD US TO EXIT OUR VEHICLES AND THAT’S WHAT WE DID. I DIDN’T LIKE THE CHIP ON THEIR SHOULDER AS SOON AS THE GUY IN CHARGE STARTED RUNNING HIS MOUTH ABOUT US BEING RAIDERS OR ROAD PIRATES; AND THAT’S THE MOST POLITE THING THEY CALLED US. DIX TRIED TO EXPLAIN THAT WE WEREN’T RAIDERS OR ANYTHING AND JUST WANTED TO PASS AND KEEP HEADING NORTH. NO MATTER WHAT WE SAID THINGS KEPT DETERIORATING.

OUT OF THE BLUE ANGUS STARTS TALKING TO THE DOGS.

HE LOOKED AT THEM AND SAID, “DO YOU MIND? YOU ARE NOT PART OF THIS DISCUSSION.” LIKE THE DOGS HAD BEEN TRYING TO BUTT IN OR SOMETHING.

THE FUNNY THING WAS THAT MISCHIEF “REPLIED” WITH SOME DOGGIE WHINES AND GRUNTS.

“NO, I’M SORRY. WHEN YOUR OPINION IS WANTED WE’LL ASK FOR IT.”

THEN BOTH DOGS STARTED “TALKING” BACK.

BY THAT TIME ALL THE FOLKS ON THE WEBSTER SIDE HAD GOTTEN REAL QUIET AND ALL OF US WERE LOOKING AT ANGUS LIKE HE’D FINALLY LOST HIS MIND.

“EXCUSE ME. I’M NOT GONNA PUT UP WITH SASS FROM YOU TWO. BEHAVE OR GET BACK IN THE CAB.”

AS ANGUS REFOCUSED ON US HUMANS, MAYHEM PASSED DOGGIE GAS. I MEAN HE PASSED IT LIKE HE HAD EATEN A #10 CAN OF HOT CHILI WITH BEANS KIND OF GAS.

THE LOOK ON ANGUS’ FACE CANNOT BE DESCRIBED. “MY GAWD. IF YOU’RE GONNA BE THAT KIND OF SMART ASS YOU CAN JUST RIDE IN THE DAMN TRAILER!”

I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW HE DID IT BUT BY THAT TIME WE WERE ALL PRACTICALLY ON THE GROUND AND HOWLING. THE SITUATION HAD BEEN COMPLETELY DEFUSED. I’VE SEEN HIM PULL THE SAME KIND THING IN SANCTUARY BUT SISSY YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT. IT’S SOMETHING WE CAN TELL OUR GRANDKIDS ABOUT; A CRAZY MAN SAVING THE DAY. THAT WASN’T THE FIRST TIME WE WOUND UP OWING OUR LIVES TO ANGUS ON THIS TRIP EITHER.

AS FOR THE WEBSTER FOLKS, SEEMS THEY HAD REASON TO BE SUSPICIOUS. EVER SINCE LAW AND ORDER BROKE DOWN THEY’VE HAD TROUBLE WITH A LOT OF CRIME THAT EVENTUALLY COALESCED IN THE FORM OF GANGS. THE GANGS OFF THE ROAD THEY CALL RAIDERS. THE RAIDERS THAT USE THE INTERSTATE AND HIGHWAY SYSTEM THEY CALL ROAD PIRATES. BETWEEN THE ZOMBIES AND THE RAIDER GROUPS THE LOSS OF LIFE IN THEIR COMMUNITY HAS BEEN PRETTY SUBSTANTIAL. WE TOLD THEM ABOUT THE RADIO CHANNEL THAT WE WERE TRYING TO GET GOING SO THAT SURVIVOR GROUPS COULD KEEP IN CONTACT WITH ONE ANOTHER BUT I DON’T KNOW IF THEYARE GOING TO BE RECEPTIVE TO IT IN THE LONG RUN OR NOT. WE LEFT THEM A FLYER ANYWAY JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHER FLYERS WE’D BEEN HANGING EVERY COUPLE OF MILES.

THEY SAID IT HAD BEEN UNUSUALLY QUIET LATELY AND THAT IT HAD BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE THE LAST INCURSION BY THE RAIDERS. THEY THOUGHT IT WAS MAYBE THAT THE RAIDERS HAD HEARD ABOUT THEIR ROCKET LAUNCHER. DIX THOUGHT IT WAS MORE LIKELY THAT THE RAIDERS WERE SIMPLY OCCUPIED ELSEWHERE.

DIX TURNED OUT TO BE RIGHT THAT TIME. ANOTHER HOUR AND A HALF DOWN THE ROAD WE FINALLY MADE IT TO THE BIG WILDWOOD TRUCK STOP AREA. COMING FROM THE SOUTH YOU CAN’T SEE WILDWOOD UNTIL YOU ARE RIGHT UP ON IT. ABOUT A MILE BACK THE FLIES STARTED GETTING REALLY BAD. WE’VE ALREADY ENCOUNTERED THAT PROBLEM IN TAMPA SO WE KNEW WE WOULD BE DEALING WITH A LOT OF CORPES. THE QUESTION WAS WHETHER THE CORPSES WERE GOING TO BE NRS INFECTED OR PERMANENTLY DEAD. YOU HAVEN’T SEEN GROSS UNTIL YOU’VE SEEN A ZOMBIE THAT IS WALKING AROUND WHILE INFESTED WITH FLESH EATING MAGGOTS.

WE CAME AROUND THE BEND AND THE SMELL WAS GOD AWFUL; WE COULD SEE BODIES AND PARTS OF BODIES LYING BLOATED AND DECAYING EVERYWHERE. THE SOUND OF THE FLIES WAS CONSTANT AND REMINDED ME OF THE AIRPORT ON A BUSY DAY. WE STILL DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER THEY WERE DEAD OR MADE DEAD, BUT THE LURE OF THE FUEL SUPPLIES WAS TOO MUCH FOR US TO IGNORE. WE SLOWLY AND GINGERLY PULLED OFF THE INTERSTATE THAT WAS AMAZINGLY FREE OF ANY KIND OF ROADBLOCKS AT THAT POINT.

WE PULLED INTO THE LEAST CONGESTED REFUELING STATION. ANGUS KEPT JUICER RUNNING AND I WRAPPED A BANDANA AROUND MY NOSE AND MOUTH THEN ROLLED OUT AND OVER TO THE AVALANCHE TO SEE WHAT DIXON WANTED TO DO. SOME IDIOT CRAWLING OUT OF THE RUBBLE NEARLY DIED WHEN HE DIDN’T GIVE US ANY WARNING. I STOPPED THE SHOT JUST IN TIME AND DIXON, THE FASTER MARKSMAN, WAS ABLE TO PULL HIS SHOT WIDE OF THE MARK OTHERWISE WE WOULD HAVE BOTH PUT A BULLET IN HIM.

IN TOTAL THERE ARE SIX SURVIVORS, OR WERE SIX AS I DON’T KNOW HOW MANY ARE LEFT NOW, LIVING IN THE DEBRIS LEFT BEHIND BY RAIDERS AND A LARGE ZOMBIE HORDE. SISSY SAYS THAT SHE'S ALREADY WRITTEN DOWN WHAT I TOLD HER ABOUT THIS AREA SO I WON’T REPEAT IT EXCEPT TO SAY THOSE FOOLS WERE PATHETIC. THEY WERE DOING NOTHING TO HELP THEMSELVES. THEY HAD UNIMAGINABLE RICHES JUST LAYING AROUND; THE FUEL, THE FOOD, THE GUNS AND AMMO LEFT BEHIND BY THE RAIDERS. WE TRIED TO PICK SOME OF THE WEAPONS UP AND PUT THEM IN THEIR HANDS BUT THEY WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH THEM. THEY WERE TOO SCARED TO EVEN DEFEND THEMSELVES. IDIOTS; PACIFISTS AND THE INTENTIONALLY HELPLESS WON’T SURVIVE THESE DAYS. YOU DON’T NEED TO BE A BULLY, BUT YOU CAN’T EXPECT PEOPLE TO TREAT YOU WITH RESPECT IF YOU WON’T DO ANYTHING TO EARN IT EITHER.

WE GRABBED SOME GAS AND SOME GUNS THAT WERE LYING ABOUT. I’LL ADMIT MOST EVERYTHING WAS MUCKED UP IN SOME WAY BUT SOME STUFF WAS SALVAGEABLE. MY GUESS IS IF THOSE PEOPLE HAVEN’T GOTTEN OVER THEIR POST TRAUMATIC SHOCK OR WHATEVER IT IS GOING ON WITH THEM THEN THEY ARE TOAST. NO OTHER WAY TO PRETTY IT UP. MORE THAN LIKELY THEY HAVE ALL BECOME ZOMBIE CHOW. I WAS ANGRY THEN AND I STILL GET ANGRY THINKING ABOUT IT NOW. NO ONE CAN AFFORD TO HELP A PERSON THT WON’T PARTICIPATE IN THEIR OWN RESCUE. FAILING TO AT LEAST TRY AND HELP YOURSELF IS CRIMINAL.

WHAT IS REALLY BAD IS THAT THOSE SIX, AS BAD A SHAPE AS THEY WERE IN, WERE THE LAST LIVE PEOPLE WE SAW THAT DAY. WE CONTINUED HEADING NORTH, STILL WEAVING IN AND OUT OF TRAFFIC OR JUST SHOVING THROUGH BUT NEVER HAVING AN EASY TIME OF IT. ABOUT THE TIME WE PASSED THE MICANOPY EXIT THINGS STARTED GETTING EERIE. I MEAN ALL ANIMAL SOUNDS WERE GONE. ANGUS’ TRUCK IS NOISY, BUT WHEN IDLING YOU CAN STILL HEAR STUFF. THERE JUST WASN'T ANYTHING OUT THERE; LIKE THE HAND OF GOD HAD COME DOWN AND SNUFFED ALL LIFE RIGHT OUT.

WE HAD MAINTAINED RADIO SILENCE AS MUCH AS WE COULD JUST TO BE ON THE SAFE SIDE. IN THAT LOCATION THOUGH IT WAS JUST TOO FREAKY TO GET OUT OF OUR VEHICLES. WE SLOWED DOWN TO A CRAWL, SOME DUE TO TRAFFIC AND SOME DUE TO THE FACT THAT IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING WAS ABOUT TO JUMP UP OUT OF THE BUSHES AT US AT ANY SECOND.

WE GOT TO A REASONABLY CLEAR SECTION AND PULLED OVER. WE LEFT THE VEHICLES RUNNING; WE WEREN’T STUPID. THE BRUSH OUT ON PAYNE’S PRAIRIE MOVED LIKE IT HAD NO WIND I HAD EVER SEEN RIPPLING THROUGH IT. UNNATURAL ANIMAL SOUNDS ALSO COULD NOW BE HEARD FROM JUST ABOUT EVERY DIRECTION. WHEN WE HEARD THE DAMN LION ROARING THOUGH, THAT IS WHEN WE DECIDED IT WAS TIME TO GET OUR BUTTS BACK IN THE CABS AND GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE. I WON’T GO THAT WAY AGAIN IF THERE IS ANY WAY AROUND IT. WHATEVER HAS INHERITED THE PRAIRIE AND MADE IT HOME ISN’T ANYTHING I WANT TO MEET UP WITH.

WE GOT OFF THE INTERSTATE AT THE FIRST GAINESVILLE EXIT WHICH IS 331. IT LOOKED LIKE A WAR ZONE. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK THERE ARE BURNED OUT BUILDINGS, BURNED OUT CARS, BROKEN WINDOWS THOUGH SOMEONE DID TRY AND BOARD SOME OF THEM UP AT SOME POINT; EVEN THE ROADS LOOK LIKE THEY HAD BEEN BLOWN UP IN PLACES. WE CIRCUMNAVIGATED THE WHOLE CITY AND IT WAS ALL LIKE THAT, INCLUDING THE CAMPUS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA. THAT PLACE WAS NEARLYAS BAD AS PAYNE’S PRAIRIE. WE NEVER SAW A SINGLE LIVING SOUL THOUGH THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN SOME PEOPLE IN ONE OF THE CAMPUS BUILDINGS. IT COULD JUST AS EASILY HAVE BEEN ZOMBIES THAT WERE STUCK INSIDE. NONE OF US WANTED TO FIND OUT THOUGH WE HUNG UP THE REQUISITE FLYERS IN VAIN HOPE.

WE DECIDED TO GET OUT OF DODGE AND HEAD BACK TO THE INTERSTATE ON 222. AS WE PASSED DEVIL’S MILLHOPPER GEOLOGIC PARK SOME SOUND COMING OUT OF THERE CAUGHT OUR EARS. AFTER A BRIEF CONSULTATION WE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT AND SLOWLY WALKED THE BOARDWALK LOOKING FOR THE CAUSE OF THE HUMAN VOICES WE KEPT HEARING AT ODD INTERVALS. IT WAS COMING FROM THE SINKHOLE AREA AND WE EASED OUR WAY OVER TO CHECK IT OUT.

THE SIGHT THAT MET MY EYES WHEN I FINALLY FIGURED OUT WHAT I WAS LOOKING AT WAS ALMOST TOO MUCH. TOUGH OL’ MCELROY HAD FINALLY FOUND SOMETHING THAT MADE HIM TOSS HIS COOKIES. THE REST OF US WEREN’T TOO MUCH FROM FOLLOWING HIM.

IT WAS A YOUNG GIRL, OR WHAT USED TO BE A GIRL. SHE … IT … WAS IMPALED ON A PIECE OF BROKEN BOARDWALK ABOUT HALF WAY DOWN INTO THE SINKHOLE NATURE TRAIL. SHE HAD ONE OF THOSE SOLIO SOLAR CHARGERS HOOKED UP TO HER IPOD. THE SOUND SHOULD HAVE BEEN BARELY AUDIBLE BUT WAS SOMEHOW AMPLIFIED BY THE ACOUSTICS OF THE SINKHOLE. IT WAS LIKE WATCHING A BUG STUCK ON A PIN. HER LEGS AND ARMS, CLAD IN WHAT MUST HAVE BEEN A BRIGHT YELLOW T-SHIRT AND SHORTS AT ONE TIME, MOVED IN AN ODD SEMBLANCE OF TAPING TO THE BEAT OF THE MUSIC. I FINALLY PULLED MYSELF AWAY AND SAID A QUICK PRAYER THAT I’LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE MY KIDS LIKE THAT. I'LL RIP MY OWN EYES OUT FIRST.

WE ALL QUICKLY RETURNED TO THE VEHICLES THOROUGHLY DEPRESSED. WHY IS IT YOU CAN LOOK AT ZOMBIE AFTER ZOMBIE, SOME OF THEM HORRORIFICALLY DISFIGURED WITH NO REACTION; BUT THEN SOME ZOMBIES WILL JUST KICK YOU IN THE GUT EMOTIONALLY AND PSYCHOLOGICALLY?

IT WAS GETTING LATE BY THAT TIME, TOO LATE TO GET AWAY FROM THE HELL ON EARTH THAT GAINESVILLE HAD BECOME. LATE ENOUGH THAT WE STARTED TO WORRY THAT WE WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO FIND A DEFENSIBLE POSITION TO HOLE UP FOR THE NIGHT. WE STOPPED AT THREE PLACES BEFORE RUNNING ACROSS A D.O.T. SHED THAT WAS JUST EAST OF THE INTERSTATE ITSELF. IT WAS MADE OF CONCRETE BLOCK AND HAD HEAVY ROLL DOWNS ON BAYS RATHER THAN REGULAR WINDOWS AND DOORS. WE EVEN FOUND A FUEL PUMP BEHIND THE SHED THAT HAD BEEN OVERLOOKED BY LOOTERS.

THAT’S WHERE WE STAYED THE NIGHT. BUT FRANKLY I DON’T THINK ANY OF US WOULD HAVE SLEPT AT ALL IF WE HADN’T BEEN SO TIRED.

Day 134 (Tuesday)

After reading Scott’s first submission for my journal I have a feeling I’m going to find out things that happened on the North Florida Run that maybe I would prefer not to know. Oh well, I asked for it. And besides Scott is home and that is all that counts at the moment.

Actually Scott and Jim were gone off and on most of the day. They were helping Angus get set up. When they weren’t over there, they were working with the crews that have begun to bring down all of the wooden telephone poles that can be found within a decent radius of Sanctuary. Everyone still has the hole-digging saboteurs on their mind. Every morning and night we walk the entire perimeter to make sure that no one else has been interfering with the Wall. I spent a lot of time today raking debris away from the bottom edge so that we can tell if anyone has disturbed things. Eventually we’ll hook a drag or something similar behind the tow truck and keep a firebreak that is all dirt.

Besides that, I mended a couple of shirts, went over the garden and groves for anything ready to harvest, and I went through a couple of more boxes and bags from my parents’ stuff. I found all my mom’s dried beans that she packed into her old half gallon and gallon-sized canning jars. At least I think I found them all. The way my brother packed things into the trailer didn't have any kind of organization to it at all. I remember seeing those jars full of tomato juice in my grandmother’s fruit house. Amazing the memories of childhood that stick with you. I also remember that blasted rooster that used to guard the fruit house like he was a battalion commander or something. I still have a scar in the top of my head where he attacked me one time.

I’ll keep some of the beans but most of them will go into Sanctuary’s supplies. I’m also keeping some to see if I can get them to germinate. The end of this month most of the bush beans should be dried on their vines and I’ll pull them and winnow the beans, adding another supply of long term storage food that we badly need. I’m anxious for the garbanzo beans to make especially since we don’t have that many left. For those that don’t know what a garbanzo bean is, it’s just a chick pea.

A thought ran across my head last night and it’s been eating at me. What happens if we can't keep all of the different species of food plants going? I mean, what if we have a failure one year of say our dent corn variety? It’s not like we can just go out and find a new supplier. We are it. Same with the different squashes, beans, and all the other vegetables and fruits. Will we lose varieties as times go by so that in a couple of years or so we are down to one type of each ... or maybe none at all because they all got some kind of plant disease? That really worries me. It’s just one more reason why getting a trade route opened up is going to be important. Information is the big thing, but there are a lot of other practical reasons behind it as well.

This Saturday I intend on trying something new with beans. I found a recipe while looking through one of my mother’s cookbooks. The book must have been a gift from a friend because it isn’t one I recognize. The recipe is called Spicy Bean Bread. We’ve already had to start finding ways to extend our wheat flour. In addition to the pallet of 50 lbs. bags of flour we still have I have a couple of barrels of whole wheat but that won’t last but a couple of more months at the rate it takes to feed nearly 50 people. After that we’ll be down to growing dent corn for cornmeal, assuming we can pull that off. The more options we have the better. I know a little north of here by a county they can grow winter rye but I’m not sure if it will make seed around here. We mostly use it for making grass during the winter months. I supposed I can plant a patch now and see how well it does. I’ve got a boatload of soybeans that I can grind for soy flour but that needs other flours to make bread, same with rice flour and potato flour. Bean flour and acorn flour I already know how to make. I think, but I’m not sure, that we may be able to grow millet around here. Again, that’s an experiment that needs to be done. We are already doing lots of experimenting, trying to find replacements for things we used to take for granted.

Patricia and Rhonda, our two pregnant ladies, are getting along really well. I’m glad. There is almost 15 years of age difference between them but their common experience bridges that. Rachel, whatever her personal feelings, continues to be the supreme professional when it comes to their medical care. If I never say another word about her I’ll always respect her for that. I haven't talked to Rachel today. I haven't had time. She worries me a bit, maybe because she, Patricia, and I share both the best and worst personality characteristics I see her having a really hard time adjusting to whatever is going on between her and Dix. I haven't a clue how Patricia dealt with Dix's idiocyncrasies over the years; I would have beaned him with a skillet a long time ago. Scott can be mule-headed and testosterone driven but he's also got some depth to him. Dix strikes me as the kind of man who doesn't realize he has depths until middle age ... maybe that's the problem. He's going through his own adjustment reaction.

Tonight over dinner everyone was discussing all of the projects, building and otherwise, that need to be worked on here in Sanctuary. The list is depressingly long though not all of the projects are necessities. Scott said he needs to get things prioritized so that we can get them on the chore calendars. After a relatively short debate it was agreed unanimously that we need to get the “skin” of telephone poles on the outside of the Wall. It’s going to be a huge undertaking and will likely take weeks to complete. Not only that, but we will probably have to pull those poles down from all over town to get enough for our purposes.

That job begins tomorrow with the poles that were pulled down today. While Scott guides the team installing the poles, McElroy will take charge of the team who will gather the next day’s supply of poles. If that team can stay a day or two ahead of the installers there should be less down time to slow the project up.

The bad thing about this will be that most of the adult men will be needed to work both crews. It will be up to the women and children to keep our regular chore schedule going. Matlock and Dixon both agree that James will temporarily be put in charge of guard duty rotations for the boys. To rotate shifts he has himself, Samuel, Bo and Tom who are still too young for single watches so they team up, Marty, and Clark Morris. Marty has begun to settle down and is reliable as long as he has specific and firm instructions. James says Clark is nearly 16 and is also good as a bow hunter. He’s promised to show James how to hunt big game with a compound bow. Maybe sooner rather than later. We heard some elk bugling in the area this morning.

We women will fill in the rest of the slots and some of the adult men will take supper watch and pre-breakfast watch that way, barring any emergencies, they should be able to have at least six hours uninterrupted sleep so that they can work hard all day.

I hope simultaneously that they are able to finish some of the roofs on the guard towers as well as build the new one at the obtuse bend in the Wall. The tarps won’t last forever and we’ve had some wind the last couple of days too that caused some flapping and ripping.

I worry when it gets windy like this. In the summer I’d say tropical weather was on its way. In the winter it could presage a cold front. But I like the winter winds least. It’s not the possible cold so much as it is the drying effect the wind has on everything. The lower humidity is nice as is speed up on the clothes line but when we haven’t had any rain this is also known as wildfire weather. Every once in a while I am startled to catch a whiff of smoke on the wind. I haven’t seen any smoke but I just know I’ve smelled it. Scott mentioned today that Angus had said the same thing. Green grass has sprung up all through the Big Fire’s path but that doesn’t mean fire won’t go through there again. There is still plenty of trash to re-ignite if the fire is hot enough.

You know, for the most part we do pretty well as a group here in Sanctuary but there are some things that other residents do that make me scratch my head. When the wood stove was put together, I know that I specifically said that no one could burn green wood or wood with a high sap content like cedar or pine in it. I know I said it. I told them about the danger of creosote build-up that could result in reduced efficiency, smoke, and bad fires. I explained it was the same thing as with indoor fireplaces. You just can’t do some things no matter how much work you think you are saving. We’re just plain lucky that Betty caught the problem before it turned into something worse.

Someone has been burning pine to get the fire started in the combustion chamber. I know only a little has been burned but that little bit had already coated the inside of the fire box and grate as well as the stove pipes. We had to take the whole thing apart and clean the creosote and ash out of it. I was saving the ash too to make lye and now I’ll have to start all over again. I tried hard not to be irritated ‘cause nobody is perfect, but just to make sure everyone remembers I made sure that it was all of us cooks that did that bit of heavy labor. We are also out the use of the stove until tomorrow because a couple of the pieces had to be boiled in a 50/50 solution of water and white vinegar and they have to set overnight before we can use them again. I also made a sign that said “no pine or cedar in the wood box” which should help folks remember as well. We’ve had fun cooking over an open fire again and this wind made it tricky at best. Some of the food had a fine layer of ash for seasoning. We caught some comments from the men on that.

That whole mess brought up that the only thing against putting that skin of wooden poles on the outside of the Wall is fire danger. Luckily Scott thinks he knows where we can get some fire retardant chemicals that we can paint or spray on the logs. It’s the same type of chemical that is used on wood siding and wood shingles here in Florida. Bonus points if we can find the high-end version because that is also mold and termite resistant and lasts up to 10 years. Scott says it only takes one coat and that a gallon covers 125 square feet. At that rate we better find a lot of it; but at least we don’t have to worry about the price; chuckle, chuckle.

The citrus harvest is getting ahead of me. I’ve still got some tangerines on the trees and J. Paul said he found several loaded tangerine trees three blocks to our east in someone’s back yard. Being from north Florida he isn’t used to being able to pull citrus straight from the tree. I told him to go ahead and take the napsack full that he had brought back so his family could eat their fill. Tomorrow I’ll take the cart over there with the wagon attached and bring back several bushels, juice them, and then can the juice. I might dry some of the peel but most of it will go into compost. I'm loving that little barrel composter that James made for me. I wish he had time to make several. He said he will but I haven't got a clue when he will find the time to do it.

The oranges and tangelos are starting to come in like gangbusters as well. As I have the opportunity I’ll pull oranges from trees outside the Wall and preserve them in some way. I’ll leave what I can on the trees inside the Wall and we’ll probably be drinking orange juice at every meal until June or July. The end of this month we also have the white, pink, and ruby red grapefruits coming in. The temples and valencias won’t be ready until March, which is fine by me.

I’d like to try and take advantage of such abundance while we have it. After the grapefruit come in I plan on having grilled grapefruit for breakfast at least once a week. Of course the citrus will be added to our regular fruit salad bowl at lunch. I’m also using the citrus juice to make different flavors of salad dressings like Orange-Honey French and Cooked Citrus Dressing. But there is the Sun Belt Lasagna recipe that Mr. Morris gave me that he said his wife one first place at the county fair with. I’m also thinking of making Citrus Ham Balls by grinding up some of the canned hams we have. And you can really jazz up veggies using citrus like the Squash in Orange Cream Sauce we had tonight at dinner. I had to make the sour cream from canned milk but you couldn’t tell the difference. In the morning I am fixing Orange Cinnamon Toast for breakfast. If I don’t watch it folks might get tired of the citrus before it is gone. Its going to be feast or famine from here on out I'm afraid.

We’ve heard from the Tarpon Springs group. They need a part for a boat but can’t find it in their area. It is for one of the larger shrimp or crab boats. They think that it is available over in the Port of Tampa. If we can get the part and meet them half way then they’ll trade us some fresh sea food. It means a dangerous trip back over the Port area and it will also mean delays on completing the Wall, but the amount of seafood they are talking about as trade would make a huge meal and leave us some to can for later. That’s assuming we can find the part. Jim, who is familiar with boat engines and also intimately familiar with the lay out of the Port says that he is willing to go to the Port and then transport the part to Tarpon Springs. I think he has been looking for a way to contribute besides teaching the kids how to take care of the Ostrich. He’s a nice man, but I can tell he’s been itching for some action. I don’t think he is all that used to a tame life.

And with that I’m done for the night. I’ll stick Scott’s next installment here. I was right, there are a few things about the North Florida Run that I was more comfortable not knowing.

SCOTT’S NARRATION OF THE NORTH FLORIDA RUN
Part Two

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 2ND, WAS OUR FIRST FULL DAY ON THE ROAD. BASICALLY THE DAY SUCKED FROM BEGINNING TO END WITH ONLY A MINOR BREAK FROM THE SUCKFEST AROUND LUNCHTIME.

FIRST THING IN THE MORNING WE HAD TO SHOOT OUR WAY OUT OF GAINESVILLE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT DRIVES THE ZOMBIES TO BE LIKE THEY ARE. ALL I KNOW IS THAT THEY CAN BE A PAIN IN THE BUTT. THEY ARE ALWAYS MUCKING UP THE BEST LAID PLANS.

ABOUT 3AM THE DOGS WOKE US UP WITH THEIR DAMN COLD NOSES. A COLD NOSE ON THE BACK OF THE NECK WILL WAKE THE DEAD OUT OF A DEEP SLEEP. IT WAS TOO DARK TO SEE FOR SURE BUT FROM THE SOUND OF ALL THE SHUFFLING AND SCRAPING WE NEEDED AN NRS EXTERMINATION TEAM BADLY. THERE WAS NO WAY TO RELAX ENOUGH TO GO BACK TO SLEEP SO WE SAT AROUND IN THE DARK TRYING TO BE AS QUIET AS POSSIBLE. SUNRISE REVEALED THE TAILEND OF WHAT MUST HAVE BEEN A VERY LARGE ZOMBIE HORDE HEADING EAST. GOD HELP ANYONE IN THEIR WAY.

WHAT DRIVES THEM TO MOVE IN CONCERT LIKE SCHOOLS OF FISH? WE STILL DON’T KNOW FOR SURE BUT TOWARDS THE END OF THE TRIP WE MAY HAVE FOUND PART OF THE PUZZLE.

THE HORDE FINALLY PASSED BUT IT LEFT A LARGE NUMBER OF STRAGGLERS BEHIND. YOU NEVER TURN YOU BACK ON A ZOMBIE. IT DOESN’T MATTER WHETHER IT IS PART OF A HUGE HORDE, IN A GROUP OF STRAGGLERS, OR JUST OFF ON ITS OWN. WHETHER A ZOMBIE IS ONE OF MANY OR ONE ALONE IT CAN STILL MAKE YOU JUST AS DEAD. SOMETIMES THE STRAGGLRERS AND SINGLES CAN BE THE WORST. AFTER DEALING WITH A HORDE YOU CAN UNDERESTIMATE THEIR DANGER.

WE’VE LEARNED THE HARD WAY THAT THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A HARMLESS ZOMBIE OR AN EASY KILL. WE TREATED THESE STRAGGLERS LIKE WE WOULD NUCLEAR WASTE; KEEP AS MUCH DISTANCE BETWEEN US AND THEM AND THEN FOCUS ON CONTAINMENT AND NUETRALIZATION.

NORMALLY WE MIGHT HAVE KEPT TRACK OF WHO SHOT HOW MANY AND WITH WHAT WEAPON. WE COMPARE STATS TO SEE WHICH WEAPON IS WORKING BEST IN WHAT SITUATION. I CAN TELL RIGHT NOW THAT MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A DIFFERENT WEAPON WITH ME. I’M NOT ALL THAT FAMILIAR WITH THE SPR94 AND RELOADING IS A PAIN WHEN YOU ARE DEALING WITH MULTIPLE TARGETS. I’M JUST NOT AS FAST AS THE REST OF THE GUYS ARE, THOUGH I’M A HELL OF A LOT FASTER THAN I USED TO BE. ACCURACY IS GREAT; JUST NEED TO WORK ON THE RELOADING ISSUE, TWO SHOTS – ONE RIFLE, ONE SHOTGUN – AND THEN I HAVE TO STOP AND TAKE TIME I MIGHT NOT HAVE. I THINK THE GUN WILL BE A LOT HANDIER FOR HUNTING THAN FOR ZED DEFENSE. I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, "I’LL GIVE IT MORE TIME TO SEE BUT IF WE PASS ANY MORE PAWNSHOPS ALONG THE WAY I MIGHT WANT TO TRY AND PICK UP ANOTHER WEAPON."

WE FINALLY GOT CLEAR AND EASED BACK UP ONTO THE INTERSTATE. NONE OF US WERE IN THE MOOD TO DEAL WITH THE GRIDLOCK. JAMES IS … WAS … A GATOR FAN AND THOUGHT ABOUT GOING TO UF FOR COLLEGE. IT WAS DEPRESSING TO THINK ON ALL THAT HE WOULD NOW MISS BECAUSE OF NRS. I GRABBED A COUPLE OF PENNANTS THAT HAD BEEN LYING AROUND IN THE D.O.T. SHED BUT SEEING ALL OF THE DEAD KIDS IN THE CARS ON THE INTERESTATE AND ALL THE ZOMBIES AROUND HERE WITH GATOR COLORS ON MADE ME RETHINK WHETHER I WOULD GIVE THEM TO HIM OR NOT. THEY ARE STILL IN JUICER UNDER THE SEAT.

THE INTERSTATE WAS SO BAD HEADING NORTH OUT OF GAINESVILLE THAT WE NEARLY GOT BLOCKED IN AND COULDN’T MOVE. WE HAD TO BACK TRACK, DRIVING BACKWARDS, TO A PLACE WE COULD CROSS THE INTERSTATE TO THE OTHER SIDE. AFTER STOPPING FOR A CONSULTATION WE DECIDED THAT WE NEEDED OFF THE INTERSTATE AND WE NEEDED OFF RIGHT THEN, IF FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN OUR NERVES.

WE HEADED BACK SOUTH A BIT AND PICKED UP SR26 THINKING WE WOULD TAKE IT WEST TO US27 AND THEN GO NORTH INTO ALACHUA FROM THERE. ONCE WE WERE OFF THE INTERSTATE WE MADE BETTER TIME; NOT GREAT TIME, BUT BETTER. EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER MUST HAVE TRIED TO ESCAPE FROM ONE PLACE TO ANOTHER ONCE THE STATE-WIDE QUARANTINE WENT INTO EFFECT. NO PLACE WITHIN MILES OF THE INTERSTATE WAS SAFE. IN ADDITION TO THEIR OWN POPULATION DENSITY, TOWNS ALONG THE ROADWAYS HAD TO DEAL WITH THE MOBS LEAVING THE BIG CITIES. SOMETIMES I WONDER IF THAT IS WHY WE DON’T HAVE AS MANY ZOMBIES AS EXPECTED DOWN IN TAMPA. YOU GET ENOUGH LEAVING TOWN, THE CITIES WIND UP BEING EMPTIER THAN THE RURAL AREAS. IT MUST HAVE BEEN A FREAKING NIGHTMARE AT ANY BORDER TOWN ALONG THE STATE LINE.

WHEN WE GOT TO THE INTERSECTION OF SR26 AND US27 WE CHANGED PLANS AGAIN. IF ALACHUA WASN'T ANY BETTER THAN GAINESVILLE IT WAS JUST A WASTE OF FUEL AND TIME TO HEAD ANY FURTHER NORTH. IT WAS SHORTER TO GET TO TRENTON AT THAT POINT, AND THAT WAS ONLY ABOUT 10 MILES FROM SISSY’S PARENTS’ PLACE. I WAS TRYING NOT TO THINK TOO MUCH ABOUT WHAT WE WOULD FIND WHEN WE FINALLY GOT THERE BUT SISSY NEEDED TO KNOW. HELL, I NEEDED TO KNOW. I KNOW I WAS PISSED AT SISSY FOR TRYING OVER AND OVER WITH THE DAMN CELL PHONE. I FEEL BAD FOR IT AND I HOPE READING THIS SHE UNDERSTANDS THAT I WAS NEVER ANGRY AT HER BUT AT THE HOPELESS FEELINGS I HAD AND AT HOW MUCH I KNEW SHE WAS HURTING.

WE WOUND UP PULLING OVER AND EATING LUNCH AND DOING A LITTLE DE FACTO BURGLARY AT A PAWNSHOP THAT SET BACK FROM THE ROAD A BIT. IT WAS ALL BOARDED UP WITH HURRICANE SHUTTERS AND IT TOOK US NEARLY A HALF HOUR TO BREAK IN. IN FACT, WE ONLY MADE IT IN BECAUSE ANGUS BUMPED THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING AND PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE EXTERIOR BLOCK WALL.

WAS LIKE A DAMN CANDY STORE IN THERE. IT HADN’T BEEN TOUCHED WHICH SAID TO ME MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE COULD THAT NEWBERRY HAD BEEN EMPTY A LONG, LONG TIME … MAYBE SINCE SEPTEMBER.

MCELROY WAS THE FIRST TO FIND HIM A NEW WEAPON. IT WAS A 9MM BERETTA. I GUESS HE WAS HAPPY WITH IT. HE WAS CUDDLING THE DAMN THING LIKE IT WAS A NEW GIRLFRIEND. DIXON FOUND ANOTHER COLT 1911 SO NOW HE HAS A SPARE. HE AND ANGUS WERE TALKING OVER THE PROS AND CONS OF THE GUN WHEN DIX SPOTTED SOMETHING AND CALLED ME OVER. HE WAS SMART AND DIDN’T TRY AND TALK ME OUT OF THE SPR94 BUT HE DID ASK ME TO GIVE THE AK47 HE FOUND A TRY. HE SAID IT ISN’T THE MOST ACCURATE GUN ON THE MARKET BUT SINCE YOU CAN SHOOT IT FAST THAT ISN’T MUCH OF A FACTOR AS LONG AS YOUR TARGET IS WITHIN 100 YARDS. SEVERAL TIMES I’VE FOUND THAT TO BE TRUE NOW. I STILL LIKE MY SPR94 BUT THE AK47 HAS A PLACE IN MY GEAR AS WELL. IT’S CERTAINLY EASY ENOUGH TO USE. ALONG WITH THE ASSAULT RIFLE WE DUG OUT SEVERAL MAGAZINES FOR IT; A COUPLE OF 30 ROUND MAGAZINES, A COUPLE OF 40 ROUND MAGAZINES, AND THEN A DRUM MAGAZINE THAT WILL HOLD 75 ROUNDS. SAVES ME TIME ON RELOADING THAT’S FOR CERTAIN. GUESS IT MEANS THAT THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO COVER FOR ME AS MUCH EITHER, I DIDN'T THINK OF THAT UNTIL LATER THOUGH.

WE LOADED UP ALL THE AMMO WE FOUND IN THE STORE, AND THERE WAS CONSIDERABLE. WHOEVER THE OWNER WAS, LIKELY HE WASN’T DEALING WITH JUST YOUR LEGAL STUFF. YOU TELL ME WHAT LEGAL PAWNSHOP OWNER KEEPS HONEST TO GOD HAND GRENADES AND BLOCKS OF C4 IN A CONCRETE BUNKER IN A BACK ROOM. HAD ANGUS TAPPED THE BUILDING ANY HARDER, WE MIGHT HAVE FLOWN BACK TO TAMPA WITH HEAVENLY WINGS. THERE WAS ALSO A BOX OF WHAT LOOKED LIKE LAND MINES. DIX WAS BREATHING HARD AFTER WE HAD PILED A BUNCH OF THE STUFF UP TO TAKE. DON’T KNOW IF HE WAS GETTING OFF ON IT OR NOT BUT I SURE AS HELL WASN’T TOO HAPPY KNOWING WHAT SOME OF THE STUFF I WAS SITTING ON WAS.

GRABBED SISSY A GUN FROM THERE TOO. NICE LITTLE RUGER LONG BARREL. MAYBE IF IT IS PRETTY SHE WON’T FORGET SHE HAS IT ON HER AND WILL ACTUALLY USE IT AND STOP RELYING ON THAT BLASTED MACHETE SHE LIKES TOO MUCH. I’D RATHER SHE STAY FURTHER AWAY FROM ANY ASSAILANT THAN AN ARM PLUS MACHETE LENGTH.

THERE WAS A LOT OF OTHER STUFF IN THE PAWNSHOP TOO BUT IT WASN’T WORTH THE HASSLE OF TAKING IT. WE’VE ALREADY GOT A NICE LITTLE STASH OF STUFF AT DRISCOLL’S SO THERE WASN’T ANY REASON FOR US TO GRAB THE JEWELRY AND COINS THAT WERE IN THE GLASS CASES, THEY’D ONLY WEIGH US DOWN. I DID POCKET A HANDFUL OF CAMEO PINS THAT WERE THERE FOR SISSY AND THE GIRLS. I WANTED SOME OF THE TOOLS I SAW, BUT AGAIN, WE’VE GOT THAT STUFF BACK IN SANCTUARY. THREW ALL THE KNIVES IN A COUPLE OF STORAGE TUBS THOUGH AND GOT THIS NIFTY LITTLE THING CALLED A SHOCK KNIFE. MCELROY SAID IT WAS A TRAINING TOOL CREATED IN CANADA. IT DELIVERS AN ELECTRIC SHOCK THAT SIMULATES THE PAIN OF AN ACTUAL KNIFE WOUND AND IS SUPPOSED TO CREATE THE SAME FIGHT OR FLIGHT RESPONSE WITHOUT CREATING AN ACTUAL WOUND. TO BE HONEST I HAVEN’T GOT A CLUE WHEN IT MIGHT GET SOME USE, BUT YOU NEVER KNOW. DOUBLE BONUS POINTS WHEN ANGUS FOUND A BIG SUPPLY OF BLACK POWDER AND RELOAD EQUIPMENT IN A LEAN-TO ATTACHED TO THE BACK OF THE BUILDING.

AFTER WE LOADED EVERYTHING WE REALLY DID NEED TO HEAD ON DOWN THE ROAD SO WE CONTINUED WEST ON SR26 TRYING TO GET TO HWY129. WE WERE ABOUT A MILE OUTSIDE OF TRENTON WHEN WE RAN ACROSS A BOOBY TRAP. SOME SHIT HAD LACED THE ROAD WITH NAILS. LUCKILY ANGUS WASN’T ON POINT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE WOULD HAVE DONE IF JUICER HAD GOTTEN FOUR FLATS. TOOK US AN HOUR TO SCAVENGE THE RIGHT TIRES AND GET THEM CHANGED ON THE AVALANCHE. OF COURSE TO GET IT DONE WE HAD TO UNLOAD IT. THE CHEVY ALREADY WEIGHS OVER 2.5 TONS AND IT WAS A BITCH TO GET THE TIRES CHANGED. I WASN'T THE ONLY ONE WITH BUSTED KNUCKLES.

WE SLOWED DOWN AFTER THAT AND IT WAS A GOOD THING TOO. RIGHT AT THE MAIN INTERSECTION IN TRENTION … THE TOWN ONLY HAS ONE TRAFFIC LIGHT … THERE WAS A ROADBLOCK MANNED BY HEAVILY ARMED HUMANS. THERE WERE ALL SORTS OF RELIGIOUS INSIGNIA ON FLAGS AND TIED TO POLES ALL AROUND THE ROADBLOCK. WE DIDN’T FIGURE IT WAS WORTH THE TROUBLE SO WE WERE BACKING UP TO DETOUR AROUND VIA A DIFFERENT ROUTE I KNEW WHEN THE CRAPHEADS OPENED FIRE ON US.

THE AVALANCHE BACKED UP ENOUGH SO THAT ANGUS COULD USE JUICER, WITH ITS HEAVIER METAL PLATING, TO GIVE COVER. THE BED OF THE TRUCK STILL GOT SHOT TO HELL AND WE ARE LUCKY THAT WE PUT ALL THE STUFF THAT GOES BOOM IN THE TRAILER BEHIND JUICER OTHERWISE EVERYONE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN A BIG SURPRISE. NEXT TIME WE GO ON A RUN I'M TAKING A ARMORED VEHICLE, MAYBE A SOOPED UP WELLS FARGO TRUCK OR SOMETHING.

AND AS IF THINGS COULDN'T GET MORE COMPLICATED, ABOUT THAT TIME A SMALL HORDE OF ZOMBIES WALKED INTO THE INTERSECTION FROM THE TREE LINE TO THE SW. THE PEOPLE AT THE INTERSECTION WERE GOING TO BE ZOMBIE CHOW. THERE WERE TOO MANY OF THEM AND MOST OF THE PEOPLE IN TOWN WERE SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW IT AND FLEE FOR BETTER PROTECTION. ANGUS AND I LOOKED AT EACH OTHER AND SAID, “AW HELL, WHY NOT?”

I ROLLED OUT AND DETACHED THE TRAILER REAL QUICK AND GAVE DIXON A QUICK UPDATE ON WHAT WE WERE GOING TO DO. MCELROY WAS TRYING AND NOT HAVING MUCH LUCK TO PATCH UP A GRAZE ON DIX’S FOREHEAD. I ALMOST CALLED IT OFF WHEN I SAW HOW BADLY DAMAGED THE TRUCK WAS ON TOP OF DIX’S HEAD WOUND BUT ONE WAY OR ANOTHER WE WOULD HAVE TO FACE THE ZOMBIES AND A LITTLE GOODWILL NEVER HURT ANYTHING.

JUICER WENT TO WORK AND IN UNDER AN HOUR ANGUS HAD CLEANED UP ALL BUT A FEW STRAGGLERS; THE RESIDENTS OF TRENTON PICKED THOSE OFF. IN TYPICAL FASHION THERE WERE SOME PEOPLE THAT PURPOSEFULLY ACTED LIKE JACKASSES AND SAID THEY COULD HAVE TAKEN CARE OF THE HORDE WITHOUT OUR HELP BUT ENOUGH PEOPLE WERE APPRECIATIVE THAT WE DIDN’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE SAD-SACKS TOO MUCH.

THE “WELL MET GOOD FELLOWS” ACT WAS A BIT SUSPICIOUS AFTER THEIR PREVIOUS BEHAVIOR BUT IT SEEMS THAT SOME RELIGIOUS NUTS HAD TAKEN OVER THE RUNNING OF THE TOWN. I SUPPOSE THEY MEANT WELL IN THEIR OWN WAY, BUT DAMN THEY HAD A FUNNY WAY OF SHOWING IT. WE GOT SOME KIND OF STUPID RELIGIOUS DESIGNATION AND A SIGN TO PUT IN THE WINDOW. I WOULD HAVE TOSSED IT THE FIRST CHANCE I GOT EXCEPT WE NEEDED TO GO THAT WAY AGAIN ON THE WAY TO CHIEFLAND. IF IT KEPT US FROM GETTING SHOT AT I COULD PUT UP WITH A LITTLE PETTY RELIGIOUS LEGALISM.

THE CLOSER WE GOT TO MY INLAWS’ THE MORE KNOTS I GOT IN MY STOMACH. THEIR LITTLE TOWN DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A TRAFFIC LIGHT. IT HAS … HAD … ONE GAS STATION, A SMALL GROCERY STORE, A COMBINED SCHOOL FOR KINDERGARTEN THROUGH HIGHSCHOOL, AND A HARDWARE AND LUMBER STORE. THAT’S JUST ABOUT IT. NOTHING HAD BEEN TENDED TO IN A LONG TIME. THERE WASN’T MUCH DAMAGE, JUST A LOT OF SILENCE AND AN ATMOSPHERE OF EXTREME NEGLECT.

I SHOWED ANGUS WHERE TO TURN AND THEN TURN AGAIN TO GET BACK TO MY INLAWS’ HEAVILY WOODED FIVE ACRES. THE ACREAGE SITS BACK OFF THE MAIN ROAD AND IS SURROUNDED BY OTHER PLOTS OF DIFFERENT SIZES BUT SIMILAR MAKE UP. NOT A DAMN ANIMAL TO BE SEEN IN THIS AREA WHERE PEOPLE HAD MORE DOGS THAN KIDS AS WE PULLED BACK INTO THE TREES THAT HID SISSY’S PARENTS’ HOME. I KNEW. AS SOON AS I SAW THE PLACE I JUST KNEW FOR CERTAIN.

THERE WASN’T MUCH DAMAGE. IN FACT, ALL THE WINDOWS AND DOORS HAD BEEN BOARDED OVER. MY MOTHER IN LAW’S GREEN HOUSE HAD BEEN TORN DOWN AND WAS IN PIECES ALL OVER THE SIDE YARD AND ONE OF THE BANISTERS ON THE DECK PORCH HAD FALLEN OFF BUT THAT WAS IT. I WAS TRYING REAL HARD NOT TO FEEL ANYTHING AT THAT MOMENT. I COULD HEAR THE DRUMMING IN MY EARS AND THE TICKING OF THE VEHICLES AS THEY COOLED DOWN BUT THAT WAS IT BUT I KEPT EVERYTHING ELSE OUT.

I WALKED AROUND THE PLACE AND SAW MY BROTHER IN LAW’S SEMI OUT BEHIND THE BIG STORAGE SHEDS COVERED IN TARPS AND TREE DEBRIS. I WOULDN’T HAVE GIVEN IT MUCH THOUGHT EXCEPT I KNEW IT DIDN’T BELONG THERE. THE ALUMINUM PANELS THAT COVER THE AREA UNDER THE PORCH HAD TAKEN SOME DAMAGE BUT HAD BEEN REINFORCED WITH WIRE FENCING. I FINALLY WALKED BACK TO THE DECK, CLIMBED THE STAIRS, AND RIPPED OFF THE PLYWOOD THAT COVERED THE FRONT DOOR.

TAPED TO THE DOOR WAS A ZIPLOC BAG THAT HELD A LETTER WITH SISSY’S NAME WRITTEN ON THE ENVELOPE IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS. AFTER READING IT I SAT DOWN AND NOTICED THAT MCELROY WAS UNDER THE AVALANCHE. AN OIL LINE HAD GOTTEN KNICKED AND THERE WAS A COUPLE OF OTHER THINGS THAN WOULD HAVE TO BE REPAIRED BEFORE WE COULD GET BACK ON THE ROAD. THAT SUITED ME BECAUSE I NOW HAD TO DECIDE WHAT TO DO WITH THE STUFF IN THE SEMI AND THINK ON HOW I WAS GOING TO TELL SISSY.

WE UNPACKED SOME OF OUR GEAR AND TOOK IT INSIDE THE TRAILER FOR THE NIGHT. THE INTERIOR WAS DARK, MUSTY, AND MY MOTHER IN LAW WOULD HAVE BEEN HORRIFIED. THERE WAS MOLD GROWING IN TWO CORNERS OF THEIR BEDROOM AND THERE HAD BEEN A LEAK IN THE KITCHEN CEILING. THAT MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE TOLD ME MY INLAWS DIDN’T LIVE THERE ANYMORE.

THE PROBLEM OF WHAT TO DO WITH SISSY’S PARENTS STUFF WASN’T THE ONLY PROBLEM. IN ADDITION TO THE DAMAGE TO THE AVALANCHE, WHICH WAS MINOR, WE DISCOVERED THAT BOTH RADIOS HAD SOME KIND OF DAMAGE TO THEM. BOTH ANTENNAS WERE TOAST AND ONE OF THE RADIOS WERE. WE HAD ONE GOOD RADIO BUT NO WAY TO GET THE SIGNAL OUT OF THE TREES WE WERE SURROUNDED BY.

THE ANTENNA WAS PRETTY EASY TO REPLACE; LOTS OF GOOD OL’ BOYS AND GIRLS IN THE AREA WITH ALL OF THEIR TOYS JUST LYING AROUND. IN FACT, WE FOUND IT JUST A HOUSE OVER FROM MY INLAWS WERE A COUPLE FROM ALASKA RENTED OUT THEIR HOUSE PART OF THE YEAR TO A YOUNG COUPLE MY BROTHER IN LAW INTRODUCED THEM TO. EVERYTHING ELSE TOOK MORE TIME TO FIND AND IN FACT IT WAS GETTING TOO CLOSE TO DARK TO EVEN THINK OF LEAVING.

WE ATE THE LAST OF THE MEALS THAT SISSY HAD MADE FOR US AND DRANK SOME GRAPE JUICE MY FATHER-IN-LAW HAD CANNED OVER THE SUMMER BEFORE EVERYTHING WHEN TO HELL. I DIDN’T KNOW HOW I WAS GOING TO EXPLAIN THINGS TO SISSY OVER THE RADIO WHEN WE FINALLY DID GET IT UP AND RUNNING.

AS WE SAT AROUND THAT NIGHT PLANNING OUT THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS, DIX ASKED ME IF I WAS COMFORTABLE DRIVING THE SEMI ALL THE WAY BACK TO SANCTUARY ASSUMING WE COULD GET IT THROUGH TRAFFIC. I SAID THAT DIDN’T BOTHER ME SO MUCH AS IT WOULD LEAVE ANGUS WITHOUGH A DRIVING PARTNER AND POSSIBLY MAKE US A BIGGER TARGET. STRANGELY HE WAS ALL FOR TRYING TO BRING IT BACK. IF IT GOT STUCK SOMEPLACE BEFORE WE GOT BACK TO SANCTUARY WE COULD AT LEAST SAY WE TRIED AND IF WE DID MAKE IT BACK IT WOULD BE ANOTHER TRAILER FOR US TO USE IN THE WALL. AND IT WOULD CERTAINLY GIVE SISSY SOMETHING ELSE BESIDES HER GRIEF TO FOCUS ON, A STRATEGY I AGREED WITH THEN AND NOW. MCELROY JUST SHRUGGED. ANGUS SAID, “NOTHING VENTURED, NOTHING GAINED.” SO IT WAS DECIDED AND WE ADDED THE SEMI TO OUR CONVOY.

WE TURNED IN FOR THE NIGHT BUT I LAY THERE A LONG TIME LISTENING TO THE DOGS SNORE BEFORE I ACTUALLY FELL ASLEEP.