Part II
June 28
The Nelsons came last night! I saw them, both of them!
It was around midnight, or so. I would've missed them, but my windowsill isn't very comfortable, so I was kinda half-sleeping, and the moon was full and bright. I could see our yards really well, so much that I didn't even need a flashlight.
Well, I remember waking up, looking down into both yards and there they were, in their yard, sort of walking slowly toward the hole in the fence. It was so weird how they sort of stumbled and slouched, kinda like they were sleepwalking, (or sick, maybe?) I could hear them making these low noises, which I thought at first was them talking to each other, but was more like moaning sounds, as they got closer. Pretty soon, they slipped through the hole in the fence and into my backyard.
Now, I don't know if it was because of the dark, but from my window, they looked really...bad. They were both wearing what looked like old people pajamas, but they were really dirty all down the front, like they had spilled chocolate syrup on their clothes and smeared it all over their hands and faces. I could also smell that nasty, rotten-meat smell again, as they walked near the pool and stopped, then kinda changed directions and headed toward the back patio.
Man, was I dumb. I just sort of stared at them, getting really scared actually, when I suddenly remembered...my stupid CAMERA! Duh! I grabbed it from the windowsill and turned it on, aiming where I thought they were, but couldn't find them in my viewsight. When I looked up, they were already nearly out of my sight, still heading toward my back porch. I could definately hear them moaning by now, (and smell them, too...ugh!) Then another thought hit me...
Oh crap, they're going to get into my house!
I grabbed my baseball bat and camera and ran downstairs, yelling for mom and dad to wake up. I made it to the patio door and stopped, suddenly scared to death. They were standing right at the patio door, both of them, and looking in right at me. I could mostly see their outlines, but it was their faces that freaked me out. I know this sounds completely nuts, but their mouths were hanging open and their skin looked weird, kinda grey and droopy, like it didn't fit right. Their eyes! Holy crap, I swear their eyes were completely white!
Everything moved in slow-motion for the next few seconds, kinda like Keenu Reeves when he dodged those bullets in The Matrix. I remember lifting my camera to my face and snapping two pictures at them. The reflection of the flash on the glass door instantly blinded me and left those bright spots in the middle of my vision. Then, I turned around, rubbing my eyes, and ran from the kitchen back into the living room, totally expecting to hear the smash of the glass door behind me. Instead, I nearly ran into mom and dad, who had finally come running. I remember the gun in my dad's hand looking really black and dangerous, as they frantically asked me what was wrong. I rattled off that theNelsonswerecominandgonnakillus, while jumping up and down and pointing toward the kitchen.
I stayed with mom in the living room, as dad sort of crouch-stepped into the kitchen, holding the gun in front of him with both hands, like the cops on t.v. After a few tense seconds, I heard him in his I'm-way-past-peeved voice tell me to get my butt in there and explain myself. I went into the kitchen with mom and saw dad standing near the patio door, his hands on his hips and the gun lying on the counter next to him. I looked past him to the glass door and saw NOTHING. The Nelsons were gone! I looked down at the camera in my hand and remembered the pictures I'd taken. Sweet! I had EVIDENCE! I handed him the camera, feeling really proud of myself and watched as he scrolled through it for a second. But, instead of watching him drop to his knees and beg my forgiveness, he just grimaced and handed it back to me. I looked at the picture in the viewfinder... Crap. The glass on the door had totally messed up the shots. What should've been two pictures of crazy, dog-killing neighbors from hell were instead nothing but white explosions of light, reflected off of the glass.
Now I'm totally in trouble. Dad just thinks I did this because of FleaRide, (he's kinda right, in a way), and mom thinks I did it because of nightmares about FleaRide, (she may be kinda right, too). Either way, I'm in it good. TT laughed when dad told me in the morning that I was grounded until I turned 18, (I kicked her under the table when she did, hard! haha). I thought about telling her what I saw, but decided that she would just make fun of me, --call me a baby or something. I admit it looks bad for me, and everything, but I know what I saw! I saw the tracks they left in the yard. I saw the greasy, brown handprints they left on the patio glass this morning, (which dad thought I did myself for "theatrical effect" and made me wipe up. (Nasty) I don't care what they think. I saw the Nelsons last night and nothing anyone says is gonna keep me from standing guard again, all night if I have to.
Only this time, I'll remember to turn the stupid flash on my camera off.
June 29
I have a confession to make. I used to think this whole diary (journal!) thing was a joke, but in reality, it's keeping me much more calm, considering how things are now.
Dad never came home from work today. The newsman on t.v. said that there were tons of sick people, (he called them infected), downtown, attacking and biting everyone! The military had blocked off all of the exits around the city and were actually shooting at people! Mom tried all afternoon to get ahold of dad, but the cellphone lines wre completely jammed. It was nearly dark by the time she was finally able to get ahold of him on his cell. She put her own phone on speaker and set it on the kitchen table, so dad could talk to all of us. He said that he was ok, but that he couldn't leave his office building because of all of the fighting in the streets. He told mom to get us out of town however she could, and that he would meet us at Grandma's house, in Springfield. He sort of paused for a bit, as my mom kept calling his name over and over. Finally, he spoke again (he sounded like he was crying). He said that he loved us all, and to get out before it was too late. If he said anything more, we never heard it because the connection went dead again.
Mom reached down and flipped her cell closed, then held it to her chest as she looked at the news report on t.v. I remember that, for a minute, she just stared at the video feed of soldiers shooting at the crowds of sick people that were all around them, the cell still against her chest, me and Tammy just looking at her, then each other. Then, she let out a big sigh, grabbed the remote and shut off the t.v. She turned around and told us to get upstairs and pack enough clothes for three days. I ran upstairs behind Tammy and into my room, where I grabbed my backpack and started stuffing my favorite clothes into it.
While I was in the middle of doing that, I heard mom yell something downstairs, then the sound of the front door slamming shut. I went into Tammy's room to see if she heard what mom had said. Tammy was just sitting on her bed, staring at a large, red barrette in her hand, --her suitcase open and empty at her feet. When I asked her again, she said in a dazed way that mom was running over to the Nelsons house to tell them the news, and more importantly, to borrow their car, (ours was with dad downtown).
Man, my heart dropped from my chest to my feet when I heard that! She was going over there?! I didn't even stop to think. I ran back into my room and grabbed my backpack, then flew downstairs and into mom and dad's room. I started tearing through their room, trying to think like my dad. Finally, in dad's bedside dresser, I found what I was looking for. I grabbed the gun with my good hand, (man, it was a lot heavier than the cops made it look on t.v.), shoved it into my backpack, and with a quick "I'll be back" upstairs to Tammy, I ran outside, slammed the front door closed behind me and headed next door.
When I reached the Nelson's front porch, I suddenly got that same feeling I had the morning that FleaRide disappeared. The hair on my arms stood up and my heart played a crazy, freezing cold drum solo in my chest. The door to the house was standing wide open and it was pretty dark inside. The rotten meat smell was really strong and made my stomach do some sick flips, but I thought of mom (and FleaRide) and forced myself to go inside, anyway.
Ugh! It stunk in there, even worse than outside. What made it even worse was that I could barely see a thing. I bumped into a table (I think) with my leg and stopped to rub it. Way to run over to a dark, stinky house of creepy dog-killers without a flashlight, genius, I thought. Suddenly, i remembered my backpack. I yanked the zipper open and felt around until I found Grandma's booklight. I zipped up my pack and clicked it on. It was small, but at least helped me see the living room a bit better. I almost wish that I hadn't...
It was completely trashed. Furniture was moved around at weird angles or tipped over, and pieces of broken lamp and stuff scattered all over the floor. There was a lot of grime and dust, along with a ton of that brownish, greasy stuff smeared all over the walls and carpeting. It was so thick in places, that it squished under my shoes as I snuck around, calling out in a loud whisper for my mom. Across the room, I reached their shattered, sliding patio door, --the carpet in that area all wet and mildewy and stained with the brown grease and dark blood. I looked outside for a second and realized it was getting pretty dark, by this time. The tall grass and weeds in the Nelson's yard had that bluish look that happens to green when the sun is getting low.
I followed the brown stuff and blood from the patio and into the kitchen, where I finally found FleaRide...or what was left of him. He was mostly bones, and pieces of him were scattered all over the kitchen floor and counters. It looked like the Nelsons had torn him apart, like a Thanksgiving turkey. My eyes started to sting with tears, but I thought of mom ending up the same way if I didn't hurry, so I wiped my eyes with my t-shirt sleeve and kept looking for her. I walked back into the family room again, trying to ignore the squish of the gunk on the carpet (and the smell, of course) and headed down a dark hallway. I remember that there were pictures hanging up crooked on the walls, or lying broken on the floor. Glass was crunching under my shoes, as I held the booklamp out in front of me and walked as quietly as I could. The hallway ended with three doors: one to my left, middle and right. The ones to my left and right were open slightly, so I started with the left one.
I pointed the light inside the room, then stuck my head in a little. I could just barely make out a black sewing machine on a stand in the back corner, just to the right of a tiny, shade-drawn window. Stacks of rolled-up cloth leaned up against the stand and walls, covered in dust. A laundry basket of clothing was dumped onto the floor, but otherwise the room looked pretty much untouched, (no gunky stuff on the floor, anyway).
Behind me, I suddenly heard my mom loudly whisper my name. I called out to her, but her voice shushed me and told me not to come to her, but instead to get out of the house. Her voice seemed to come from the right-side door, so in spite of what she said, I pushed the door open and went inside the room. As I stepped inside, I nearly gagged. It was the Nelson's bedroom, and it was ten times worse than the kitchen. The rotten-smelling, brown gunk was all over the floor, bed and covered the walls and furniture. Blood and pieces of dead animals were all over the place, including what looked like the front-half of a cat on the bed, the purple loops of its guts spread along the stained bedspread. I was trying to do two things at once: not puke my brains out and find mom. I was okay with the first part, but the dark was pretty thick, and I couldn't see her, until she called my name again. She sounded pretty close, so I stepped around the bed and finally found her sitting on the floor, her back against a large dresser. She was hurt pretty bad, I think. The collar of her white t-shirt was ripped and bloody and long, bloody scratches stretched from her left cheek to just below her neck. A brown handprint was smeared across her chest and she was cradling her right arm with her left.
I didn't even care about the blood. I knelt down and gave her a tight hug. She hugged me back with her good arm, exposing her other arm just enough for me to look at it. She had a really deep, bite-shaped wound just above her wrist. It was raw and bleeding pretty badly. I stood up and opened one of the drawers above her head, and rummaged around until I found, what turned out to be a white pair of underwear. I helped her wrap the bite wound and tie it off, even though she warned me not to get any of it on myself. As we worked, she told me what happened. She said that the Nelsons had both attacked her in the hallway, as she looked for them. She was able to push them both into the bathroom and close the door, but was bit and scratched in the process. She said that the Mr. and Mrs. Nelson were sick, like the people on t.v. and that she was probably sick, as well. She said that I had to get Tammy and get out of there, out of the neighborhood and out of town, no matter what.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Mom was talking like she wasn't coming with us. I begged her to get up and come with me. We could find her help! I mean, I was bitten by Blake's cat pretty bad, and all I needed was a shot. Why was she going to stay behind with the sick, psychopathic Nelsons?!
That's when she told me everything, --what the news was saying about the sick people, the infected. She told me what she and dad had tried to keep from us, why she wasn't too angry with him when he brought the gun home. She told me what was actually happening downtown and why Blake's family wasn't around anymore. She told me what the Nelsons had turned into, --what she was going to turn into.
I remember shutting off...just going nuts then. I tried to pull her up, but she pushed my arms away. I yelled at her, told her that she was my mother, that she had to take care of us. She just shook her head and told me to leave with Tammy and look after her. I went balistic: calling her a cop-out, a quitter. I didn't even care about the moaning that started behind the hallway bathroom, or the banging of fists against the door. I was so angry at mom that I called her everything I could think of.
I told her I hated her.
When I said that, mom changed completely. Her face turned really...mmm...hard, I guess. She told me to shut-up and listen, grabbing my arm and pulling me to her. I was sobbing, I think, when she took my hand and said something I don't think I'll ever forget.
"Timmy," she said, "I understand how you feel, how this must look for you. I could get up and leave this house with you, yes. We could get your sister, leave this place and run as fast as we could out of town..."
She took her good hand out of mine and grabbed my chin, gripping it and forcing me to look into her eyes. The light from the booklamp was shining upward from her lap and onto her face. The expression she had was one that I'd never seen her make before. It was the look of real sadness...like dispair.
"...But, you must understand something, son," she continued. "No matter how far we run from here, or how fast we go, I would still be sick. What I have...it changes people, like it did Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. You and your sister would watch me get weaker and more sick and no matter what you did to help me, I would...well, I would die anyway." She shook her head. "But worse, much worse than that, you would watch me come back, like those people on t.v." Her hand still gripping my chin, she shook my face hard, gritting her teeth. It hurt a little, but I didn't dare look away from her eyes.
"Do you understand? I would no longer be your mother: the mother who loves you both so very much. She would still be dead. The thing that would come back wouldn't love or even know your names anymore. It would only try and hurt you, like the Nelsons did to poor, sweet FleaRide. You would both have to either run from me, or kill me because...because I would try and kill both of you." She looked away for a second, down to her wrapped forearm. The pounding on the door in the hall was getting louder. I could barely hear what she said next, kinda like she was talking more to herself than me. "I want you to remember me like this," she said, "as the mother who loves you, rather than what I will become..."
Like a lightning bolt to my head, I suddenly understood, (maybe I always did). I thought back to the things I'd said to her and realized how stupidly I'd behaved. Still crying, I hugged mom tight and told her over and over how sorry I was and that I loved her. I felt warm tears on my shoulder as she whispered in my ear that she already knew, and it was ok. She pushed me back and looked into my eyes again. She told me to get Tammy and get out of there.
I was about to answer, when I heard a sharp, cracking sound coming from the hallway bathroom door as the Nelsons beat on it. I was running out of time. I ****** mom on the cheek, and was about to run out of the room, when I remembered something.
I threw my backpack off my shoulders and onto the bed. Unzipping it, I pulled out dad's gun by the barrel and held it out to mom. She told me to keep it and use it to keep Tammy safe. When I told her I couldn't use it because of my cast, she actually laughed a little and thanked me, took the gun and set it in her lap. I nodded and slung my backpack back onto my shoulders, as I headed for the door. I turned once to look back at her before I left, but I had the light with me, and the room was dark again. I'm pretty sure that, from the dark of the room, I heard mom say that she loved me, (I'd like to think so, anyway).
I ran back down the hallway, the pounding and moans coming from the bathroom door getting really loud. I knew that the door was going to cave soon, and I may have panicked a bit. I bolted into the living room, banging into all sorts of stuff and stumbled out of the front door and into the Nelson's yard. From there, I sprinted to my house, through the open front door and up the stairs to Tammy's room, yelling her name. Her bedroom door was wide open, but she wasn't there. Her suitcase was still lying near her bed, with a pile of clothes thrown it, looking a lot like it did before I left. That's when I rememberd that the front door had been closed when I left the house, but open when I got back. Oh crap...
I ran downstairs again and through the house, searching every room and calling Tammy's name. It was in the kitchen that I found her note, saying that she was going to get her boyfriend, Taylor, who lived about a mile away. She wrote that she'd be back with him and his car if we didn't show up at his house in an hour. Wow, great plan, sis. It was just like TT to go and think of her cruddy boyfriend at a time like this. He did have a car, though...
Anyway, I shoved the note in my pocket and locked the front door. I figured there was nothing much I could do but wait for Tammy and dorkboy to come pick me up. After checking all of the doors and windows, I flopped onto the couch and turned on the t.v., trying to stay calm and not think of mom and dad.
The news on the t.v was looking pretty bad, by then. The studio newsman was trying to talk to some lady reporter that had been covering the fighting downtown and gotten trapped inside her newsvan with her cameraman. The lady was screaming and the camera was panning outside the van windows, as the whole van rocked violently from side to side. A whole lot of people were pushing on it and moaning, dragging their hands over the windows or beating with their fists against the van. Some of their faces were smashed up against the glass, their mouths chewing and oozing that brown stuff and smearing it all over it, making the faces look blurred and oily. Suddenly, the video shook wildly and the van tipped over on its side, with a huge crash of glass and metal. Stuff was falling everywhere inside the van and the cameraview ended up sideways, pointing directly at the lady reporter. She was on her back, broken glass all over her bloody face and clothes. She was swinging her arms in front of her, trying to bat away a whole bunch of arms that were reaching for her, off-camera from above. One hand grabbed a handful of her long hair, lifting her head towards the other grabbing hands, which started clawing and scratching her face, leaving deep, bloody ruts. she and the cameraman both screamed and the video feed to the studio went dead. The newsman in the studio just stared ahead, his eyes wide and his face going pale. After a few seconds, he suddenly doubled over behind his desk and started puking loudly, right on t.v.! The station went to another newsman, (he did the weather, I think), who was staring off-camera to his right and was looking kind of sick himself. He yelled something and the screen switched to solid red, with a band of writing that scrolled across the middle of it. It was saying that the emergency alert system advised everyone to lock themselves in their homes, secure the windows and doors and wait for further instructions. Outside, the tornado warning horn started wailing: sounding far, then close, then far, then close. I turned off the t.v.
I sat on the couch for an hour, listening to the siren wail (far, close, far, close) and staring at the clock on the dvd player. Tammy hadn't arrived yet. I went over to the front door and flipped on the porch light, then sat at the kitchen table for a bit and stared at the clock on the microwave, praying that I would hear Tammy's voice, or Taylor's carhorn honk, or dad. It was pitch dark outside by then, and I could hear popping noises and muffled booms in the distance. The tornado siren kept whining away (far, close, far...) and I started thinking of all of those arms on t.v., all bloody and shredded, reaching for a handful of long hair...
I jumped up and pushed the kitchen table over onto its side, then slid it in front of the back patio door. Then, I ran through the house shutting off the lights, the image of those arms setting my mind to a near panic. I threw down all of the shades and double-checked every door and window lock. I'm not sure how, but I ended up on my bed in my room, hugging my pillow as my heart hammered in my chest in the dark. I sat there listening to it, thrumming nearly out of my ribs, my heavy breathing, the wail of the siren, (close, far...) and the pops and thumps in the distance. I can't say how long I sat like that. I think I was kinda like that studio newsman, sort of staring off into nothing, my head trying to figure out what exactly was going on...and coming up with nothing.
After awhile, I became aware of something else. It was a noise, a small one coming from downstairs. Sort of a slow thud. I stood up and poked my head into the hallway and heard it much louder. Not a thud, though. It was more of a scratching sound, like a match against a piece of wood. I crept halfway down the stairs, holding my bat, trying to identify where the sound was coming from (ohpleaseohpleasenotinthehousepleaseGodno). As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I realized it was coming from outside the front door. I snuck over to the door, got up on my toes and peeked through the peephole.
It was a girl, standing on the porch, facing toward me. Her head and shoulders slumped a little and she swayed like she'd been drinking. Her face was hidden in shadow under the porchlight, but I could see that the top part of her blouse and her left arm were soaked in what looked like a lot of blood. Her hair was messy and tangled, like those before pictures in the shampoo commercials ("Nothing will fix these tangles") and I noticed a few leaves and twigs hanging out of the tangles, along with a red barrette, dangling just barely at the end of one of the clumps. I knew that barrette. It was Tammy.
I think it was, at that moment, the first time I really let loose. I sat down on the floor, my back against the door, and just let it all go. I cried for Tammy, scratching at the door behind me. I cried for my mother, bloody and dying at the Nelson's house. I cried for my father, trapped in his office downtown and surrounded by the infected (grey hands reaching...reaching). I cried for brave old FleaRide, who knew before any of us how bad things were and died trying to warn his family of it.
Mostly thought, I think I cried for me. Everything was backwards and upsidedown. My whole family was gone and I was completely alone. What was I supposed to do, now? I cried until my ribs hurt, until I could barely breathe and my head buzzed and pounded. I'm not sure how long I was there, but it was Tammy's scratching that finally brought me back. It's weird, but suddenly I could hear the scratching again and the buzz in my ears started to fade, along with my crybaby sniffling. Everything came into a kind of focus, like my binoculars. I couldn't just sit here, I thought. I wiped the tears from my face with my hand, grabbed my bat and stood up.
The first thing I realized was that there were a lot more scratching sounds at the front door than before. I looked through the peephole again. Oh, man. There were at least two more people besides Ta...the girl at the door. They were all just standing there, crowding the porch and scratching lightly at the door. I double-checked the lock with my eyes and backed away from the door. As an afterthought, I reached over to the lightswitch and shut off the porchlight. Not such a good idea, I found out. The scratching turned immediately to pounding and moaning. Great. I ran through the living room and into the kitchen. I grabbed some bottled water and food from the cupboard and refrigerator as I could, then hauled my butt up the stairs and into my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and slid my bed up against it, followed by my desk, (for good measure).
I sat down and tried to catch my breath and think of what to do. Mom's instructions were for me and...well me, to get out of town any way that I could. My problem was that I had no idea where to go, or even where "out of town" was, exactly. I had some roadmaps from Boy Scouts already folded up in my backpack, but I won't lie and say I was really sure of how to start. Of course, I had to try anyway. Mom said to, right?
After thinking for a few minutes, I picked up my backpack and stuffed the things I had grabbed from the kitchen into it, (except the jar of mayonaise...I have no idea why I grabbed that). My first move was to get out of the house. I couldn't go out the front door, thanks to my friendly neighbors on the porch, but there was an alley that ran behind the fence in the backyard that led to the street. My plan was to sneak through my window and jump from the roof down into my backyard. If I had the time, I thought that I could maybe even grab my bike from the side of the house. Just a short climb over the fence and I would be off like The Flash. I secured my backpack, grabbed my bat and went to my window. I had just stuck my leg through, when I looked into the yard and saw them.
It was the Nelsons. They were standing in my backyard, sort of swaying on their feet, their heads both turned upward to my window. Even in the dim of the moon, I could see their white eyes and slack jaws working open and closed, (I think Mr. Nelson was missing his teeth. Dentures?) But that's not what made me slowly pull my leg back in, close the window and sit instead on my bed. There was a third figure standing near them, t-shirt covered in blood and brown gunk, a black pistol dangling from its hand by a few fingers, just under a pair of blood-soaked underwear tied around its forearm...
July 13
Sorry it's been awhile, but I've been a busy guy here, --what with the end of the world and everything. I've written a little here and there, but honestly, my mind has been a big blank most of the time. It's kinda weird. I'll catch myself sitting for hours (I think) just staring at nothing. In fact, the only reason I'm writing now is because I've convinced myself that it was time to finish my homework. Summer's nearly over, in a way (well, everything is, to be honest). So here I am, writing away in my jou...screw it my diary again. You know, I just realized that I'm doing homework that I'll never have to turn in?! In a different time, I woulda been pretty happy about that. Haha. I think I'll give myself an A+ anyway, (sorry, Mrs. Taylor).
So, how has my summer vacation been, so far? Well, let's see...It's been awhile since all of that stuff happened and guess what? I'm still sitting on my bed in my room! (hold the applause, please) The power went out about four days ago, so it gets really hot during the day, without the AC running. Nights are ok, as long as I keep my window open, but I don't really like doing that much. Nowdays, there's a constant moaning everywhere outside, and it makes me really restless and nervous. The good news is that I don't hear any of the annoying popping sounds or people screaming as much anymore, so I can kinda sleep better. The bad news is that the front door gave way about a week ago, so now a whole bunch of the infected people are wandering around downstairs. Occasionally, I hear them break something or hear the furniture move as they bump into it. I can deal with that, really. It's the moaning that drives me nuts. I hear it all of the time, sort of low and sad. I smell the rotten meat stink of the brown stuff that leaks out of them. Luckily, they can't get upstairs to get me, not that they don't try. Did you know that they can't climb stairs very good? Bad for them, really awesome for me! I moved the bed from... my sister's old room and jammed up the stairwell with it, about mid-way down. The infected can't seem to crawl over the bed and usually end up falling back down the stairs and back into the pile of party-people below. I hear the loud thumps when one of them falls almost constantly. Sometimes, I can hear their bones break. It sounds like damp twigs...
All in all, I'm just "hunky dorey" as my dad would've said. I filled the bathtub and sink with water while the plumbing still worked, (thank you, Boy Scout Manual), so I have plenty to drink, so far. The batteries in the clock radio in my sister's old room still work, so I do hear some news, if you could call it "news". There's this channel with some religious guy on it, shouting about the last days and ****ation, and stuff like that. Man, he never stops, unless he's crying (which he does alot). There's another channel with this man saying the same thing over and over, --something about a safe zone for the uninfected, just outside of Chicago. That's all great and everything, but I checked my maps and Chicago looks like one heck of a long way away, even on my bike (which I doubt I could even get to, anymore). Aside from those two stations, the radio is straight static.
Oh, did I mention that I haven't eaten in nine days? Yeah, funny story, actually. See, during those first couple of days locked in my room, I had this great idea that I should keep my energy up, so I'd be ready for my great escape. So, I prepped for the big run, like I was an olympic athelete...in a backpack food-eating event. Pretty soon, it was all gone. Genius, huh? I even ate when I wasn't even hungry! Just stuffing it down, you know? Just packing in the carbs, psyching myself up to make that long run across the yard and into the alley. "Just one more day...just one more day and I'll make the jump...
I could actually see it in my mind, you know? Playing like a song on repeat --over and over and over and over (sorry). I would drop from the roof and roll to my feet, ninja-style. Then, in a burst of superhuman speed, I would charge right past the Nelsons, (maybe karate kick Mr. Nelson in his drippy, rotten stones for FleaRide, heh), then head over to the fence, all Joe Cool like. I would hit that fence, grab it with both hands, and vault over it and into the alley. I would then work my way out of town, hitting up the 7-11 down the street for supplies first. Maybe I would even find a dog to help me, or a group of uninfected, with big guns. I would carry a pistol, like my dad, and maybe even a machete, too. I would survive...and live Happily Ever After. The End. Haha I imagined it, until it was like a movie playing behind my eyes overnovernovernover Sorry. Sometimes I would come out of my daydream with one leg hanging out the window already. I've already found myself at that point so many many times. But, every time, I would look down into the yard, then slowly climb myself back inside and sit on my bed, listening to the moans and dull thunks of them falling down the stairs. I would just sit there...and eat.
Food...Hotdogs and hamburgers and ice cream and pizza!!!! It's pretty much all I can think about anymore. Sometimes, it actually makes me droool on myself when I do. Seems dorky, I know, but I just can't help it! It creeps into my brain and makes me want to put something, no anything into my mouth! My cast fell off my arm the other day and I actually tried to eat some of the plaster (I don't advise it). I've tried pieces of wood from my desk, shreds of sheet from the bed, wallpaper...even soap! I drink water until my belly is near bloating, but it doesn't help, not for long anyway. I think that if I had something to do, it would be easier to distract myself, but without electricity, I'm pretty much in the stone ages here. I tried bouncing a tennis ball on the wall, but it makes the infected downstairs get really loud, so I don't bother anymore. Writing in here helped for a little while, but I sort of ran out of paper this morning. Well, to be honest, I tore out most of the pages, (including July 1 through 12...Happy Fourth, by the way). I soaked them in water mixed with salt, which I have plenty of, and at it all up. Gross, I know, but it wasn't really that bad. Looked like oatmeal and tasted like boards, (thanks for the grub, Quaker Tim! Haha) Last night, I even guzzled down that entire jar of mayonaise, even though it looked like liquidy, yellow-colored baby poop, smelled like rotten eggs and tasted like spoiled cream cheese. No surprise that I ended up puking most of it up and gave myself a nice case of the hershey squirts today. Yet again, another victory, Timmyboy!
Now, I'm so weak from blowing out both ends that my arms and legs shake if I stand up, my head spins really bad and I'm still hungry as hell!!! Not that it matters anymore, I couldn't get more food, even if I had the strength to. It would mean going out into the backyard...and I cant do that. Messed up, huh?
It's crazy, but when I think about it, I think that deep down I always knew that I wouldn't (couldn't) make the jump. It's not the trip, exactly. I could try and get to Chicago, regardless of how far it was. It's not stupid Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, still staring with their white eyes up at me from the backyard. (They're looking really messed up now that they've been outside awhile, --their skin is falling off in chunks, like sheets soaked in glue.) No, it's actually the one out there with them. She wanders the yard, mostly, not really paying much attention to anything in particular. From up here, she still looks pretty much the same way I remember when I last saw her: when she hugged me and told me she loved me. There's the real problem...I still remember her that way.
I know that if I jump out that window and make my run for the fence, no matter how much I tell myself not to: I'll look at her. I'll look into her face and see what she warned me about that day. I'd see something that would haunt me forever. I would lose the memory of her loving me. I would lose it, just as I lost the memory of Tammy the second I looked through that peephole. Whenever I try and picture my sister now, all I see is that red barrette dangling from her tangled, dirty hair. I think of her voice and all I hear is the scratching of her broken fingers on the front door. It kills me, you know? I can't do that to the memory of my mother...I won't.
So now I just sleep a lot, mostly to keep myself from thinking about...well, everything. I guess I'm also hoping that one of these times that I go to sleep, that maybe I'll luck out and not wake up again. It's much better than watching myself turn into bones, right? Lately, I've even played with the idea of going downstairs. Just crawling over the bed, marching down the steps and giving a hearty Howdy-Do to the neighborhood. Maybe I could even find Tammy and give my sis a big, brotherly hug. I'd be cool with that, (I know she'd be cool with that. Haha). I'm not quite sure I have the stones to do that though...not yet.
Well, I'm nearly out of paper and it's getting dark. I'm going to finish this, set it on my windowsill and go to sleep. First though, I'm going to open the window and say goodnight to the woman in the backyard, like I've done every night, since she joined the dead next door. I like to tell myself that she understands me, no matter what she told me before, and I'm pretty sure I can do it without looking too closely at her...
...goodnight, Mom.
