I've also concluded that Scotty is a lost cause. I cannot say that I could predict his disappearance, or his manic behavior. To be honest I don't know how he survived as long as he did. That sounds mean. The longer I live, and the more I come to understand how the living stay alive, the more it is affirmed to me that they with weak constitutions cannot survive.
Call it natural selection, call it survival of the fittest, call it chaos evolution - it is simply consequence. It is a consequence of the collapse of infrastructure, with the wildcard variable of Zed, that they with weak constitutions perish. Death is an inevitability.
Am I saying I'm better? No. Geez no. You remember how I was when Daisy was around. Had I taken that out into the cold, undead world I would have lasted mere hours. It's been hard enough gathering my wits about me again after that. I almost got myself killed after I left the house to scream at the world that afternoon. Remember that?
I remember that.
Suddenly I'm scared. Everyone seems so on their guard. Unwilling to let me know them. I'm going to get Maggie alone and crack her like an egg. I need to hear what happened here.
As she came in I thought about everything I had tried to get her to talk. I tried charm. I tried being funny. I tried being cute. I tried to sit there and listen - and nothing came of any of it. Today, I'm scared. Today I have to know. Today my life hinges on the answer to my question.
She got up from wrapping my ankle (which was green and in pain, but not swollen anymore). The tape still in hand, I grabbed her wrist. I held on firmly, without squeezing. She didn't struggle, but neither could she look me in the eye. I let the time pass, let the tension build. When I felt it was right I spoke.
"Maggie." I said.
"Maggie please."
For a moment she tensed to wrench her arm from my grip, but gave up without any attempt. I gave her the scared eyes, the worried eyes, the eyes that say I need your knowledge.
"I need to know."
She glanced at the door, as if worried that someone might be listening. She put her ear to it and listened. Satisfied that no one was coming she pulled a chair up right next to me, and leaned into my ear.
"I know this seems paranoid," she said, "But we cannot be too cautious."
I listened.
"The Marines came at the head of the zombie hoard," she continued, "They were pushed toward Summit, retreating . . . running scared. They had casualties in Cedar City, and on the way here. When they were just a few miles out of town they said the hoard continued north off of I-15. Away from them."
She put her fingers together, and looked down at her hands. "They were shell-shocked a bit when we took them in. They were kind but sarcastic. Then, they started competing for the girls. We had several single girls here. Some of them young widows. It wasn't long before they became violent."
She shook her hair out, and rubbed her scalp.
"They fought. Two were shot to death. The remaining five stabbed each other. Our men tried to break up the fight. That's how we lost Jason, and Max. So much blood."
Well that explains the recently dug graves.
"We are reluctant to take anyone in, but they were soldiers, and they were armed."
"Marines."
She gave me a questioning look.
"They're not soldiers. They're Marines. And I think the ones that arrived back in Cedar City are something of a different nature." I looked at her, unblinking, "Why do you think they killed each other?"
She shrugged, "It's the same no matter where men are. They lose their wits, they stop thinking, and it becomes all-out survival of the fittest. I have a feeling that's how the world will end. They'll kill each other until there is only two, like in the Book of Mormon. Then one will lop the head off the other, and that will be the end."
"Or one will eat the other."
She shuddered, "Awful thought."
I took her hand in mine. It was warm, and dry, singing with life, "I'm sorry." I said. "So what happened to the girls?"
"I don't know. One night they were with us, the next morning they were gone. Mike didn't see them leave."
"Maybe they were the smart ones."
She laughed, "Maybe."
"So what happened to the town?"
"When the plague struck us, it struck from several places. The infection spread too quickly throughout our small town. Nearly everyone went undead. The ruins, the houses, everything was a last effort to strike at the heart of our own little swarm. Mike detonated several homes at once. Fires burned the rest. It took us days to clean up the bodies and burn the dead."
I felt sick. I've been hiding in my house, having a good old time living a semi-normal life, with occasional encounters with the undead, and here's hard case Maggie battling an entire town of Zed to save what little of reality is left.
She excused herself and walked out, gently placing my hand on the arm of the chair. I didn't watch her leave, I stared at the carpet, thinking. I was trying to reason out volunteering to stay and help, or helping them get across the desert to Cedar City, or just leaving in the middle of the night like those girls. I miss Scott. I miss my family. I've been away a few days.
I have no faith I'll see Scott again.
And the next swarm is coming, I can feel it. I feel it in the ground, the thrum of a million feet. With the way things are going in the world of Zed, the swarms can only get bigger. I'm just not sure how anyone, or anything can stand against it.
Uh . . . it just struck me that there won't be just one. All at once the populations of California, Oregon, the Midwest, and the East Coast came roaring at me in my mind's eye. One hundred million zombies, reaching, and moaning for my blood. One hundred million walking dead.
I had to get home. Tonight.
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