by Guess, Joshua; Ribken, Annetta; Ayers, Rachel; Whitwam, Lori
The girls managed to find some comfort in the basic routine of the place, even a sense of safety. Alice was the one to tell me that Morry was happy to be able to protect my sister and her girls, he said it was the least he could do after all the scrapes I pulled him out of in high school. I think he was just happy to have some one that knew how to cook, and would have protected her even had I been his worst enemy in school, he was just that good a man.
Over the months more and more people found their way to the neighborhood, most found while out on scavenging runs. In the end there were over fifty people living there, working to build some thing that could last. Biggest problem was food was getting harder and harder to find and even then they wouldn't turn any one away. Kylie said that mom was getting real good at making soups and stews, even if they were a bit thin.
Farming was the answer and they turned to it early on, and in the Florida sun how can you go wrong? Only problem was a lack of protein, a problem solved I'm proud to say by my Kylie. Peanuts, they grow well in the south and are rich in protein. They even found soy beans to plant. It was sad they never saw the harvest come in.
The crop was their downfall.
They had attracted the attention of a large group of raider looking for food and no work. Kylie saw what happened as she was hiding from the kitchen trying to avoid work, and was playing by the fields. Every guard watching the fields and every one working them were shot at the same time. She just looked at me with sad eyes as she described how every one fell over at the same time, how the shots rang out from all sides. She ran back to find Morry and the other guards firing from their post, yelling at my sister to get the women and children out.
Katie didn't have much to do in rounding up the women and children all were working in the kitchen, canning veggies for the winter. Alysa said that men in the camp were over protective of the women and children not because they couldn't fight but because they were more valuable than the men for the human race, I think most of the women didn't argue to much because they had seen enough violence for one life time.
Every one headed for the one bolt hole. You can't have basements in Florida because of the water table, but they still had sewer lines and drainage tunnels and Morry insisted that every one knew the way out to the emergency vehicles in case they had to run. Ten women and six kids crawled for over half a mile in pitch blackness to the stocked mini-vans waiting on the other side.
The last part of the story I know better as that is where I found the girls. That will have to wait until later. My emotions are spent and the darkest chapter of their fight for survival has yet to come, that and my eyes and thumb are killing me. Thank you all for letting me unburden my self, to try and keep some measure of sanity.
at 2:46 AM
Saturday, February 12, 2011
To The Faithful Departed
Posted by Josh Guess
I've spent a lot of the last few days dealing with the consequences of one man's actions. There has been a lot to do--providing a proper funeral for the dead, caring for the injured from the attack, and consoling those whose injuries are too severe. Who are alive and in agony, but can't survive the inevitable infections that will take root in them and flourish. So many other consequences, though, that the repercussions of the soldier's choice to attack us will be felt here for a long time.
There are families that lost members. Lovers who've lost their spouse. I think I've lost count of the number of times I've said this over the last eleven months, but can you imagine the fury going through their minds? To survive together through all that we've been through, or to lose a husband or wife only to find love again in what should be nearly impossible circumstances...and then have that taken away? Not by zombies or the bitter cold, things that have no thought process of their own, but by the willful choice of a human being--acting in a manner that has defined human beings for thousands of years.
Ronald Reagan once said that the only threat that could bring humanity together as one unified force was that of an extraterrestrial invasion. I think the zombie plague constitutes an equivalent threat, at least in a practical sense. Sorry to say, the Gipper has been proven wrong on that score. We face a threat to the existence of our race, and yet still a large number of people are bent toward behavior that is destructive to the possibility for survival in the long term.
The core idea behind Mr. Reagan's quote is right, though. Tragedy, especially pointless violence, brings people together. Compound tragedies combined with an already common purpose makes allies into something unique and beautiful.
It makes us family.
As if some tiny but important switch has been thrown in our brains, the people here have come together in ways that defy explanation. I used to view the refugees and myself as something different than the citizens of North Jackson. We were visitors. Friends in need of help. We were friends with the people here, but guests in need of succor. Now, we're treated the same as everyone else. We cried our eyes out when we shared loss. We saw children die in front of us. We've all suffered from the attack, but we did it together. There was no thought of my people or their people.
Just our people. Just regular folks with a common goal--building something new and better on the wreckage of the old and broken. I feel as though we've managed a good start on that, partlybecause of this tragedy. Losing so many at once has crystallized our urge to cooperate. It has made us more tolerant of our differences. It has made us close and strong, like a fabric whose threads are being pulled tighter together on the loom.
There is still a lot to do. We're preparing for the return of our final lost group--Patrick and his girls should be freed from their location soon. Jamie and Dodger cleared a path on their way in, so the return trip should be much faster. There that, and the physical damage to the wall and the rest of the area around the explosion. The wall is top priority, of course. There's the continuing needs of the injured to be met, and decisions to be made for those who live in pain but can't survive. Hard decisions...
I will leave you with this. I want to end this post, a sad and painful thing that reminds me of the taste of ashes, on a higher note. It might be strange, but I'd like to say something to the victims, though they are past hearing (or reading) my words now:
Though I may not have known you, I loved you. In this dark and frightening world, you were points of calm light and warmth when the chill wind rushed in to bite. You were what we, the survivors, should all aspire to be; hardworking, fair, supportive, caring. You were so many other things, both good and bad, in your variety as a group. That was what we lost that day. We lost a collection of potential that the world simply can't get back. For all your faults, you had many more wondrous and positive traits. You might have been the nicest person to be found, or curt and surly--either way you proved time and again that you would risk your life and limb for those around you. You were men, women, and children that came together in a time of desperate need to save each other.
You will be missed. I may not have known you, or at least known you well, but I could not hope any harder that you find the embrace of whatever god you hold to. It is my deepest wish that each of you finds solace now in a place of peace and glowing warmth, far removed from the struggle that defined you here. That struggle outlined your grace and moral strength. May you live forever in that world of perfect satisfaction, the pain and fear long forgotten, the dead no longer your enemy, only old friends and loved ones to be reunited with.
Goodbye.
at 7:49 AM
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A Final Kindness
Posted by Josh Guess
I'm just off a twelve hour shift in the clinic, and I don't know if I can go back. I think I might have reached my limit for keeping a compassionate and calm demeanor in the face of painful and disturbing things.
Evans, Phil, and Gabrielle had to sit down with some of the people with the worst injuries and talk to them. It wasn't a job I would have wanted to do, and I'm damn thankful I didn't have
to. The problem was that we knew there was no way some of the worst off of them could survive. It just isn't going to happen. Neither are they going to die quickly or easily, so the choice was awful: linger in constant pain, consuming medicines that might help someone later on, or choose to die now at the hand of a friend.
Evans made it very clear that they were all able to make the choice freely. No one was to be coerced into anything, no pressure or guilt to be applied. I don't think that anyone would do that, but then I've been called suicidally optimistic more than once.
Of those with burns and other injuries severe enough to be considered fatal, nine of eleven adults chose to end their lives. There are two kids, but Evans just keeps them sedated all the time. No one wants to make that call. No one wants to ask that of children. So, we won't. Evans is saving them the agony of being awake, seeing and feeling their wounds. Some might say he is depriving them of the chance to experience their last, precious days. Perhaps.
But what quality would those days have? Evans took his oath seriously: First, do no harm. For the kids, that meant letting sleep wrap around them as they passed the bridge to whatever comes next. For the adults, that meant a quick death when asked for. Doctors have done it for centuries, never doubt that. Human suffering, constant and deeply damaging to the human psyche, will always change a person's views on morality given enough time.
I sat with them when Evans did it. Each and every one of them. I held their hands, talked with them, made them comfortable. I watched the light go out of their eyes, the vibrant motions that defined life within them fall still. No ticking throb of a pulse in the throat. No narrowing or widening of the pupils as we talked. Facial tension gone, relaxed in a way that life simply won't allow. I was glad to be there for them, but I hated it. Every minute of it.
I didn't want to watch them die. I didn't want to be there as we did what we had to do in order to ensure none of them reanimated. The peace Evans gave them was a final one, the companionship I gave them their last. If there is a great beyond, my presence was a mere transitional circumstance to tide them over until they touched the infinite. Compared to whatever wonders might lie beyond the cusp of life, my company is a poor substitute.
Those last two have decided to tough it out. They have chosen to suffer through the hours or days until they die. I get that. I would make that choice. I'm a pretty logical person, but when it comes to the thought of my own death, I'm as emotional as they come. I'll fight every minute until the end, enjoy the pain because it will prove that I'm still alive. Both of our last patients have asked not to be given any painkillers, so that others who might need them later and live can use them.
They are brave, in my eyes. They know that there is no way to survive. They accept it, and embrace it. Just as those who chose to die embraced their fate, eyes open. I am lucky to have known such people.
I hope that on the day when I face my own death, I can show half as much courage.
at 9:30 AM
Monday, February 14, 2011
All About Love (A Little Hate, Too)
Posted by Josh Guess
I've posted on holidays before, or what used to be holidays. I wrote about being grateful on Thanksgiving. I talked about the real meaning of Christmas. Today is Valentine's day. While my wife and I have rarely celebrated this holiday, I think the time is right to talk about love. Given our recent tragedy, it's fair to say that love is more important than ever. This is all from my own perspective, so please don't think I'm judging how you view the subject. I'm not. It's just my view.
It's a weird thing to think about, really. Love is such a fluid and ephemeral concept for so many of us. You think about it in many contexts, many situations. Some are common and fairly reliable, such as familial love. I love my family so much that it overwhelms me sometimes. Those are people I grew up with, who have always been there for me in my worst times. They are like other parts of me that have the same basic makeup but different experiences. Familial love, what I feel for my departed mother, my brothers and sister, nieces, nephews, uncles and aunts (though most of them died in the early days, when the zombie plague was spreading like cancer across the country) is powerful in me, and not just because it's hardwired into my genes. I've got some family that I don't feel that strong reaction toward. Mostly I do.
That's important to me, because while I don't know how it is for most people, when I say that someone is "like family", it isn't just a pleasant turn of phrase. I mean it with total sincerity. Patrick is a good example. Pat is my best friend, but my brain sees him as a brother. He's as important to me, as vital to my mental well-being, as anyone can be.
In a very broad sense, I love people. My base setting is to love everyone, to have basic respect and an open mind about them, until they give me a reason not to. Strangely, this is even extends to the zombies that swarm the walls on a daily basis. I know that sounds odd, but it's true. I can't find it in me to hate them. I see them in much the same way I would see a rabid dog or an injured bear--an object of pity, of sympathy, that is also a potentially fatal threat to my life. I do feel heartache, tiny though it might be, when I look at them. They were people once, and what has happened to them is not their fault. Since I have this general love for humanity, it's hard not to feel a little bit of it for our dead, especially those of them that walk.
I'm not going to go on and on about why I love humankind. You've read it here before. I will tell you that the practical result of that feeling is a willingness to do almost anything to save people. To protect them, kill for them, feed them, house them, teach them to do for themselves, all the while learning to do all of that stuff for me as well. It led me to bring people together to form the compound. It has pushed me into rescue missions time and again. It was there in my brain when I first crossed the moral line I swore to avoid at all costs--killing a living person--because of the terrible acts those men had committed against other people. My adoration of people has created a new morality in me--a willingness to kill those who lack the qualities I love in humanity in order to protect those who do.
I think that most people who have survived that aren't traveling across the countryside Mad Max-style have some portion of this. To live in relative peace with one another, especially under such immense stress, takes more than just willpower. It takes that mercurial and indefinable feeling that allows you to overlook the minor, embrace the flaws, and enjoy another person for who they are and not for what you think they should be: love.
Lastly...Romantic love. This one is a subject that has been in debate for as long as people have felt it, so I won't make big sweeping statements. Jess is perfect for me. I love her, and am in love with her, literally more each day. I used to think that was just a saying, a hackneyed line that writers used to make housewives read their cheap romance. It isn't. Not for me. My wife gets me like no other person ever has--no one. Not my best friends or family. We have the same sensibilities. We are both practical. She forgives my terrible qualities, and loves me despite them.
She is beautiful, and funny. Sexy and hilarious. She's the light of my life who shares my dark sense of humor. She is adorably naive at times, childlike in her innocence. She can also pull out random knowledge and hardcore pragmatism that truly astounds me. She is smart and awesome in the truest meaning of the word.
There is so much more to it. I wish that I could describe it to you, but until you feel that thrill--the excitement of just getting to come home to someone and talk about your day, even after years together, then you can't understand it. When you feel terror at the thought that they might be harmed, and a willingness to die in their place to go with it. It's so much--it fills me. She fills my heart in ways I used to think were impossible.
I've seen all types of it among the people here in North Jackson. Here and there, the deep and mesmerized stares between two people deeply in love with each other. The smiles of joy at just seeing one another.
I've seen families stick together and find happiness with one another,
and take in others to join their tribe. On this medium scale, most people have found others. There are few loners left who have no adopted group to call their own.
Overall...I don't think I've ever seen a group that has as much general love for one another as the people here. I don't know if it stems from the amazing progress that has gone on, or the many tragic happenings. Jack likely had a lot to do with it, weaving among them to bring them tighter, and Susan has made that a priority. The people here understand the innate need to survive, yes, but they feel that others should do so as well--there is no selfishness to it. They will save people, help those in need, because of the love they all seem to feel towards those that have peaceful intent. It's beautiful.
