Day 10

I wake up to a bright sky. Mid-morning, I would guess. Josh is sleeping, leaning up against a nearby tree, covered by a blanket and dressed warm. He had been on the second watch and had obviously dozed off. It worried me a bit, but after his day yesterday I can't blame him.

Josh had gotten almost everything out of the car. All of the weapons and ammo, clothes, blankets and dry food, along with some water. He carried a bag on each of his shoulders when he arrived to camp, carried in his hands the shotguns, and, dragging behind him, three bags tied together, stuffed full with the rest of our provisions. Upon meeting me last night he had told me that he had unloaded all of the supplies and hid them in the woods, near the van. Once they were concealed he went further up the road, looking through the different automobiles for bags that he could put the extra supplies--those that had been loose in the van--in. It took him nearly an hour and when he got back to the van the men were back. They moved on after another hour or so and finally, Josh was able to load up the bags, rig them in a way in which he could carry them all, and made his way back to the bike.

I let him sleep and stand, stretching the restless night out of my body. I feel groggy and disoriented. I walk over to the bags laying on the ground and as I do so I am reminded of the man I had shot and killed. I hate myself. I should have aimed further away from him. Should have been paying attention to the wind. But I wasn't. And a man died because of my carelessness. A man who, although he was trying to kill me, did not deserve to die. After the world has gone to Hell, I cannot blame anyone for wanting to protect themselves against anyone.

I try and push it out of my head and get to work rigging the bags on the frame of the bike. It takes nearly an hour for me to fit all but two of the bags, as well as the guns onto the bike. I rig each gun to be grabbed  easily and quickly, pistols sticking out of unused pockets of the bags, and the rifles straps hung on the curved handle bars, each barrel wedged between straps of the bags. I walk around, holding the bike with my left hand beside me, making sure it is easily mobile and can be brought along with little complications. Seems to work just fine.

I left two pistols sitting on the two bags we would need to carry on our backs. I wish we had sense enough to grab holsters for them, and perhaps we would have if we were not attacked. One of the bags has a water bottle carrier on the side and after looking at the bags decide to put a pistol in there.

"How long have you been up?" I hear Josh say from behind me. It startles me, having grown use to the gentle sounds of the forest.

"Uh," I say, regaining my composure, "an hour or so, I think."

He gets up and stretches, letting the blanket that had covered him fall to the ground. He walks over to where the bags were and, confused, looks around. "Oh, wow." He walks over to the bike to inspect the bags I had rigged along the frame. "That's pretty good. I was kinda dreading walking with all that stuff . . . any chance I could get to the food?"

"Yeah," I am excited about my set up and tell Josh about it, explaining how the bags are set to open easily from their hanging position. As I tell him I pull out an MRE and open it for him.

"I really hate these," he says, taking a bite of a wheat cracker that was in the package. I say nothing. I open my own and start eating the bland contents.

* * *

The sun is oddly warm for winter. It had been all year. Here in California it is even warmer and before we go I shed my coat, laying it over the bike. Josh volunteer's to lead the bike and so I un-sling my rifle, and place the strap over my shoulder, letting it hang to my side.

We walk to the edge of the woods and I go on ahead, alone. Making sure there is no one around. I am not worried about zombies, but rather those men. We have no way of knowing if they had come the same way we had, or were going in the same direction. I bring the CZ 750 and after I am sure they are not near, stand on a car and look through the scope down the road. Nothing.

I motion to Josh to come out and he wheels the bike with him.

"I didn't see anything."

"They must have walked on. They went this way," he says pointing in the same direction we were to travel.

"Well . . ." I say, and without another word we start to walk.

Our pace is quick. We walk down the street and through the rows of cars talking little at first but finally we begin to form a plan on where to go from here. Our brother, Chad, lives just past the Sierra's, in Roseville and Josh suspects that we are only several hours from the end of the mountain highway pass, and a day or so away from Roseville, a suburb of Sacramento.

"Maybe we will be able to find them," Josh says, and although we both think it, neither of us mention that we hope to find him, and his family, alive.

* * *

It is getting dark and we have entered the start of the suburbs of Sacramento. Rocklin, Roseville and others lay between us and the city. The cars are still a steady stream, leading into and out of the city. No one occupies them and there is little to be found within them. An eerie feeling of loneliness falls over me as I look into one car and then the next. There is no one. And what is worse, we've not see, or rather, we have not been able to talk to anyone to find out what has been happening. We've been away from civilization for a week. Only a week and the whole world has gone to Hell. How can it spread so quickly? How can cities like Reno be emptied of any inhabitants? Why is there no one around?

Images of people, of families fleeing to or from the city fill me. What happened to them? I look over and can see that Josh is going through the same feelings of anxiousness. We were sure that once we had reached the city, reached civilization, there would be people. Someone to explain what had been going on.

And of course, with these feelings, there are those of my wife, of mine and Josh's family, and friends. How many are dead? I hate to think it, but there is no way out. With all of this surrounding emptiness that is all that is left.

There is a scream and I stop dead in my tracks. It is a human scream. Soon there is another, this time closer. The screaming continues for several long seconds until it abruptly stops, echoing through the cars. We wait but there are no more. Light is failing, but not completely gone and so I stand on a car, abandoning any caution, and look towards the source of the noise.

I see movement. I look through the scope of the CZ 750 towards the motion I'd seen. There, running through the cars in our direction, are the men we'd run into the previous day. Behind them, some yards off, are several zombies, running as fast as their mangled bodies could carry them.

One of the men fell and I saw the zombies leap on him within  a matter of seconds. There was more screaming as they began to eat him and tear him apart.

As the man continues to scream I look at Josh. My face explains everything and I say, "get to the shoulder and run around them." He starts running with the bike, through the cars, trying to get off of the road. I follow Josh's path, still standing on the car and finally, I aim the rifle towards the group of zombies, many devouring the fallen man, others pursuing the chase. I fire off several rounds, trying to give the men some distance. It is my way of reconciliation, of forgiveness.

Several zombies fall while many keep moving. My hands are shaking and soon I am not able to hit anything. Throwing the gun over my back I jump from the roof of the car and start to run towards where Josh, I hope, should be. I pull the pistol from the drink holder on my pack and hold it in front of me, still running to the side of the road and forward. Closer to those being chased, and still out of their way.

I see Josh. He is a ways in front of me. I watch him stop and pull out his pistol, moving it quickly and holding it in front of him. As he does so, he drops the bike, allowing it to tumble to the ground. I see the bright flashes from the barrel before the bang of the weapon sounds. He releases several rounds into something I cannot see.

I run faster, trying to catch up, trying to find what it is he is shooting at. He stumbles back and trips over the bike, falling to the ground and I hold the pistol before me, ready to fire at anything or anyone that appears in front of him.

The thing is like lightning, shooting out from behind a car, lunging at Josh. I fire several rounds at the thing, but it falls away from Josh as a flash appears in front of him. He has killed it. To my right I see movement and notice the men running past me, only twenty feet away. They've moved over to this side of the road. Behind them are no less than twenty zombies.

"Josh!" I yell, pointing my gun towards the oncoming horde. "Josh!"

He looks and see's what I see. Rounds fly from my clip hitting one or two zombies, the remaining bullets flying past them. I run to my left, to the edge of the highway. There is a wall. I see several zombies fall as they near me and I can hear the shots ring out from where Josh is standing, holding his M4, letting loose on the zombies running towards both of us. I run, and am ten feet from him when I am tackled from behind.

"No!" I yell."No, no, no!" I spin around with all of my might, pushing the thing onto its back, me on top of it. I put my pistol to its side and fire. This is enough to get it to let go of me. I continue rolling and once on my back again I lay the pistol to the ground, aim at its head only inches from the barrel and fire. It is dead.

I look around and see Josh drop the M4, the strap catching on his shoulder and hanging beside him, and pick up my M21. He fires more rounds, short bursts now, aiming deliberately at each oncoming zombie. They have abandoned the chase on the other men and are now making their war over to where we stand. I swing the CZ 750 around and begin the take careful aim as best I can and fire one round to each head that comes in my scope. There are more than I had anticipated and soon my clip runs out. There is no time to change it and, now by the bike, I reach down and pull out another pistol. Looking up there is another next to Josh. I fire and the thing flies backward while Josh leans forward, holding his neck. The exiting shell must have burned him.

I ignore it. There is an opening. I heave up the bike and pull Josh with my free hand, having put the pistol away to grab him. He leans backward and then follows as I run up the road, on the shoulder. As soon as he is following I pull the gun back out and aim to my right, towards the street and towards the last remaining zombies and fire. I miss. I miss again, but finally I am able to hit one right in the head. Josh is doing better and finally, after some time we are only running.

We stop after what seemed like an hour and I collapse; falling over on the bike. Josh sits down hard next to me and puts the rifle down in front of him. I look at him, legs and arms spread in a pose that shows pure exhaustion, he looks at me and then around us at the surrounding cars and we both begin to laugh.

I don't know if it is the shock of the attack or the adrenaline being expelled from our bodies but we laugh long and hard and relentless as the sun finally sets to the west.