You see more and more of the Undead on the road. They’re just wandering, stumbling aimlessly forward until they hear the rumbling engine of our truck. At that point, all heads turn toward us and the grotesque tableau of the chase is on.
We’re in a moving vehicle, so we have the advantage for the most part. We just drive away. There has been the odd scary moment; wait, who I am kidding? There have been a tremendous amount of scary moments where the Undead have outnumbered us five to one and have seemed to have been able to mob the truck just at the exact moment we were passing.
It’s at its worst in the middle of the night. You have no idea they are out there, being drawn in by the headlights of the truck, until a hand or two slams against the window beside your head as you’re trying to sleep.
Max and Bob talk a lot about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They talk about how this feels so much like what they experienced in Afghanistan as well as after coming home, only on a much larger scale this time around. I think we’re dealing with something a little different though. Something a little more insidious.
Technically we’re still in the war…
I’ve been calling it simply Traumatic Distress Disorder. I’m the first person that will tell you I’m not a psychiatrist nor am I a psychologist, but it’s plainly written in the faces of the few survivors we’ve had contact with. The constant struggle of surviving the Undead is taking its toll and I’m afraid that soon many of the people just barely making it are going to lie down and give up. Give up the lives they’ve been fighting so hard to keep. That’s the things with stress; eventually it will break you if you can’t see the light of any hope at the end of the darkness.
And right now we’re facing our own period of darkness…
We were making excellent time travelling north up the 395 and we had just crossed the state line into Nevada. We knew we had a few larger towns to get through but we hoped that we could navigate our way easily through them without any issues. We passed through Gardnerville without any trouble besides a few frisky Undead trying to slow us down.
Minden however was another story.
Minden is a small town with a population that used to be around three thousand living persons where the Nevada State Route 88 meets the 395. It’s also where a speeding Chevrolet Malibu crashed into our front driver’s side wheel spinning us around like a top.
I don’t even know where the car came from. One minute the road was clear, the next we were spinning dangerously close to the embankment. Once we finally stopped spinning, we all took a moment to regain our balance and perspective. Slowly getting out of the car, still on unsteady legs like we’d been playing ‘Dizzy Bat’, we realized the truck was completely unsalvageable.
The left side had been completely smashed in around the wheel well shredding the tire and thick, acrid black smoke was billowing from the engine compartment. A quick check showed that we were still all fine physically, aside from tender areas sure to bruise later. If we waited too much longer, though, the Undead would be upon us.
We gathered up all the supplies that we deemed absolutely necessary; the guns and ammunition, the maps, my laptop and accessories, and some lightweight hand to hand combat weapons before we headed out in search of another suitable vehicle or a place to barricade for the moment while we devised a plan.
Before leaving the scene, I checked the driver of the now smashed and upside down Malibu. Dead. Still dead. Lucky.
Unfortunately, we had to backtrack our way into Minden. It was extremely risky but the next closest options for cars or suitable buildings were too far in front of us. We were out of our element in this region and we really had no idea of what types of terrain or weather conditions to expect.
We had to be careful. We had already alerted many of the Undead that we had passed earlier to our presence and out of habit, and they would be following in our general direction. We had an advantage though; we were travelling with two of the most highly trained soldiers anyone could ask for.
It was simple really. You can evade a great many things, including the Undead, just by staying still and not panicking the closer they got. Many people out there seem to think that the Undead can smell the living but one thing is for sure; they cannot. We learned that little tidbit a few days ago while observing a group of survivors on foot.
They had stopped along the side of a supermarket to take a break or something and a few of the Undead came around the corner as they were standing there. We thought it was odd that none of them rushed to get away but as we watched, the Undead shuffled right past them. It wasn’t until a guy on horseback went thundering by and the Undead changed direction to follow it that we put two and two together. They could see with some semblance of sight and perhaps they could hear, but if you stayed completely still and didn’t make a noise, they would have no idea that you were there.
I’m not going to lie; we never wanted to put our new observation to the test. But in the midst of our current bipedal situation, we were going to use whatever knowledge we had to survive. We had a fairly large group pass within fifteen feet of our hiding spot today and they didn’t even have an inkling that we were there.
Thanks to Ben’s maps, we had an idea of where we were headed. We knew where the business area of Minden was located so as we skulked down the 395, we turned left down 6th Street. It was extremely slow going and there were many times that we were in the ditches clinging to the grass, praying that a glint of sunshine off of a gun barrel wouldn’t be enough to get their attention.
Traumatic Distress Disorder, that’s all I’m saying…
We turned left onto Esmeralda Avenue and found the main bulk of businesses. All of our eyes began to scan the buildings for possibilities as well evidence of the Undead. Coming up on 5th Street, Bob spotted the Farmer’s Bank of Carson Valley. It looked perfect. We could see that all of the windows were still intact as we made a reconnaissance trip around the entire perimeter. All of the shades were drawn on the windows and there were no bloody hand prints or anything remotely suspicious marring the building on either the outside or on the inside of the glass.
Another very handy feature was that it looked like it had a lookout station on top of the building. That would definitely come in handy for scouting out the area around us. On the off-chance, I tried the front door.
It was unlocked. Not the best of signs.
Ben, Max, Bob and I got ready to enter the building, hoping beyond hope that nothing was inside. We made one final check of the street, not wanting to alert any of the Undead as to where we might have disappeared to. Seeing the coast was clear, we all popped through the door, closed it quickly and locked it behind us. You will never guess what we encountered in that bank…
There were people gathered at the far end of the bank, sitting by a little TV/DVD combo watching Fraggle Rock with no sound. They were just sitting there watching flipping Fraggle Rock with an unlocked door… Just waiting for one of those things to get in there with them.
We were shocked to say the least. I don’t think anything could have prepared us for what we encountered in that bank. I hadn’t yet seen people this close to the point of giving up but if this wasn’t the penultimate moment before it happened, I couldn’t imagine what else it would look like.
Fucking Traumatic Distress Disorder in the flesh…
Day 18:
So here we are stuck in a bank with a group of sixty-seven other people, all survivors of the town of Minden. The situation is less than optimal for us.
In fact, it stinks. All we had wanted was a place to buckle down for a bit, to collect our thoughts and devise a plan to execute. And now it appears that we’ve become the saviors of Minden. At least, that’s what they’re calling us…
The Mayor was the first to introduce himself, once the shock of our arrival had worn off. He was a large man, the kind you could tell was very boisterous under normal circumstances but at that moment he was subdued and strangely detached. In fact, all of the townspeople were a li
ttle detached… Must be the Traumatic Distress Disorder.
Their eyes were riveted to the modest twenty-sex inch screen, all the children sitting down in front. My guess is that they had nothing else to do so in went the DVD, most likely supplied for the children of bank patrons who had appointments with bank employees on any given day. At least they were smart enough to turn off the volume; no need to attract the Undead to an unlocked door.
When questioned about the door, we were told that it was unlocked because many of the survivors of the town had seen fit to leave in order to search out other survivors or to get supplies. (Perhaps a new DVD? Might I suggest Night of the Living Dead? These people needed a serious fucking clue!) They had decided as a group to leave the door unlocked so that anyone needing to get inside quickly could do just that.
What I don’t think they understood was that while other survivors could easily get in, it also meant that the Undead could get in just as easily. All it would take was for one of them to find the door and push on it. That’s the worst thing; the door opened inward so it would take no time at all for the bank to be full of the Undead had a large enough horde happened upon it.
I asked when the last person had left the bank to search the town and the reply I received was three days ago. I knew no one was likely to be coming back but I wasn’t sure that this town could handle that news just yet. Some of those that had left could have been family and friends to those left behind waiting. No reason to incite panic or despair - especially when we hadn’t gotten a really good read on their emotional stability yet.
We asked for the grand tour, wanting to familiarize ourselves with the bank’s layout. We were politely refused, which we found more than a little odd. Instead of arguing, Bob stayed behind with the townsfolk and the now locked door while the rest of us took a look around for ourselves.
The main floor was fairly open, a few windowed offices which were actually more like cubicles and the main banking area. The stairwell was dimly-lit with one staircase leading up and one leading down. We opted to travel up first, wanting to find access to the roof to check out the lookout station that we had spied from the street.
The second floor was all offices, none of them locked and none of them even disturbed. The impression these people are giving off is just so odd. My main concern would be to get away from the windows; at least upstairs they could monitor the streets outside the windows without the fear of coming eye to eye with the Undead.
The one thing I need to remember is that these people don’t think like us. To them, all of this is like a really bad dream they never woke from. Right now you can see them barely hanging on downstairs and in the end that could be a huge liability for us…
A small staircase on the northwest corner of the building gave us access to the roof. Outside, the air smelled a little fresher than the rank air inside the bank. The lookout tower provided us with an excellent 360 degree view of the area for miles. It must have been used as an alert station for forest fires in the days before satellites. At this point it would give us the ability to monitor any large groups of the Undead headed in our direction. It also gave us a bird’s eye view to any possible vehicles to steal. Just being able to look out over the side of the roof gave us an advantage for scoping out vehicles and for keeping an eye on the movements of the Undead.
Off in the distance, maybe a few streets away we saw someone headed toward us. They were moving slowly and with the distance it was hard to tell if they were alive or Undead. With the amount of blood on their clothing, it could have gone either way, but this body moved with a purpose. And it was heading straight toward us.
Ben and I headed quickly down the stairs to alert Bob that someone was coming and to be on the ready with the door. Max stayed up top to monitor his progress and to clearly ascertain the actual animate status of the individual. It’s just better to be sure in this world. Had Ben and I stayed up a moment or two longer, we would have seen the throng of the Undead following him down the road. Max came back to the second floor landing and yelled for me to keep the door closed at all costs. I left Ben and Bob in charge of that door as I sprinted back up to the roof.
There must have been fifty of the Undead following and gaining on him. If they didn’t catch up to him before he got to the door, they would continue to follow him right inside. If the Undead knew that we were inside they would become relentless in trying to get in and there was just no way of knowing how long the glass on the first floor would hold. There was also no way of knowing how long we could keep the townspeople calm and quiet with a cacophony of death pounding on the walls trying to get in.
Max and I shared a look, knowing that the only way to secure our safety for the moment, and the safety of all of these people, was to sacrifice the life of another. It’s not a choice we made easily but everyone needs to remember that this is war.
Even as I type, I’m plagued with guilt. Chances are he never would have made it to us, so our choice was a veiled mercy. But there is always that what if… What if he had made it? What if we had gotten him inside without alerting the Undead to our presence? What if he had been bitten? What if once we got him inside and “safe”, he became one of the Undead?
What if…
After the moment on the roof, Max and I went back downstairs to let Bob and Ben know that the man didn’t make it. Bob and Ben knew of course what we had done, their ears trained for the sound of gunfire. The rest of the townsfolk were oblivious to the fact that there had ever been someone making their way toward us. And as a result, they had no idea that he didn’t make it as a result of our hands and not those of the Undead.
Knowing that we had to check out the basement level, Max and I returned to the stairwell and headed down. The basement was small and dimly lit, containing only a few small storage rooms and the bank’s vault. The strange thing was that you could hear something in the basement. It was a hollow banging, almost rhythmic in its tempo. It took a moment for us to realize that the noise was coming from inside the vault.
Back on the main floor, I approached the Mayor and asked him point-blank what they had locked up in the vault. His answer was more than a little disquieting. It seems that the last person that came back to the bank had been infected, bitten by one of the Undead at some point. Instead of tying that person up and then waiting for them to die and then killing them, it had been decided to put them into the vault and let nature take its course. They thought that the lack of air would prevent the person - incidentally the Mayor’s own adult son - from coming back to life but after ten days in an air-tight vault; it’s now been proven that the Undead can survive without air… It makes perfect sense since they’re no longer alive; but good God, why can’t we catch a break?!
As we tried to settle in for what we hoped wasn’t going to be an extended stay, it became disturbingly apparent that the people of Minden were experiencing a profound state of collective shock. It was nothing like any of us had ever seen. Keep in mind that we have had limited exposure to other survivors, mainly by choice, but the whole situation inside that bank just doesn’t seem right. They haven’t given up completely but the consensus among the four of us is that they’re close.
Fuck, they have been sitting inside an unlocked bank with hardly any weapons to protect themselves if something had happened to find its way inside. And when I say hardly any weapons, I mean it. They had no firearms whatsoever. Just a few baseball bats and some assorted gardening tools; two shovels, a long-handled cultivator, and a hoe.
Fearing the answer as soon as the question was out of my mouth, I asked how many people had initially been using the bank as a safe haven. Their reluctance to answer was astounding. It was like they wanted their story, their recent past to be completely erased from history.
What had happened to them to make them want to forget so badly? What had they done that warranted such a detachment from survival, from life? They had gotten themselves this far, but for some strange reason it felt like this was all they thought the
y deserved. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that we don’t know the whole truth of what went on here.
This whole freaking town is giving me the creeps. I don’t know what else I can say to convey that feeling to you. If you’re on the move yourself, I suggest avoiding Minden like the plague. I’m not sure if I can take another day of this. Max thinks he may have spotted a vehicle for us. If it looks good, and it works, we may be on the road sometime tomorrow. We need to get out of here… Minden is creeping the heck out of me!
Day 19:
If anyone had told me that something or someone would scare me more than the Undead, I would have laughed at them; but that was before we encountered Minden, Nevada. That town has taken the top of the list when it comes to the scariest places in the world and right now that is saying a whole heck of a lot. I’ve been inside the catacombs that snake under Paris and even that experience pales to the terror of every moment spent inside the four claustrophobic walls of the Farmer’s Bank of Carson Valley on Esmeralda Street.
The people of Minden just don’t seem to get what we are up against. Either that or the Traumatic Distress Disorder has turned their brains into mush. Every hour or so, like clockwork, one of the townsfolk would get the overwhelming urge to leave. We couldn’t leave them alone even for a moment because to do so could have meant death for all of us.
My nerves are more frazzled in here than they ever were on the road. You can’t even look into their eyes because then you can see how close to the edge they are. They’re all on the verge of throwing up their hands and giving into the Undead.
Even the children. They are the closest ones of all; they look so vacant, so soulless that you begin to wonder if you haven’t stumbled into an incubating nest of the Undead. We have got to get ourselves out of here. Saving these people isn’t even an option. They had obviously already given up before we even got here and prolonging our stay would have only put us into more danger.
Days With The Undead (Book 1) Page 9
