by Joshua Guess
The hardest problem to overcome was the huge advantage in numbers. Ideally we'd have led a pack of zombies right up to the closest encampment, then repeated the process when they finished. Sadly, the one area marauders are very proficient in is clearing out the undead. Fortunately, their trust for one another is nonexistent.
Much like street gangs (and I'm sure groups of marauders in some places originally were gangs) the different groups tend to use specific signs or colors to easily identify members of their own group. So, Mason did what seemed logical to him: made a plan to fan the flames of distrust to a white-hot state.
The three of us infiltrated the smallest camp last night, just eight people. Eight marauders, that is, all men, and one captive. She was tied up in a tent, strapped to a cot. We found her after we'd finished picking off the four men on watch. None of them were really expecting an attack, and we were silent. The first to die had his throat cut by Mason, the second silenced by dual stab wounds to the kidneys. Also courtesy of Mason. You learn a lot of disturbing facts working with him. One being that getting stabbed in the kidney hurts so badly that it effectively paralyzes your throat. It tightens so hard you can't even scream, or move your muscles.
The last two were unaware we'd killed the men on the other side of the camp. Becky and I were only about thirty feet away in the darkness. They were sitting in front of a fire, eyes dazzled by the light of the flames. We might as well have been invisible. Two neat arrow shots to their throats as Mason started working his way into the tents.
I would have had a hard time killing men in their sleep. Oh, I'd have done it; I have before. But I'd have felt terrible and maybe hesitated. Mason may have felt the same, but he didn't show any signs and it didn't slow him down a bit. He did get pretty upset when we found the girl, who had been used for the obvious purposes. Mason was just as enraged as Becky and I, talking about how he wished he'd been able to kill those men slowly.
Can't say I disagree.
I've seen women deal with the terrible wrongs that were inflicted on that poor thing. She was in her late teens, at a point in her life where she should have been worried about which boy liked her. Not which man was going to ruthlessly violate her next. I've seen other women find the strength to overcome what she'd endured, but the truth is that all people have a breaking point. She was well past hers.
When we woke her and she began to understand that we weren't going to harm her, she begged for us to kill her. We tried to explain that we would keep her safe, but that wasn't enough. As I listened to her beg again and again for death, I began to understand.
The world wasn't a place where she could ever feel safe or right again. No amount of security could set her mind at ease, because the possibility, however small, was still there that she could fall prey to the desires of brutal men again. I've always believed that every person should have the right to choose their own time and place to end it if they wish. I can't think of anyone who deserved the peaceful release of death more.
Mason offered to do it, though I could see the anguish in his eyes. The girl was frightened of doing it herself, dreaded making a mistake and going through a slow and painful process. Becky took the lead, then. She ushered me and Mason out of the tent, and a short time later called us back in.
She'd given the girl, whose name we never learned, a massive overdose of morphine. More than half of the supply we brought with us. Should some future injury cause me pain, and Becky is without a painkiller because of last night, I'll consider it bargain. Compared to what she endured, every other pain is minor. I'm actually glad we could help her go painlessly. It still hurts.
We took the time to bury her beneath a willow tree, and that's how I'll think of her. Willow seems as good a name as any other.
That took place after we left the camp, of course. On our way out we left a green bandanna, carefully stolen from a larger camp by Mason, clutched in the hand of one of our victims. The traders that service the camps should be passing through any time now. I wonder what will happen when they see the obvious: the tenuous peace between the marauders was broken by another camp. Eight men killed. There will be panic, anger, confusion.
And hopefully, violence. After the night we had, I hope to hear their screams all day.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
War Games
Posted by Josh Guess
There's something darkly satisfying about watching very bad people die.
As you can guess, yesterday was interesting. The cycle of violence we'd hoped to incite the day before was getting off to a slow start. From our observations after the assault we staged, it became clear that most of the groups of marauders were more disciplined than we gave them credit for. Security tightened up, movement between the camps went from minimal to nonexistent, and the traders that passed between kept their distance.
Things were too tense for us to try anything obvious. Attacking a second camp would have been suicidal given how tightly wound the marauders were. So, we waited and watched. All. Day. Long.
Yesterday morning we finally grew weary with observing. No further attacks had materialized, so Mason decided to give our enemies a push. His actions were dangerous, but you have to remember that he used to do this kind of thing for a living.
Bearing a green bandanna, Mason went hunting. He made sure to attack only sentries that operated in pairs, let himself be seen while retreating after firing arrows. Mason swears it would be a lot easier just to pick them off slowly over time, that it's difficult to allow yourself to be seen without getting caught. I'm taking his word for it. He's the one doing it, not me.
When the reaction came from the camps Mason hit, he was ready. I don't know when he found the time to sneak into the other camps and steal their identifying items, but he was a fucking genius during the fights. When the other camps came together to attack the green bandanna crew (a stupid name, but it's not like I can call them 'The cobras', now is it?) Mason was there. He's like a ghost. A ghost that can kill you seven ways without breaking a sweat.
Several of the groups attacked the men in green, and Mason disrupted the whole thing, turned it into a free-for-all. One group wore red baseball caps. So was Mason when he slipped a knife into the ribs of a member of one of the allied groups. He danced around the battlefield, disappearing from one section once he'd played the part of betraying member of a group only to reappear in a different area shortly after as a member of another. All told it only took him about ten minutes to turn the rough union of men who thought they were being attacked by the greens into a bloody massacre.
Men retreated to safe areas, trying to figure out ways to either win or escape. They were scattered, confused, hurt. That was when my group hit them. Never anything obvious. We fired arrows at them from cover for the most part, or if a few of them clustered near the edge of the clearing and we were close enough, we'd slip in and kill them quietly. It took a long time, but the total number of dead left at the green camp was fifty-two.
The rest retreated. Three entire groups are dead, and none of the others that joined in the assault escaped without losses. None of them stayed behind to pillage the remains of the camp. They were too scared by the end, just wanting to escape.
We inventoried the wreckage. There are a lot of weapons from the fallen, among other items. The camp itself is a treasure trove of supplies, ammo, weapons...
And people. Locked safely away in a school bus that's had some seriously disturbing modifications made to it, we found six women and four men. Naked, many of them injured, all of them thin as rails, but gloriously alive.
That's another story altogether, one I'll tell tomorrow. For now, rest easy knowing we've got them with us, safe as we can make them, and most of them are willing to fight. With the haul we took from the green camp, I think accommodations can be made.
The only down side to the whole day is that we're pretty sure the surviving marauders know someone is out here. Once they grow enough spine to go back to the camp to scavenge, they'll
be sure of it. We had to cut chains off the captives to get them free.
I'm sort of looking forward to what happens next.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Captive Hearts
Posted by Josh Guess
I want to talk about the people we rescued yesterday, but I want to do it in a way appropriate in relation to the horrors they've suffered. With that in mind, please understand that I won't be going into detail about them, as they've asked me not to. Instead, a general overview so as a sort of measuring stick for those of you out there to understand what kind of men we're facing.
I don't have to tell you what the marauders in the green camp did to those women, but the men suffered the same. That came as a surprise to me, but I suppose it shouldn't. Today's modern sociopath is much more open-minded than the monsters of yesterday.
I'm short on time, but it's vital to me that you understand the level of abuse leveled against these people. Sexual, physical, psychological. Every day for weeks for the most fortunate of them, almost a full year for one of the men. They'll carry scars visible and otherwise forever. One of them is almost as despondent as the poor girl we buried the other day, but not quite there. We're doing everything we can to help him.
They're hurt and frightened, but full of rage. The one comfort they had was each other. When the worst was upon them, the others were there to talk, to share the pain. It didn't make everything peachy and fun, but a simple human connection, others who understood and could identify, may have been what kept them all from suicide.
Wow, sorry. I want to tell you how we're trying to help the captives regain strength and doing what we can to prepare them to fight. There's a lot about them I want to say, but it's too hard. I'm sitting here doing everything I can not to break down. I've seen them first hand, helped suture their wounds. All of us catch the wild-eyed, furtive glances they all share, as if one of my team is about to brutalize them at any time. It's too much. It hurts me just to think about it.
It hurts to realize I've been so consumed with our mission and what we're doing now that I haven't really thought of home in days. Now I'm terrified something will happen to my loved ones, some horrific act that will shatter them.
It's hard to think of all the beautiful moments I've seen over the last year and a half. People coming together in times of crisis seems pale and insignificant against the dark things the captives have suffered. Knowing that even a small percentage of survivors are capable of things like this makes me want to vomit. I'm screwed up right now. I'm sorry.
I'm not doing justice to these folks, but I just can't do this today.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Bringing The Pain
Posted by Josh Guess
I don't know if it's poetic justice or not, but damn I felt satisfied watching our handiwork this morning.
As it turns out, there were a lot more marauders in the area than we originally thought. Lucky we killed so many of them in a small area, then, which gave us a hole in the defensive perimeter to lead a swarm of zombies through.
I don't want to take the credit here. The captives were all set to fight, but there was simply no way they would regain enough strength and emotional stability to do so before the remaining marauders got their shit together enough to hunt us down. My team hashed it out with the captives, and it was Rachel and Will, who are making an increasingly effective team, that went with them to snare some zombies.
That left Mason, me, Becky, and Steve to keep the chaos going. It wasn't that hard. A few rifle shots from concealment did a fine job of thwacking the hornet's nest.
I really wish we could have given the captives the chance to fight. I've listened to them talk about their experiences, what they'd like to do to the people we're facing. A few of them were traded between camps, meaning some of their tormentors are still out there.
Well, they might still be out there. The swarm we brought in is pretty big, three or four hundred. Probably not enough to kill the remaining marauders. Clearly enough to cause them to retreat to other camps as the swarm advanced on them, which left us with an interesting situation. The first few camps to be abandoned as the remaining marauders quickly retreated as a (temporarily, I'm sure) unified force were basically left untouched. That meant the secure locations where their captives were locked up to prevent them from escaping were left untouched.
So we broke in, set them free, and raided the hell out of the camps for supplies. Total number of captives now working with us: thirty seven. All of them armed to the teeth, though not with guns. Unfortunately the few firearms that the marauders can use with the dwindling ammunition supplies at their disposal tend to be carried around with them.
Still, we've made pretty good progress. Again, I say 'we' when Mason has been the one doing most of the strategic work, Will doing the more detailed tactics, and the rest of us doing what they suggest. Not that I haven't enjoyed playing the part of vengeful spirit. I'm comfortable shooting murderers and rapists in the back with arrows from the safety of cover.
Mason is out right now observing the battle. He's going to send one of the former captives working with him back to our camp when the marauders' fight with the zombie horde reaches the right moment. I'm not sure what that moment will be, but Mason assures me he will. When it comes, when they're weakest, we hit them. Hopefully that will be after a few more camps have been deserted and any captives freed. It's fun to watch the marauders scamper about just ahead of the swarm, living in fear of what new hell follows them.
Serves them right. Soon, it will all be over.
Soon.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Resurgent
Posted by Josh Guess
Things rarely go as planned. It's an axiom as old as civilization.
Mason's plan to strike at the marauders when they were at their weakest, doing the most damage to them possible before retreating (killing all of them was highly unlikely in any scenario) didn't work out. More marauders appeared from even more camps we weren't aware of, and the number of zombies left by the time they showed up was small enough that they probably wouldn't have given us an advantage.
The opportunity just never came, so we retreated. A good number of the marauders are dead, and the rest have been shaken by the events of the last several days. My team have used up our bag of tricks and lost the element of surprise. There isn't much left we can do here. It's a crap situation, but being pissed about it changes nothing.
The large number of captives we released are staying behind. Well, most of them. A few have decided to take vehicles we liberated from the destroyed camps and run for it. I gave them directions to New Haven. The rest are going to stay nearby and try to fight. I don't know if they'll be successful, but most of them are passionate about stopping the marauders at any cost. The ones staying behind aren't very happy that my team and I are leaving.
My team and I aren't happy about it either, but we've got a job to do. Staying here any longer would jeopardize that mission even more than we already have. Helping these people and weakening the marauders is about the best we could have hoped for.
Time is a factor. Our attacks over the last few days have essentially destroyed the careful perimeter the marauders had in place. There are zombies moving into the area, and we need to get moving before enough of them gather to make travel difficult. I don't like having to run, but it's no longer a choice.
Mason is doing what he can to give the captives help in their fight. I don't know if these people can weather the swarms of undead while trying to make war on their living enemies, but if they fail it won't be from lack of determination. They're on fire to get revenge, so powerful it's almost religious. I won't insult anyone's intelligence that stopping the marauders as a threat for the good of others is their primary driver. These folks want their pound of flesh.
Mason reports that the marauders have gathered into one large camp and are eliminating the last of the zombies threatening them. There is some base level of co
operation between monsters, it seems. Zombies work together sometimes. Why shouldn't the worst form of living human be able to do the same?
It's a little unfair that the marauders' one weakness, their distrust of one another, seems to be fading. It's going to make the fight all the harder for the captives.
Damn I feel bad about leaving.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Castle
Posted by Josh Guess
We've made it to our next stop. My team and I spent all day yesterday and much of the day before on the road thanks to the marauders we killed. Their camps topped off our fuel tanks nicely, and our supply of ethanol is holding out. In fact, our people back home have arranged a trade that will allow us to top off the alcohol that provides the base for our fuel.
We're staying in a community called the Castle. It isn't really a castle, but I can see why the people here named it that.
It's a big building, at one point in time an office of some kind. It's made of cut stone, heavy and thick, which I understand makes it pretty comfortable to live in. What's interesting is the security wall built around it--also stone. There's a lot of it in the town we're in, thanks to a local quarry that used to employ many hundreds of people. There are several stone yards around, and the locals used the stuff to make a wall.
