Free Zomblog II by T. W. Brown

saved Jenifer. I arrived in time to drop a scrawny, but heavily tattooed guy who was easily in his thirties before having most of his guts ripped out, leaving a long since dried, open abdominal cavity.
    The good news was that we’d cleared the first third of the bridge. Jonathan and Victor were sprinting to us—a few dozen yards away and closing fast. The bad news was the hundred or so on their heels. That, and twice that number coming from the opposite direction. I remember briefly thinking that I’d made a mistake in insisting on this mission.
    The two men reached us. Jonathan unshouldered his pack and came out with a plastic one-gallon milk jug full of kerosene. He waved us on and ran to the tipped over bus. I heard a ‘plink-plink’ sound. We were just starting to encounter the lead elements of the zombies coming from the west side. There was a whoosh, and I glanced back to see black smoke rising from beyond the bus. Jonathan sprinted out from behind it and towards us.
    Everybody was in some form of hand-to-hand with the undead. There was enough open space to work through the oncoming horde without being overwhelmed. Still, it was a case of everybody for themselves. A sudden explosion sent a wave of heat our way as the bus exploded. Seconds later, parts could be heard raining down on the bridge, or landing with a splash into the river below.
    I have no idea how we got so spread out. The thing is, you start fighting and you’re avoiding snapping jaws, grasping fingers, and even with all the horrendous wounds encountered over the past several months, you are still taken aback by strands of intestine, blackened and dried, hanging from gaping holes in the stomach. Chunks of throat, arm, even face missing. Those eerie white-filmed, black tracer riddled eyes. The smell. That stench stays in your nose…forever it seems. You reach a point where you can’t remember not smelling it.
    All I know for sure was that I reached the west side of the bridge at some point. I’d found an opening and was a little surprised to discover Coach—and a lot surprised to see Lynn—right on my heels. I was starkly aware of how not a single living soul made its presence known as we fought for our lives. I crossed over 99W, and it was like descending into a black maze. Buildings on all sides, many of them several stories high, were nothing more than charred remnants. I kept finding openings towards the left, and at some point climbed a hill that put me on a wide strip of road. A dangling sign proclaimed it to be SW Naito Pkwy.
    I stopped…looking everywhere and realizing that I had lost sight of Jenifer, Jonathan, and Victor. Towards the ruins of downtown Portland I could see movement. Lots of movement! It was time to hide. I ducked into a residential neighborhood and, once I was certain nothing was in my line of sight, I chose a slightly damaged and windowless two-story house. We’re upstairs now, and I hear them out there. The moans, the strange noises of the dead. And every time one of them lets go with that eerie baby-cry sound, I watch Lynn. The first time it happened I had to physically restrain her.
    I’ve already made a decision: I will kill her if I have to. I do hope it doesn’t come to that, but her skittishness is a real concern. Even Coach seems annoyed by her. Tonight I will slip out after dark…I’ve managed to find a bottle of Clorox Bleach and used it on a red blanket. Jenifer will recognize the symbol. I just feel in my heart that they are all fine.
     
    Monday, December 22
     
    Still no sign of anybody. Lynn has now deteriorated to sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth. She won’t eat or drink. I’ve tried to get her to take in something, but she won’t. I’ve made two trips for supplies and to get a look around. I act-ually found myself hoping she’d be gone when I came back. No such luck. I may need to leave her, I don’t plan on staying much longer in this place.
     
    Tuesday, December 23
     
    A big