Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

There were a couple zom exes nearby when I woke up, but none of them seemed to notice me. I saw some reports saying they don’t look around much. If you didn’t happen to be in their field of view, you didn’t exist. I guess I was lucky none of their heads were turned enough this way.

Off in the distance, to the west, was something that looked like a road. Maybe a freeway. It was a dark line just a little bit above the ground. There were some tire tracks near the bushes leading off that way. I had to wait a few minutes, but eventually all the exes were facing away from me and I could slip out of the bushes. I got scratched up by the branches, but not bad enough to bleed.

It took me four hours to reach the highway. I could’ve made it faster but I had to crouch down a couple times and hide from some exes. I didn’t think there were this many of them. Maybe it’s just wherever I am. Maybe I’m near one of the cities that got hit bad with the virus.

The road is two lanes. Dotted yellow line. No street signs. No cars. If it wasn’t built up a little bit I never would’ve seen it. I decided to head north. I’m pretty sure I’m in the Southwest. That’s where Mom and I were heading. So there’s more of the country north of me.

I walked for another five hours before I found the car. It’s a Mini Cooper. A red one. Dad said he’d get me one just like it if I graduated with an A average.

It has Arizona license plates. The doors were open. There were no people. No bodies. Dead ones or not-dead ones. I checked under it and in the ditch next to the road. No blood or anything, either. Someone just stopped his car in the middle of the road and wandered away. Or ran away.

There was a duffel bag full of clothes in the backseat. They were men’s clothes, and they were a little too big for me, but it was better than what I had. Jeans, T-shirt, flannel, socks. I had to roll the cuffs up on the jeans. Whoever owned the Mini wore boxer-briefs, which felt a little funny but comforting after having my ass hanging out all day.

I changed right there next to the car. There wasn’t anyone around for miles, not even exes, but it still felt kind of scary and naughty and sexy. Outside in broad daylight with all my clothes off.

No shoes. I took my one sneaker off my rag-jeans and tied them to the new ones.

I found a bathroom kit in the duffel bag. I wasn’t going to use someone else’s toothbrush, but I figured the toothpaste was better than nothing. There were some eyedrops, which is great because my eyes have been killing me.

There was a whole box of food, too. Lots of cans and some granola bars and bottled water and stuff. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw it. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday. There was a can of pork and beans and I thought it would be good comfort food. I knew they were something I could eat cold, too. Mom and Dad liked to cook out in the summer and we’d have beans with hot dogs and hamburgers. And then Dad would tell me gross stories about all the stuff in hot dogs.

But the beans had started to go bad and tasted awful. All I could eat was the pork. Which was kind of gross cold but still a lot better than the beans. It doesn’t make sense, the beans going bad before the meat, but a lot of stuff isn’t making sense today. I still ate all of it I could dig out of the can and then brushed my teeth with my finger and some toothpaste.

It was pretty close to sundown by then, so I decided I’d spend the night in the car. I can fold the passenger seat all the way back and use a sweatshirt as a pillow. I’m writing this by moonlight because there’s not even enough power in the battery to turn on the dome light.

Where am I? Where’s Mom?

July 28th, 2009

August 1st, 2009

Dear Diary,

Okay, this is messed up. I sat down tonight to write about all the freaky stuff that happened today. I mean, I woke up in a strange car wearing someone else’s clothes—different UNDERWEAR—and that’s not the messed-up thing.

Normally I just flip to the first empty page of my diary and start to write, but tonight I looked back through it and there are three entries that all say it’s July 28th and I don’t remember writing any of them. More to the point, I’m sure today is July 28th because yesterday was the day Mom and I were going to go meet Dad, the 27th.

I woke up in a red Mini Cooper. I don’t remember falling asleep in it, but the last entry in the diary is about finding a red Mini Cooper with clothes and food in it. Mom wasn’t there but all three entries talk about her vanishing. There was a bloody shirt in the car and there’s one entry about finding a dead woman and taking her shirt—EWWW—and one mentions tossing it for the clothes here in the Mini. There was a half-full can of pork and beans on the side of the road and an entry about eating pork and beans. Well, pork. And the can looked like all beans when I checked it. They smelled bad.

I don’t remember writing any of that. It’s pretty clear in each one I don’t remember the one before it. So if I thought it was the 28th for three days in a row, then today must be the first of August.

Unless there were days I didn’t write in