Living With the Dead: The Bitter Seasons

by Joshua Guess

The house was large, perhaps 3,500 square feet, and guarded by two men on each side. So, Aaron had been at least in the ballpark about their numbers. No survivor would leave so many people outside for guard duty unless there were even more inside to watch the prisoners.

  The low mounds of rubble pushing up against the small wood Josh and his group were crouched in offered some cover, but the best advantages they had were the cover of darkness and the element of surprise. The men standing guard looked haggard but tough, and they were armed with small arms. No rifles among the ones that he could see.

  Behind him, the gentle crunch of snow stopped, and a warm gloved hand gently brushed his shoulder. It was the sign letting him know that his people were in position. Now, to wait for the signal from the other team...

  From the far side of the clearing that had once been a cul-de-sac in the ruined neighborhood, an angry chattering sound erupted. The guards nearest to Josh jolted with surprise but made no sound. Experienced men, obviously used to dealing with threats in the night.

  The raccoon scrabbled across the snow and ice, moving with the quiet desperation that only wild animals confronted by men are capable of. The guards, still away from their positions with their backs facing Josh and his team, never heard the sharp thrum of the bows, nor the whistle of the arrows that struck them. Instantly, six of the men were down, arrows transfixing them in various places. The men screamed, trying to go for their weapons, but the third team had already rushed in, slaughtering the downed guards in the confusion.

  Josh assumed that team four had done the same to the pair of remaining guards on the far side of the house. There was no chance that the men inside hadn't heard the racket, but that couldn't be avoided.

  Josh raised the bullhorn to his mouth. "You inside the house. You have some of my people captive. Let them go, now, and we will let you walk away from this. Harm them or take too long, and we'll kill every one of you."

  There was silence from inside. After thirty seconds or so, a scuffling sound could be heard, and a body came tumbling through the front door, a knife plunged into its neck. It wasn't anyone Josh recognized. There must have been an argument among the captors about how best to proceed.

  A man came out, his hands raised in surrender. "We're sending them out. Just don't start shooting."

  Josh nodded to the man, but kept the arrow nocked in his bow just the same. He was ready to drop the bullhorn, draw and fire in a heartbeat, and the dirty man with the raised hands in front of him could clearly see it.

  One by one, Aaron's kids came shuffling out. They joined the group behind Josh, and with the last of them came Aaron. Josh looked him over quickly, and didn't see anything seriously awry other than the obvious hunger and exhaustion on his face.

  Josh tipped his head toward the house, and spoke to the filthy man in front of him. "We're going. You and your men will stay here until we're gone. Try to follow us, and we'll kill you. Come after innocent people again and we catch you....and you'll wish the zombies got you first."

  The man's face darkened, but he gave Josh a terse nod all the same.

  The assault teams backed away from the house, guarding the retreat of Aaron and his kids as the man went back inside. The groups had all nearly reached the safety of the woods when a loud argument could be heard from the house. Screams filled the night air as someone was put through a window on the second floor, and the thundering blast of gunfire filled the night. Bullets winged into the earth nearby, causing Josh to duck and weave. Puffs of dust and ash sprang up wherever the bullets hit, coming closer to his party with every shot.

  Josh fell to his side behind a pile of rubble, and nearly knocked out some teeth when he slapped the bullhorn to his mouth.

  "TAKE IT DOWN!" he shrieked.

  A few moments later, small bright points could be seen from the edges of the cul-de-sac. The flaming bottles made shining arcs as they flew through the air, smashing to brilliant life against the siding. A few broke windows. It only took moments to set entire structure ablaze. Those that ran through the doors were picked off one by one. There were no survivors. The End.

  Aaron and his kids are safe, and the people that took them no more than ashes on the wind. Such is the fate of anyone who comes for us or our people.

  Call it a parable. Learn the lesson it teaches.

  at 10:52 AM

  Friday, January 14, 2011

  Safeish

  Posted by Patrick

  I'm so sorry that I haven't posted or got in touch with any one in a while. Had a good reason though, was unconscious most of the time and getting no signal the rest of it. The pain and exhaustion both mental and physical finally caught up with me, that and I have been fighting infection from my impromptu amputation. Obviously the mundane infection and not the zombie kind or my typing would be much worse.

  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 h
er 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.