by Scott W Cook
Prologue
"To himself everyone is immortal; he may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead." -Samuel Butler
"Don't you know what's goin' on out there? This is no Sunday school picnic!" - Ben, Night of the Living Dead
From the personal journal of Samuel R. Decker
I think, at least in this case, that sometimes when you have a story to tell, it’s not always best to start at the beginning. The beginning of the story I have to tell is kind of hard to pin down. I think that this will make more sense to you if I start at the beginning of the end… although I guess that probably makes even less sense.
Let me try and explain.
Our world is dead.
Now I’m not referring to the Earth itself. When I say the world is dead, I mean several things that are critically important. First, I mean that human civilization – everything Man has worked for over the past six thousand years or so has come to a grinding halt. Government, law, the power grid, communication networks, transportation networks and even geographical boundaries have vanished. Yeah, some vestiges of modern life still remain, like automobiles, boats, firearms and even the satellite network is still up there.
There’s irony for you. The global positioning system, weather sats, comm sats and spy sats still dutifully orbit overhead… there are just very few people left who can access them and make any use of them.
The second part of what I mean by the world is dead… and this would be hard to believe in any other circumstances… but if you’re reading this then you don’t need proof… is that the vast majority of Homo sapiens are dead. Guesses are around eighty to ninety percent of humanity is no longer alive.
And yet…
And yet they’re also not quite dead, in the traditional sense.
Our world is now dominated by a new predator. One that feels no fear, no pain, no remorse… they don’t get tired and they can’t be reasoned with. They are, figuratively and literally… Zombies.
Yeah, real life flesh eating walking dead. Corpses that have reanimated and seek the flesh of warm blooded creatures. Right out of a Hollywood movie. No one knows yet how this happened. A virus? A bacteria? A gas? Radiation from Venus? I’ve got some hypotheses of my own, and frankly finding out is one of my biggest goals right now.
As odd as it is to say, there are a few things to be grateful for in the context of the zombie plague. For one thing, unlike in George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead and the subsequent sequels, people don’t automatically reanimate after death. There seems to be the need for an exchange of bodily fluid, i.e. from a bite or a scratch or ingesting Zombie blood or tissue.
Not that this is a great advantage, mind you. This thing spread so far and so fast that we just couldn’t keep up with it. Part of the problem is the gestation period, or the transformation period. It seems to take anywhere from a few hours to a few days for the zombification process to take effect, and that was Mankind’s biggest downfall.
While we the ignorant public received no definitive scientific evidence from those who should have informed us, it does seem that the zombie plague was spread very much like a communicable virus. What seemed to really make it deadly was that once a person was infected, they could then spread the infection before they reanimated.
How they did this isn’t understood, obviously. Perhaps through sexual contact, kissing, getting their blood on somebody or even through coughing or sneezing, who knows? Yet this critical point is what allowed the zombies to gain a foothold. Otherwise, one dead guy while potentially dangerous, couldn’t spread the sickness fast enough for it to skyrocket into a global epidemic virtually overnight.
And yet, that’s exactly what happened.
Consider patient zero. He or she is infected, let’s call it. They then unknowingly infect four other people. These four new carriers each get on a plane, one to Rome, one to New York, one to Beijing and the last to Sydney, Australia.
The one in Rome infects two or three, the one in New York infects a couple, the one in China a few more and the one in Australia infects several as well. On and on it goes. Eventually, hundreds and even thousands of people become infected.
Now, when I say infected, what I mean is that the person carries the Zombie disease, for lack of a better term. My assumption is that it’s a virus, because a virus has the ability to re-encode DNA and cause rapid mutations on the cellular level.
Anyway, we’ve got what, fifteen or twenty infected people on four continents, as I said. It’s only been a day or so, so they haven’t turned yet, or some of them haven’t. So these infected infect more and the first two people, and let’s not even talk about patient zero, turn.
I’ll get into what happens later on, but for now, you don’t need me to tell you what a Zombie is. If you’re alive in this dead world, then you have a damned good idea.
Now the new Zombies start going after friends, loved ones, co-workers, etc. Just like in all the movies and books, nobody believes what’s happening is really happening. They think the person is sick, or delirious. Until that person sinks his teeth into you… Hospitals, police stations and military bases are the first to be overwhelmed due to the large influx of the infected seeking shelter and then turning suddenly. You can no doubt imagine the horror and the rapidity at which the situation spirals out of control.
One on one, a zombie is no match for a living human of the same size. Take a six foot tall man in good shape and a zombie who was recently a six foot tall man in good shape and the living man will be faster, stronger, more agile and obviously smarter. A zombie is a corpse, after all. It really is dead except for what’s left of the brain and the nervous system which allows the brain to operate the machinery of the body.
The living man should be able to outmaneuver and outpace the zombie without much effort. He can out fight it as well, but of course the problem is, just like in the movies, you have to kill the brain to stop the ghoul. So if said man is carrying a weapon, like a gun or a hammer or a machete, he can stop the thing coming after him.
The advantage of the zombie is that they’re relentless. Our hero can run away, but he gets tired and has to slow down or stop. It’s the old tortoise and the hare story… the shambling undead ghoul just keeps coming without being hampered in any way by fatigue. Theoretically, the undead corpse should decompose or should simply wear out in time as would any machine… although at the time of this writing, I’m still conjecturing on that point
You see the problem?
These things are attracted by noise. So what often happens, especially now that they outnumber us ten to one, is that when one zombie is drawn to you, others will be too. Their eerie moans and growls draw them together. It’s important to understand that there is no group or hive mentality at work. Even a horde of a thousand zombies is simply a group of individuals with no other purpose than feeding. They barely even take notice of one another except as occasional obstacles. Perceiving one another no differently than any other fixture in the landscape.
So you see how this went down. The advantage of the zombie in those first few days was that nobody really knew what was happening and by the time people started getting it… it was too late. The plague was already spreading faster than law enforcement and the military could keep up.
If you want to start a zombie apocalypse, then ignorance is your best weapon. If only people realized soon enough that you had to kill the brain… if only we accepted that a loved one who was turned was gone forever… if only people had remained calm and didn’t take to the streets in panic…
If only, if only… the mantra of the damned.
That’s not what happened, though, so there’s no point in bitching about it now. Now we have to survive. As far as I’m conc
erned, we’re in a war to take our planet back and it’s a war that I intend to win.
My name is Sam Decker. I am, or was, a captain in the United States Navy. I’ve been a pilot, submarine commander and Navy SEAL. Why and how did I do all this over a career that lasted about two decades?
Well, it was the SEAL part. With so many special ops, I requested and received special training in a variety of disciplines. I can fly a plane or a helicopter, I am well versed in nuclear engineering as well as surface and undersea warfare. Obviously I’m an expert in firearms and close quarters combat as well as counter insurgency.
Call it fate, but all of this high intensity military training and practice set me up well for a world-ending disaster.
Then again… for whom do we feel more pity? Those who fell or those who were left to live in the aftermath? I honestly can’t answer that question. I’m glad to be alive… yet there are days when I question whether or not it’s a blessing.
In any event, the epigraphical tale you’re about to read is not the story of how the undead rose to devour our way of life. I may go back to that someday. This story begins after the world has died and is the meager spark from which a great conflagration will rise, as you’ll see.
This book is a collection of personal journals from myself and my friends. In addition, there are historical interludes to which I was made privy only later, yet they’re integral to the story and I think you’ll find them enjoyable, illuminating and rather surprising.
I suppose that I should also clarify a few things up front. As you may or may not know, it’s been common practice for those of us in the military to partially or totally dehumanize our enemies in most major conflicts. On the surface of it, this may seem cruel or even racist, yet there is an important underlying reason for this behavior.
For instance, in World War II, we fought the Japs and the Krauts. In Korea, we faced off with Gooks and Chinks. In Vietnam, our servicemen re-used Gook along with other terms less flattering. Also, in the desert wars and skirmishes in the Middle East, we’ve referred to our enemies as Ragheads and Camel Jockeys along with several other nicknames far harsher.
Our enemies do the same thing and the reason is simple. It’s far easier on the psychology of otherwise decent men and women to see other people… people they have to kill… as less than human. Believe me, no matter how seasoned you are or how hard your heart has become from taking the life of your enemy… each death still takes a little something from you.
So when you’re face to face with a raghead and all you have is your KA-bar, you try not to think of him as a guy just like you. A guy with a mom and dad and maybe a girl back home. You have to see him as a two-dimensional being… and even knowing this doesn’t always make it better.
So why bring this up?
Because we’re at war with an enemy who truly has been de-humanized. So it’s more important than ever that we assign nicknames to ease the psychological trauma. These things are literal ghouls, so we call them G’s for short or Z’s for zombie. We refer to them as Zulu’s, Stiffs and other things in order that we might stop seeing them as what had once been our friends and neighbors.
Psychology is our greatest weapon in this war, a war we’ve already lost in truth.
We lost the first war, but our species, as is our want, still clings precariously to life. I hope that this book gives you hope.
At worst, it can serve as a distraction on those nights when the blackout curtains are drawn and the candles are extinguished and you hear that all too familiar shuffling and moaning just outside your sanctuary walls…
At best, perhaps the hope will ignite a fire in you and you’ll join us and help us take back what was so quickly and brutally torn from our grasps.
In either case, may whatever forces you believe in preserve and keep you.
Sam “Sharky” Decker
Chapter 1
From the personal journal of Samuel R. Decker
I studied them through my scope. There were at least twenty of the stinky bastards hanging out in front of the building. They just stood there, slightly hunched over and occasionally gazing around and even scenting the air. At least that’s what it looked like.
“Why are they here, Skipper?” Andy Summers asked.
Andy was a golden haired and wide-eyed seventeen year old who’d been a junior in high school when the world had gone to shit six months before. He was about six feet tall and had a track star’s lanky build that was slowly filling out thanks to our workouts. Despite his youth Andy was intelligent, mature for his age and mentally tough. He possessed a wiry strength that made him stronger than he looked. He was a good kid and had taken to training like a duck to a pond.
“Nothing for them to do otherwise, pal,” Tony Sturgis, my best friend and former XO responded in a whisper, “Until they get some kind of stimulus, I guess… they might just be in standby mode or some shit.”
I could barely see Tony’s ebony face in the moonlight even though he was on the other side of Andy. Tony was my age and about an inch or so shorter than me. He was broad shouldered and muscular and I knew from hard experience that he was as tough as they came. He was intelligent, fiercely loyal and exactly the kind of guy you wanted on a fire team.
“Who gives a shit why,” Came the whispered comment of our fourth team member, “Let’s just frag these smelly fucks, grab what we need and get the hell outta here.”
Andrea Milani was pressed up against my left side, intently peering through her scope. She was a small Italian woman with a well-toned and lithe body complete with the kind of curves most women and all men would die for. She was thirty-seven and the mother of Andy. After she’d divorced Andy’s dad, she’d gone back to her maiden name.
Andrea and I had met a few months back. She’d been in the military as well, a Marine Viper pilot, and was a real asset to my team and to my bed, to put it frankly.
I frowned, “I just want to make sure I know what we’re dealing with before we open fire. I need to get into that store.”
“You squids,” Andrea quipped, “Always over analyzing.”
I chuckled softly, “Good thing we’ve got a jarhead with us then. You can rush in and take the beachhead if you want.”
Andrea scoffed, “Yup… you squids just sit back and eat fancy and we marines will do the real work.”
I nudged her, “Exactly. We SEAL’s are renowned for our cowardice.”
Andrea elbowed me back, “Such a prick.”
I snickered, “You started it.”
She leaned over and kissed me lightly on my cheek.
“Do we really need to go in there?” Andy asked as he stared through his own night vision enhanced scope.
“We do, buddy,” I said, “I doubt West Marine has been looted over the past few months… at least I hope not. We need some supplies for the boat.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t think of this shit before the world went to hell,” Andrea said.
I shrugged, “I’m a survivor, not a prepper. At least I wasn’t. I never saw this fuck fest coming. Who the hell could? I had some stuff ready to go, as you guys know, but still…”
“Can’t blame yourself,” Tony said, “I didn’t expect a zombie apocalypse either. Terrorists… anarchists… maybe even a war… but not this.”
“I know,” Andrea said in a softer tone, “I didn’t mean to sound critical. It’s just that since Andy and I have met you two, I’ve been impressed by your organization and ability to get things done.”
“Yeah,” Andy commented, “You two saved our butts.”
I patted him on the shoulder, “you’ve returned that favor more than once, big guy. Okay, let’s focus, people.”
I examined the murder of zombies again. That seemed like an appropriate term. What else were they? A group, yeah, but come on… not a flock or a school… a group of crows were called a murder. The only thing that crows would do to you was sit on your masthead and squawk and shit and annoy the crap out of you.
&
nbsp; A group of zombies would definitely murder you. Although there was no cognitive thought there… so maybe a munch. Yeah, a munch of zombies…
“So do we take them out, or what?” Andrea asked impatiently, “There’s a big root jabbing me in the tits.”
Tony snickered, trying to keep the volume down, “And that’s different from any other night because…”
“Fuck you, Tony,” Andrea hissed with a giggle, “My kid’s right next to you.”
Andy scoffed, “Yeah, Tony, don’t warp my young mind. I don’t even know where babies come from yet much less how to deal with the idea of my mom as a sexual being. I’m just a chased young man, still coated in the innocent down of youth.”
“You guys suck,” Andrea said. I could see her smile in the moonlight.
“Everybody’s a wise ass…” I mumbled as I sighted in, “Okay, there’s twenty of them by my count. They’re all grouped together nicely… but we don’t want to waste ammo. One second intervals. One shot, one kill. Start with Andrea and work down the firing line. The next shooter doesn’t fire until the previous shooter scores a head shot. Got it?”
I got a round of “yes sirs” from my team and smiled.
“innocent down of youth…” Tony whispered to himself, “that’s some funny shit…”
“Ready,” Andrea said, ignoring him.
We were specially equipped for quiet raids. Both Andrea and Andy were using marlin 60 .22 rifles with suppressors and firing Winchester Super-X HP Rimfire subsonic cartridges. While the .22 isn’t a big bullet and is far less effective over long range, at ranges of about fifty yards or less, the low velocity bullet can penetrate the skull of a human being… which is the whole point. Additionally, the round is inherently quieter than a standard load and with the suppressor, the Marlins were almost soundless. When Andrea pulled her trigger, the ensuing puff was little more than a mouse fart.
Tony and I, on the other hand, were using modified AK-47’s that could fire both standard 7.62 rounds as well as the Remington 7.62 thumper subsonic. Our rifles were also suppressed and we had the advantage of far longer effective range than the Marlins.
