by Carl R. Cart
Melissa Keyes
Ms. Keyes was, I must admit, the one character that came strictly from my imagination. She is the stereotype of the female co-worker I would like to be stuck with in a zombie-infested rain forest, very smart and very beautiful. She is, as many of us are, I suspect; a little too greedy for her own good. She is also rightfully indignant about the fact that her male counterparts are so much more richly rewarded than she is, while sharing the same dangers and risks. I don’t consider myself an outspoken advocate of women’s rights, but the disparity in pay in our society is blatantly unfair, and perhaps Keyes actions are an echo of my feelings on that subject. Keyes also represents my general view of most people these days: a little too soft and addicted to their civilized comforts. In the original manuscript, Keyes was a CIA operative, but as my friend Tony pointed out, if that were the case, she would have known far more than everyone else.
Robinson
Robinson is a real bastard. My friend Mark, who served as a “Security Specialist,” in Iraq, inspired him, somewhat. Some men are born to war, and seek it as other men seek peace and comfort. I cannot explain this, but I understand it to a degree, for there is a tiny bit of it in me. Sometimes, I feel that wars, and man’s love of war, is nature’s way of keeping our population in check. We have been killing each other ever since Cain picked up that first rock. Robinson is the typical mercenary as I imagine him, a battle-scared, callous, self-serving asshole, who would kill you for your cheeseburger and fries.
Otto Blythe
Blythe also came from my head, but there are small bits of characters I have met along the way splattered here and there. He is toughness and self-reliance, wrapped up in a cocky, capable package. He’s the kind of guy you would want to have your back. Men like him are not easy to befriend, but I’ve got to know a few. You have to win their respect and friendship as it is not freely given. His stoicism in the face of certain death, a very British trait, is also something I greatly admire, and hope I can produce when my time comes.
The Weaponry of Rotters
The modern firearms depicted in the story are real. They are among the finest firearms produced for the military today. Their descriptions are as follows:
The Barrett Fifty-Caliber Sniper Rifle - M107A1
Specifications:
Caliber: .50 BMG 12.7 x 99 mm
Weight: 30 lbs (13.6 kg) unloaded
Overall Length: 57 in (145 cm) assembled
Length: 38 in (96.5 cm) takedown mode
Barrel Length: 29 in (74 cm)
Magazine Capacity: 10 rounds
Stock: Integral with lower receiver – steel
Safety: Manual thumb-lever
Sights: Fixed front, Adjustable rear sights
Scope: As specified by customer
Capabilities
Muzzle Velocity: Approximately 2850 f/s (853 m/s) with standard 660 grains (42.8 g) projectile
Maximum Range: Approximately 6,800 meters
The KGP-9mm Submachine Gun
Specifications:
Caliber: 9x19mm Parabellum
Weight: 6.1 oz (2.75 kg)
Length: 13.97 in (355 mm) butt folded, 24.21 in (615 mm) butt extended
Barrel length: 7.48 in (190 mm)
Magazine Capacity: 25-round box magazine
Action: Blowback
Capabilities:
Muzzle Velocity: 1280 ft/s (390 m/s)
Maximum Range: 500 ft (150m)
Rate of Fire: 900 rounds/min
The AK-47 Kalashnikov Rifle
Specifications:
Caliber: 7.62×39mm M43/M67
Weight: 11.5 lb (5.21 kg) with loaded magazine
Length: 34 in (870 mm) fixed wooden stock
Length: 25.4 in (645 mm) stock folded
Barrel Length: 16.3 in (415 mm)
Magazine Capacity: 10, 20, 30, 40, 75, or 100-round detachable box and drum style magazine
Action: Gas-operated, rotating bolt
Sights: Adjustable iron sights
Capabilities:
Muzzle Velocity: 2350 ft/s (715 m/s)
Maximum Range: 440 yds (400 m) semi-automatic, 330 yds (300 m full automatic)
Rate of Fire: 600 rounds/min
The Beretta 9mm Semiautomatic Pistol - 92 Series
Specifications:
Caliber: 9×19mm Parabellum
Weight: 34oz (950 grams)
Length 8.5 in (217 millimeters)
Barrel length: 4.9 in (125 millimeters)
Magazine Capacity: Detachable box magazine: 10, 15, 17, 18, 20, 30 rounds
Capabilities:
Muzzle velocity: 1250 ft/s (381 m/s)
Maximum Range: 50m
Horsehair Snakes
Gordian or Horsehair Worm Larvae Parasitise Arthropods
Nov 1, 2007 John Blatchford
Crickets infected with Horsehair Worms are forced to commit suicide by drowning so that the adult parasite can reproduce.
Phylum Nematomorpha
There are two groups of Horsehair Worms (Phylum Nematomorpha) - the Gordiids (over 200 species which parasitise land arthropods as larvae and live freely in freshwater as adults) and the Nectonematids (5 species described which parasitise marine arthropods as larvae and reproduce in the sea). Very little is known about the biology of either group.
Adult Worms
When horses were the main form of transport and horse-troughs were common it was quite normal to find horse hair in the water. Occasionally an infected insect would drown in these troughs and the emerging adult worms would be noticed. The adult worm looks very much like a long hair, so it was assumed that the horsehair had somehow ‘come alive’. A little more imagination turned these ‘Horsehair Worms’ into ‘Horsehair Snakes’. Their other name comes from the legend of the Gordian knot created by Gordius around 330 B.C. in ancient Phrygia because the adults writhe and tie themselves in complicated knots (Gordian Worms).
The adult worms do not feed, but simply mate in water and release their eggs. When the eggs hatch out the larvae either parasitise an arthropod immediately or form cysts on plants which will be later eaten by their host.
Parasitic Larvae
Once inside a suitable host arthropod, the larvae begin to grow. Eventually they occupy much of the space inside the poor creature, and when they finally emerge from its body (after the host's death) they are many times its length! If their host is eaten by another animal, such as a frog, the adult will simply wriggle out of its mouth and search for water.
Mind Control
Land arthropods do not normally leap into water, but an infection by Gordian Worms has a strange effect on behaviour (at least in grasshoppers and crickets). Infected crickets will seek out water when their parasite reaches maturity and obligingly commit suicide by drowning. It is thought that the larvae are able to produce chemicals that affect the host’s brain directly, and that it is possible that other parasitic species might be able to do the same.
Parasite Research
Studying the way that Gordian Worms are able to control the behaviour of their host might lead to a better understanding of parasite/host relationships in general, and if it turns out that human disease organisms behave in similar ways it might have far-reaching implications for control of these parasites (Malaria, Chaga’s Disease etc.). This is a good example of how the academic study of an obscure animal can lead to useful discoveries – if we can understand what makes Kissing Bugs bite humans we might be able to design chemicals to control their behaviour in the same way that the Horsehair Worms control their Grasshopper hosts.
Zombie Ants Follow Fungal Instructions Precisely
Aug 22, 2010 John Blatchford
Ants infected with a fungus disease have their brains taken over and do what the fungus tells them.
One species of fungus affecting a particular ant has been studied in some detail. The ant acts under fungal control, and does what is best for the fungus as it dies.
Zombie Ant and Fungus Interaction
The exact position of ant attachment (and death) is incredibly precise:
98% bite into a vein.
Most are on the north side of the plant.
About 25 centimetres above the ground.
Around 95% humidity.
Between 20 and 30 degrees Celsius.
The fungus now takes over and the ant carcass sprouts fungal fruiting bodies. The dead ant becomes the way the fungus enters the leaf, and fungal growth further anchors the now fungal structure to the plant. The skeleton of the ant is hardened as what remains of its body tissues are dissolved away, and these fungal nutrients are supplemented by material removed from the plant vein.
Finally fungal fruiting bodies grow out of the dead ant, and spores are released. Spores enter the respiratory system of more ants and the cycle begins again.
Sandra Andersen (and others) – working in Thailand’s Khao Chong Wildlife Sanctuary – found that the position of ant attachment before death was critical for the success of the fungus. They moved some dead ants to new locations, and left others where the fungus had 'directed' them. Ants left where they had been 'placed' by the fungus developed normal fungal spores, while ants moved to other positions did not.
Mind Control by Chemicals
Many parasites control the behaviour of their host, and the way that Horsehair Worms can make crickets drown themselves is a good example. In the cases where mechanisms have been studied in any detail it appears that the parasite is producing specific chemicals: watch a Youtube video showing a cricket drowning itself and explaining the research.
Another excellent example – involving ants, snails, and cattle is shown in this brief National Geographic video.
Evolution has had millions of years to develop these tactics – in the case of the ant example, characteristic bite marks have been found on fossil leaves 48 million years old – but understanding the way things work in nature might allow humans to interfere with behaviour in the future.
What if mosquitoes or Kissing Bugs could be 'persuaded' not to bit humans – what then of malaria and Chaga's disease?
What if pest insects could be made to avoid crop plants – what then would happen to agricultural productivity?
But (heaven forbid) what if human behaviour could be controlled as precisely as in some of the natural examples – what then?
Zombie ant studies show that a parasite can control host behaviour. Further research will show how this mind control works.
References: 'The Life of a Dead Ant' Sandra B. Andersen et al. The American Naturalist, Volume 174 - September 2009, and 'Fungus Makes Zombie Ants Do All the Work', Scientific American (July 31, 2009).
Rotters – Bravo Company
15:13 Hours
Deep In the Shit
The Congo
Central Africa
Sergeant McAllister stood in the muddy track and sadly watched the surviving men of his command slowly limp away. He was proud of them; they had been through a lot, and they were still trying to get the mission done.
Major Dorset walked back to join him. “Are you sure we can’t stay ahead of them?” the major asked pensively.
The burly sergeant spat into the muddy track and growled back, “I ain’t gonna sugar coat it for you, Sir. We are well and truly fucked!” He looked back down the gloomy forest track and gave a short harsh laugh. “Those cock suckers are right behind us. Unless someone drops back and slows ‘em down, they’ll overtake us in a half mile.”
“I don’t consider you nonessential, Sergeant. I can order one of the other men to do it. Who is the most expendable?” the major asked.
“I’ll do it,” the sergeant spat back, “You other cunts would just fuck it up. I’m tired of running anyway; that ain’t how I want to go out.”
“Sgt. McAllister, what you are doing is very brave. I will see to it, personally, that you receive the Bronze Star, and I want …” the major began.
“Go fuck yourself,” McAllister interrupted him. “You better get your ass on up the trail, our friends are almost here.” He tilted his head towards the track. Groans dimly echoed through the trees.
“Sergeant…” the major began again.
McAllister waved him away and took three steps back down the trail. When he looked back the major was gone. “Fuckin’ officers,” he cursed.
The sergeant walked slowly back down trail until he found a decent looking position to stage an ambush, and then moved off the track. He knew the zombies would not keep him waiting for long. He wasn’t disappointed.
Sgt. McAllister knelt down in the mud and sighted the SAW over the thick, downed mahogany log he was hiding behind. He had barely gotten into position before everything went silent all around him. He could feel the zombies approaching through the trees and foliage. Although his vision was limited to a few yards off the track by the thick cover, he could hear them moving slowly through the brush, and knew they were flanking him. He also knew he was going to die here, alone in the mud of the rainforest, deep in the Congo. In his direst imaginings, he had never considered this scenario as how he would finally die.
Every nerve and the wildly firing synapses of his brain told him to run. His hands were shaking badly, and cold sweat ran down his neck and back despite the tropical heat. He hunkered down even lower and his finger tightened involuntarily on the rifle’s trigger.
The zombies were crossing the trail before the stench broke upon him like a punch to the gut. Without thought, he fired the SAW, swinging the heavy machinegun back and forth in a deadly arc upon the writhing figures just yards before him. The smoking gun ran through the entire belt of 5.62 rounds in seconds as the first zombies were cut to wriggling pieces on the gore-covered, muddy trail.
A second wave of corpses came crashing through the underbrush, drawn by the noise of the gunfire. McAllister slammed in a fresh belt and threw the bolt just as the first zombie reached out rotting fingers for him. The big gun spit fire and lead and the zombie disintegrated into bloody chunks of festering flesh and shattered bones. The burly sergeant spun the gun back and forth, firing blindly at anything that moved. The SAW cut down the approaching zombies and all the surrounding foliage, blasting a semi-circle of utter devastation. He raked the fire through the zombies that were down, removing limbs and heads, until only bloody, flopping chunks remained.
McAllister yanked the red-hot gun down from atop the tree trunk and broke open the receiver. The barrel burned his fingers as he slammed in a fresh belt of ammunition. He ignored the pain and reset the gun upon the ground to fire behind him. The sergeant realized the gunfire had totally deafened him. He worked his jaw to clear the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t hear but he could still see. He dropped down into the prone position and fired the gun at any movement. Zombie after zombie emerged from the underbrush and was hammered to bloody pieces by the big bore battle rifle.
One final corpse crawled from the broken creepers and blindly drew its shattered body forward. Most of the zombie’s face had been blown away, as had both legs and an arm. The fuckers were incredibly tough. McAllister pulled the trigger and fired until only a quivering pile of bullet-riddled red meat lay atop the blood-splattered mud. The SAW sputtered and fired its final round. He sadly dropped it, the machinegun was all that stood between him and his own impending death.
The sergeant pulled himself up and ran down the lane of fire he had just laid down. He sprinted past crippled zombies that reached out clutching hands to grasp him, evading death by inches. He broke free of the last clutching corpse and sprinted down the muddy trail. He wanted desperately to just keep on running.
Instead, he pulled up short and snatched off his pack. He rummaged through it until he found the last pair of Claymor
e mines. He worked frantically to set first one, and then the other mine towards the trail. He trailed out the firing lines and ducked behind a tree trunk just as the first of a wave of pursuing zombies staggered up the trail.
McAllister waited until the last possible second, then he yanked the cords. Both the mines exploded simultaneously, firing hundreds of screaming steel ball bearings into the approaching corpses. The closest zombies were shattered and hurled back in a crimson flash. The zombies further away collapsed, their limbs twisted and broken. Still, they came on, dragging their ruined bodies down the trail. As the smoke cleared and McAllister could see again, even more cadavers approached, trampling the struggling undead into the blood splattered mud. He turned and fled further down the trail.
Sgt. McAllister didn’t run far. He stopped again and bent over, gasping for breath. He could escape the zombies following him, but every minute he slowed them bought another minute for the rest of Bravo Company to finish their mission. He wasn’t doing this because the major had ordered him to, or to save the rest of the men under his command. He was about to die because he was a professional soldier, and he knew it was his duty.
The sergeant stood upright and removed his backpack. Rummaging through it he found the last bottle of whiskey and tossed the pack aside. He took a long pull of the fiery liquid to kill the pain.
One last cigar was in his breast pocket. He gently removed it and calmly lit it. He stood smoking his cigar and drinking the whiskey until the zombies were almost upon him.