Fifty Pages And Counting

Entry number twelve now brings Mallville across the fifty page mark. I know this is not a major accomplishment, but I'm proud of it. My goal is to get Mallville somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 pages, and given how much some of my ideas for this have grown (the last two or three parts were originally all one much shorter part in my mind) from what I originally envisioned them as, I see this as doable, even if it takes a year or two more at the pace I have been going at.

I cannot do this alone though, I need your help. I know there are at least a couple of people out there who will read this, and I need feedback from you. There are three reasons I need feed back:

1.This is only the first draft of Mallville, and I know it is very rough (hence the picture in the newest entry). I need your feedback to help me make it better. Have I screwed up my continuity? I've been trying hard not to; I have pages of notes and a timeline written out showing me who, what, and when, but I know I am bound to screw it up eventually, if I've not already. If you spot an error, let me know so I can fix it. Do you see an issue with something I've written? Constructive criticism is welcome (Protip: “You Suck!” is not constructive).

2.I have been known to grow bored with, and stop working on, stories. Keep my ass motivated by letting me know you are out there. I am not asking you for money here, just a few minutes of your time to let me know that I am not firing all of this off into a void (no pun intended).

3.I have an ego, and it needs feeding. Stroke my ego so that it may grow to Scott Sigler-like proportions.

If you want to do something more for me aside from just letting me know you are there, then let other people know I am here. Tell your friends. Print out entries and leave them in odd places for people to find. Burn it to a CD, and leave it in your school's computer lab. Use your imagination, the sky's the limit, just don't do anything illegal, and don't sell it.

If you have been reading for awhile, I thank you. If this is your first time here, I hope you enjoy your stay. I hope to be doing this, as well as some side stories if I ever get far enough ahead of my posting schedule, for some time to come.

Thank you,

Twelfth Entry: On Fire, Under Fire

July 22nd

Well, it was smoke that I smelled. I pocketed this journal, and took my candle with me back into the room with Sharon and Jimmy. The smoke was not coming from there, but as I came in, Sharon must have smelled it too.

“What’s burning?” Sharon asked me.

“I don’t know, but we better find out,” I replied, thinking that whatever it was, it was unlikely that a firetruck was going to show up to put it out.

Sharon got up, looked out the window to see if she could see the source of the smoke, and grabbed a couple of small LED flashlights from the table. She tossed me one of the lights, and we headed out, leaving Jimmy by himself in the room.

I let Sharon lead he way since she was bound to be much more familiar with the hotel than I was. She led me to a staircase, and then down to the first floor. “Wouldn’t we get a better view from a higher floor?” I asked.

“We would need to go room to room all the way around the building to see everything outside. From down here we can see all the way around the building easier,” Sharon explained to me.

I had never been in the Hotel Majestic before, and the lobby was quite a sight even in the dark. The stairs let out next to the elevators, and the narrow beams of our lights illuminated the large open lobby of the hotel which was starting to fill with smoke. A few large brown dead potted ferns, and a shiny black piano were the only furniture left in the lobby, the couches, chairs, and tables were all piled in front of the glass double doors that led to the front door and out of the hotel as well as in front of the front windows. Orange light was flickering through the gaps in the furniture barricade.

“Shit!” cursed Sharon, as she ran forward.

I followed Sharon, arriving at the barricade a step behind her. We both looked out in horror, all we could see was flames. The front doors had been broken, and flames filled the little airlock area. The glass on the doors between us and the airlock were actually on fire themselves, doused with some sort of fuel.

Sharon moved to one of the front windows, again having to peek through the makeshift barricade,” The whole front of the building looks like it’s on fire. We need to go now,” she told me.

No shit.

Even in the shadows cast by our lights I could see the terror in her eyes, and why not? This had been her sanctuary for weeks, and now is had burst into flames, and surely not spontaneously.

She led me past the abandoned front desk, and the elevators, and down a wide hallway. On each side of the hallway were banquet rooms, four in total, it looked like but she paid no attention to them. She led me to the back door, which had also been barricaded, but with furniture from the banquet halls. Dining tables and chairs were piled almost to the ceiling. This really must have been hard work for her, since I’m sure Jimmy couldn’t help with the lifting.

Looking through the gaps in the pile of furniture, I could barely make out the Oldsmobile sitting there under the moonlight. The coast looked clear, no zeds, no people, no flames. I suppose had we not been panicking at the thought of being burnt alive, Sharon and I might have realized we were being led this way.

“Please tell me you have the keys to that car,” Sharon half-pleaded.

I quickly patted my pants pockets until I felt the key ring in there, “Yeah, I have them.”

“Then let’s get Jimmy and get out of here.”

We ran back up the stairs, Sharon in the lead, and back to the room. Sharon opened the door to the candle-lit room with the key card again (battery powered lock maybe?), and burst into the room.

“It’s time to leave, Jimmy!” she half yelled, rushing into the room, and throwing open the closet door. She pulled out two large dark blue backpacks, the kind you use for hiking, and tossed one to me,” Load up what you can.”

Sharon and I quickly set about filling the packs up with ammunition, food, bottles of water (and I’m pretty sure I saw her stuff some mangas in hers), and anything else that seemed useful, fit, could be grabbed in about two minutes, and wasn’t too heavy to carry.

I grabbed my Mossberg and slung it over my shoulder where it sat awkwardly against the backpack. I saw Sharon sling a rifle over her shoulder, and double check that her hand-cannon was still on her hip, seeing this made me double check for the presence off my Beretta.

Jimmy had gotten to his feet, and was propped upon his crutches with the shotgun that had been on the bed with his hanging off of his shoulder. He looked at the same time pissed and pitiful, like he wanted to be a lot more helpful than he was being.

We rushed out the door into the dark hallway, and back to the stairs. As the beams from our lights cut through the darkness, we could now see some smoke seeping into stairwell. The fire was spreading.

Jimmy was having real difficulties hobbling down the stairs, and after about half a flight Sharon and I rushed back up to him. We each grabbed one of his arms and half carried/ half dragged him down the stairs. I thought briefly about how lucky we all were that our situations were not reversed; Jimmy is not a big guy, but between our packs and our panic we still struggled getting him down those stairs. If it were the two of them having to drag my fat ass down the stairs, we would have all burned to death.

Covered in sweat and panting, we emerged from the stairwell into the lobby, which was now filled with flickering orange light. The fire had gotten through/under the front doors, and the furniture barricade was starting to catch. We turned away from the front door and rushed to the pool access door.

Sharon and I did not wait for Jimmy, we ran to the barricade of dining furniture, and began pulling pieces of it down, and tossing them to the side. What must have taken Sharon hours to put up took the two of us maybe two minutes to take down.

Pulling a ring of keys from her pocket, Sharon quickly began trying them in the lock on the doors. There were probably 10 keys on the ring, and I think she finally found the right one on the 8th attempt. She flung the doors open, and we all rushed (or hobbled in Jimmy’s case) into the cool night air. I had not realized how warm it had been inside until that point, but some of that may have been from the growing fire.

As we started to move across the pool area, and towards there car there was the sound of glass breaking and a whooshing noise. An orange glow erupted from the Oldsmobile as flames sprouted up from the front of the car as well as the ground under it, and on the roof of the car. Someone had just thrown a pair of Molotov cocktails onto it.


Suddenly noise filled the night as a half dozen motorcycles and a large truck's engine rumbled to life. Light blazed through the night as all of their headlights (except for the truck, which had been backed in) came on. The truck and two of the bikes were to our right, blocking the alleyway where it opened out onto the street. The other four bikes were to our left continuing the line of the fence across the alley, blocking off any escape through the back of the hotel. How the hell had we not heard them drive up? It's not like there's a lot of traffic noise anymore for them to have blended into,

We were trapped; the only way out the back was through the gate and into the alley full of bikers. Going back through the front was not an option due to the large fire no doubt started by the bikers to chase us out the back and into a trap.

“Well good evenin',” called out a voice with a slight Southern accent over the rumble of engines,” Lovely night for a bonfire, ain't it?”

As my eyes adjusted, I could make out eight figures in the alleyway, four on each side. The voice had come from one of the two by the big flatbed truck. I noticed on the back of the truck was a large cage, but a this point I couldn't make out too much of it.

The biker who had spoken stepped forward, towards the burning car,”It seems like you've got yourself a little choice to make here. We could just gun you down right now, but that seems rather unsporting, what with us being able to fill you fulla holes before you could even get your weapons up, and you having no cover and all. Your friends at least had a chance to fight back an' all,” he said, sounding almost wistful, “Or, you could just put down your weapons, and come quietly.”

“Why are you doing this?” yelled Sharon, “Why would you attack us? We should all be working together, not attacking each other.”

“Well aren’t we just a little naïve?” replied the biker.

“What did we ever do to you?” Sharon tried again to appeal to his non-existent humanity.

“You stole from us. This is our city now, and you people in the mall need to understand that if you overstep your bounds, you’re gonna pay for it.”

“What a load of crap! You’re working for Kaur, aren’t you?” called out Jimmy, wobbling a little on his crutches.

“Well I just have no idea at all who you’re talkin’ about,” replied the biker mockingly. All of the bikers broke out in derisive laughter,” Okay, enough Q and A; make your choice. Drop your weapons and come with us, or we shoot ya now.”

With such great choices, what could we do? I slipped the backpack off of my shoulders, and lowered it slowly to the ground, following it with my rifle.
As I removed by handgun from its holster, Sharon hissed at me, barely audible over the rumble of the engines,”What are you doing?”

“I did not come out here just to see you get shot in front of me. Maria, Gerry, Redd, and all of the others did not lose their lives just so you could lose yours,” I replied.

“They’re going to kill us anyway,” replied Jimmy.

“Then we need to think of something, but getting shot right here and now isn’t it..”

“This isn’t a movie; no one is going to show up at the last minute to save us. The guns are the only leverage we have.”

“There are more of them, and they have better gun. We do not have any leverage.”

“You just got us killed,” spat Jimmy, and slid the rifle off of his shoulder, it clattered to the ground.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” stated Sharon, her eyes glistening with forming tears as she shed her pack and weapons.

Of course I had no idea what I was doing. I had no plan other that to stay alive as long as possible, and pray for a miracle.

“Smart choice!” called out the biker,” Now come out of there with your hands to the sky, pool party’s over.”

We moved towards the gate leading to the alley. One of the bikers to our left moved away fro his bike, and opened the pool gate for us, all the while pointing a very ugly looking automatic rifle at us.

“Go to the truck!” yelled the biker who was apparently the mouthpiece for the others.

As we walked closer to the truck, I got a better look at the cage. It was huge, covering the entire back of the truck. It was really two cages, a smaller one, and a bigger one. The smaller one reminded me of the airlock at the front of the hotel, its intent was clearly to separate one prisoner from the rest of them, although three people could fit in it at once.

The larger cage took up the bulk of the truck's flatbed, and it was big to hold at least a dozen people, more if you really packed them in. It looked something like this:





Yeah, I know, my drawing skills suck, but it’s dark out here, and I don’t exactly have a drawing desk handy. In any case, it still probably gives you a better idea than my description did.

At this point I did not realize what this cage was meant for, but I suppose the long poles with the loops on the end (the looked like an extra large version of the poles animal control officers use the keep dangerous animals at a distance) that were mounted on the side should have been a hint.

At the back of the truck was a staircase that was hinged to the bottom of the cage in front of the door. As we approached, a biker with a red bandana on his head lowered the stairs, and then stepped off to the driver's side of the truck, and slid the barred door open. It slid open towards him like the door to a prison cell door, sticking out from the side of the truck.

Sharon went up the steps first, helping Jimmy come up behind her. I went last so in case Jimmy fell I would be able to catch him. When we were all inside the smaller of the two cages, the bandana'd biker slid the door shut, which sounded, to me at least, an awful lot like someone closing my coffin.

To say that the cage smelled is an understatement; it reeked. It smelled like death, or undeath as may be appropriate. It was at this point that I realized that this was used for capturing zombies. The poles with the wire loops on the end were for wrangling the zeds without getting in biting distance of them since the undead do not take the threat of being shot terribly serious.

“What are you going to do with us?” yelled Sharon, she was trying so hard not to cry.

“We're gonna take you home to meet mom!” replied the leader. This was met with laughter from the other bikers who were now all gathering together near the back of the truck since we were no longer even a token threat to them.

The lead biker started again, “We’re probably gonna use the chink and the lardass for zombie chow, but you, little miss, you were gonna let live... for awhile anyway. Or we might see how you do in unarmed combat with one of the zeds-,” the biker never got to finish his thought, as his face exploded at that point.

I never heard the shot that did it, and neither, I imagine, did he. Seeing a living person get their head taken off is very different that seeing a zed get their head splattered. The colors are so much more vivid on a living human, not the dark greens, grays, and blacks of a zed. Even in the limited light, I could see the bright red of his blood, the gray of his brains (who knew he actually had any?), and even the pinkish white of blood-covered bone spray through the air in slow motion.

Time stopped as the faceless biker seemed to stand there forever, as if pondering what witty thing to say to us next. I swear that even the engines of the truck and the motorcycles stopped during what must have only been a second, maybe two.

When his body finally took a stagger-step forward, and finally fell to his knees, and then to the ground, it was like someone flipped a switch, and time started again. The bikers started to bring up their weapons. There were a couple of cracks from rifles, and a blond biker with a pair of sunglasses on his head grabbed his throat as blood erupted from his neck, and a black biker with cornrows spun off his feet clutching his right shoulder.

I heard one of the biker's yell 'Who the fuck is shooting at us?” as he and a couple of the remaining bikers started firing wildly into the night.

Wanting the not feel helpless and exposed in the back of a truck, I took decisive (ly stupid) action. The red bandana's biker had frozen with his hand on the bar that would lock the cage door in place, not having actually locked us in yet. I grabbed the cage door, and shoved it open as hard as I could. As I hoped, the door caught him in the side of the head, and knocked him off his feet.

Had the remaining bikers not been busy shooting into the darkness and getting shot themselves, I'm sure this stupid action would have earned me a quick and painful death at the barrels of their guns, but they were too busy to worry about the three off us. I leapt down the stairs, and Sharon practically shoved Jimmy down the steps onto me before bounding down them herself.

Being just as panicked as the last couple surviving bikers, we ran for front of the truck this being the direction that gunfire was not coming from.

“They're getting away!” yelled the biker who I had hit with the cage door. Apparently the knock to the head broke him out of his frozen terror, as he had gotten to his knees, and raised a very vicious looking little automatic weapon towards us.

The biker fired at us, and I felt pieces of pavement hit the backs of my legs as we ran/dragged Jimmy towards what we hoped was safety. His gun fell silent, and I chanced a look behind me to see him laying on the ground, and the tire of the truck next to him rapidly deflating..

As quickly as it had started, the gunfire ceased, and now only the sound of engines filled the night again. The whole thing must have only taken ten or fifteen seconds, but it sure seemed a lot longer than that.

Sharon, Jimmy, and I hid in front of the truck, making ourselves quite visible in the headlights, but hopefully keeping the bulk of the truck between us as the shooters. At this moment all we knew for sure was that they were not friends of the bikers, but that did not mean they were our allies.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Sharon kept repeating under her breath.

“What do we do now?” I asked to no one in particular.

“We hope whoever did that is friendly and that they show themselves before all that noise attracts a shitload of zombies to us.” replied Jimmy. So we just stayed in front of the truck, peeking around the side towards the war zone behind us.

Another eternity later, and two figures appeared in the headlights of the motorcycles blocking the alley. One was thin, and one a little thicker; the flames from the burning car making them nothing more than silhouettes. They split up, and started walking from body to body, and shooting them again with handguns when they were satisfied with their work. They started towards where we were hiding.

“It's safe, you can come out now!” called a deep cartoony voice.

“Gerry?” asked Jimmy.

“The one and only,” replied the voice.

Jimmy hobbled towards the figures, using the truck to hold him up, as his crutches were laying up in the cage. The figures came closer to us, and when they became fully visible in the headlights of the motorcycles, we could see it was Gerry and Maria.

“You guys are alive!” I exclaimed, as Sharon and I moved forward to catch up to Jimmy.

“Good thing too, since you three were marching willingly to your deaths.” replied Maria, but she smiled a very tired smile.

“Is there anyone else?” asked Sharon.

Gerry shook his had slowly,” No, they killed everyone else. Maria and I ended up retreating to the manager’s office when Josh got shot. There were a lot of them. We gave good as we got, but we were outnumbered.”

“We failed, and everyone paid for it,” contributed Maria, devoid of her confidence for the first time in my presence.

“You saved us,” said Sharon, putting a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

“We couldn’t have the mission be a complete failure, replied Maria with that weak smile again.

We looted the biker’s corpses as quickly as possible, made sure they were all sufficiently dead so that they would not get up again, turned off the motors to the bikes and truck (we could probably go back for the remaining fuel later if the hotel fire didn’t claim them), grabbed the supplies we had dropped by the pool, and then got out of there. Among us, only Maria and Jimmy knew how to ride a motorcycle (and Jimmy was really not in any condition to), and the flat rear tire on the truck made using it impossible as a means of escape, so we walked as fast as we could. Somewhere out there was bound to be at least a few ghouls homing in on where all the noise had been coming from.

Maria wanted us to get far enough away from the Majestic so that if the fire spread, we would hopefully not get caught in it. She also wanted to make sure we were far enough away in case any other members of Hell’s Postmen decided to come looking for their missing buddies.

It was slow going, but after about an hour (an undead free hour, thank God) Maria said we were far enough, and we took shelter in a gas station. After a meal of warm soda, chips, and candy bars, we decided to camp out for the rest of the night.

Maria wanted to take first shift as guard, but we all insisted she rest. I’m on lookout duty now. I don’t know if the others are all asleep in the little store or not, but I’m up on the roof keeping a watch out for anything on two legs, or two wheels, but about the only thing I can see right now is the light from the burning Hotel Majestic in the distance. I wonder how far that will spread.

In the morning, we will figure out what to do. I’m not sure if we will even be going home. I miss my bed, but I will gladly give up everything I owned just to know that Sharon is safe.

Playing for Keeps

No, I'm not posting a new entry early, this is a totally off-topic post (sorry to dissapoint both of you). The reason for this post for anyone who happens to stumble upon it is to talk about another story.

Mur Lafferty is quite possibly the hardest working woman in podcasting, she is/has been connected to virtually every podcast I listen to on a regular basis, but not only is she a podcaster, she's an author. Last year she released the podcast novel "Playing For Keeps", a superhero tale about a woman who just wants to run her bar in peace. The novel was, and is, available in a serial podcast format as well as having been released in PDF format, and now it is being released as a trade paperback.

Now I know what you are wondering, "what's in it for VOID?", well immediate, but the possible rewards are long term. I do not know Ms. Lafferty, and she certainly has no clue who I am, but the reason I care is because she is doing something that I hope to do somewhere down the road (no, not work hard), she's making a run at the Amazon.com charts when her book comes out on Monday, August 25. The more authors that succeed at taking non-traditional avenues toward publishing, the easier and more likely it is that someone like me can do it in the future.

I listened to PFK back when it came out, and have been listening to all the tie-in stories that have been coming out as the release draw near, and it's a really good story. If you have not checked out "Playing For Keeps" yet, I suggest you do so this weekend, and then on Monday order yourself a copy at Amazon.com if you liked it.

While you are at it, you should check out some of the other free audio novels out there on the net. JC Hutchins' "7th Son" trilogy, Scott Sigler's "Nocturnal", and Chris Lester's "Making The Cut" are all great stories, and they are all free.

I would like to join the ranks of these podcasting gods someday, but the only way my shiftless self will stay motivated to do it is if I see people like them succeed, so do me a favour, and order your copy of "Playing For Keeps" on Monday, August 25th, thanks.

Eleventh Entry: ...And Bad News, And Good News, And Bad News

July 21st

Okay, now that I’ve had "dinner", where was I?

So there I was on the roof, trying to figure out how Sharon was getting in and out (I was assuming the whole time that she was indeed coming and going from the hotel, which in hindsight was kind of stupid of me). Entry was eluding me.

I checked out the large pieces of machinery, thinking that if they were air conditioning that maybe I could get into the ventilation system (it works in the movies), or if they were for the elevators that I could maybe gain entry to the elevator shafts. I couldn’t find anything, or at least nothing that did not require me to have some tools.

I examined the skylights again, and saw that they did in fact open. There were large rusted hinges at the apex of the skylight’s slope. They did not look like they had been opened in years, and I could not see anything like a ladder for getting up and down from the skylight, but maybe Sharon just didn’t leave it set up when she was not using it.

After ten minutes of trying to pry open each skylight I considered another option; maybe she isn’t using the skylight as an entry point. I then considered just breaking the skylight, and jumping down, after all, it’s not like the zombies could get up here and get in that way themselves. Then I considered what I would do if I impaled parts of myself on broken glass, and needed to be rescued myself.

I finally decided that the roof was not the way in, and that there must be another entry point. This means climbing all the way back down the ladder, exposing myself to any zeds that might happen to look in my direction (assuming that they can even see that far), and searching around again for a way in.

Before descending the ladder, I looked down to make sure that there were no hungry ghouls waiting for me at the bottom. I saw nothing threatening down there, so I started my descent, cursing my stupidity the whole way.

As I was passing the second floor the window on my right got my attention. There was no screen on it, and it was just slightly ajar, only about a half an inch. How did I miss this? I guess I was just so determined that the roof was the way in that I wasn’t even looking for anything else.

I leaned sideways on the ladder, and hooked my fingers into the opening of the window. The window slid open quietly and easily, and I pulled myself through, sliding to the floor face first with a thud.

I found myself in a hotel room. It was a nice, but basic; queen size bed, bedside tables with lamps on them, an digital clock radio with a blank face, a phone, and armoire which presumably contains a TV and maybe a mini-fridge, a table, a couple of chairs, and a dresser. The carpet was a slightly lighter shade of beige than the building itself, and the bedspread was one of those nylon (polyester?) jobs that every hotel, no matter how nice it seems, has, this one had a wild flower pattern that looked sort of out of place in such a basic and dignified room.

I let myself out into the hotel’s hallway, which had a deep red industrial carpeting, and was quite dark with no windows to let light in. I tried to catch the door to the room I came out of as it closed, but wasn’t quick enough I was plunged into darkness, and I would need a keycard to get back into the light (do those even work without power? Are the solar panels on the roof enough to power the system?).

I pulled my handgun from its holster at my waist, and started moving slowly down the hallway. I would much rather have been using my rifle as a comfort, but I was keeping one hand on the wall as I walked.

The hallways seemed endless, my hands slid over wall, and over doorways. I tried each door I came to, hoping one would be unlocked so that I ccould get some light into the hall. At one point I ran into a table, knocking the vase of long dead flowers and a telephone to the floor. The noise the vase made as it broke was deafening in the silent darkness.

I moved across to the other side of the hallway from the table, and my hands came into contact with the cold metal of the elevator doors. For laughs, I found the buttons to summon the elevator and pressed them. Nothing happened of course.

The whole time I was creeping through the pitch black, I was wondering exactly what sort of an idiot I was to have forgotten to bring a flashlight. I should have grabbed one of the headlights out of the van before we split up. Oh well, live and learn, right?

In the darkness I heard a noise. I brought my Beretta up, and pointed it in the general direction of the noise. It sounded like a heavy door opening, and then closing. I could hear the hiss of one of those hydraulic door closers as it shut.

My mind panicked, what if a zed was here in the hotel with me? I couldn’t see to fight it off if there was. I thought about shooting, and hoping I could spot the thing in the flashes. It was a stupid idea, but I was all out of good ones at the moment.

I thought I could hear it moving, coming closer. I heard the sound of something metallic shifting. Was it armed like the one outside? It surely could not see me, but could it smell me? Hear my heartbeat? Hear my breathing? Was it stumbling around as blindly as I was, or was it coming right for me?

Then it spoke my name questioningly.

Suddenly it was on me, its arms wrapped around me, pulling me to it. Something hard hit me in the face as it brought its face to mine. The hard object slid away from its face and thumped softly on the thin carpet. It brought its mouth up to my face, and kissed me full on the lips. I was quite frankly shocked. It is a moment that will live on in my mind as long as I live.

“It’s really you! I knew Alex would send you guys to get us!” squealed the woman’s voice. Sharon’s voice.

“Sharon?” I asked stupidly.

“Well it’s certainly not Jimmy.” She replied.

Sharon pulled away from me, and a small but incredibly bright light bloomed in front of me, cutting away the darkness around us. Sharon was holding a small LED flashlight in her hand. She bent down to retrieve the object that she had hit me in the face with, causing the flashlight to project her shadow onto the ceiling.

Even in this light, I was struck both by how beautiful Sharon is, and how much I’ve missed her. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a pink t-shirt that probably would have been too tight for her when she left Mallville, but it looked like she had lost some weight in her time away. She was not really skinny to start with, but she was getting there now.

On her hip, Sharon was wearing a large revolver, like something out of Dirty Harry. When she stood upright again, I saw that the object that had been on her head was a set of night-vision goggles,” Where did you get those?” I asked, motioning to the handgun and the goggles.

“Sports store across the street. It’s not a T-Mart, but it has enough stuff in it to survive for awhile as long as no one else comes to loot it. So are the others outside?”

“It’s just me,” I replied.

“What do you mean ‘just me’? Alex sent you alone?” her smile faltered.

I’m sure I have no reason (or at least no right) to be jealous, but why does she keep mentioning Alex? I told her I would come get her; shouldn’t I get some of the credit for this?

“Yes and no. Kaur said we couldn’t waste the manpower to save you, so we worked out a plan for a run to go past here. Once we get Jimmy to the car, we’re going to meet the others at the Bianco’s a couple of blocks away. We’ll all go back as one happy family, and Kaur won’t be able to do shit about it,” I explained.

Her smile returned,” Sounds like a plan. Let’s go get Jimmy then.”

Sharon led me around to the side of the hotel she and Jimmy had been hiding out in. She let us into a hotel room with a keycard, so I guess the solar panels must be enough after all. Entering the room I was greeted by the sight of Jimmy Chen sitting on one of the room’s two queen size beds pointing a shotgun at me, a book casually sitting open on the bed next to him.

Upon seeing that it was me and Sharon coming through the door, he put the shotgun down on the bed next to the book,” Are we being rescued at last?” he asked cheerfully.

Jimmy looked well, but I noticed what looked like the handle of a hockey stick being used as a splint. The piece of wood was fastened to his right leg with a number of Ace bandages. I figure that Jimmy has probably been on that bed most of the time since they got to the hotel.

“Yup,” I replied.

I looked around the hotel room; it was basically the same as the one I had entered through except that it had two beds, and the gaudy bedspreads were gone, leaving just rumpled blankets and sheets. The room’s table and chairs had been moved to the window, and on it were bottles of water, and pouches of freeze-dried foods as well as some plates, cups, and silverware, presumably all appropriated from the hotel’s kitchen. There was also a police scanner and a powered-down laptop computer with a cable running from it across the floor to the wall jack under the writing desk.

On the floor between the beds were a stack of books; camping, hunting , and survival books probably taken from the sporting goods store, but also paperback novels and even a few mangas in the mix. There was also one of those wind-up emergency radios with the built in flashlight, and a couple of boxes of ammunition of different types. There was also a pair of crutched leaning against the nightstand with its disused phone and alarm clock blinking “12:00” over and over.

Over on the room’s dresser it looked like something out of a Punisher comic. Every inch of space was covered with boxes of bullets, handguns, a couple rifles, and large survival style knives (you know, like the kind Rambo used). Leaning against the dresser was a hunting bow, and a couple of pouches (quivers?) of arrows.

“Looks like quite the cozy set up,” I commented.

“It’s not much, but its got running water, and some electricity; we call it home,” replied Sharon as she quietly shut the door.

“Not anymore we don’t. Let the others in so we can get out of here,” said Jimmy, sliding to the edge of the bed and grabbing his crutches.

“There aren’t any others,” I said somewhat sheepishly.

“You came on your own?” asked Jimmy

“No, Alex sent him,” commented Sharon, again talking as if I had nothing to do with this.

“Hashmir said no rescue, so the main group is going on to a scavenging target. We’re going to meet them there, and act like we just happened to pass by here on the way back and pick you guys up. What’s Hashmir going to do once you’re already back inside Mallville?”

“Have us shot?” Jimmy asked in reply.

That sent chills down my spine because it was at the point that I realized that Jimmy did not know about Sara yet. I know someone would have to tell him eventually, but that didn’t mean I meant to volunteer.

“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Sharon.

“Is it? He sent those bikers after us.”

“You have no proof of that!” replied Sharon, and even though I thought Jimmy was right, I said nothing to contradict her. I didn’t need to.

It was at the point that the police scanner on the table crackled to life, reminding me that I had stupidly left my walkie talkie in the car. Mikhael’s Russian accented voice coming through, “I think we may have a problem guys, there’s a group of motorcycles coming up the street towards us.”

“Towards us, or just in our general direction?” responded Gerry McElroy’s distinctive cartoon voice.

“I’m going to say towards us, they’re about two blocks away, and approaching fast,” ask Mikhael finished speaking there is a firecracker pop before he released the talk button; a gunshot.

“Get back in here now!” cried Maria’s voice.

“They’re shooting at me!” yelled Mikhael.

“I see them! There’s at least a dozen of them!” called the voice of Karen Hummingbird,” They’re splitting up. Some are going around the side of the building, the rest are coming to the front!” this statement was punctuated by a rapid series of pops and the sound of shattering glass,”They’re shooting!”

“I’m hit!” shrieked Mikhael.

“Olivia, Daryl, Redd, take the front of the building,” ordered Maria,” Gerry and Josh cover the back door with me. Stay in the building, do not let them lure you out! Stay behind cover!”

“They’ve got fucking Uzis or something!” yelled Redd Waxman, the sounds of more gunfire coming through with his voice.

“Olivia’s down!” yelled Daryl MacGuire.

“Shut up and fight!” commanded Maria.

“Someone help me!” came a pained shriek that I barely recognized as Karen’s voice. More gunfire came through the speaker of the police scanner, but no more words.

After a few minutes the gunfire stopped. A couple of minutes after that the signal from Karen’s walkie stopped; There was just silence after that. It was over.

That was about seven hours ago now. The sun is down, and the power from the solar panels is gone. I am sitting in the hallway outside of Sharon and Jimmy’s room writing this by candlelight.

Sharon made dinner with the hotplate before it got too dark, according to the bag it was Swedish meatballs, but I think that is debatable.
We thought about just getting back to the car and heading for Mallville, but we don’t know if the bikers are still out there looking for us. Could they know the plan? They knew where we were supposed to be going, or was that just coincidence? Could Hashmir Kaur, a mall security guard, really have sent a group of bikers to murder us all?

Sharon does not believe that Kaur could be behind this, but Jimmy I sure of it. Sharon has not been around for the last few weeks, she does not know about Sara, or about that woman in the park. I know she's wrong, but I don't want to get in a fight with her about it.

This is not how this was supposed to happen. This was supposed to be simple; I was supposed to swoop in, save Sharon and Jimmy, and we would all go home victorious. Instead of celebrating back at the mall, I’m sitting here in a dark hallway writing this, and pretty much everyone I’ve come into contact with since lunchtime is dead.

I need to figure out what our story is when we do get home. How do I explain not being killed by the Hell’s Postmen? How do I explain the car not even being damaged? I guess we could maybe take one of the cars in the parking lot, maybe whoever owns them left the keys behind.

I’m going to sleep on it… on the floor. Sure I could stay in one of the other rooms, but I think we should all stay together. Maybe that’s just me being afraid. Maybe it’s just me not wanting to be away from Sharon so soon after finding her again. That’s pathetic.

I smell smoke.

Tenth Entry: Good News, and Bad News, and Good News, and Bad News...

July 21st

I’ve got good news, and bad news, and good news, and bad news.

Today was the day we put Alex’s plan into action. Our target for scavenging was the Bianco’s Pharmacy over on Leigh Street to load up on drugs for the med center. This particular Bianco’s is just three blocks from the Hotel Majestic. The idea was simple. I would split off on my own from the three main cars of the caravan, pick up Sharon and Jimmy, and continue on to Bianco’s. Sure we would all catch hell from Kaur, but it’s not like he could refuse Jimmy and Sharon entry once we brought them back, right?

I don’t have an answer to that yet.

Things started out exactly as planned. Alex assembled a team of just his most trusted scavengers; myself, Maria Perez, Josh Sterling, Mikhael Beratz, Olivia Munchausen, Daryl MacGuire, Redd Waxman, Karen Hummingbird, Gerry McElroy, and Harris Patel. We took four vehicles instead of the usual three, I had a car to myself, a beat-to-shit Oldsmobile from the 70’s, and I followed behind the two SUVs and a minivan that the others were in.

The drive out was totally uneventful. We saw a few zeds, and someone did shoot one from one of the other cars (probably Maria), but that was it. When we got to the Hotel Majestic, the others kept driving as planned, leaving me alone.

The Hotel Majestic is a five story tall building that occupies a large lot on the corner of Utopia Parkway and Red Dragon Way. It’s an older hotel, but still known as a nice one even though it looks like a plain beige box from the outside.
The big sign at the edge of the parking lot still read “WELC ME MAVERICON GUES S”; MaveriCon was a big comic/anime/sci-fi/geek convention that was scheduled a couple of weeks after that day. I guess someone at the Majestic was determined to keep business going as the world descended into Hell.

I could not see any zeds out there, but that did not mean there weren’t any. I pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel, the passenger side of the car facing the building. I got out of the car, looking around me for any signs of movement, but there was none.

I went up to the front doors of the hotel, and found them locked. It was dark inside, but I would expect that. Looking at the other doors inside the airlock (you know, that space between the doors to the inside of the building and the doors to the street outside that is meant to cut down on noise inside, or keep the air conditioning from escaping or whatever) leading into the main lobby I could see that they had been barricaded with couches and tables that had once made the lobby a welcoming place.

I quickly went back to the car, and slowly started to circle the hotel looking for another access point. I drove through the parking lot on the street side of the building. The lot was mostly empty, and the few cars there were covered in so much dust that it was obvious they had been there for quite some time now.

Across the street in front of an Apollo’s Coffee shop I saw the burnt out remains of the SUV that Sharon was riding in when her team was attacked. Seeing it made me feel sick to my stomach in a way I haven’t felt since Mitchell and the others returned a month ago.

At the back of the hotel was a large fenced off area separating the pool and back wall of the hotel from the parking lot. The tables and chairs set out there for the use of guests remained, waiting for customers who would never sit in them again. There were glass doors that lead to the inside off the hotel, but even from here I could see that it had been blocked up.

Aside from the barricade inside the glass door, there were two things in this picture that reminded me the state of the world today. The first was a body floating on the surface of the pool, the water of which had turned a sort of greenish color. The other reminder was the person standing by a ladder that leads up to the roof.

The ladder was fastened to the wall, and had a door on it to keep people from being able to climb up about the first seven feet of it. I could see that there was some sort of sign on it, but I could not red it from that far away. At a cursory glance, one would think that the door on the ladder was still locked, but I suspected that it wasn’t. This was to be my way in. The only problem was the “person” “guarding” it.

Of course it was not a person at the ladder really, it was one of the undead standing there staring at the covered ladder looking like a monkey trying to do a quadratic equation. The dark hair on the male zed made its skin look even paler, and he was wearing blue jeans and a torn Oakland Raiders jacket caked with dried blood and filth. There were what I assume were bullet holes in the back of the jacket, probably related to this man’s first death.

I had a dilemma here. How should I take out the zed? There did not appear to be any other roamers around, but the noise of a gunshot could easily attract some, and that would make getting back to the car a problem, especially if we have to carry Jimmy (and as far as that goes, I hadn’t even though about how we were going to get him out in the first place if that ladder was the only way in and out).

The zombie seemed to have not heard the car, so I got out as quietly as possibly. I grabbed my Mossberg and a large machete off of the car’s passenger seat, and slung the rifle over my shoulder. I didn’t slide the machete into its nylon sheath hanging from my belt though.

I crept up on the zombie as quietly as I could. I slowly opened the gate to the pool area, thanking God it didn’t creak, and approached the zombie, machete raised. I know I did not make any noise, but damned if it didn’t smell me or something, because I was almost within striking distance of it when it quickly turned to face me, and that’s when I got the surprise of the day.

In the zombie’s left hand was a large aluminum baseball bat. This was a first for me, even online I’d not seen anything about these creatures using weapons. I would love to say that it probably just randomly picked it up and did not know what to do with it, but it knew alright.

The former Raiders fun lunged at me, swinging the bat awkwardly. I dodged in what must have been a most un-Matrix-like way, and felt the wind as the bat missed my head by mere inches. The weight of the bat caused the zed to pivot and lose its balance, sending him stumbling into a pool lounger.

The zed tumbled forward, and hit the plastic straps of the lounge chair hard, causing them to snap under the weight. He hit the cement under the chair face first with a wet thud, and started struggling to free itself from the broken straps and metal frame of the chair. In his struggles he let go of the bat which clanged on the ground, and rolled for a couple of feet towards the pool.

This thing looked absolutely pathetic caught up in the chair so I decided to put it out of its, and my, misery. I swung at the back of its neck, but between the odd angle its head was pushed back at, and its thrashing about I only hit its back. I heard a loud crunch, so I think I may have split a shoulder blade or something, but I did not get the spine. This was evidenced by the fact that it was still trying to get free of the chair.

As I raised the machete again, it managed to roll over onto its back. It would be really dramatic to say that its face was a mask of fury, but, aside from being a bit smashed from its meeting with the cement, it was pretty blank. If there was anything that could be described as emotion to the thing, it would have to be in its eyes. There was this mix of hunger and sadness there, or that could just be me attributing human emotions to something inhuman.

I brought the machete’s blade down again, this time striking the zed right across the front of the throat. As I yanked the blade free, a spatter of black crud dribbled out of the gaping hole in the zed’s throat, but I still did not get the spine as it was still trying to get up.

As the zed got free of the chair’s frame and sat up, I brought the machete down again, this time aiming at the center of its head, hoping to split his skull and destroy the brain. In the movies this would have worked perfectly, the machete burying itself deep into the skull of the zombie; it’s too bad that I do not live in a movie.

The machete did crack the zombie’s skull open, but did not go deep enough to damage the brain (or at least not enough to put this thing down once and for all). That’s bad, but worse is the fact that the blade was now firmly lodged in the creature’s skull, and in the process of trying to pull the machete free, I ended up pulling the flesh-hungry former football fan to his feet and towards me.

Realizing what a colossally stupid thing I had just done, I then got the hell out of its way as momentum brought it towards me. It staggered for a few steps, almost joining the other body in the pool, which would have made finishing it off a real joy. Luckily it regained its balance before going into the water… unlucky, it now turned back towards me.

I started to back away, getting ready to dodge as it lunged at me, and nearly fell on my ass as I stepped on the baseball bat that was still lying at the side of the pool. I stooped down and snatched the bat.

The handle of the bat was sticky with I don't want to know what. At the time I was more interested in the end of the bat that was pointing away from me than with the handle

The zombie moved towards me, and I swung in the awkward way that I swing a bat (you may not have realized, but I'm not really much of an athlete. Regardless of what my coach in high school would say about me form, the swing did its job.

The bat connected to the side of the zed's head with a crunch and a clang (the clang coming from the bat hitting, and bending slightly, the machete), and the zombie staggered. I hit it again, and it went down, and flopped over onto its back.

Once it hit the ground, the zed didn't stop moving. It wasn't trying to get up exactly, but it was sort of flopping around like a fish or like someone having a seizure. I raised the bat above my head, and brought it down on his. The entire head split open at the crack the machete had made, and a spray of gore hit me in the face. The machete dropped to the ground as grey brains starting to turn black oozed free.

When I was finished vomiting, a combination of adrenaline and disgust (there's something a lot more personal about bashing a zombie's skull in compared to just shooting it, even at close range), I set the bat down on the ground, wiped my face on my shirt sleeve, and retrieved my machete.

The machete was not bent badly, but I would never be able to straighten it. I decided to keep it though, as I had no way of taking the bat with me up the ladder easily. I rinsed the machete off in the pool water. The water was cloudy and green, a combination of lack of maintenance and the dead body rotting in it, but it was still a lot more pleasant than the crap that was all over the machete. I sheathed the machete, which did not hang right due the bend in it, and went over to the ladder.

I went over to the swinging metal door which covered the ladder to the roof. There was a sun faded sign stuck to the door which read:

ROOF ACCESS
AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY
LADDER TO REMAIN LOCKED WHEN NOT IN USE
WHEN USING LADDER, TAKE LOCK WITH YOU

As I had hoped, there was no lock on the ladder; Sharon must have read the sign. One not-so-quick climb up the ladder later (have I mentioned no being athletic?), and I was on the roof.

I surveyed the roof for a way in, but found only machinery (air conditioning, or maybe the elevators, I don't know), some satellite dishes, a number of solar panels, a couple of skylights that looked down into the penthouse suites, and no obvious way in. No doors, no hatches, nothing. I guess it makes sense that there would no be an internal roof access if there was a ladder on the outside of the building like that.

“Well, crap!” I said to the no one there.