We left that town behind, but we continued talking about some of the other odd situations we found zombies in. I told them about the pair of zombies I had found stuck on a balcony on the second floor of a house. Aaron told us of a particularly bizarre sighting. When he and Lucy had first fled down to Charlotte, they had come across one of those large pavement rollers, the large machines with the one huge flat wheel on the front. They had heard something, and as they came about to the front of the large machine, there were three zombies, crushed underneath the machine, up to their chests. They had remained stuck underneath the heavy wheel, but that hadn’t stopped them from clawing at the ground when they saw the two of them.
I brought up how I had seen those zombies inside of locked vehicles back in Hendersonville, when we were hunting the Follower guy. Tague told us that he had come across a large mall parking lot, where a whole section had several vehicles with zombies inside of them, as well. We tried to figure out just how these people had managed to get inside of the vehicles, and then die. The only real explanation we had was just as gruesome. They had been surrounded inside of the vehicles, unable to leave, and so, starved to death. What a horrible way to go. Chris pointed out though, that they certainly could have started the vehicle, and at least attempted to bowl over the zombies. That made sense, which left us with even more questions about them.
Evan had the most gruesome story, though, so bad that even the joking, jovial Evan had a hard time retelling it. When he was on the move towards Charlotte, he had come across a school bus. Seeing some movement on the inside, he had become curious, and opened the door and stepped inside. He had hoped to find a survivor, even if it was a child. Instead, what he saw, took his breath away. He even gasped as he retold that section. The bus was full of reanimated children, at least fifteen or more. What was worse, he said, of the ones that he saw before he bolted out of the bus, he noticed gunshot wounds on their chests. Zombies hadn’t killed these poor kids. Someone had decided to kill them.
Aaron said it was horrible, but that it didn’t surprise him. He mentioned that both he and Lucy routinely saw people doing horrible things. Lucy said it was only because they feared for their own lives that they hid and did nothing. I didn’t even have to look at Heather to feel the anger that was beaming off her face. She had been a part of that hell. Living people had turned into their own demons, and decided to live out their insanity in what they thought were the end of days. For many, it was the ideal excuse to become the raging murderers and psychopaths they had been hiding from the more civilized world.
Evan did make a good point, though. The odds were in favor of those kinds of people having a greater chance of survival in this world, than the kind hearted Samaritan. (I had to explain what that meant to Chris.) What that also meant, was that the odds were higher that we would encounter these kinds of people out there, as well. That didn’t bode well.
We’re camped out just north of the Uwharrie National Forest. I figured it was quite rural out here, and while we debated trying to find a house to raid and sleep in, we decided instead to pull into a dark ravine, and sleep locked up in the truck and van. Maybe not as comfortable, but this way we would probably draw the least attention. We’ve eaten a simple meal tonight, and we should be able to easily reach Pittsboro tomorrow morning.
Trip from the tower cities to Sunny Point
Entry 44 – Tower City of Pittsboro[41]
We’re the guests of the Tower City of Pittsboro. I must say, that this day has brought a lot of new things to my view. It is, I must say, very refreshing to see people finding such a unique way to survive the terrible apocalypse that has mostly devastated human life on our planet. And that’s only the beginning.
We left rather early this morning, rested, if a bit stiff, from sleeping in our vehicles. It had at least cooled off enough for us to be able to sleep with the windows rolled up. If not, the mosquitoes we had seen at night would have destroyed us. It’s too bad the zombies hadn’t gotten them. We were on the road as the sun was coming up ahead of us.
There was one thing very clear as we pulled in to Pittsboro. There were no zombies here. Just a few towns back, we had still encountered walkers. We would have to slow down, sometimes just drive around them, or on one or two occasions, take different streets completely. That was the advantage of being in a vehicle. The day the zombies get drivers licenses, we’re most certainly screwed.
Yet, as we drove into the small town, there were no moans and groans greeting us, no awkward walking slowly towards us. That’s not to say that the town was full of life, it wasn’t. It was just empty. We came in from the west on Highway 64, and kept going until we reached the center of the town, easily found by the nice rotary traffic circle. It then dawned on us we didn’t know where there were any water towers in the city. They just weren’t that important to be on maps. We guessed right, though, in turning north on Highway 501 at the circle. We found a water tower, which turned out to be the right water tower.
As we drove north, we saw it emerging on our right, above and behind some large brick buildings. Instantly, we saw that there were people on the top. Evan radioed in from the van that he could see through his binoculars that they were doing the same to us, watching us from afar. It then also dawned on us that we might not be welcome here. We stopped our vehicles at the entrance to what appeared to be a Farmer’s Market; at least that’s what it used to be. I got out of the truck, and hoped and trusted that I wasn’t about to get shot at. I told them to keep the motors running, just in case.
After waiting a few minutes, though, I heard an oddly different noise, joined by the sight of an elderly man driving at me in a golf cart. He was wearing shorts and one of those gaudy Hawaiian shirts, and an extremely worn straw hat. He drove up to us, stopped, and without getting out, looked up to me and asked,
“Y’all lost?”
I almost laughed. This wasn’t at all what I was expecting.
“I hope were not. We’re trying to find someone who may have passed through here, and supposedly stayed at a water tower in Pittsboro.”
He squinted at me through his glasses, and then took them off to clean them.
“I'm hoping you're meaning this person was here after the world went to shit. If you were looking for someone who came here before that, I’d be worried.”
He put his glasses on and looked at me again, an odd look on his face.
“No sir, he would certainly have come after. His name was, or is, Richard Arche.”
The man looked at me, yet again. He turned his head to the side. It was as if internally, he was having a battle against himself.
“How do you know Richard?”
“Do you know him?” I was excited, maybe there was something here. “Sorry, yeah, I know him. He’s my father.”
A huge smile erupted on his face.
“I knew it. You're Brian. Shit son, why didn’t you say so? Hell yeah I know him. But he didn’t pass through here. He MADE this place. But I gotta say, that was quite some time ago. He hasn’t been here in many months, you know.”
It was more than I could believe. I nearly hugged the guy. I opened the door to the truck, and Lucy told me later that I was yelling at the top of my lungs that “this was the place”.
Mr. Gregory Hubert, or Mr. Hubs as he wanted himself to be called, had us park our truck and van next to old farmer’s market.
“We’re more than happy to have y’all as guests, but we only keep stock of food for our residents, you might have to go out and find your own.”
That of course, wouldn’t be a problem, as we came nicely supplied. We walked behind to where the actual water tower was, and were surprised to find about thirty people there. They had fenced in a large area around the water tower, and linked it up to where the brick buildings were to create a makeshift fence. Directly underneath the tower, they had what appeared to be a vegetable garden growing, while towards the northern side, on the other side of a paved road, they had a small field with what appea
red to be corn growing in it. Mr. Hubs laughed as he told us what they were growing, insisting that next year they would plant tobacco, as well. Apparently, there was a strong demand for cigarettes in the post apocalyptic world.
People seemed cordial, and many smiled at us and continued with their work, while those who apparently had no current work followed Mr. Hubs and us along our tour. When we reached the tower, he called up, and a 10x5 foot platform lowered itself down to us, while two guys up there pulled on the crank to lower it. Mr. Hubs explained to us that most of the time they just used the ladder to get up, but they would make exceptions from time to time, in case of emergencies or to show off.
“Although, this is the first time we’ve been able to show off in quite some time.”
Evan and Chris decided to use the ladder to get up, while the rest of us were lifted up to the side of the water tower, where a small walking platform ringed around the tower itself. This was one of those traditional water towers, with the cylindrical shape and the cone roof. Along the side it read “Chatham Mills” in large black letters, clear against the shiny silver colored metal of the tower.
Once up top, he led us around to where they had forged a door into the side. Inside of the tower compartment itself, they had built in two floors, mostly filled with beds, one central kitchen like area, and a closed off room I was told was a bathroom. The walls were covered in cots that had been makeshift bolted into the walls. On each bed, I noticed, were a set of ropes, or in some cases, chains.
“This is our sleeping area, or inner keep. We rarely use the kitchen or bathroom in here; it’s only there by design if we’re besieged.”
We had many questions for him; so many that I actually forgot to ask him the main question I needed an answer for.
That evening, as people took turns cooking, or making their own food over two fire pits that were on the ground, just south of the tower itself, and sat on a bunch of picnic tables, we began to ask Mr. Hubs about everything that we had thought of that day. That’s when it finally came to me.
“Mr. Hubs, you said you knew my father, Richard Arche.”
He nodded.
“Do you know where he is?”
“I do not.”
My father had run across Gregory about fifteen miles north of Pittsboro. Mr. Hubs had been on the move, and had managed to get himself surrounded in a small house, and had been unable to get himself rid of the zombies who were quite insistent upon getting to their fresh meat inside. My father had come across this scene and had lured the zombies away, lost them, and had doubled back to relieve the old man. The two of them had then travelled south into Pittsboro, where they had taken refuge up on top of the water tower. It was up here that the two of them, probably with my father’s innate ability to see solutions, came up with the idea to set up a refuge on the water tower.
The water had long drained from the inside, and the hollow shell was a perfect place to live in, easily away from the walking hordes that had no ability to crawl up ladders. Their first order of business was to make a fence around it to provide a small buffer. When a few days later, they rescued a family of five from the zombies on the far eastern side of the town, they instead planned to build the fence, with a far larger radius around the tower, and linked it up with the brick farmer’s market buildings. During the day, they worked on the ground, and at the first sight of any zombie, they’d rush up into the tower and stay out of sight. One of the younger kids would stay on top of the farmers market building to keep an eye out. The idea was to get up into the tower before they saw them.
But even if they were seen, they would have to deal with that. My father came up with one of the few rules he said would cement the survival of anyone at the tower; always have food enough for all the residents for three whole days. If a zombie horde came through, or if enough had seen the living and came to the tower, they would hole up inside of the tower, be completely quiet, and usually by the third day, the zombies had lost interest and moved on.
Later, when more and more people were rescued or found the tower, they set up an additional deterrent. About half a mile away, they set up some car batteries hooked up to an old stereo radio. My father apparently rigged up a radio receiver to it. If they were stuck on top of the tower because of zombies, they would turn the radio on remotely. The noise would, more often than not, draw the zombies down in that direction. When the tower was clear, one or two men would go down there in a car, and draw the horde out of the town.
This scheme seemed to work. They had only been stuck in the tower three times, and survived each of those times. When they reached the resident population that we see them at now, they even started going out on patrols to purge the zombies in the town, in order to not have any surprises. They went door to door, with, spears, bats, axes, and any other silent hand weapons, and made sure each house was clear. Not only did this eliminate surprise zombies, but it also helped keep other hordes from being attracted to the town, and therefore, kept them away from the tower.
My father never stayed to see it become what it is now, but he had set it all in motion. It was succeeding so well that after a month, he decided to set out, and begin to set up as many of these tower sanctuaries as he could, and find survivors along the way. He even scavenged some radio equipment and solar panels, and helped develop a communication network between the existing towers.
“How many working towers are there?” asked Tague.
There were seventeen that Mr. Hubs knew about and was in contact with, from this tower all the way south, to the border with South Carolina, and east almost to the coast. The furthest one south that he knew of was at Lake Waccamaw, while the furthest east was one near Wallace. He suspected that there might be more, and he did know that one, near Goldsboro, had actually been attacked by living people, and the tower residents killed.
They could only reach the closest tower to themselves on the radio, a tower outside of Sanford, south of here. That link of radios enabled them to relay messages back and forth throughout this side of the state. It was quite an impressive system, and I saw my father’s planning in it all. They would trade information, and even relay the movement of large zombie hordes. They would even sometimes trade supplies, but only for really important or really rare items. All in all, the basic premise was for each tower to be completely self dependant, and to limit travel as much as possible. Keep quiet and keep everyone else away.
There was another water tower in Pittsboro that they were beginning to think about converting as well.
I asked him if he knew where my father had been headed to, and Mr. Hubs could only shake his head. He did tell me that my father had been trying to find someone; someone he said lived in Fayetteville. But he had clearly set up towers further south from there, so it doesn’t appear that he had remained in Fayetteville. At least that gave us another place and goal.
We told our story as well, just keeping the whole vault and massive information wealth a secret still. He was especially interested when we got to the part about the military, and their little battle at Black Mountain.
“You know, we had heard rumors of military down at Wilmington. Tomorrow, I'm going to send some relay messages down to Waccamaw, to see if they can send someone out to get something concrete. After what happened up in Goldsboro, it would be nice to see if we could have some protection”
We traded some of our bread for some fresh vegetables, especially the tomatoes. We had brought some dried vegetables with us from the house, but oh my, these fresh ones were great. The taste was simply amazing.
They made room for us up here, and while it’s a bit stale in here, and warm (this thing has been an oven all day), it’s oddly familiar to be surrounded by the living this time around. There’s a social comfort to it all. There were no sharing beds, the cots slept individuals only, but I spent an hour with Heather and her bed before I went to sleep, and we both shared in the amazement of finding this community, surviving amidst the hell that was the zombie infested world.<
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I kissed her good tonight.
Also, Mr. Hubs made sure to point something out to me. He told us he would relay to the other towers that we were coming. Apparently, I was a sort of celebrity to the towers, being Richard’s son, I guess. Anyways, he cautioned me that, although my father had set up some basic rules, these rules only ensured their survival. Each tower was kind of on its own, as far as all other rules. He warned me that some of the towers, while probably friendly, would probably seem very bizarre. When I asked him for more details, he just said he’d let me see, that it wasn’t up to him to besmirch other towers.
Evan’s Notes: Brian never explains why, but he mentions how all the beds or cots have ropes or chains on them. Each person chains or ties himself to the bed at night, before sleeping. It’s apparently a very important rule. If, for some reason, an individual died at night, their newly converted dead self wouldn’t be able to go on a rampage. There have been zero known instances of zombies untying knots or undoing chains.
Entry 45 – Each Little Fiefdom[42]
It’s been three days since we left Pittsboro. It’s been like a whirlwind tour of the unreal.
Our initial plan had been to head straight for the water tower in Fayetteville, to see if we could find more clues to the whereabouts of my father, but we kept getting stuck at other water towers. Well, stuck isn’t the right word. It was the fact that, as Mr. Hubs had said, these towers were like a collection of the unique. Each one was really its own little kingdom of sorts. Let me go through them here, just to point out the uniqueness, or as Heather said, the unreality, of it all.
Our first stop that first morning was at a water tower in Sanford, some ways south of Pittsboro. This was a larger water tower with an enclosed base, which added even more room to what was available. This one, according to the residents, had already had a large and tall chain link fence around it when they took it over. According to them, many of the newer water towers had fences around them before Deadfall anyways, making them good targets for conversion.
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