We taught the local population how to fight and to co-ordinate their efforts. The first time I taught a group of civilians how to fire guns I quickly found that the safest place to stand was right in front of them. Their aim was terrible! But after a few hours of training with the guns, and with me all the while emphasising safety above all else, they saw a massive improvement and actually began to enjoy the training. I still enjoy teaching even today, and it is always an honour to serve beside these civilian firearm teams.
We were able to establish regular supply lines between the towns, so if one place was good at growing crops and another place had a huge water supply then the two would share. With fuel becoming scarce, people began to use horses a lot more again. There was a little of that before the War, now it’s quite common for people to travel by horse or by a coach or cart drawn by horses. That was one thing the Hell’s Angels didn’t like to share –fuel. Our bikes were very much a part of us and it would have broken our hearts to have to stop riding them. Besides, we were doing so much for the people, risking our lives for them every day, that we felt we were entitled to keep enough fuel back for ourselves. It also meant we were always capable of a quick response; we could get anywhere we needed to be in a hurry.
In fairness to us there always seemed to be many emergencies we were needed for. We’d ride in to a town and find the locals all hiding in the buildings and zombies all over the streets because the lookouts had been asleep at the watch and failed to let anyone know a swarm was coming. In that situation we’d rev our engines and lead the zombies away, that gave the locals a chance to organise themselves and usually they would help us destroy the swarm, setting up shooting teams and picking off the zombies as efficiently as they could. Anytime it looked like the zombies were getting too close to the town again we would use the bikes to disrupt them, making them move away from the people and then leading them where we wanted them.
Other times, we would be called in because there was a dispute of power, or a local mutiny, if you like. Some local gang would get the idea that they could overthrow or at least severely intimidate the town mayor and then live out their fantasy of being kings of the apocalypse or something. Very few of these people knew the first thing about organising and running a community, but that didn’t stop them from thinking that all they needed was their loyal dog called ‘Dog Meat’ by their side and then they were all set to do whatever they wanted in this new wasteland. Usually these uprisings were solved by the mere presence of a few bikers, by that I mean once we rode into town most of these so-called tough guys and tough gals saw common sense and backed down. Occasionally it got more physical. I don’t like issuing beat downs but I do appreciate that sometimes it’s necessary for the greater good.
People have some strange ideas about what it’s like to be a biker, or even just a true alpha male in general. They seem to think that it’s all about pushing people around and being more aggressive than anyone else. That’s not being an alpha male. That’s being an asshole. A true alpha male supports people and solves problems. I can think of no better summary for the type of men me and my brothers are; we solve problems.
[Behind us there has been a lull in the sound of fists hitting punching bags. Kon turns back to see that Laz has instructed the students to take a break and rehydrate. The students gratefully drink from some water bottles.]
You know, we are a long way out from the city here. The land is flat and open, so we can literally see trouble from miles away. But we’re also vulnerable to the weather. Usually we have to ration water because it’s always in short supply –if you wash your clothes with water, the farmers are willing to buy the same water to use for their crops - they call that “grey water.” However, it can go the other way too and we can experience flash floods here. I once tried to walk home through a flood and the water was up to my neck, almost sweeping me off my feet and carrying me away.
I would say the worst danger is the bushfires. The land is so dry and it’s so easy for a fire to be set off by say a bolt of lightning, the sun shining through a discarded piece of broken glass and igniting some dead grass, or someone being irresponsible with a campfire. All it takes is one careless person to throw away a cigarette and then everyone else is in real trouble. A bushfire is like a raging tidal wave of pure heat burning up everything in its path. It travels so fast it can even outrun a car. As for fighting it, a bushfire can burn you from fifty metres away, so good luck with that.
One time I was out clearing some land with a bulldozer when I saw a fire approaching behind me down the highway, burning up all the trees in front of it before it even touched them. There was no way I was going to outrun that thing, especially in a bulldozer, so I turned the vehicle around to face the fire. I got out and hid beneath the blade of the bulldozer, praying that my crazy plan would work. And it actually did –the fire passed over me so quickly I barely felt any heat and I was protected the whole time.
We are more careful about bushfires than ever before. Now our patrols are on the lookout, not only for zombies and for roving gangs, but also the potential for fire. If any danger is spotted, it is immediately radioed back to town and an emergency response is initiated. Church bells ring across the town, which is the signal for everyone to get ready to leave. Most people keep an emergency bug out bag in their homes so they can just grab that and be out the door with their family in one minute. Then all they need to do is listen for instructions on where to go, which is always in the opposite direction of the fire. This is broadcast by loudspeakers from the patrols, whether they are on horseback or in a vehicle.
Before the War this was all done with mobile phone messages and broadcasts on television. Now that we don’t have any of that kind of infrastructure any more we had to go back to the old methods of communication.
In the first year . . . [looks sad for a minute.] . . . in that first year, we had so many other things happening that bushfires were the last thing on our minds. Refugees were arriving from the cities and suburbs every day. People were scared, they were hungry, they needed shelter and they needed protection. Add to that as well that people still didn’t understand the threat of zombies. Even the sight of one or two zombies could send people into a panic and make them do stupid things. We were constantly needed everywhere. I don’t think I ever got more than four hours sleep a night in that first twelve months.
All that is to say we were caught completely by surprise that first year when a bushfire ripped through here. We really should have seen it coming. I don’t know how it began . . . if it was started intentionally, maybe by someone who was turned away from the town for being a criminal or something, or maybe it was just plain bad luck. The result is what matters. We were trying to shore up any number of emergencies and just get people settled and safe when the fire arrived. It wasn’t even daytime - it swept in late at night. Out in the country it is very dark at night because there are no streetlights or anything and of course, at that time all we really had was a few generators providing power to critical buildings like the hospital and the communications centre.
When the fire came, the only warning we had was a sudden orange glow on the horizon, which was noticed by a child. People were milling around the town centre, many of them completely unfamiliar with the surrounding area. Our President, Peter, quickly got us organised. He told us in his incredibly calm voice, “All right, boys, we’ve got a fire approaching. We’re going to try to get as many people out of here as we can. Let’s go.”
No one objected. We all got on our bikes and began taking as many passengers as we could safely carry. We ferried them out as fast as we could ride, a column of bikes riding through the night single file, all the while this huge bushfire was ravaging the farmland and every second getting closer and closer to the town. As soon as we dropped people off at the next town, we were back on the road again, heading back towards danger to try and collect more people.
Some folk had panicked and were fleeing in to the night. I don’t know where they thought they were
going. It was difficult to see anything out there. Other people tried throwing buckets of water over the buildings, as if that would somehow stop a racing fire in its tracks. Although it was a shame, I still can understand why some people chose to hide inside and not do anything to help anybody else.
I had just gotten back into the town, which by then had deteriorated into open panic. People screamed and cried with the fire almost upon them when one of my brothers stopped his bike in front of me. His name was Snap, he was a huge man of Scottish descent, and he had powerful arms covered in tattoos, long hair and a long ginger beard. He said to me, “Kon, there’s a family near the fire that tried to drive away but the fire has circled around and cut them off. I’m gonna go out there and see if I can save them.”
He revved his bike and drove off. I never saw him again.
We kept on rescuing people as long as we could, even when the town itself was ablaze and the night sky was full of smoke and ash and black clouds rising off the shells of the buildings. I remember feeling a real clarity throughout the whole night, as if I was totally tuned in to what was going on. I could hear every scream, hear the crackling of shops igniting and going up in flame, smell the ash in the air, feel the heat from a full block away, and see every detail like the glow of the fire reflected in spilt water on the road.
I saw a man and a woman running from the fire, which had almost caught them. The man was carrying their baby. The woman shouted at him, “Don’t stop. Just keep running.”
The man turned to his wife and saw she was completely ablaze, sinking to her knees in the street as the fire consumed her. He cried out but he kept running, and actually managed to get the child to a bike and carried out of town.
Our President was right there the whole time, directing people when they needed it. His presence provided much needed morale, it stabilised us, made us almost laugh at this huge fire that could catch us and burn us alive at any time. Not one of us backed down or considered riding away. We were so focused on saving people that it wasn’t until, reluctantly, Peter told us we had done all we could do that we stopped. Now it was time to head back to help the survivors we had already rescued.
There were still people in the town but they were cut off, surrounded by fire that we just couldn’t get through. I was crying when I turned my bike around and we left and I saw my brother Laz was crying too. With so much noise going on, you know the bikes and the raging fire, I shouldn’t have been able to hear their screams as they burned. Maybe I just imagined I did.
The next day we rode back towards the town, the sky was thick with ashy smoke, you could smell it from ten kilometres away. The buildings were still burning in low fires now. We waited and watched. Then this army of the undead rose up from the town. They were completely scorched, their flesh like tar. It was probably a good thing they were unrecognisable. It made killing them so much easier. We sat on our bikes and levelled guns at them, picking them off, as they got closer. We were so damned frustrated that we weren’t able to save everybody and lost some of our brothers that we just kept on pouring lead into those ghouls. Even when they went down, we still wanted to destroy them, smashing them with chains and our boot heels. Maybe we thought we were getting revenge on the fire itself or something, I don’t know.
At least the fire stopped there at the town and burned itself out.
We lost eight brothers to that fire. I’m not sure how many civilians died, everything was so disorganised then, but judging by how many zombies we put down on the following day I’m guessing it was well over a thousand.
Every year on the anniversary of that night we head out on the road together, this long column of bikes riding at over a hundred kilometres an hour and with less than a metre between each bike, and we ride through the woodland of the surrounding area. We ride for our brothers and for their memory, so that their legends will live on with us forever.
MANITOU SPRINGS, COLORADO
Pikes Peak Cog Railway
Interviewer: Susanne L. Lambdin
INTERVIEW 6:
The train chugs up the track on a steep incline toward the top of Pikes Peak. The wind is sharp on my face. We are headed to an altitude of 14,115 feet, and I can see snow at the top. A herd of elk are in a field, grazing on grass. In this scenic place, it’s hard to imagine zombies once roamed the Rockies. It’s cold despite the thickness of my coat. The survivor I am about to interview was a former soldier in the National Guard. He wears a ski mask so I cannot see his face.
[His dark eyes stare at me, watching closely as I hold up a microphone.]
I am told you were a lieutenant in the National Guard. You have since retired. How many years did you serve?
Twenty-five years.
Where were you when the zombie outbreak occurred?
I was in the town of Cascade, living in a trailer park, where I broadcasted a radio show. I was called 'Mr. Oracle,' and I told the public what the government didn’t want people to know about the outbreak. It happened in New York City. A soldier had returned from Afghanistan with the H1N1 virus. He died three days later, only he didn’t stay dead. He returned as the living dead.
And you felt it was your duty to warn the people in Colorado Springs about a zombie apocalypse?
Exactly.
How did you know what was happening in New York City?
I started out by paying attention to social media, reading blogs, and watching videos filmed by the hospital staff. I also had friends in the National Guard stationed at the hospital. People started to fall ill. The hospital was overrun with patients . . . probably the worst place anyone could go, since it was technically ground zero. The government made every attempt to deny allegations of zombies, throughout the city, my friends sent me footage - I saw the dead eating people. I knew it wasn’t special effects, so I felt it necessary to warn others.
How soon after did the virus reach Colorado?
It took two weeks before the first person came into a local hospital complaining of symptoms. Officials told folks it was the flu, and to stay home, but more and more people fell ill. I broadcasted my show every day around 11:30 a.m. For a half hour, I informed the public what was really going on. I wanted people to be prepared. I told them to store up on supplies and guns, find a safe place to hunker down, and to avoid anyone who was sick.
Most died at home, and people were frightened, and started to leave town in droves. They say you are supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever. Maybe that’s why zombies were so hungry when they turned on their families. All it took was one bite to infect someone.
When did the National Guard and local law enforcement decide to use Pikes Peak as a safe zone?
At the base of the mountain, the National Guard had set up camp. There’s a big parking lot, a couple of shacks used by the park and tourists, and a fence encircles Crystal Lake. It seemed as good a place as any, and it was close to where I was located, so I started to tell people to head there, knowing they’d be safe. Many people started to arrive at Pikes Peak days before Colorado Springs experienced the full impact of the outbreak. Anyone sick was taken to a separate location and only the healthy were allowed to go up to the Peak. I had already arrived by then, playing a recorded broadcast to tell people where to go, and was put in charge of security.
What does that mean?
Well, basically, I decided who was allowed into the camp, and who was to be taken away. The Captain didn’t want any pets. It caused a big problem to take dogs and cats away from frightened kids, and we released quite a few pets into the wild, and some we shot. At that time, we didn’t know if animals were carriers of the virus.
And people? Did you shoot the infected?
I’m not at liberty to tell you what we did in that regard. As I said, only the healthy were allowed to come into the survivors’ camp. We used vehicles to set up a barricade at the entrance. Eventually, we forced folks to leave their cars on the highway and escorted them up the road on foot. The police helped keep law and order, while the Nation
al Guard ran the show.
When rioting broke out in Colorado Springs and nearby towns, we saw a lot of action at the entrance. The infection spread fast. A fire broke out in downtown Colorado Springs and the sky was choked with smoke. The Air Force bases and Fort Carson were overrun with civilians trying to get out of town. The highways were jammed with vehicles and fighting soon broke out. Desperate people panic when they are scared. Quite a few civilians tried to take the law into their own hands and storm the barricade. It got real ugly, real fast, in those initial days.
Mind if I know your real name? I mean, you didn’t go by Mr. Oracle on the Peak, did you?
You may call me Lt. Nightshadow. There were more than two thousand people on the Peak during those first few weeks of the outbreak. It didn’t make any sense to check driver’s licences or Social Security cards. All I wanted to know is if someone had served in the military, had medical training, and if they knew how to use a gun. Eventually, anyone over the age of eighteen was assigned to the local militia – 'the Freedom Army,’ as it came to be known. Kids from the age of twelve and on up were put on patrols. We had a large area to cover, not enough soldiers or cops, and we needed patrols to help defend the Peak. I was so sick of hearing sob stories that I started to nickname the new arrivals based on their appearance and attitude. Teenage patrol teams consisted of six kids. They were given guns and used four-wheelers to scout the area.
Who was the Captain? It sounds like the survivors’ camp was organized.
He was a Navy officer with thirty years of experience. We never used our real names, not even the Captain. His ex-wife came with him. We called her Mother Superior. Together, they turned the tourist shop on top of the Peak into a military headquarters and a hospital. They used this very train to bring up supplies. After we built over a dozen shacks on top of the mountain, we had to figure out a way to set up a barricade, to keep out the hordes of zombies. The Captain wanted an electric fence set up from the town of Cascade to the Garden of the Gods. It took months for us to find what we needed and get it set up.
Zombie War: Interviews From The Frontline Page 5