American Recovery

by Joshua Guess

  I guess after yesterday at least some of you are.

  Wednesday, October 17, 2012

  Housing Crisis

  Posted by Josh Guess

  I didn't expect to write this post today. I knew in yesterday's that I'd be discussing the first group of this massive wave of new arrivals coming in. For several reasons, we were pretty sure there would be an attack. The expectation was mostly negative; a protracted and costly battle. We've seen the willingness of our enemies to endure losses to accomplish a goal. Conditions worked out nearly perfect for us, which left me without the two days of posts I was planning on.

  Since things worked out well for us, I'm free to spend today talking about pretty much anything instead of lamenting the deaths of settlers in defense of others. Which is a pretty awesome option to have, I must admit.

  With that in mind, I'll point out that yesterday I mentioned an ingenious solution to some of our housing problems. It's something my brother has been working on for a while, and this particular idea has long been one that we've tried to get going. The problem has been one of manpower and resources, not the solution itself.

  I'm talking about trailers. Well, those of you outside the south might call them mobile homes or something, but 'round these parts they're trailers. Prefab houses, mostly uniform in height. Flimsy compared to houses like mine, for example, but with the right modifications and support they're capable of withstanding a lot.

  David had the idea to solve several problems at once by hauling trailers in and building a wall out of them. Obviously not just the trailers, as he would have to cover the outside-facing windows and gaps with solid material and extend their height to prevent zombies from easily getting on top of them, but those are minor things when faced with how much land we could capture by using preexisting structures as homes as well as a defensive perimeter.

  And with some of the supplies funneled to us by our new arrivals--which includes fuel and a few pieces of equipment that makes hauling trailers much easier--this is now a workable scenario. For the moment we've got a small section of them set up as a test, a square three trailers on a side. It's both a good way to see the weaknesses in the idea as well as a nice means for Dave's crew to get some practice with the needed modifications. People are already living in them, and if it works out the piece of land they sit on will be surrounded by a much bigger wall made almost entirely out of what used to be several large trailer parks' worth of mobile homes.

  I'm stupidly excited about this. I know it may not seem like a big deal to a lot of people, but there's a lot of work that goes in to detaching a trailer and hauling it around without ruining the damn thing. We've wanted to do this for a while and now that we've got the resources to attempt it I'm thrilled at the possibilities. Expansion has always been our goal. We managed a lot with the shipping containers, but this is elegant. We capture land to farm on, provide a wall to defend it with, and house our new folks all in one go.

  Looking back at the last two and a half+ years, it's clear to me now that this moment, this insane and breakneck growth, was always going to be the end result. Either that or death. Human civilization has always centered on controlling land, and for us long-term survival and societal evolution will hinge on stable food supplies, safe land to build on, and the safety and numbers that will allow diversity. Diversity means different ideas, which hopefully will bring advances in technology, which will make our little corner of the world a better place.

  Yeah. I'm on a tangent and one pretty far out there, but that's how I work. When I'm down and depressed I think about a few billion years from now and wonder at the pointlessness of everything we do because eventually the sun will go red giant and swallow the Earth. When I begin to crawl out of that mental hole, I find myself inspired by the stupidest, most mundane things. I can see a better world ahead than the one we lost in The Fall.

  All because of trailers. Wrap your head around that.

  Friday, October 19, 2012

  Spot The Difference

  Posted by Josh Guess

  I remember sitting in the waiting area of the doctor's office when I was a kid. Even when I was young I read adult magazines and books. I never cared for kids' magazines. My only weakness were those puzzles where two pictures are next to each other, and you have to see what's in the second that isn't in the first. We get a lot of practice doing that, looking at our world now and seeing the changes from the world that was.

  Turns out the way to tell the difference between the Hunters and the Exiles is to pay attention to the details, too.

  It's something we should have realized before now. The Hunters strike for two reasons: to acquire what others have, or to prevent others from interfering in their activities. They don't act without having a plan, don't risk unnecessarily. The Exiles are running on fury and a thirst for revenge.

  Yesterday we learned that lesson again, in the hardest way possible. Out of a group of one hundred and fifty settlers, less than half survived the trip. A mass of Exiles hit them on the road. The assault was at about the best place for it, a tight curve in the road with woods and grass overgrown on each side. The attackers waited until they could open fire and move forward at once, only having to move a few dozen yards to hit their target. Our people.

  The worst part wasn't the initial assault. The settlers weren't caught with their pants down by any means. They were ready for a fight. What they couldn't manage was fighting off the Exiles and a group of zombies at the same time. The Exiles must have deliberately gathered a group of the undead and held kept their attention out there in the woods. Because when those bastards rode in amid a hail of gunfire, the hungry forms of New Breed and old school zombies alike came with them.

  The death toll doubled because of it. The injured were the first to be torn apart, of course. The smell of fresh blood drives even the New Breed out of control. Makes them lose connection with whatever crude form of logic they've got going. And yeah, it's a thing among most survivors who find themselves in that situation to try to remain cool. The idea is to cut losses and protect those with the greatest chance to live. You don't jump in a swarm when the person being attacked--no, fuck that--the person being eaten alive is going to die for an absolute certainty.

  That's the rule. Sometimes it's spoken but most often we allow it to go unsaid.

  But when it's your wife, your husband, your kid, the friend who saved your life and who was there for you in every possible way, it's near goddamn impossible to keep your cool. Some of the newcomers died for that very reason, and I'll be straight with you: I can'e feel anything but love for those folks. I'm completely enraged that they were attacked in the first place, but I heard someone in the mess hall talking shit about those who died, saying they would just never have left the group to try and save a person who was certainly dead anyway. I wanted to break that guy's fucking arm. I would have if Dodger hadn't been there to stop me.

  I've lost people, had their blood splatter across my face as they died in agony. I've been the man who stopped those last few minutes of misery, which is as much a gift as risking life and well-being for another. It's not weak or stupid to lose sight of what you should do because of what you feel you must do. Logic doesn't enter into it.

  If Jess were being attacked, the world would cease to be a place filled with allies and enemies. Whatever tried to stand between us would be removed. The end. When it comes to the woman I love more than anything or anyone on this earth, self-preservation and consequences can go fuck themselves.

  I'm in a mood. Forgive me. But I want to take a run at both groups of these fuckers so much right now I'm half tempted to just pack up and leave. See if I can find the Hunters and the Exiles still on the loose myself.

  I want to do some damage. Screw this defense bullshit. I want to tear their throats out with my teeth.

  Saturday, October 20, 2012

  Be Still

  Posted by Josh Guess

  A number of factors have come together, forcing us to call a hal
t on the immigration of our new citizens. It's a choice that isn't making anyone happy, but we can't risk another disaster like what happened the other day. Not only do we need to spend a few days looking at how we can better secure the transports, but New Haven itself isn't the safest place in the world at present.

  We've had a few incidents over the last two days that imply the Exiles are taking shots at us. Nothing direct--surprising if it is the Exiles, as they're not known for subtlety--but effective at keeping us busy nonetheless. Too many groups of zombies attacking at just the right place, just the right time, as if they'd been sent instead of just showing up at random. Damage to roadways and bridges, trees knocked across well-used byways during a recent storm in patterns too perfect to be happenstance.

  They're out there, and they're fucking with us. Trying to push us into doing something stupid.

  And because I'm not far from doing something stupid myself, I decided to spend some time working with Becky at her little shop. Not that she needed the help, and not that I did much other than heavy lifting because honestly chemistry isn't my bag, but it was nice to see her in her element. Pun intended.

  Mostly we drank tea while she did complicated math and gave instructions to her assistants. It's been a while since I'd seen her work. I had forgotten Becky wore glasses. I don't know where on earth she found a pair with her prescription or even close to it, but it filled my heart a little to see her distractedly talking about current events with me while poring over her figures.

  Becky has one of those brains that never, ever stops. She can talk to you and do a couple long equations while running her hand through her short blond hair. We chatted about the attack, about the problems we face. She complained about being constantly asked to solve more problems, come up with ever-more-ingenious solutions. She whines, but I can see the pride she takes in being that person.

  She's a far cry from the broken soul who showed up at our door all those months ago. I've seen her heal and grow a lot since then. The best part has been seeing her take up the role as our resident chemist, because it gave her an outlet to really shine. Not just to be a survivor along with the rest of us, but to step up and do a thing no one else can do.

  It was also a little sad for me. When Becky arrived out of the blue, she lived with us. She needed the comfort of friends. Jess and I took care of her. We were her security blanket and we knew that if it came down to brass tacks, Becky had our back first and always.

  That's not how it is now. Sure, she still flops onto the old king-size bed with us more often than not (along with whoever else needs to share body heat) but emotionally and socially our worlds have grown too complex for simple sentences to encompass. Becky is strong, and has bounced back from her trauma caused by The Fall and her trip across the Atlantic to get here. She's more certain and decisive. She's integral to many projects that provide for the safety and well-being of NH citizens.

  If Jess and I made the call to just go with the wind and move out into the wilderness on our own, I don't think Becky would come. She's not that person any longer. It's not a bad thing, in fact I think it's wonderful that she has become a fixture here. She worried about being a part of the community for a long time. I guess it's the difference between the powerful primary colors of our childhood, where friendships are absolute in the moment, and the world we see as adults. The one with shades and complexities and considerations, where responsibility and greater good are things you have to think about.

  Becky does a lot for New Haven, and it takes up a lot of her time and attention. Jess and I see her less than we used to. I'm not bitter. It makes those moments we spend together more sweet, because I'm reminded each time that nothing has really changed. At least for those few minutes or hours, I'm the most important thing in the world.

  It's good to know that no matter what happens, Becky will have a home and friends and a calling. These zombie attacks, if they really are being coordinated by Exiles, put me in a mood to evaluate those kinds of things. I'm back out there on call like everyone else. I've survived truly stupid circumstances, and though I'm not even thirty, I feel old. Like I've been lucky too often. The attacks have grown more effective. I feel that chill inside, the one that makes me feel like the worst is about to happen.

  If I fall, I need to know my friends and family will be okay. Becky, at least, will soldier on.

  Sunday, October 21, 2012

  Highwayman

  Posted by Josh Guess

  While the recent series of zombie attacks have kept us from doing much outside the walls of New Haven, they haven't completely cut us off from the world. The zombies don't come at us nonstop, which means there are lulls that allow people to come and go if they need to. That's the good news. The bad is that as the attacks continue it becomes harder and harder to repair the buffer and reset our traps. We've also got to restock the ammunition on the walls, including but not limited to arrows, thermite bombs, and the other goodies we use to defend this place.

  The objective is obvious. Whoever is directing the undead wants to wear us down. We have stockpiles of raw materials to last for a very long time, but we can't turn them into useful things instantly. The damage to the buffer isn't severe with any one attack, but the pieces and parts aren't going to last forever. Fixing the buffer is our biggest priority since it keeps the undead from swarming the walls all at once.

  Again, the good news is that we aren't overwhelmed. We've got people hauling in emergency stocks and checking around the county for any clues to where our hidden enemies might be keeping themselves. Sometimes, using the right tactics is all it takes to put yourself ahead.

  One example would be sending out a two-man scout team on their dirt bikes, only to have one of them run into mechanical problems miles away from home. Those bikes make a hell of a lot of noise, so you just know that any Exiles out there have some idea where to find them. The other scout offers to take their partner back home on their bike, even watching from a distance the body language would be clear. The first scout refuses, and motions his partner to continue on. An argument ensues, distracting both scouts, and that's when you and the small, stealthy team of bad guys with you decides to take this golden opportunity.

  Except when your people move in, they start getting hit with fire from nowhere. Half of your small team is killed immediately, and the other half surrenders as sprays of arterial blood hit them from all sides. You've blundered into a setup, and you realize right then that you're well and truly fucked.

  Captives can be very useful things. When you're a highwayman, picking your targets is essential to survival. If you wander into a trap, chances are extremely high that the people who you're currently waging a silent war against, people whose backs are against the wall and who're feeling pretty desperate, aren't going to be kind to you.

  You've probably guessed that this isn't a hypothetical. I wouldn't be telling you about it if one of the Exiles in question hadn't escaped. There's no point in keeping quiet about it; the enemy knows all the details already. We have three of them in our cells right now. I understand that the previous reluctance toward brutality against Exile prisoners isn't a problem this time. We're already engaged in a war with them, for all intents and purposes. The worst we can do is provoke them into attacking openly, and they won't. There aren't enough of them to beat us, nor are they armed well enough to make up the deficit through superior firepower. That much was obvious before people started asking the captives questions rather...emphatically. If the enemy could destroy us, they would.

  The good news seems to be that while we're on the precipice of a no-holds-barred conflict with the Exiles, the Hunters aren't a problem. They can't attack convoys that aren't happening, and so long as the Exiles are keeping us penned up here we aren't a threat to whatever business it is they're doing out in the world. I guess they're hoping war will reduce our numbers enough that we won't be able to come after them.

  They probably aren't wrong.

  It should bother me, knowing that
people are being put the question a few hundred feet from where I sit, but it doesn't. I don't feel happy about it, but whatever lingering concerns I had about our enemies are gone. There's no wellspring of pity or sympathy when I think about what's happening to them. More than two and a half years have passed. They've had every chance to see the light.

  Play time is fucking over, and I'm done feeling shitty about the bad things people bring on themselves.

  Monday, October 22, 2012

  Sawbones

  Posted by Josh Guess

  You get in a certain mindset when bad things happen. When they happen a lot, you dig in and find your center. Zombies attacking, people waging war on us, and through it all we descend into a place of anger and focus. We draw strength from it. We fuel the will to fight with it, keeping ourselves going long past a time when exhaustion should have taken us down. I've been there myself lately. The fury of seeing so much death and waste visited on good people snapped me out of the tail end of my depression.

  Emotions can be an extraordinary thing, but they can't keep you going forever.

  Evans died some time during the night.

  I've been around the clinic off and on during the recent rounds of attacks. When I'm on call to defend the wall, I usually act as a backup triage and first responder. More often than not I end up escorting wounded people to the clinic, and during fights Evans is always there.

  Was. Was always there. Never frantic but always full of energy, it didn't matter if he only went off shift ten minutes before. Evans was a warrior as much as any person holding a weapon. His heart was in his work even if his bedside manner could be unfavorably compared to that of an old-timey sea pirate.

  Turns out his heart wasn't able to keep up with the needs of this place. Phil and Gabrielle say it looks like it just gave out. Evans was older than most people here. When I think about him serving in Vietnam as a surgeon, I think "Oh, my dad served in 'Nam. He's my dad's age."