by Joshua Guess
He was dangerous, and he'd killed the last person who stood up to him with a shot to the head. In front of everyone.
The girl told me that Alex's room was rigged with bells to alert him to intruders, though he never locked the door. He didn't lock it because each night he demanded the presence of one of the women in his room. Whom he then did as he pleased with. He always sent the woman away before he fell asleep, only then securing his bedroom.
Alex invited me to sleep in the house, in the room with the other three men. It would be cramped, he said, but warm. I told him I needed to talk it over with the team, and he agreed. He stood at the door of the trailer as I went in to 'talk' to the others. What I was really doing was grabbing some medicine we'd snagged from the pharmacy and ground into powder. I put the little baggie of it into my mouth where Alex wouldn't see, and went through the motions of talking with the team.
I managed to slip the girl, whose name was Sara, the baggie. I mouthed "his drink" to her, and hoped she got the idea.
She did. Sara volunteered to go to Alex's room, and she made him his usual whiskey and coke. The little baggie made him very sleepy very quickly, and when she came to wake me I was ready. The other men didn't stir as I made my way toward Alex's room. I picked my way carefully across the hardwood, watching the way the moonlight played along the floor to catch the fishing line strung about. It wasn't that hard.
I watched him sleep for a few minutes, and oddly I didn't wonder why so many people had lived with this man for so long, enduring his attention and abuse. In the world that was, someone like him might have gotten away with it for years, but chances were good that he'd get caught or stood up to eventually. Alex was clearly too cautious to be caught off guard, and those people had seen him shoot a woman in the face for daring to protest her own rape.
There's been a lot of discussion since The Fall about morality and what is right. I can tell you with utter certainty that some ultimate truth exists, and I found a small piece of it last night. That man used his willingness to kill to force others into a state of constant fear for their lives. A dictator will brutalize his subjects so effectively that they will lose all but a vestigial urge to fight back. Fear is the most powerful motivator for survival we possess.
I looked down on him, drugged beyond belief but still twitching as if on the edge of consciousness. Almost as though he knew something was about to go terribly wrong. I saw then that shred of pure truth: he needed to die. It was the right thing. The moral thing. I didn't feel trepidation or guilt, nor did I feel good. The only thing that went through my mind was the resigned sadness that another life full of human potential had to end. Also, I really liked the boots I'd gotten from Block and I didn't want to ruin them with blood.
So I did it. With some consideration but no hesitation, I whipped the blade across his neck even as I slid an arm around his face. When he flopped over, thrashing to get away, I wrapped my legs around his body. It didn't take long, though it wasn't easy. We rolled across the floor, snapping lines of string and twine, his ruined throat unable to produce more than a wet rasp.
Alex died with the sound of bells.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Certain Kind of Madness
Posted by Josh Guess
I've had a few emails from people worried that my lack of a post yesterday was due to delayed shock or something over killing Alex. I take days off from posting regularly, but intended to write something yesterday anyway. I didn't have a chance.
Let me assure you: for better or worse, I'm not losing any sleep over Alex's corpse. He was a rapist and a tyrant, and he deserved worse than he got. You're welcome to disagree.
Yesterday was too busy for us to justify time writing. We traveled the first part of the morning, but around lunch I had to seriously pull rank for the first time. About two hundred miles from home, we came across a huge mass of zombies. And I do mean huge--they carpeted both sides of the highway from the bottom of the hill in front of us all the way to the top and maybe beyond. At least hundreds, maybe thousands.
The debate was whether to drive through them or not. They were all laying down doing the hibernation thing. Usually with new breed zombies there are some who stay conscious to keep watch. Luckily for us it was so cold, down in the single digits and very windy, that none of them moved around. Will theorizes that the new breed uses a lot more energy and has less reserves to draw on, making it harder for them to be active in extremely low temperatures than other zombies.
The team wanted to drive over them and keep going forward. I didn't. The team wouldn't be what it is if there was no respect for its structure, so they didn't mutiny on me and tie me up or anything. They disagreed with my decision to turn back and find an alternate route, but they did it. I can't say I blame them for wanting to be home as quickly as possible, but the closer we get the more obsessive they become about it. Once we made the choice to head home, something clicked in all our heads. The urge to get there is powerful, and I'm not immune.
I'm just more paranoid and likely crazier than the others. At first I didn't think about why they were so upset, but when we got turned around and headed south again I remembered that the last few exits we'd passed were choked with cars. We'd have to go back twenty miles at least. That was time consuming but not terribly so.
Things got more complicated when we'd backtracked for a few miles. No one else seemed to see it, but I was convinced I saw moving reflections in the distance, like someone was driving away from us. We haven't been all that worried about being followed, having seen no signs, but this made me nervous. Then I had to pull rank really hard, and so now we're taking a wide detour to get home. Like, the 'adds a few days to the trip' kind of detour. We're going better than a hundred miles out of the way to circle around and head back home to Frankfort and New Haven. No one is happy about it, but I'm not sleeping with one eye open. Even if my friends were secretly soulless killers driven by hate, they wouldn't take me out. One less person in a group this small makes a big difference in a fight.
Not that I'm worried, but again: paranoid. I can't stop myself from figuring the odds.
With any luck we'll be home in less than a week, barring zombies or marauders. The detour is taking us to a road I know to be in good repair and clear, so there shouldn't be any more surprises on that front.
Now to just get to it. These backwoods are a mess, and the going is slow. All work and no play make Josh a dull boy...
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Tools at Hand
Posted by Josh Guess
I'm keeping it short today as we don't have time to waste. Late yesterday Rachel caught a glimpse of whoever is following us. Getting confirmation from someone else is nice, but it also means I'm not just paranoid and that we have a serious problem. The question is whether they're following us home or just waiting for an opportune time to attack us.
We're not in very good fighting shape, that much is obvious. Even if their numbers match ours we'd be greatly overwhelmed. Will came up with a solution, and it makes me think he's crazier than the rest of us put together.
We're using zombies. We've spent the morning slowly accumulating a train of them behind us. We're moving at a snail's pace so they can keep up and don't lose interest. The bag of raw meat we're trailing behind us helps with that a bit.
They've created a buffer for us. It would be impossible for anyone to get close enough to do us harm without having to deal with our pet swarm. Yes, it's stupidly dangerous, but so is having some marauder jam a knife in my throat while I'm sleeping. Trust me, I know.
The debate has been whether or not to keep heading for home. Now that we know we're being followed, I have to ask why. Where New Haven is located isn't a secret. We aren't necessary for anyone to find their way to Frankfort. Any map would do the trick.
I've talked to Jess and some of the others at New Haven, and they're telling us to come on home. The citizens are ready to deal with whatever may come. The walls are strong, w
eapons ready. I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but I'm leaning that direction.
We're making slow progress today, but my hope is that we can lose our pursuers when we get closer to home. I won't say how I plan on doing that since they might be reading this, but I have some thoughts.
That's about all I have time for. We're threading a needle with these zombies, and time is critical. I'll check in again when I can. Cross your fingers for us.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
HailDown
Posted by Josh Guess
We're a lot closer to home than we thought we'd be. Yesterday afternoon we outran the swarm of zombies we had following us for protection. The idea was to let the people following us get slowed down by them and gain a little distance. It worked like a charm. We managed a good ten mile lead on our pursuers.
Let me preface this next part with a disclaimer: killing zombies wantonly is one thing. They're always a threat, and I've yet to see a reason why I should hesitate from killing one when it's posing a threat to me. Killing human beings is sometimes the only right thing to do, and sadly those times are all too common nowadays. But I try not to do it indiscriminately.
So when we set the explosives, it wasn't with the intent to kill anyone. Just stop them for a good while.
The idea was to find a section of highway that was cut into a hill. they're all over Kentucky and there are a few places like that where we are as well. Becky put together some homemade stuff a while back, sort of a rainy day bomb fund. When we found a good section of road with the familiar craggy cliffs on either side, we set up. Explosives in the deepest cracks we could find in order to blow out both sides of the rock face. I've seen what a bad ice storm can do to those cliffs many times. They're perfect for a makeshift obstruction.
So we set the timer and moved up a few hundred yards. We figured there was at least ten minutes from when we clicked the start button to when our pursuers showed up. We only gave the clocks on the explosives five minutes.
In all fairness, that part worked out well. The eruptions of stone and dirt from the hillsides were almost simultaneous. Rocks ranging in size from pebbles to watermelons rained down on the road, and two large slopes of debris formed very quickly as more and more newly loosened material tumbled from the heights. There were many high-fives exchanged. Rachel looked smug: it was her idea.
The dust was incredibly thick. That's probably why the people following us got so close. They must not have seen us down the road a ways, and we could just make out the forms of their vehicles as they approached the mass of broken earth before them. Pieces were still falling like dirty snowflakes, though they'd slowed down.
From our position hundreds of feet away through the glass of our windows, we heard the crack that came next. High up along the cliff face a huge boulder broke free, spinning as it smashed the pile of rubble below it. The sudden change in momentum slammed the thing sideways like a spinning top that bumped into a bowl on a table. It was vicious and sudden, causing the boulder to fragment into two smaller pieces and slam into the lead vehicle.
The SUV at the front of the pack didn't stand a chance. It was almost ripped in half.
Some of the pursuers had to have seen us at that point, because we heard gunshots and saw divots of asphalt spew into the air behind us. What could we do at that point? Explain ourselves? Who would believe that our intentions were (relatively) good? I don't think I would have if I were in their position.
So, we ran. We're still running. That section of road would have taken a lot of work to clear, time that we've used to put space between us and them. I was watching through binoculars as we pulled away, trying to gauge the number of people after us.
I couldn't get an accurate count. But the strange thing? Some of them looked familiar.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Home Stretch
Posted by Josh Guess
We're very close now. We'd have made it home yesterday but once more, caution got the better of us. I can't say much here, but I can tell you that we've got good reason to believe that the roads nearby have been trapped. We've had reports from scouts detailing some strange happenings, which include instances of sighting observers spying on New Haven and the scouts themselves. Everyone is cautious.
We're waiting until New Haven's scouts can get to us. They're doing a thorough inspection of the route from where we've gone to ground to back home. Until then, we're sitting tight.
Will is holding up, but he's eager to get home. We've had to hunt already since we set up camp yesterday, as he needs a lot of protein to continue healing. I'm more than a little worried at how how wounds look, but his temperature isn't near any danger zones and the stitches are holding together. I guess his injuries look worse for all the jostling and transfers he's had to deal with. I hope that's all.
It's bitter cold around here, so the zombie activity is minimal. I'd like to see us head home while the intensity of the cold is still at this level so we can minimize the risk in traveling. We're tired and worn thin by the stress and weather. We're almost done in.
...
Steve is yelling. Something's tripped our early warning system. Time to go.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Stranger in a Strange Land
Posted by Josh Guess
The chimes we had set up around the camp yesterday did go off, but it was only one of New Haven's scouts coming to get us. We were led home over safe roads, untouched by whatever shadowy group is moving around the area making trouble and setting traps. I'll get to them some other time, because today is about one thing and one thing only: coming home.
I cried when I came through the gate. I've missed this place so much, and pushed that feeling into the back of my mind for so long that when New Haven came into view, I couldn't stop the flood of relief. So long away from home and so many changes have happened. It's hard to know where to begin.
New Haven itself looks different. When we left all those months ago, the stone walls had just been put up. Many of the additions to them were missing and several finishing touches not even begun. Dodger and Dave had been busy men while we were away. The walls are festooned with homemade guns, bolstered with spikes and walkways, and there's now a solidly constructed chain-link fence all the way around the top of it. There are sections of the chain link that open like windows and doors spaced all around the perimeter. Where the hell Dave found so much pristine fence is one of many questions floating around the back of my head.
I've been kept in the loop about some things that have gone on in New Haven since we left, but not being in charge of day-to-day operations meant that a lot of stuff wasn't included in those reports. The project I was planning on starting before I left, a giant heat-powered refrigeration unit, is done. Once the parts we needed came in, Dave set to building it with gusto. Being able to store meat without fear of it spoiling is a huge advancement for us. Bless Ferdinand Carré for inventing the absorption refrigerator. When he realized how efficient the thing was going to be, Dave built it much larger than the original design called for. We've got enough food stocked up in there to take us through a very lean month or two.
Maybe I'm going on about my brother's work too much. With fair weather for much of the time we've been gone and a large workforce to draw on, Dave has accomplished a lot. I'll get into more of that in other posts. I'm home now, there's time for things like that.
I wish I could tell you that I'm a good person and went to visit all my friends, but I totally didn't do that. I went home, kicked the small gathering of people out of my house, and got reacquainted with my wife. Three times.
(I'm cleverly pointing out that I had lots of SEX yesterday. In case you missed that.)
Jess is looking good. She was getting skinny not long before I left because of the food shortages, but the fall and winter have been good to her and New Haven. She's healthy and strong, as well as eager to show me some of the new skills she's been learning while I've been away. I'm not ashamed
to admit that I'm a little frightened that she wants me to wear armor for one of those demonstrations.
With her, it feels like I never left. Jess is a paradox that way: in many important aspects, she's as steady and unchanging as you could hope for. She's endlessly curious and evolves as a person with a speed that surprises most people, but the core of who she is never changes. She's my wife, my love, my perfect other half. There was no awkwardness between us, no nervous shuffling about. Just joy.
The rest of the place, though...
So much has changed here that you'd think we were gone for several years rather than several months. I'm stumped as to how so much work has been accomplished, even with the easy times New Haven has had lately. I'll have to ask Dave how he managed it, and where all the new materials came from. It's not just buildings or extra supplies whose origins I'm unaware of, either. The people are different. There's an air of relaxation and contentment that is completely new.
That caught me off guard, I'll admit. My folks took in Kincaid and his group of marauders not too long ago. I was sure there would be some obvious signs of distrust and tension, but that doesn't appear to be the case. Either I'm way too cynical, or Kincaid is doping the drinking water with something.
