Free The Zom Diary by Eddie Austin

mason jar of weed when he speaks, “Do you really need that right now?  I’m not judging, but I want to know where you think we should go from here, legally speaking, and you should have a clear head.”
         “Fuck.”  I say, pausing to light the bowl before continuing.
         “There’s not much I can do.  I’ll make amends with his son; give him back his dad’s stuff, what’s here, if you think that will help.  I feel bad for him, but I would do the same thing again under those circumstances, not knowing, no doubt.  And legally speaking, there is no law.”
         Bryce nods his head and looks up at me. “It’d be good to make amends with his son.  He’s young, but he’s being raised by good people.  He might forgive you.  I forgive you.  That’s all I have left to say about that, except that it would be nice to have his body to bury for the boy’s peace of mind.”
         “That’s it?”  I raise my pipe and take a big pull of yellowy thick smoke into my lungs.  I offer him some, and he shakes his head.  From the depths of deep sadness in his eyes, a spark lights and he speaks up, face lightening some.
        “I’ll take a glass of booze if you have got any.”
     
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         I grab some pear hooch from the cellar and pour us both a glass.  We sit there, he and I, in the bright sun lit big room of the barn for some time.  He tells me a story from the trip to Selma/Salem about when Brian had taken out almost a dozen zombies that had crowded him and his son into a corner.  He’d taken them out with his bare hands snapping necks and stomping the heads of fallen foes in an animal frenzy that had almost certainly terrified Bryce as much as it impressed him.
         It is a fitting tribute to the guy, I guess.  We eat some jerky around noon and I show Bryce around the orchard.  He is surprised that so many trees are left.  I explain Bill’s vision for the place and he stops walking for a moment.
         “What kind of yield do you get?”
         “Way more than I can use myself.  I juice or preserve as much as I can.”
         So we make plans to bring some of the more exotic stuff; avocados, lemons, and whatever else to market when it is available.  I figure that when you wrong someone, sometimes you end up owing more than an apology.  But Bryce seems to be a pragmatist, at least when it comes to supplying his town.
         In the evening we cook up some old rice that Bryce has found on the way out and add some thyme from the side of the barn.  It goes well with some pears that we roast nested in the coals in an old camp skillet. 
         The sun is getting low in the sky, and I offer the couch in the barn for Bryce to crash on.  As an afterthought, as we both sit looking into the dying coals of the fire, I ask him about how he found me and why he was out this way.
         “I was out scouting when I picked up your trail.  I kind of suspected you were from somewhere around here and wanted to see where.  You’ll have to forgive my paranoia, not everyone I encounter has our best interests in mind.  I thought I’d catch up with you and perhaps talk. 
         “Also, lately we’ve been seeing more and more zombies, and, if they aren’t drawn to town, they seem to be heading this way.  I wanted to see if I could figure out why.”
         I nod silently at this, and the conversation fades with the light.  After a time, I begin to get concerned.  The sun is down and darkness gathers beyond the embers of the fire.  Bryce doesn’t look worried, but I am not accustomed to being out after dark unless I am secure.  I decide to wait and see what he does.  I am wondering at how easily he dismissed the knowledge that I had killed one of his friends.
         “Look, I really am sorry about shooting your friend.”
         “I said I forgive you.  That’s the end of it as far as I am concerned.  Do right by