The Lake Diary

Chapter 1

I could have started this journal with my early years, or probably more practically with the outbreak and resulting fall of society (you know, the important stuff), but something about the quiet sailing on a nice day has made me nostalgic.

When I was seventeen I was jealous of my best friend, Brian. He was good looking, popular, a varsity athlete that also got perfect grades. There was a lot to be jealous of, he was good at everything. As above average as I thought I was, I ended up playing sidekick whenever I was around him. As if all of that wasn't enough, his family also had a lot more money than mine.

Brian's dad was one of the most fun I've met, probably the most immature as well. He loved toys as much as his kids but had the money to buy the best. They always had the newest gaming system, nice cars, they had fancy jet skis and had an RV that was bigger than my family's house. Weekends were often spent at their second house on a lake outside of town. My family was the opposite, barely hanging on above the poverty line. Spending time with Brian and his family was like visiting a different world.

Despite all the differences, Brian was also a much nicer person than me. He never looked down on any of his friends and was simply happy to share his bounty with us. He was a genuinely good guy. Brian, almost to spite his upbringing, later swore off wealth and became a Christian missionary. None of us saw that one coming. Last I heard he was living in his parents basement between trips to third world countries. On the other hand, I became a somewhat successful capitalist and own two homes in different states. Well, owned, past tense, is the more accurate word to use. There are probably pieces of paper in a filing cabinet somewhere declaring them my assets but they're only worth the fire that could be started with them. Times have changed.

When I think back to those High School years, the memories that make me smile the most are the ones of sailing with Brian. Every weekend I spent with them at their lake house I would beg to go sailing with him. The sailboat had been one of his family's earliest purchases, it wasn't big or flashy like the rest.

Brian and I would spend all day sailing the lake, getting sunburned and talking about girls, school, or sports. The things most important to a teenage mind. Half the time we'd make it to the center of the lake only to have the wind die down. We'd drift for hours until the breeze picked back up.

There was something about the movement of the boat, the interaction with the craft that appealed to me on a deep level. Rather than a motor boat which was turn a key and steer, the sailboat required constant attention, focus, and tweaking. The jib needed to be tightened, where were we going to tack, loosen the main sail to catch more wind, etc.

That was so long ago.

Throughout those days I don't think it occurred to me that I was learning a valuable skill. Sailing craft are timeless, they were around far before my time and will hopefully be around long after I die.

Sailing is like riding a bicycle, once you learn how that knowledge is always there. You might be like me, using those skills twenty years later. Of course, I could never have predicted I'd be captaining a twenty foot sailboat around lake Patoka on a fruitless supply run, the shores riddled with undead following our progress.

Yeah, the undead. Almost impossible to avoid these days.

I wonder where Brian is right now. If he was on a mission somewhere remote, or at the old lake house during the outbreak he might be safer than me, but if he was in his parents basement he's probably undead himself. Most people are these days.

One of the largest creatures on shore just let out one of the loudest cries of the day, enough to make me pause my writing to let the chill settle from my spine. Despite the lack of motor noise, the movement of the sailboat always attracts their attention.

A group of 10-12 zombies are stumbling along the coast trying to keep up with our progress, both attracted by the movement and repelled by the water. If any scientists were still alive maybe they could explain it, though for our practical purposes the basis of their aquaphobia doesn't matter much. The largest of the bunch could be a long dead NBA player, standing a good foot taller than the rest. Like the others though, he's half rotten, pale muscles sagging on lanky limbs, only remnants of dirty rags left of it's clothing. Two years does not sit easy with the living, it's even harder on the dead though the time hasn't slowed them much.

My small crew is experienced, they only flutter the smallest bit at the thunderous moan from the shore. In the two years since the outbreak they've become accustomed to the ever present sounds and stares of the hungry dead. They're hunched down on the bow and know to keep sound and movements to a minimum to avoid drawing more attention.

One sailboat, one captain, five raiders, most days it's enough to get the job done without attracting too many undead to handle. In and out, quick and quiet. Sarah, John, Malik, Peter, and Nicholas.

I had to laugh as I tried to figure out how to describe us at the moment, we look more like a medieval raiding party than anything "modern".

The zombie outbreak has thrown us back in time. Firearms are loud and draw the undead. Their bodily fluids are full of deadly bacteria at best and the zombie virus at worst, and their bites are deadly. To protect ourselves we're covered in long, patchwork clothing, makeshift armor, and equipped with melee weapons. Whatever we could scrounge up in our travels. We're moving around the lake in a sailboat, as silent as possible, armed and armored, as though reenacting an old Viking raid. Our weapons and protection might be alloys of metal and plastic the vikings couldn't have imagined, and our enemies far more demonic, but our purpose is the same. We're spiritual brothers with those warriors millennia ago. If we find a suitable place to raid on the lake shore, when our bow touches ground, my crew will leap ashore with a snarl, brandishing their impromptu weapons with the same deadly purpose.

We've lived on one of the islands in the lake for the past six months or so, we've raided all the easy homes around the lake front. Today we've already sailed hours further away from our island camp, further down the lake than ever before, searching for untouched pantries, food and water, but have so far found nothing but undead and empty remains of what were once expensive summer houses for the rich and bored.

The afternoon light is already starting to fade, soon we'll have to return, empty handed.

Despite the monsters on the shore, it's been a beautiful, sunny day. We might not have found any food this afternoon but we also didn't lose anyone. I'm going to call it a win.