Dead Woman's Journal Read online

  I don’t know if you’ve been in many crawl spaces before, but I haven’t. Perhaps you already know this important sliver of information and have spent many a day inside a handy crawlspace. I only discovered it during those precious hours.

  Crawlspaces are wonderful places to hide, or even live for a short period, if the need arises.

  This one wasn’t particularly tall. It was easier to crawl than crouch to get around, and I had no idea there was so much stuff under a house. I mean, I knew in a theoretical way, because my house is on a tall crawlspace due to flooding. I know there are pipes and ducts and all sorts of things under my house, because I’ve had to have things repaired before. It was only at that moment that I realized how truly busy crawlspaces are though, yet also how abandoned and overlooked.

  Under this one were regularly spaced piles of blocks and bricks fashioned into short columns. I’m sure they were meant to support the house. Some were old, some were newer and constructed using cinder blocks and concrete. It was almost like the evolution of the house written using columns, like bones in an archaeological dig. A few pipes met and joined up before disappearing below the dirt surface. It was dim, but not dark, because of the grills spaced around the perimeter. It was creepy, however.

  As I shuffled through, considering where it would be best to lie down and rest, the smell of decay grew, and I got nervous again. It was only as I got to the other side of the house that I saw her and scrambled back, thinking I’d need to run again.

  I needn’t have worried. The girl was dead. Around her were the obvious signs of a camp. A sleeping bag rolled out beneath her, a lantern, and various implements she must have used during her stay. After a while, I grew curious, so I pulled my shirt over the lower part of my face and crept closer.

  She must have died from injuries, because even in the state she was in, I could see the wrappings around her legs and arms. She hadn’t become a monster though, so that’s something. I don’t know how long she was down here, but I think it must have been a while. I found a bucket at the other end of the house that must have been her toilet, and the number of wrappers once containing snack food was astonishing.

  I moved as far from her as I could, then set my eye to one of the grills to watch outside while I rested. As I’d hoped, the few monsters alerted to me eventually wandered off, seeming confused by my disappearance. Only one ventured close to the building, its nose raised and sniffing the air. It must have lost my scent in the general stench. After a while, it made a noise that sounded frustrated and ran off.

  When I finally slithered back out of that dark space, I realized that I had at least a dozen excellent hiding spots that had been entirely overlooked right at my fingertips. Given what I saw at the apartments and at that farm with the truck, I’m forced to admit that monsters are not our only danger. That danger could show up at any place and at any time. Having prepared hiding spots to bolt into seems like a wise precaution.

  In both instances where I encountered humans, no one shouted or called out or even tried to ascertain if I was friend or foe. Instead, in one case they tried to sneak up on me and in the other, they shot my car. While I can’t be sure the first encounter at the apartments was even going to be an encounter, I will say that during my return trip, the ladder with the blue braces was no longer there. That has to mean someone was, indeed, about to sneak up on me.

  In light of that, I’ve stocked several crawlspaces. The little blue circles on the neighborhood map display the locations of these stashes. One is under this house. Actually, the largest stash is under this house. Fred’s sealed buckets of survival supplies are a part of that, but other things have been added. A few of those disgusting lifeboat rations, sharp weapons, toilet buckets, and bedding sealed in plastic are just a few of the things I added.

  If something happens here, go to one of the crawlspaces. I used a Dremel tool to cut off the screws so they look like they’re screwed in, but they aren’t. I put wires inside along with more screws, so you can secure the space once you get inside. Anyone looking, or even tugging at the wood, would think it’s been secured from the outside, so they wouldn’t look for you inside.

  Of course, I’ve done it for me even more than for you, but if the need arises, it’s there. You might want to do a quick check on what I’ve left once you’ve read this. Better safe than sorry, right?

  Now, I’m going to give my hands and eyes a rest, eat far too many cookies, and use up a little of that hot cocoa stash.

  Day 47 - Morning

  I slept late again today. My internal alarm clock seems to be on the fritz. The pain in my stump has extended into my hip, so maybe that has something to do with it. I don’t feel well at all. I’m trying not to be frightened, but I am.

  Should I take the last dose of nanites? Would that even help?

  I’m undecided, but also afraid that if nanites would help and I delay too long, I might compromise their ability to stave off whatever is happening. If I have too many nanites, that would be a problem too. Like I said, I’m afraid and undecided.

  I fixed my regular leg, but when I put it on and the connections seated, the pain was sharp and very unexpected. It hurt all the way up my spine. I think perhaps I’ve broken some of the connections inside me, possibly during my mismatched leg episode. I know each leg type has their own programming and specialized electronics that tune my physical systems to respond to that leg type. Did my mismatch overload the system?

  Nanites won’t fix that.

  Whatever the case may be, I had to take that leg off again, so I’m using just one. It’s much harder to get around. I’ve gotten used to being independent and this has brought up reminders of my more helpless past.

  I even had to use the lift on my stairs because I’m no good at hopping on one leg. Obviously, given my limitations, I’m sticking to the indoors today. I need to go water the garden we planted. Some of the seeds are sprouting and I don’t want them to die. It’s cloudy today, so maybe we’ll get rain.

  Day 48 - Evening

  It rained hard, so I’m spared worry over the garden at least. The red spot has turned into a streak, and there’s one on my neck now too. I took the last vial of nanites. All I can do is hope. I can’t write.

  Day 49 - Late Morning

  I feel better this morning, and the red is less prominent. I marked the extent of it with marker yesterday, so I know it’s faded and retreated some. That sounds good, but I think I understand what’s going on and I know my time is now limited. Very limited.

  The nanites keep me from rejecting all the implants, reduce inflammation and so on. I think that’s exactly what they’re doing right now, keeping my body from reacting fully to whatever has broken within the complex arrays inside my body and brain. It’s not fixing me, only making it so that I don’t feel it for a time.

  I don’t think I have a month. Considering that my nanites shouldn’t have been even remotely depleted, I think I have a week. Maybe two. That’s it.

  And there is an additional complication, as if I needed more of them.

  If you recall, I wrote about the tomato field and how scratched up I got running through it. Plus, the scrapes on the roof that first day. Well, I managed to collect a good variety of scratches and little cuts throughout that whole journey. For the most part, they’re healing normally, but some of them are not. Some of it is healing strangely. It’s like tiny pebbles under too-smooth skin.

  Yep, nanite healing. I shouldn’t be doing that. I’ve never received those nanites, so the fact that I’m healing as if I’ve gotten the scar reduction nanites is not good. We saw this on some of the monsters, the strange pebbly skin over old wounds. Martin told us that’s what happens when someone uses the nanites for wounds and scars without also using the forming bandages on the wound to make sure it heals flat, and with the proper skin texture. So, yeah, I’ve clearly gotten at least one kind of nanite from my various bites or in my other wounds when fighting them.

  I’m infected.

&
nbsp; I’m making plans now, but the reality is what it is. I won’t become one of them if I can help it, so I’m doing everything I can to make sure I’m the one that gets to decide my final outcome. It’s such a terrible thing to have to contemplate, but at the same time, I’m grateful that I know what’s coming and know…in general terms…how to stop it from happening. I can’t escape death, but I can escape a second and far more horrible life.

  I ventured out of the house early this morning, which would have been hilarious to anyone watching. Why? Crutches. Believe it or not, I have no crutches. Wheelchair, yes, but no crutches. Not even a cane. I had to use a broomstick as a cane during my outing.

  I remembered from our searches that one of the houses had crutches in it, as well as an assortment of canes in the umbrella stand by the front door. I didn’t know the family well, but I remember the man having a great deal of work done on his knee when he wrecked it during a ski trip. He was rather young, so it seemed a shame at the time, but now I’m grateful. Getting the crutches from the closet upstairs wasn’t easy, but once I had them and adjusted them for my height, I got home much quicker.

  At least I feel more mobile now. And believe it or not, that makes me feel better.

  Day 50 - Evening

  Today I went and sorted all the houses, closing the windows I’d left cracked open against the mold, and making sure the houses with solar were set for the long haul. After all, I have no idea when you might find this house. It might be years later that you’re reading this.

  Anyway, they’re all set for a transition to winter, then summer again, then winter…well, you get the idea. Assuming the house batteries continue to work, things could go on for years without problems. Of course, lightning could strike, and it might all fail tomorrow, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent that.

  I moved all the refrigerated items to the freezers, and while time will not leave those things untouched, the freezers will slow down the process. It’s the best I can do. The mold is growing fast in some of the houses, so I didn’t move the pantry food like I wanted. It doesn’t seem safe. I worry I’ll simply spread the mold. Also, it’s hard to carry boxes and use crutches. Impossible really. I thought about maybe using a backpack, but the number of trips I’d need means I’d be walking up and down the street for days, which doesn’t seem smart.

  Even so, the food seems fine, all packed up in plastic as it is. I’m sure it’s safe to eat as long as you take care with the wrappings. I double bagged a great deal of it until I ran out of bags. Plus, the mold doesn’t seem to want to travel toward the interior of the houses yet, only the edges. And the bathrooms.

  Tonight, I’ll update the important stuff listed on the page clipped to the front of this book, the stuff you should know right away. After that, we’ll see.

  Day 54 - Night

  I know it’s been a few days since I last wrote and I’m sorry to leave such gaps. I made it to the shooter’s nest today and took care of the growing crowd around the tree. It wasn’t easy. They don’t want to stay down. What seems to work best is a shot at the base of the brain, right where the neck and head join. I don’t think that kills them, but it keeps them down. I feel bad about it really. I saw the eyes moving back and forth on one of them through the binoculars. I have to wonder how long that will continue. What is it thinking?

  I cleaned out the shed of anything you might find valuable after clearing the field, then found a chain and lock I could use on the inside to seal the doors. Everything from there is now in the garage, and I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess. Without a car to crowd the space, I sort of let things sprawl a bit.

  I also went and found the shotgun at Fred’s. I think it will work. He showed it to me when we were collecting weapons, but this was one we’d deemed impractical, except in a pinch. It’s old, something he inherited from his father, and short. It’s almost like a very long handgun. At the time, he said it wasn’t accurate for more than a few paces, so almost any of the other weapons he owned would be a better choice for dealing with monsters. In this case, I think it’s just right. One bullet to the head won’t guarantee anything, but buckshot will. I practiced with it today, but didn’t shoot any shells because I understand it’s very noisy.

  For some reason, writing those words makes me feel better. Isn’t that odd?

  I’ve dug out a bunch of movies on discs and I’m planning on having a binge of all my favorites. I’m going to eat popcorn, drink cocoa, and generally push reality away in favor of big screen goodness. Why not? I think being happy for a while is a good thing. And since I’m alone, this will be almost like having company. Lots of voices to listen to. Lots of faces to see.

  Day 60 - Noon

  I’ve been avoiding this book for the past week. I know it. In truth, I have no more helpful hints to give, no more maps to draw, or diagrams, or lists. It’s all been done, so I’ve been using that as my reasoning for leaving it underneath the vase on the hall table. It’s not a good excuse.

  The only things I’ve had to add to it are fear and uncertainty. Those aren’t valuable additions. It didn’t seem fair to fill pages with nothing except fear and wondering and pain.

  As surprising as it is to me, I’ve become fond of this book. Given how reluctant I was to journal the first time, I didn’t expect to feel attached to this one. I almost feel like it’s a friend I haven’t yet met. It’s you. Whoever you are and wherever you’re from and whatever you’ve been through to get to this point, this is you. I suppose it’s hard to say goodbye.

  It’s also unfair to you if I don’t say goodbye.

  By simply stopping, I might leave you wondering. And if I’ve grown fond of you through this book full of messy writing and spilled drops of coffee, then perhaps you’ve also grown fond of me. To simply walk away…or roll away as the case may be…means leaving you never knowing what happened or knowing how I feel about you now that you’re here inside the walls I loved so much.

  It’s true that perhaps you’ve not thought about me the way I’ve imagined you. Perhaps you’re simply annoyed by all this unnecessary writing, skimming it for the nuggets of value. It’s possible, maybe even likely. I’ll never know.

  Just in case, I’ll do this properly.

  Today is the day. The red lines appeared again four days ago, the pain preceding them by a few hours. I wasn’t surprised to see them. Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night in such pain from my good leg attachment that I had to take it off. I’m lucky I anticipated that and pulled out my wheelchair downstairs. Upstairs, I went back to my private mode of locomotion…my hands.

  It was like riding a bike. It was as if the past two years simply never happened and I was right back where I was before. Well, there are some changes. The pebbly skin has started growing over my connections, which might be why my stump pained me so. Whatever I got from at least one of those bites is taking firm hold inside me.

  And that’s why today is the day. With my nanites failing, combined with whatever is broken inside my augmented system, I can’t risk coming back. I know I’m sick, terribly so, but I won’t risk winding up a monster for the mere possibility of a few more days of life. I genuinely feel like I’ve been given this extra time for a reason, and I won’t ruin it out of fear.

  Also, I had an odd dream last night. I’m not sure what it means, but it was strange and good. Perhaps it’s only that Grant has been on my mind more than usual lately. With the mold growing in his house and upsetting me, I’ve begun to think he won’t return. That’s possibly why my mind manufactured such a dream. Even so, it was a good dream.

  In my dream, Grant was sitting against a fence in the grass. Bob was next to him, but he was asleep, having a nap in the sunshine with his head resting on Grant’s shoulder. Grant grinned at me when he saw me. That same cocky, devil-may-care expression was bright on his face. We both looked around without saying anything. It was a beautiful day.

  The sky above was that heartbreaking shade of blue, a few wisps of puffy, whit
e cloud drifting slowly across. The grass around us was green, and the air smelled of a recent mowing. When he looked back at me, he told me to come and sit with them for a while, because this summer was going to last forever.

  And my legs were there. My real legs. Flesh and bone and entirely whole. I wiggled my toes and felt the cool grass underneath my feet. I woke up just as he patted the ground and told me to hurry, because there was a lot of fishing to do and there were endless lakes to fish in. I felt so incredibly happy to see him, so happy to be there with my friend.

  Isn’t that a strange dream?

  It didn’t relate to anything at all that I can think of, except that they had gone on a fishing trip when all this started. He seemed so happy. I’d like to be there, happy with him, sitting against a fence in the soft grass and napping in the mild sunshine. I’d like to learn how to fish.

  So, there it is, a proper goodbye. It’s not a sad day, not really. I think we’re wired this way, to accept death when it seems right. I don’t feel like I’m leaving anyone behind. It’s more like I’m leaving for a while and didn’t quite catch you to wave and say I’ll be home later. It’s okay. It’s all okay. Whoever you are, be safe. Be well. Be good to whoever you’re with.

  Most of all…survive. For all of us who didn’t make it and for the world yet to come…survive.

  Your friend, Jillian Smith

  And The Beat Goes On…