About a dozen creepers were flailing and squirming, trying their best to get ahold of the man. I could see that one of his arms was dripping blood. It was obvious that he’d been snacked on already.
As for the girls, the taunts and jeers coming from their mouths were…heinous comes to mind. They were actually laughing while they jerked on the ropes that they had tied to each of the man’s ankles. The curious and bizarre thing about the scene was that the girls were each wearing nothing more than their bra and panties.
I slipped back down the hill and relayed things to Eric. He seemed to puzzle over it for a minute, and then said, “Not our problem.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As I argued my point, I heard another scream. This one was much longer and louder than the first. It ended in a sudden and liquid-sounding yelp. Then…there was the distinct cacophony of rabid cheering.
Eric seemed to be much more concerned about leaving. Since I really had no idea what was happening, it was very difficult for me to agree to leave. However, I was still self-conscious about the trouble I’d gotten us into a few days ago by nosing around. Therefore…against my character, I agreed without an argument.
We were almost to the road when we heard a voice. A girl was calling for us to wait up. When I turned around, I was only mildly surprised to see a girl in her bra and panties running after us. She looked even more surprised at me when I turned to face her. I guess with all the gear on—leathers, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes—I could be mistaken for a guy.
The story—as they told it—is that these girls are escapees from some compound in the area. They’ve been at ‘war’ with the men of this compound for about five weeks. They use one of their own as bait. Apparently the men are stupid enough to keep falling for it. She didn’t even hide her glare at Eric as she talked.
I didn’t feel like spending my day talking to this girl, but I needed to ask: What’s the situation in Burns? She looked at me like I’d just fallen off the moon.
“Walled up, locked down and they don’t allow in strangers.”
She elaborated by saying that if you weren’t born in, or a resident of, Burns for a year or more before the dead started walking, you received the same mercy that they showed the zombies…none. They keep mounted patrols, most of which give you a warning that you aren’t welcome before they open fire.
The “wall” that they’ve built encloses about three times the area that was formerly known as Burns, Oregon. They are most protective of the river just south of town, and have towers that allow their watches to see for a few miles in every direction. They mostly worry about zombies and don’t seem to mind folks filling water containers as long as they are downstream.
We’re about two days or so from Burns. There will be a small airfield when we come out of the pass that opens up on the farmland community surrounding this city-fortress. We are supposed to keep heading south along SR-205…a highway that will take us to a big lake. From there, we can head east again until we hook up with OR-78/Steens Highway. Eventually, that will dump us onto US-95, which will take us to Nevada.
I realize that we had to wait to cross the Mount Hood section of our journey because, as it was, the weather made for a tough trip. I think that crossing Nevada during the summer may actually be worse. Finding a car wouldn’t be tough. Finding one that would work—one that the gasoline hasn’t gone bad—would be practically impossible. What we need are bicycles. Good ones.
Even if we have to push the bikes for parts of the trip when we hit hills, we would move so much quicker when we rode over long stretches of the flat desert terrain ahead. If we don’t find bikes, we may not survive the summer. It’s almost funny; the walking dead are less of a concern than Mother Nature.
Eric was a good
As for the girls, the taunts and jeers coming from their mouths were…heinous comes to mind. They were actually laughing while they jerked on the ropes that they had tied to each of the man’s ankles. The curious and bizarre thing about the scene was that the girls were each wearing nothing more than their bra and panties.
I slipped back down the hill and relayed things to Eric. He seemed to puzzle over it for a minute, and then said, “Not our problem.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As I argued my point, I heard another scream. This one was much longer and louder than the first. It ended in a sudden and liquid-sounding yelp. Then…there was the distinct cacophony of rabid cheering.
Eric seemed to be much more concerned about leaving. Since I really had no idea what was happening, it was very difficult for me to agree to leave. However, I was still self-conscious about the trouble I’d gotten us into a few days ago by nosing around. Therefore…against my character, I agreed without an argument.
We were almost to the road when we heard a voice. A girl was calling for us to wait up. When I turned around, I was only mildly surprised to see a girl in her bra and panties running after us. She looked even more surprised at me when I turned to face her. I guess with all the gear on—leathers, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes—I could be mistaken for a guy.
The story—as they told it—is that these girls are escapees from some compound in the area. They’ve been at ‘war’ with the men of this compound for about five weeks. They use one of their own as bait. Apparently the men are stupid enough to keep falling for it. She didn’t even hide her glare at Eric as she talked.
I didn’t feel like spending my day talking to this girl, but I needed to ask: What’s the situation in Burns? She looked at me like I’d just fallen off the moon.
“Walled up, locked down and they don’t allow in strangers.”
She elaborated by saying that if you weren’t born in, or a resident of, Burns for a year or more before the dead started walking, you received the same mercy that they showed the zombies…none. They keep mounted patrols, most of which give you a warning that you aren’t welcome before they open fire.
The “wall” that they’ve built encloses about three times the area that was formerly known as Burns, Oregon. They are most protective of the river just south of town, and have towers that allow their watches to see for a few miles in every direction. They mostly worry about zombies and don’t seem to mind folks filling water containers as long as they are downstream.
We’re about two days or so from Burns. There will be a small airfield when we come out of the pass that opens up on the farmland community surrounding this city-fortress. We are supposed to keep heading south along SR-205…a highway that will take us to a big lake. From there, we can head east again until we hook up with OR-78/Steens Highway. Eventually, that will dump us onto US-95, which will take us to Nevada.
I realize that we had to wait to cross the Mount Hood section of our journey because, as it was, the weather made for a tough trip. I think that crossing Nevada during the summer may actually be worse. Finding a car wouldn’t be tough. Finding one that would work—one that the gasoline hasn’t gone bad—would be practically impossible. What we need are bicycles. Good ones.
Even if we have to push the bikes for parts of the trip when we hit hills, we would move so much quicker when we rode over long stretches of the flat desert terrain ahead. If we don’t find bikes, we may not survive the summer. It’s almost funny; the walking dead are less of a concern than Mother Nature.
Eric was a good
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