The Lake Diary

Chapter 6

Over the last week I've tried to write this entry but I just can't. I don't want to think about the any of this and I certainly don't want to record the memories. It's too soon.

* * *

The day after the strange lights in the sky was one of the worst I've had in two years, which is saying something.

The raiding party and I started out sailing as far south on the lake as we could, further than we'd ever gone. The wind was strong, coming out of the East and we made good time. We got up to around 12 knots a couple times.

The speed and bright sun was a huge boost to our spirits after being stuck in our huts for so long. I enjoyed myself, watching my crew, almost enough to make me forget about the end of the world. Sarah and John were laughing and grinning ear to ear on the bow. Malik hid under half a tarp he found, trying to keep the spray from soaking him. Just the wind, the surge of the deck beneath my feet, and the sound of laughter in my ears.

Four hours later, I slowed the boat as we approached the south end of the lake. There were a couple houses just off the main lake, a hundred feet or so down a tributary. I put down the anchor, grabbed some binoculars, and scanned the area.

Three houses surrounded a small grassy section, behind them the thick forest crowded in. The houses were in surprisingly good shape, even the windows were intact. It was possible they were remote enough that they'd been overlooked by other looters. I did another scan and didn't even see any zombies. We'd been flying down the lake, it was possible the ones that had seen us couldn't keep up and we'd left them behind.

I discussed it with my crew and we decided to leave the sailboat anchored about fifteen feet off shore at the head of the stream.

Peter hopped off the bow. The water came up to his waist, perfect for our purposes. Deep enough to keep the zombies at bay but shallow enough for easy loading of supplies.

He waded to the shore, keeping his eyes open for any undead, his spiked mace held out and ready. The other four raiders and I followed. The water was cool but the sun on our shoulders and backs was hot.

The first step on shore is always the riskiest. If any zombies saw the sailboat approaching they would be headed straight for us. With the thick brush and forest running right up to the water in some places they could be on us before we saw them if we weren't cautious.

We were always careful, but careful only gets you so far. Luck, good or bad, is often a determining factor. Our luck seemed to be holding, which should have made us suspicious. It didn't, more to my sorrow.

The shore seemed deserted but we maintained a wary eye as we spread out through the grassy area between the three homes. Not so much as a growl or a moan.

I glanced at Peter and Malik, we all exchanged looks and shrugs. Long ago we'd worked out a system of communicating without words, the less noise we made the less chance of attracting the attention of the undead. It was quiet, they wanted to split into two groups and start searching the houses. Six of us total, two groups of three was enough for quick exploration.

I nodded to Malik, he tapped John and Sarah on the shoulders and gestured to the house on the right. The three trotted off. I waved Peter and Nicholas to follow me to the house on the left.

The three homes had probably been built by the same company when the little subdivision had been developed. All three were similar in design, only varying by the colors they had been painted. Cookie-cutters, we'd have called them back in the day.

The two years of neglect were obvious but there was no drastic damage to the buildings. The houses were dirty, the windows covered in dust, but for the most part they were still intact. The vegetation was the biggest sign that no one had been maintaining the properties, the hedges were all overgrown and the grass was knee high between the buildings.

Our eyes never rested as we moved to the houses, paranoia is a way of life these days, but no zombies were evident. Peter, Nicholas, and I stacked up near the door of our house. Peter had a crowbar, an excellent multi-use tool. He tapped the door three times and we listened for any response from inside. Nothing. The door was locked but he made quick use of the bar to open it, still trying to be as quiet as possible.

The interior of the home was a surprise, everything was in it's place, intact, and apparently untouched for the two years since the outbreak. It was the cleanest home I'd seen in a long time. There was a thin coating of dust over everything but since the windows hadn't been broken there hadn't been any outside filth added to the interior over the years. It was almost sealed against contaminants. With the unbroken doors and windows I felt confident that we were the first visitors since the collapse. Hopefully we'd be able to find plenty of useful supplies inside.

We cleared the house as a team, no zombies found, then split up to search the rooms. I got the kitchen. Aside from the dust it was in good shape.

I was disappointed at how bare the shelves were. There were a few items in the cupboards, the type of things that most houses used to always have because they never got eaten. Condiments, sardines, tomato paste, and little cans of potted meat. I was dubious about the condiments but the cans all went in my pack. They might not be the most tasty items but, as my mother would have said, beggars can't be choosers.

I didn't bother checking the refrigerator, most of us had learned that lesson early on after the collapse.

There were some miscellaneous hand tools in one of the drawers. Another held silverware. Those went into my bag as well. There was a cheap set of steak knives, I didn't bother with them. They might be good enough for cutting a tender steak but were too thin to be much use against the undead. Besides everyone left already had a compliment of knives of their own, none needed a flimsy back up.

As I searched, I kept an eye out the dirty windows. This was something I'd learned over the years, to keep an awareness of the situation outside so I didn't walk out into any surprises. After gathering up an armload of supplies, the last thing any of us wanted was to open the door and have zombies start pouring in. Outside appeared clear.

I was wrapping up the kitchen when Peter came in and dropped a sack on the table.

"Any luck?" he asked.

I gave him a grim look and showed him the few things I'd scavenged.

He grimaced. "Well, hopefully Malik and them are having better luck. We need a good haul today."

"You find anything?"

Peter grabbed the bag, a pillow case by the look of it, and upended it on the table.