Living With the Dead: Year One

by Joshua Guess

  The girls and I are still at the place we last posted from all of us trying to get our strength back. Glad to hear that every one was able to meet up at Jacks, extra smile for Aaron and the kids keeping their head and getting out of there alive. Thank you every one for the text messages they have been getting through to my phone every couple of days, I just haven't been awake during the brief window of service.

  The only reason I'm able to post this evening is I begged the girls to wake me if the phone received a text. Took them better part of the week to do it having received two bunches of texts earlier this week, guess they felt I needed the sleep more. Really what pre teen girl can't hear a text alert even in a dead sleep. It's sweet and sad, that with every thing that they've gone through that they feel the need to protect me even if it's from my self.

  Even though I'm done with the lone hero bullshit, I still can't call for the calvary because I don't know where the hell I am other than some where north of Tampa. Sorry guys we spent the better part of two weeks on foot constantly running from a small but determined group of smarties. Every time I got their numbers down to some thing I could manage they would let out a loud moan howl thing that brought all the zombies in the area running. The only thing that saved us was the cold and how slow they moved in on us. Fast enough to get my hand though, sorry still bitter.

  We got lucky though and stumbled into an abandoned neo-nazi compound. I shit you not, fucking nazis saved our lives. Judging by the crime scene and lack of any weapons or ammo that the place was raided. Yet the place has 12 ft. cinder block wall all around all three buildings and the steel gate was still intact only the lock was burned out. We manged to wedge it closed with a car. The food stores and fuel for the generators were stocked up. So although we are lost and the dead have the place surrounded we are safe and getting stronger by the day.

  Don't know when I can post again but don't worry about us the only monsters that we have to deal with here are in our nightmares and souls.

  at 12:07 AM

  Saturday, January 15, 2011

  Full Dark

  Posted by Josh Guess

  Before I get into the details of the sad events that prompted today's post, a few notes.

  Another snowstorm blew in this morning, thankfully after we got back from retrieving Aaron and the kids with him. We can't even go out and scout, much less look for Patrick, though I'm relieved and happy that he finally managed to get in touch with us. We also got word from the courier who is bringing copies of The Ark from Google. He's much closer, and if the weather lets us we will leave out tomorrow to meet him. God only knows how he got here from California so quickly, but I'm happy he's OK.

  Now, to more somber news...

  Last night, one of the women that came with my group of refugees was found in a pile of industrial trash, raped and beaten almost to death. The jumble of scrap metal and discarded wood was just outside the walls of Jack's compound, and only her thin cries for help alerted the guard nearby that she was there.

  Evans, Gabby, and the rest have been caring for her. They say that she'll probably live, though I can't imagine the pain she must be going through.

  I won't give her name, nor will I name the man responsible, other than to say he was not one of our refugees. The victim knew the man, had been showing some interest in him since our arrival here. Through her tears and anger, she told Jess (who has been staying with her, weapons in hand to keep the poor woman feeling secure) that she had intended to consent.

  Her attacker seemed to think she was teasing. He struck her, and took her.

  Sorry. One of the things in this world that pushes my rage to uncontrollable levels is rape. I'm trying to type softly, because thinking about what she went through, knowing the details, is making it hard not to beat on something with all my strength.

  He did it. There was little doubt. He tried to deny it, but he had wounds from her scratches, and every part of the evidence linked up with her story. There wasn't a trial. There wasn't a defense for him or any judge other than Jack and the people who examined both the victim and the accused. The decision was quick, and the punishment...

  Every person not on the walls was in attendance. Everyone was called over the PA system here, and gathered in a massive circle outside. The guilty man was brought into the wide empty space in the middle of that huge swarm of people, and his crime and punishment were announced via bullhorn for everyone to hear.

  Ten people came forward. I'd have to guess that they were volunteers who served this duty in a rotation, because there was no hesitation to their movements. Each of them carried a thin, flexible metal rod. They looked dull, not shiny or polished. It was only afterward that I found out the reason: they were covered in tiny points and barbs. I watched for almost twenty minutes as they whipped him bloody, the force of their lashing ripping his clothes to shreds and leaving him virtually naked.

  The scent of all that blood brought zombies to the wall. You could hear them crunching through the snow. He was still alive when they pulled him by his arms through the frozen and snowy gravel, moans of pain escaping him as the rocks dug into his wounds. He was conscious when they reached the edge of the wall. I know, because I could hear him begging in a broken voice not to do it, that he was sorry. I don't know if he really felt remorse for the suffering he brought. I am certain that he regretted his actions, if for no other reason than the horrible consequences.

  He was still begging for mercy when they dumped him over the edge. Still at it as he was bitten and torn, right up until a wet crunch signaled that his throat had become part of the main course.

  It was a dark night. I think he got off easy.

  Because people always talk about their pain as a means of trying to cope with it, much of last night after the punishment for me was spent listening. I heard people who knew the condemned man comment on how lonely he had been, how hard he had found it to connect with others. In the time everyone I talked to had known him, he had never been seen so much as kissing a woman.

  Until yesterday, he had been known for his politeness. For kindness. He often covered shifts for other people so that they could attend a social gathering or get needed rest. He spent much of his free time reading to kids. He was, from everything I heard, a very nice guy.

  Which goes to show you what kinds of stress people are under, and how the constant fear and danger can warp a person. Or maybe...maybe it doesn't. Before The Fall, nice men still did things like this. In the world that was, good people lost control on a depressingly regular basis and ruined lives with the consequences. It's nothing new, nothing original. Yesterday was just another example of the human beast acting in accordance with its nature.

  I don't want to believe that. I want to hope that it was the terrible months of devastation we've endured that pushed him to his limits. Like most people who are faced with senseless and inexplicable acts of violence, I just. Don't. Know.

  I have a lot of faith in the survivors of the world. There are violent men and women out there, but it's been easy for us to think of them as simply our enemies, the raiders and marauders, even the Richmond soldiers. It's much harder to deal with the stark reality that within the best of us there might be something just as dark and violent waiting for the wrong moment.

  Self control is what keeps us alive, by making us cautious and thoughtful. People who lose it are a liability, and people who harm others by losing it are a danger that can't be ignored. I hate that this has happened more than I will ever be able to describe. The wounds that woman carry on top of what she has already endured are more than any person should be expected to shoulder. It's unfair, and I feel despair in its truest form at the thought of what she must be feeling.

  I'm babbling now. I'm going. This is too much to deal with.

  at 10:01 AM

  Monday, January 17, 2011

  Rising Stars

  Posted by Josh Guess

  All the refugees in my group are still reeling from the brutal assault on one of our
own. For the sake of discussion, we'll call her Nora. That isn't her name, but it works.

  Nora is still recovering. The physical damaged she took was shocking even to people that have spent the better part of a year watching friends die at the hands and teeth of the plague of zombies outside our walls. She's going to be a long time recovering from her wounds, but that isn't why I'm still talking about her.

  Nora is an amazing woman. Jess has spent most of the last two days with her, guarding her and giving her a shoulder to cry on and someone to talk to. I've visited her as well, sparsely at first and more often as I realized that she wasn't afraid of me because I was a man.

  I've talked to her a quite a bit, actually. That's how I know just how tough and strong she really is. When Nora heard that we were getting to work on building our little home inside the storage building, all she could talk about was how she wanted to get up from the bed Gabby and Evans are making her stay in and help. She hates laying down and feeling useless. She hates being treated like a victim.

  Rape is one of the most devastating events a person can endure. I've known victims of it that spent years living with uncontrollable fear and anxiety. Not Nora. She's angry as hell, but not afraid. She's hurting and sad, but she's eager to move on. To heal.

  I don't know how anyone can be that resilient. Oh, she's got a lot of emotions boiling just under the surface, and she breaks out into tears at random times. She's suffering the effects that anyone would. She isn't allowing them to control her, though. She cries, but she forces herself to be calm and gain control. She makes the tears go away after shorter and shorter lengths of time. I don't know if what she's doing is healthy, to be honest. It's natural and necessary to grieve and hurt, it's our way of processing pain and healing from it. Nora is determined to get back to normal life as quickly as possible.

  I don't know if it's healthy, but it is certainly impressive. Many months ago, we rescued a group of women from a hotel. Most of them had gotten the same treatment that Nora had. I had the good fortune to be a part of the team that helped them, and none of those women went two days without getting a visit from me if I could manage it. Call me old-school or sexist, but I have this urge to care for women, to help them and keep them safe. It was that urge that lead me to check in on each of them, to worry about how they were dealing with the horrific trials they had endured. It took most of them a very long time to be able to find comfort around groups of people, especially men. It took months for them to smile without an edge of terror to it.

  As far as I know, most of them still carry weapons at all times. Blame it on zombies if you want--I know better.

  Nora is doing as well as could be expected. Better, I would have to say. She says that the last ten months have changed her, made her stronger. I hope that's true. I hope that this isn't just a brave face put on for the people that worry about her.

  One thing that she said to me stuck with me, and made me think that maybe she's genuinely dealing with this whole ordeal as well as she seems. She told me that she felt sorry for the man that did it to her. That she wished he hadn't been killed. She doesn't remember much of the attack, but she said that there are flashes of him after the fact, tears streaming down his face when he realized what he'd done. She still hates him, and the rage in her is obvious to see whenever she talks about him. She just doesn't let it blind her to the facts.

  Still...on my part, I am glad that he's gone. The bloody hamburger that was made out of his skin by those thin rods (I asked later--they were giant lengths of metal file stock, uncut and roughened specifically for the purpse they were used for...Jack's people are a little scary. I like that.) was the least he deserved. Nora might have some degree of pity for the man who did this to her, but I think of him as the guy who did it, and maybe wept, but still tried to hide the evidence. Still acted normal afterwards.

  If she were healthy, I would take her with me in a second when I leave out tomorrow. I always like having tough and resourceful people with me when I go on runs to the outside, and this trip will be a long one.

  I'd love to take her with us to meet the courier of the Ark, have her at my back when we lead a team to the hiding place where several copies of what is essentially the collected knowledge of humanity will be secured.

  Maybe she'll be hale and hearty by the time we get back, at least enough to join the team that's going to go out and look for Patrick. I hope so.

  When I look at her, I should see darkness and shadow. Any person in her situation might fall into depression and constant negativity. I can't see that. The clouds that veil her eyes and heart are there, but there is sunshine also. There is laughter trying to get out. In her eyes, I see pain and the reflections of wounds that will one day scar.

  But in them, I also see dazzling stars rising to the surface, shining and hopeful.

  at 8:43 AM

  Tuesday, January 18, 2011

  Patient Ratio Blues

  Posted by Gabrielle

  Hey all, long time no see. As you may have read yesterday, Josh and a small group of people are left this morning to see to a few matters, combining their trip to meet with the courier from Google with some long-term scouting. Josh asked me to post today since he's going to be busy trying to help the courier get to the hiding spot where some copies of the Ark will be secured.

  I'm just as upset at what happened to Nora as the rest of the group, but as one of the people treating her injuries I sort of have to push back my feelings about it. It's not easy. No woman could see what happened to her and not become angry. I've had my share of troubles in the past, and seeing the bruises and cuts made put me in a place mentally that I haven't been to for a long time.

  Ok, getting away from that line of thought. It doesn't go anywhere good, and I have a lot of work to do today.

  I guess that's the only really hard thing about living here at Jack's compound. There are so many people, and so much work for those of us with medical training. Keep in mind that they still manufacture a lot of stuff here, and people get hurt in the process all the time. There are also a lot of pregnant women here in various phases, from 'just found out' to 'my shoes could be soaked from my water breaking any minute'. That's an excellent problem to have, pregnant women, but it means that Evans, who is pretty strict about very frequent examinations for the fairer sex, is pushing them to come in every day if possible. The medical staff are outnumbered a hundred to one by the population here.

  I spend most of my days working on wounds and diagnosing sick people. Evans and Phil work on the exams and do stitches, set bones, whatever needs done. I've gained a lot of skills and knowledge since I've been working with Evans, but some stuff is still doctors-only for now. Not because I don't have the ability (I can sew a wound better than either of them, to be frank) but because there has to be a division of labor that works for all of us. I'm a wound care specialist, and though Phil and Evans are doctors, I've seen WAY more infectious disease than either of them. Which means that when someone comes in with a set of symptoms that could be a cold, the flu, strep throat, or a host of other things, I get to look at them. I am the one whose face gets coughed in. I'm the one that gets vomited on, or has to collect the stool sample.

  It's always been that way between doctors and nurses. They collect the glory, we catch all the shit. Haha. See what I did there?

  It works out well, though. I like what I do, and though it keeps me pretty busy, I wouldn't change a thing. The only real problem is going to be medical supplies and the like. We've got a sizable population to take care of, and they are burning through what we took from the hospitals with alarming speed. We need to do some scout runs to look for new sources of supplies. Not only supplies, but Jack had the idea that since this place has access to a lot of electricity (and more every day--one of the things they're making is more wind turbines and solar panels. The only thing they're short on is batteries to store up the extra.) he thinks it would be an excellent idea to truck in as much advanced medical equipment as possible. Some
things are so large that there's no way we could bring them, but we'll be making our own run sometime real soon to see what we can find.

  Evans and Phil want to set up a small lab if we can swing it, for them to study whatever it is that makes people into zombies. We did that at our own compound, but the lack of equipment and supplies for running a lab made limited what we could learn.

  I want a damn x-ray machine. It doesn't have to be big or fancy, but something that puts out a digital image in high def would be amazing. Of course, if it were possible, an MRI would be great, but I don't think that one is gonna happen.

  I have a full day ahead of me, people coming in for follow-ups and a few really sick folks to keep an eye on when I take over the shift. Thankfully, Jessica stayed home from this trip to stay with Nora, so that I wouldn't have to sacrifice myself or one of my staff to do it. It's not that we would have minded doing it, but we've got a full patient load at the moment, and doing so would have strained our personnel to the breaking point.