Living With the Dead: Year One (Books 1-2, Bonus Material)

by Guess, Joshua; Ribken, Annetta; Ayers, Rachel; Whitwam, Lori

  Would I kill a man for the threat he posed? Before the fall, I would have laughed and said no. Now, I would have to carefully gauge how plausible the threat was, how capable he was of doing it. If I came to the conclusion that he could or would, I would kill him in cold blood, and probably not feel too bad about it. Because knowing that all it would take for he and I to coexist was simply the mutual desire to do so, and knowing that he would refuse so simple an arrangement would make it clear to me that such a person could contribute nothing to the sum of society.

  In short, my view on right and wrong is now, by need, defined by what is best for the tribe. All decisions, all actions, can be determined by that simple formula. Not by religion or any other factor. Sorry to beat a dead horse, but I cannot make it any more clear how important this is to me. How deep it runs.

  Whoever you are, anonymous poster, please understand a few things. I do feel bad that your wife was killed, that your defenses were breached, that your children were in danger. But while we were responsible for that breach, I don't feel any sense of guilt over it. My family was on one side of that wall, and I was on the other. Simple math. I'm pretty sure you would do the same. So, my condolences to you, but not my apologies.

  And for the record--if you come here with vengeance your intent, you will not survive. Others have tried, to our mutual sadness, but we have survived.

  Posted by Josh Guess at 10:45 AM

  Tuesday, April 13, 2010

  Demon in a bottle

  Pretty much constant pain has given me a lot of time to think about drugs. In part, how I am not taking any for the pain, and how much I wish I could. There are several reasons for this. One is that since we don't have access to a lot of the diagnostic tools we once took for granted, we have no idea how much damage has been done, and what effect pain medicine would have on me. Another is that I am already very distracted by the agony in my back, and I don't want to be stoned on top of that when a wave of zombies breaks through the barriers and walks the streets of the compound.

  This particular thought has been ricocheting around my skull for most of a day. When I agreed to be "leader", I think most of us had in mind nothing more than a moderator for debate, and a judge to settle arguments. I made it a point that I wanted to be able to set rules, and knowing that I would have to set reasonable ones, common sense ones, or be voted out made it clear, to me at least, that I wouldn't be able to abuse my power any longer than it would take to cast a vote. After much thought, I have come to the conclusion that we have to talk about drugs.

  You see, it's all about perspective. Before the collapse, I was either way on drugs. I didn't take them (unless prescribed, of course), but neither was I necessarily against people using them for recreation. I mean softer things, like smoking pot, not hard drugs that ruined lives like Meth, heroin, of cocaine. I guess add alcohol to recreational drugs, even though it was legal, because it screws up your brain just as much.

  Now, though, I think the committee and I should talk about this. I know a few people around here have been getting drunk now and again when not on duty. While this appears harmless and so far has been, what happens if this spreads and many more do so? When folks drink on duty? Do we get mauled in our sleep or shot in our backs if zombies or marauders (thanks for that word, Treesong) attack us and our sentries are wasted? I know that most of you will say that people will express self control, will not risk so much for so little, and to that I have two responses. The first is snarky:

  Yeah, people are well known for self control.

  The second is that addiction is self-inflating, causing the addict to get more and more out of their head. I know a few of the women from the hotel have been swigging whiskey quite a bit...and can I blame them for wanting to dull the edge of those memories? Not really. But it does worry me. I used to enjoy having a good night of binge drinking now and again, but now the idea that I would be at anything but my sharpest at all times makes my skin crawl.

  Not to say that prohibition is the only option. That's why we have to talk about this, so that reasonable use does not become a major issue. I admit that I am betting on the intelligence and creativity of my fellows to find a solution. Any thoughts?

  Posted by Josh Guess at 12:31 PM

  Wednesday, April 14, 2010

  Forlorn Hope

  Treesong here. Now that I've made it to The Compound, Josh has given me access to the blog. I'll probably use this sparingly because I have my own writing to do, and an unfortunate amount of other work to do. I feel a need to write something now that I'm here, though, so here goes.

  I'm capitalizing The Compound because that's what people call this place. I'm hoping we get a more inspiring name for it eventually, but in the meantime, it'll do.

  The Compound itself is an inspiration. I don't know how Josh and everyone else in this community managed to build a castle, even an ad hoc wood and brick and metal one, in such a short amount of time.

  Actually, I take that back. I do know how they were able to do it. In the short time I've been here, I've already seen what hard workers they are. There's some serious tension here -- but the work of building and growing and patrolling seems to be their distraction from all of the in-fighting and the pain, so they throw themselves into it fully. Now that I've had some time to rest and recover, I've started joining them in the work.

  Words can't describe what any of us have been through. The final incident at Gaia House, though, was the worst thing I've seen since the first wave came into town. At first, I was frustrated and ill because I thought the presence of Josh and Steve's rescue team had triggered the Marauder attack. But once the adrenaline wore off and we were on the road, I realized that the Marauders were probably just coming to kill us all anyway. The rescue effort is almost certainly the reason any of us are alive today, and for that I am forever grateful.

  It's hard to say that, though. It's hard to say that I'm grateful to be alive when so many people have died. A part of me -- a very real, deep, visceral part of me -- wishes I had just died with them. For better or worse, though, I'm mostly just numb now, spending almost all of my waking hours focused on actions and strategies of survival rather than what has been lost.

  When the first wave came, thousands of people died in Carbondale. Thousands in a single day, in a town of maybe 25,000. But we were in hiding, so the high body count seemed almost abstract at first -- like a mass extinction that took place while we were sleeping in our makeshift shelters. But our last moments in Carbondale were gruesome, brutal, personal.

  I lost a lot of friends in the span of a few heartbeats -- a lot of good people, people with big and tender hearts, most of whom would have argued in defense of these Marauder's lives, even after what they've done. And yet, the Marauders seem to have no mercy, no conscience, no basic human empathy or compassion. They just take what they can from us, then murder us. It's that simple.

  A part of me is shaken to the core by this. And from the stories I've heard, this area is plagued by a similar menace. Most areas probably are -- which to me is more sickening than the mindless violence the "zombies" direct at us.

  The "zombies" have an illness. What's the Marauders' excuse?

  A part of me just wants to hunt down these Marauders with a ruthless brutality worthy of the soulless monsters they've become. I know now what it feels like to fire a gun, and I want to feel the weight of that recoil pressing against me as I fire again and again into a hoard of Marauders, watching the hot steel rip through them one by one until none of them are left standing.

  But another part of me still recoils in horror at the thought of violence. When I close my eyes, I can still see the twisted faces of my friends dying all around me. I can still smell the blood and guts and piss and shit of my murdered friends scattered on the lawn of a formerly quiet and peaceful community center. The weight of a gun in my hand feels far too heavy -- not because I'm weak, but because I know I have the strength and the skill and the will to use it. And the thought that I will have
to use it again -- and again, and again -- to defend the ones I love is too much for me to bear.

  With that said, though, there is still cause for hope, however forlorn we may all feel at times. In my moments of solitude, I let the horror of it all rush back in. But those moments are few and far between. For the most part, now that I'm mostly on my feet again, I find myself quite busy, and surprisingly full of hope. We are alive, we are strong in numbers, and The Compound actually has a shot at carrying us through until the last of the zombies are dead. (I hate calling them zombies, but it's hard not to, given their current state. Besides, it lends a darkly humorous slant to an otherwise horrific and soul-crushing situation.)

  My main concern at the moment is not zombies, or even outsiders, but inner stability of The Compound. It seems to me like Courtney has been ostracized for advocating mercy, which I've been very sad to see. It also seems to me like the Carbondale crew hasn't fully found a place in our new community yet. This is partially due to the fact that we're all in various states of shock given the fact that we just watched a lot of people we know die all at once. But it's also due to other factors such as cultural differences, and the fact that we were a sudden influx of refugees rather than a trickle of individuals. But these all seem like decent, hard-working people, so I have high hopes that with time spent working side by side, we'll learn to get along.

  I haven't had a chance to talk to the other Carbondale survivors yet about whether or not they want me to mention them by name. If you're from Southern Illinois and want to know who's here, let me know in private.

  For people who know me, I will say that my friend Aur is not with us, but is with his family and a few friends. They are well-fortified and well-stocked at an undisclosed location. Also, you may be surprised to hear that Rich Whitney, who was the Illinois Green Party's gubernatorial candidate before the apocalypse, is alive and uninjured and has made the journey with us.

  Rich came in third place last election cycle, carrying 10% of the statewide vote. In spite of this relative celebrity, he's a very down-to-earth and hands-on member of the community. Some of us have joked (rather darkly) that in light of the rumored destruction of our state capitol, the office of Governor should fall to him.

  Rich played a pivotal role in organizing our camp and was somewhat reluctantly elected our Director shortly before the fall of the center. True to his pre-apocalypse beliefs, however, he still holds out hope (however grim) for recreating some semblance of a democratic society once we've dealt with "the pandemic" and its consequences. The whole ordeal has shaken him terribly, and he seems rather ill and sullen at times. I suppose a lot of us do. But his eyes brighten when he talks about the prospect of building grassroots democracy among the survivors. He was passionate about such things before the apocalypse, and now I think it may be what keeps him going.

  I think I'll end on that hopeful note. Besides, even with my lingering exhaustion, there is other work that needs to be done, and I think some people are growing impatient with my rest and my typing.

  Posted by Treesong at 2:29 AM

  Thursday, April 15, 2010

  Mourning and Reflection

  Yesterday afternoon, an enormous swarm of zombies came into Frankfort from the direction of Louisville. We estimated the number at somewhere around five thousand. They stuck together in a huge mass, and it was a very lucky thing that we caught them before they got close enough to overrun our defenses. Seven of us took off to draw them away from our home. My brother has been working on some improvised weapons to combat large hordes like this, and we got our test.

  Let it be enough that I can tell you that we succeeded. We killed a lot of them, but our main purpose was to point them any other direction but ours. In the struggle, we lost two people. We have enough here that I have a hard time finding the chance to get to know anyone very well, and the most I can tell you is that they were with the large group of folks that came in with my brother.

  Something Treesong has said a few times has stuck with me, and is partially the reason we have had a morning like this one.

  He says that part of the reason we call them zombies is because the easy label and the visceral reaction it brings makes killing them more bearable. He cannot help but see them as people with a sickness. In sentiment, I agree with him. These used to be people, and doing violence to them does hurt. But the idea that they are sick people is false, yesterday made that very clear to me.

  One of our people was bitten in the neck. I watched her bleed out, the powerful arc of scarlet gradually weakening after we pulled her into the back of the pickup. I saw the moment of transition, watched as her eyes lost focus, her breath stilled. I saw with perfect clarity the moment of death, unmistakable and stark.

  I watched her stand up, and come for us. This was not a person afflicted by a disease, but a body, animated by something, freed of the soul once bound to its every motion. That didn't make it any easier to shoot her in the face, this person who only minutes before had fought valiantly by my side.

  I intend to take a very detailed look at the physiology of the undead. Now that things are calming down, my curiosity has time to be sated. Many of us want to know how and why this is happening, and with luck, we will discover it.

  But I digress. Yesterday only cemented in my mind that there is a need within us to remember, to keep in our minds what we have lost, if for no other reason than to keep some tenuous grasp on what humanity once was. So, last night, we all gathered and discussed having a time of mourning. It began at dawn.

  Many people are gathered in the common area of my block, sitting on the grass and talking about loved ones now gone, missing the small things in life, wishing for simpler times. Some are lamenting a home far away, still covered in the obvious wounds garnered in a struggle to escape, while nursing the far more subtle injuries that make them toss and turn each night. Others sit around the edges, in twos and threes, sipping courage and watching silently, mourning blended so tightly with anger that moving on may be an impossible task.

  I sit here in my house with all the comfort I will ever need. My wife is laying across my lap, my mother across the room talking with my best friends. In a short while we will go outside and truly gather, to remember as one the world we have left behind in everyday life, if not in memory.

  But first, I have some things that I want to say, because they should be said and the record of them kept somewhere, in the event that we as a society and a species end up spiraling into the barbarism that seems the wont of some survivors.

  I want to mourn today, but I find myself feeling very lucky, personally. I have around me so many people that mean more to me than I will ever be able to express in words. I have retained much while so many others have lost it all. I say this not to gloat, though I know that some will see this as an inappropriate fact to point out. I wish that those who have lost everything but their own lives would join with us as a family, grow with us all as we forge ahead in this difficult and trying life we share. If I have more than you, then come sit in our circle, and my family, my friends, can become yours as well.

  I mourn the loss of so many good souls. But far more important than what has been lost is what should be held onto with dear life: the aspects of ourselves that define us as human beings. We should remember compassion for others, more important than ever as new survivors with little left to them join us in trickles. We should remember understanding, that we never again fall into the trap of refusing to grow and change because we are unwilling to listen. We should remember generosity, the only currency we have left. We should remember patience, so that those who hurt have the time they need to grieve and grow past the pain.

  We should remember love, for what better motivation to protect and survive exists?

  We should remember hope, because without it, why survive at all?

  Remember all of these things, and keep them in your heart, mind, and actions each and every day. We can be practical, and hard, and even brutal when needs demand it. But i
n our softer moments, when we share the stories of our day, our lives, and sit together in the darkness, we need to always carry with us what it is to feel these things, and smile.

  We are people, as different as snowflakes and blades of grass, but now more than any other time, we must remember those commonalities that we share, one and all. The ties that bind us are the skein upon which our future is woven.

  Don't let them fray.

  Posted by Josh Guess at 11:33 AM

  Friday, April 16, 2010

  Crime and Punishment

  Some days you just can't win. I realize this is an old and hackneyed saw, but the truth of it is inescapable.

  Last night, after a long day of what I thought was friendly togetherness, we had ourselves a fight. Not zombies or marauders for once, but a good old-fashioned fistfight. I think that most of us are adult enough to be able to get over a fight with relative ease, brush off the dust and get along. As it turns out, though, some folks just can't get over their hate and anger.

  In the aftermath, we found out what the fight was about. But at the time all we saw was fists flying and dust clouding about them. It took quite a lot of us to get them apart, both of them are pretty damn strong.