Finally made it to the hotel. I’m on my laptop again. The Inn has power, but who knows how long it will last? Someone said the Inn might have a generator, but we can’t count on it. I’m charging everything chargeable while I can. At least I can tell my previous posts made it . . . if not always at the time I thought they would.

Miraculously, all the Viable Paradise participants made it here. Most before things got so bad. Someone quipped, “I’m not letting something trivial like the end of civilization stop me from attending.” We all needed the laugh.

The whole island is now quarantined. No traffic in or out until further notice. So for good or ill, I’m stuck here. Might as well make the best of it.

Things are not as bad here as on the mainland. Not sure why. The media seems to think that the infection—whatever it is—can only travel so far. Maybe salt water kills it? Day of the Triffids, anyone?

According to the Inn staff, there haven’t been many incidents, here. Everyone pretty much holed up at home as soon as the reports started coming in. The nasty weather doesn’t hurt. Cold and rainy isn’t encouraging for outdoor activities or congregating. The only thing moving are military vehicles that came over on the ferry, which is now grounded. Every once in a while, we hear gunshots. We all just look at one another. What can we do? Not a damned thing, that’s what. Some of the Inn staff is armed.

I only hope none of us have been exposed. No one knows the gestation of this thing or how it passes. Newest reports—as you’ve no doubt heard—put the infection rate at upwards of 30%. So far it’s 100% fatal, but mostly because the zombies have a tendency to take stupid risks that end up getting them killed, or getting shot by either the military or police or heavily armed citizenry. Our group here defies those odds. So far, at least.

I wasn’t able to get through to my mother, yet, because she doesn’t have a decent phone, but I did get a SMS message from my housemate. She’s still alive, and she has joined some of our other friends at their better-defendable house. The cats . . . I don’t know. She had to leave them at the house. Poor Lucy and Zena. I hope they’ll be OK. She put plenty of food out for them both.

We plan to sleep in shifts and take four-hour watches, with teams of at least two looking in every direction. One armed person per team. I last fired a gun when I was eight, so…I’ll be the “other one.” They gave the “other ones” axes, hatchets, baseball bats, 2 x 4s, metal pipes…whatever was on hand. I have a nice hefty axe. I intend to sleep with it.

I’m exhausted. We all are. Gonna get what sleep I can now. More later, if everything comes out OK.

This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!

You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!

Jesus. I’m shaking. Something weird is going on.

There are a bunch of us sitting, huddled in little groups, typing on laptops or iPads or phones, or talking in hushed tones to each other in the waiting area of gate C-10. You know that annoying Airport TV channel they normally have going (at least in the Atlanta airport)? It’s not going. The place is so quiet it’s like the inside of a tomb. It’s just plain eerie. I can hear a baby crying several gates farther up the concourse. Every time they make an announcement over the PA, I jump. Everyone stops what they’re doing and holds their breath. They’re not even aware they’re doing it, if they’re anything like me. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. (Overused cliché; bad writer.) And there are a lot fewer people here than there would normally be. For Hartsfield-Jackson, this is practically deserted.

The wi-fi is spotty, so I don’t even know if this is going to post, but I’ll try anyway. Seems kind of silly, but writing calms my nerves.

I said last night that the drive in should be uneventful what with no one being on the roads this early. What I didn’t count on was that it would take me nearly twice as long to drive in.

There were a bunch of roadblocks. Looked like several exits were blocked off by emergency vehicles. Maybe even the army or national guard. Hard to tell in the dark, and there’s thick fog in patches to boot. So even what little traffic there was was backed up pretty bad at each of those exits. I kept having to lane shift and weave in and out, which I hate when other people do it. Of course on the one day I have to be somewhere by a certain time this would happen. I just want to get to my writers workshop!

My mother would tell me the entire world doesn’t exist for my convenience right about now, and to have patience. But she’s already on her vacation up in rural Arkansas. I’d call, but it’s too early, there.

Tried to call home to let my housemate know what’s up, but I can’t raise her on her cell. Keep getting that ‘circuits are busy’ message. Fuck.

Anyway, what has me shaking:

There was this wreck on I-85 south. Looked like an 18-wheeler hit several sedans. Thing was, there was no one around. The truck and smashed-up cars were there, hazards and lights on, and there were several ambulances with lights flashing, the back doors all hanging open. Well, more like ripped open. Just sitting there off the side of the road. Two police cars, their lights strobing, as well. Also empty. Sitting with doors ripped open. Broken glass was everywhere.

Passing cars were giving them a wide berth, but at about 10 mph, as usual in Atlanta. If you see a flashing light, you have to slow down no matter how fast you’re going — and I’m going off on a tangent. Focus, Gary, focus. I finally creeped past and saw a white sheet on the ground, stuck under one of the wheels of the ambulance and flapping in the breeze. It was hard to tell in the flashing lights while I was trying to pay attention to the road, but . . . it looked like it had a big blood stain on it.

Creepy. Just fucking creepy. I normally listen to podcasts while driving to keep me sane, but I turned them off and tried to find something on the radio. Bunch of confusion, is what it sounded like. The normal music, but some strange news reports. Seems like there’s stuff going on all around Atlanta, but no one would just fucking come out and say what it was. Lots of speculation about terrorists, insurrection, invasion, FEMA . . . I had to quit listening when some of the more outlandish crap started to sound reasonable. This is why I hate talk radio.

And speaking of road blocks, wow. I thought I was going to have to give blood and urine samples just to get into the airport. They kept shining lights in my eyes and asking dumb questions like I’m some sort of criminal.

I tried asking what was going on once I got into the airport, but they weren’t talking either, although all the security people and gate employees were clustered in little groups, talking quietly, and looking worried. I’m guessing they don’t know any more than any of us do.

And there were helicopters darting everywhere. I can’t help but wonder if this is related to what went on in my neighborhood this morning.

I just hope there’s not some awful disease. Maybe those armored vehicles were the CDC.

[Edit: I had to pause because I got interrupted.]

I was talking with some other people in the waiting area. They saw some similar stuff on their way in, and they came in from other directions: both up and down 75, south on 85, and both east and west on 20.

Whatever the hell this is it’s

Boarding! Putting up laptop.

The CDC would shut it all down if it were a disease, right?

I’m glad I’ll be away from all this, but I would kind of like to know what’s going on.

Later!

This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!

You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!

Went to bed early, as I said in my last post. Woke up about a half hour ago because of sirens in the neighborhood and a helicopter flying fairly low over the subdivision with a damned spotlight brighter than the sun. Feh. Woke my housemate, too. We went out on the front lawn to see what we could find out, but it’s all down the street, and I’m barefoot and in pajamas. Some of the neighbors tried to walk deeper into the subdivision, but cops yelled at them to go back inside.

While I was out there, I thought I heard a gunshot, but . . . it’s hard to tell, really. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard one close up except for one I fired myself, and that was quite noisy. And forty years ago.

I decided I do not need to be wherever there are (potential) gunshots. Cowardly? Incurious? Maybe. But alive and not underfoot, impeding whatever investigation might be going on.

Of course, the neighbors picked the one night I’d like to get a full night’s sleep to decide to go from quiet and unbothersome to . . . whatever this turns out to be. I hope I don’t see it on one of my mother’s favorite “Killers Among Us” type shows on ID. Maybe I could be that guy who always says, “They seemed so nice. Always quiet. Helped me unload a new fridge from my pickup that one time. I never would have dreamed he had buried bodies in his basement.”

Yeah. Or not.

As I was typing this, things seem to have died down a bit, although there seems to be a lot more people milling about than one would expect from a simple murder. Assuming it was simple. And a murder. And how many helicopters does one crime scene need, anyway? There are at least two, possibly more.

Another weird thing: One of the vehicles that drove by looked armored. I wonder what that’s about? I’d go check, but . . . I have more important things to concern myself with. I’m sure someone in the neighborhood will explain it once I’m back from Viable Paradise. Maybe they’ll put it in the neighborhood newsletter.

Dammit. Might as well stay up, now, even though I’ll be a zombie all day with only five and a half hours of sleep. I’m yawning so hard it feels like I’m going to inhale my monitor. Feh. I was going to get up at 5:30. I’ll probably not post again until I’m at the hotel up in Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe I can sleep on the plane, assuming I don’t sit next to a Chatty Kathy or within two rows of a kid.

The shower calls. And apparently breakfast, if the smell of biscuits means anything.

Later.

This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. (The previous post was part of the preamble). Stay tuned for more posts!

You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!