The Zom Diary by Eddie Austin Read Free Book Online

you’ll be dealt with.  Understood?”
        I nod quickly and say again.  “Just passing through.”
         He chuckles.  “There’s no “through”, man.  Past here’s only dried out orchards, cannibals and then the dessert.”
         “Cannibals?”
         The man nods solemnly.  “Not many people pass through and come back.  We got curious a year or so back and went out; just three of us.  We were walking down the road, looking for zombies or whatever when, wham!  My buddy Brian’s head exploded right next to me.  Bastards shot him, and by the time we came back there wasn’t any trace of him.  Cannibals!”  He spat.
         I wince internally and make a mental note to be careful how much I let slip about my troubles with scavengers.  I remember the day he is talking about, and have always wondered where the guy’s friends had gone off to.  I lost sleep over that one, spending a night in the trees before stripping the guy and dumping him in the ditch.  Crap.
         “That’s a damn shame,” I say.  “You going to let me in?”

Chapter 2
     
         The gate rolls to the left and I slip into the space next to the man.  I notice a car ready to be rolled behind the gate if needed.  Once the outer gate is shut, the inner chain link fence rolls to the right, and with the wave of his arm, I am ushered into Salem.
        The wall is about sixteen feet tall and runs to the left and right behind me. I notice ladders and scaffolding to allow ample access for lookouts. It appears that most of the town is outside this defensive perimeter leaving the small Main Street, the library, and a few homes protected.  I wonder if people live in the town outside of the walls coming inside when danger approaches.
         The street is remarkably clean.  It is like a small patch of the old world cleanliness has been preserved. This street runs perhaps two hundred yards in a straight shot.  The far defensive wall with its sentries is visible in the distance.  To the left is an old barber shop.  The door is locked, but it looks to be in use.  Next is an old brick apartment house looming five stories above me shadowing the old laundry mat and saloon next door.
         I spin around taking in the sights, some familiar if oddly serene.  Across the street is the old hardware store where I was sent by Bill years ago to fetch wire and screws and feed on occasion.  A windmill now grows from its roof turning to track a new breeze.  Another windmill grows from the roof of the old Riverstone Library.  I count seven operational windmills with another apparently under construction.
        I haven’t seen anyone on the street, but it is lunch time and I imagine people could be at home eating and resting.  I notice the muted glow of a neon beer sign in the saloon and decide to investigate this cheerful sign of life.
         Passing the windows of the laundry mat, I notice a large copper kettle and rows of glass gallon jugs lining the back wall.  The door of the saloon opens easily and sets off a jarring chorus of reindeer bells.
         It is pretty much as I remember it; small rectangular room with high windows on the right hand wall glazed with opaque red and yellow glass.  My brow furrows momentarily as I seek the cause of some imperceptible irritant.  It comes to me slowly that, over the years, I have become accustomed to the peace and stillness of a world without electricity.  Now, I am surrounded by the hums and whirs of refrigeration and incandescent light.  Hey, if it means the first cold beer in almost three years, I will just have to suffer.
         I am being watched by the man behind the bar.  He stands about 5’10”, has dark brown skin and grey dreadlocks that disappear behind his shoulders. He regards me with an amused expression and chuckles softly.
         “Don’t be embarrassed man, I’m used to new folk’s jaws dropping when they check the place out.  The