The Ultimate Book of Zombie Warfare and Survival

by Scott Kenemore

  If there’s one historical figure for whom the slogan “Just do it” came too late, it is the mysteriously zombie-like general Sima Yi, who commanded troops in China’s Three Kingdoms era around the year 200. The period in Chinese history when it seemed like everybody was attacking everybody—and military leaders trying to make names for themselves were a yuan a dozen—Sima Yi was able to establish himself as one of the most feared badasses on the block by attacking his opponents in unexpected, innovative, and highly effective ways. In almost everything he did, Sima Yi employed a zombie’s determination and fortitude.

  Though probably not technically an actual zombie (as far as we know . . . records from 200 aren’t the clearest), Sima Yi fought in ways that gave his troops many of the advantages enjoyed by actual zombie armies today.

  Consider the following:

  He was “unpredictable.”

  Sima Yi was known not only as a fierce fighter but also as a foe whose next move could not be easily guessed. This lack of predictability was a vexation for his enemies, who had a difficult time anticipating where he would strike next. He sometimes sent his enemies notes suggesting he would do one thing, then made a point of doing the other. Sima Yi became known in ancient China as an expert strategist precisely because his next move could so infrequently be determined in advance. But (here’s the funny thing) when you look at what he actually did, it was just “attack, attack, attack.” In almost every situation, Sima Yi’s enemies would have best served themselves by anticipating an offensive.

  Sima Yi almost just always attacked but allowed his foes to think he was likely to do otherwise. Very like a zombie.

  He did things you “can’t” do.

  There are rules by which all combatants on the battlefield are bound. Ironclad rules. Rules steeped in tradition and history. Rules that cannot be broken . . . until someone wises up and just says, “Oh, wait. Yes they fucking can!” Sima Yi seems to have invented this.

  In one of his first campaigns—at the Battle of Xincheng in 227—Sima Yi’s enemies believed that he “couldn’t” attack them prior to obtaining permission from the royal court, which they knew he did not have. However, Sima Yi (brilliant tactician that he was) noticed that this injunction against beginning the offensive without permission was really just an abstract idea, whereas his soldiers and war equipment were, quite to the contrary, real and tactile and perfectly arranged to attack the enemy, like, right now, without any waiting. Thus, before his opponents had time to say: “Wait a minute, you can’t do tha—” Sima Yi had done it and won the battle with a swift offensive against an enemy that thought itself unable to be engaged by virtue of court doctrine.

  Zombies, like Sima Yi, have won countless battles by doing things you “can’t” do. They’re old chestnuts by now, but how many times have we heard the following:

  You can’t survive multiple .38 shots to the heart.

  You can’t function as a military unit in environments without oxygen or sunlight.

  You can’t capture a fortified position if the defenders outnumber you.

  You can’t subsist on a diet entirely comprised of living human brain tissue. (You probably need, like, vegetables and stuff. . . .)

  Except zombies can. And they do.

  Zombies abide by no military conventions. (Hell, the bacteria saturating their own bodies is usually enough to qualify as “using biological weapons.”) They respect no borders or boundaries or treaties. And they certainly don’t wait for permission from a royal court before engaging an enemy. Zombies do what they do, and fuck your rules.

  The longer it takes you to wake up and realize this, the longer zombies (and commanders like Sima Yi) are going to have an advantage over you.

  He resisted provocation.

  At the Battle of Wuzhang Plains in 234, Sima Yi faced a fierce opposing general named Zhuge Liang. Considered by many to be Sima Yi’s nemesis, Zhuge Liang was also a brilliant battlefield tactician. However, as history shows, Zhuge Liang also wasn’t above a bit of schoolyard name-calling. As the two opposing armies stared one another down, Zhuge Liang grew anxious and had a suit of women’s clothes sent to Sima Yi, effectively calling him a girl for failing to attack fast enough. There may be no modern-day equivalent to the depth of this insult. Accounts tell us that Sima Yi’s lieutenants were incensed and called for an immediate attack to punish Zhuge Liang for this intolerable gesture.

  Instead, Sima Yi made the greatest tactical move of all. He did not quicken his pace at all.

  Just like a zombie.

  Zombies don’t respond to insults or taunts. You can’t bait a zombie with words (though human brains are another matter entirely). You can’t hurt their feelings by pointing out shortcomings. For all of their rotting, limbless decrepitude, zombies couldn’t care less about the way they appear. There are no aspects of their appearance about which zombies are sensitive. In fact, there is nothing that can be said (or otherwise conveyed) to hasten a zombie’s murderous, ravenous ire.

  When a zombie is ready to attack you, you’ll know, because you’ll be getting attacked. (Until then, you’re just going to have to sit tight.) This tendency allows zombies to triumph in many battlefield situations where those with hotter blood (or blood at all) would see a commander provoked into missteps, lured across minefields or into ambushes, or prompted to engage an enemy before he was 100 percent prepared. Zombies are never lured into traps. They are never incited to attack when the situation doesn’t warrant an offensive. They never overstep their operation’s objectives by fighting for things like “honor” or “pride” or “something other than brains.”

  By remaining unmoved by what was—in his day, at least—the biggest insult anybody had ever seen, Sima Yi displayed a zombie’s fortitude and restraint, and never allowed his enemy to prompt him into joining battle before he was good and ready.

  He used physical oddities to his advantage.

  As is well documented, Sima Yi could turn his head around a full 180 degrees without moving the rest of his body. (Think about that for a second. Freaky, huh?) Now, we have no way of knowing how Sima Yi felt about this quality that made him different from other men. Perhaps he was tempted to conceal his difference from the rest of the world.

  But if he was tempted, he didn’t give in. Instead, he said, “Fuck that; I’m going to be the best turning-my-head-180-degrees general there is!” And he was—using his neck-turning ability on the battlefield in full view of friend and foe alike.

  There is some evidence that Sima Yi’s allies even derived a morale boost from this feature. (Upon seeing this physical oddity, the general Cao Cao is said to have remarked, “This guy can totally see from all directions, which will probably help out on the battlefield or something. And also: Holy shit!”)

  Now, everyone knows that zombies tend to have physical “differences” that—at least on the surface—separate them from normal soldiers and/or military commanders. Zombies are frequently missing limbs or eyeballs. Zombies’ bodies have usually been horribly contorted and warped from years spent rotting in charnel earth or moldering at the bottom of a well. Zombies’ skins have usually turned an unhealthy shade of white (which makes for really lousy camouflage unless you’re in the arctic), or a disgusting greenish brown (which is sorta good for camouflage, actually).

  Everyone also knows that zombies never let their physical differences stop them. They never try to hide the things that identify them as being unlike most people. They don’t don makeup and wigs in an attempt to “pass” as humans. They don’t attempt to “stand up straight” when their rotted spine compels them to lean forward awkwardly.

  Zombie Tip—Courage is being scared but doing it anyway: Idiocy is not being scared of zombies and/or attacking zombies. (It’s like, dude, what are you even thinking?)

  Yet this refusal to bend to the expectations of others is more than an acceptance of themselves as just the way God (or a voodoo priest or an evil wizard or secret government supersoldier project gone horribly, hor
ribly wrong) made them. Zombies have realized that in many cases, their “differences” translate to “advantages” on the battlefield.

  Zombies that lack body parts (or parts of body parts) can frequently squeeze through battlefield impediments that would stop a normal-sized soldier. Zombies can use their inability to respirate to ford deep rivers and withstand poison gas attacks. Zombies with gaping holes in their torsos can sometimes have projectile attacks pass completely through their bodies. And, yes, some zombies with especially loose spinal cords and vertebrae can swivel their heads around 180 (or even 360) degrees.

  Zombies are dynamic, inventive warriors. Whenever they find a way that they are different from their opponents, they ask (or groan): “How can I use this to my advantage on the battlefield?”

  The only thing he feared was the living dead.

  For all the tales of derring-do and famous aphorisms attributed to Sima Yi, the utterance for which he is best remembered might be: “I can do battle with the living, but not the dead.” He made this famous statement in one of the only situations where he is recorded to have run from a battlefield in cowardly terror.

  But he had a good reason. (The best, really.)

  The story runs that after Sima Yi’s nemesis Zhuge Liang died (of natural causes [wuss]), Sima Yi brought his army to bear on Yang Yi, Zhuge Liang’s successor. However, as the two generals engaged their forces, Sima Yi caught word that Zhuge Liang was not actually dead. Or that he had been dead, but now no longer was. Or that he was dead but somehow had still been seen walking around.

  Though historians of the time do not record him using the Z-word, Sima Yi wisely decided that if these reports even had a chance of being true, he did not want to risk engaging an undead enemy. Instead of taking the risk that he would have to fight an actual zombie, Sima Yi wisely disengaged his army. When asked about this uncharacteristic retreat, he uttered the aforementioned quote by way of explanation.

  Fearing zombies didn’t really make Sima Yi like a zombie (or Zombie Commander). It just shows that he was smart and knew what was up. Even though the rumors about Zhuge Liang turned out to be false (he was still dead), Sima Yi gets credit for not even risking that shit and erring on the side of caution, which is always the best thing to do when it comes to zombies.

  In conclusion, if you make Sima Yi your model, you’ll be well on your way to becoming a Zombie Commander. Like you, Sima Yi was merely human, but he elevated himself to greatness by fighting his enemies (and winning) with the tactics of the living dead. And hey, that’s all I ask.

  SECTION 3

  Dead Lips Sink Ships: How They Communicate

  Let’s face it; it doesn’t take much to fuck up a mission. The slightest change in weather can postpone the launch of a multimillion-dollar rocket. Choppy seas can delay (or destroy) a nautical offensive. Rioting indigenous people can totally muck up your army’s plans to occupy their land and take their shit. As a zombie soldier, you always want to eliminate as many of these external factors as possible to ensure smooth sailing for whatever nefarious military offensive you are planning. And the last thing you ever need is for invasion plans or attack stratagems to be compromised because people heard you talking about them.

  One of the advantages a zombie soldier must possess is a knack for complete silence regarding matters pertaining to the battlefield. This is even true while on the battlefield itself.

  Zombies are known for being quiet, but are not all completely silent. The walking dead are known moaners and groaners, and probably more than half of them can articulate at least one word (“brains”). Some higher-functioning zombies can even string together complete sentences or intentionally impersonate humans. The fact remains, however, that zombies never talk more than is necessary. There is no zombie chitchat. There is no banter around the campfire (or the mausoleum or whatever). Zombies have no need to “talk about the weather” (literally or figuratively) with their compatriots. This silence may be due to factors such as a lack of lips and functional vocal cords, but even zombies rendered silent by uncooperative physiology still do not attempt to communicate with their colleagues through other means. This, then, suggests that a zombie’s lack of impulse to communicate stems from something deeper. I wish to posit here that they don’t need to chat with one another, because zombies (and zombie armies) already have a really excellent esprit de corps(e). Most people chat idly in order to establish a rapport with people they are still getting to know and trust. But zombies have such complete camaraderie that this is never necessary. A zombie’s natural silence is more than a nice thing to have on covert missions. It is one of the most important keys to the success of the zombie warrior.

  Because they don’t go around discussing things like attack plans and “next steps” on the battlefield, zombies never betray anything that might give an opposing army an advantage. There is no point to spying or eavesdropping on zombies. No one has ever sent a secret agent, dressed as a member of the walking dead, to infiltrate a zombie camp to see what could be learned from the zombie soldiers. (And no Mata Hari femmes fatales have ever initiated liaisons with a zombie commander to see what could be learned.)

  A zombie’s silence is not limited to preparations; zombies are mostly silent on the battlefield, too. However, this doesn’t mean that they can’t communicate when it’s absolutely necessary. Zombies do communicate on the battlefield through a series of subtle, nonverbal cues. The most dominant of these may be called: “Just following the zombie in front of you.” There is an elegant simplicity here. As a zombie’s reasoning goes: If a zombie is moving, it is because it sees an enemy (or food) and is moving closer to it. Therefore, if the zombie in front of me is moving, it must see an enemy/food ahead, and if I follow that zombie, then I, too, will move closer to an enemy/food. No part of this process involves the need for spoken language.

  Zombies can also moan in surprise or alarm when a new enemy is sighted. This typically indicates to surrounding zombies the appearance of the new enemy. (In many respects, a zombie’s moan can be compared to the bark of a dog; it indicates the desire for something, and that others like it should know its presence.)

  Finally, zombies have been known to moan out of frustration. For example, when humans have secreted themselves behind an iron door, zombies have been known to gather in front of it and emit low moans and groans. A zombie’s moans of frustration are more than just a sacrilegious or pornographic exclamation of regret and anger. They are also a message to other zombies: “There is frustration and failure here. We must resolve the matter some other way.” And the thing is, they do. If zombies have trapped a group of humans in a machine shed and find themselves groaning in front of the bolted door, some other zombie is always going to realize that that way is blocked and start looking for another way to get inside. It may tunnel under the side of the shed or it may find a weakness in the rear paneling and bust its way through it. The point is, when one zombie moans in frustration, another zombie takes it as a call to action and does something about the situation.

  If you want to fight like a zombie, then work on cultivating a reputation as the quietest guy in your unit. You do not need to be completely mute—again, most zombies do talk a bit—but limit your speech to things unrelated to military engagements. Teach those around you to communicate nonverbally as many battlefield actions as possible. And if the guy in front of you looks like he sees something good, you can probably just follow him.

  Seriously, no one likes a gossip or a motormouth. People who can’t stop prattling on and on about endless trivialities will never get far in life. Zombies, by contrast, get very far precisely because they place extreme limits on verbal communication. (That is, if they don’t eliminate it altogether.)

  While a few zombies are completely silent, most can manage at least a moan. Some know a word or two (like “brains”), and high functioning zombies have been known to utter entire sentences. The important thing is, nobody ever heard of a zombie talking more than was absolutely necessary.<
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  Zombie Tip—Grunt softly, and carry your own arms should they become detached: Not that zombies care about being called litterbugs, but you never know when arms might come in handy, you know?

  What is “necessary” for a zombie?

  A fair question. The answer? Brains. As many as possible. And while the average zombie’s guttural moan of “ . . . braaaaaaaaaains . . . ” may be little more than an involuntary declaration of love for what it prizes most in (after)life, the zombie who can manage articulate intentional speech uses it only to further his or her ends. A zombie may:

  Impersonate an ambulance dispatcher to order more paramedics when all available ones have been eaten.

  Use a small amount of speech with one human to negotiate his way into a situation where there will be additional humans (gaining entrance to a building, etc.).

  Zombie Tip—Trust Your Instincts: In business as in the nocturnal hunt for the flesh of the living, your first impulse is usually the right one. If something seems a little off about a candidate you’re interviewing, or if you suddenly get the feeling that a swath of swampland might be mined against zombie attacks, then dude, it probably is.

  Use a word or two to operate voice-activated doors or machines, provided this will lead them closer to actual humans.

  Utter just enough speech to appear human when appearing to be a zombie would be a disadvantage (i.e., hiding; this is rare behavior, and only the highest-functioning zombies ever do it).

  Moan to indicate its presence to an unsuspecting human. (This is usually done to corral quick-moving humans into more manageable locations.)

  The important thing to note here is that the speech is a means to an end. There’s no: “What’s up, dude? How was your day? Eaten anybody good recently?” Forget that noise. A zombie talks for a reason, and so should you.