by Max Brooks
When Tailor arrived by helicopter with the rest of his film crew on July 1 he found all twelve buildings at the site deserted. There were signs of violence and forced entry, including broken windows, overturned furniture, and blood and pieces of flesh on the walls and floor. A scream brought Tailor back to the helicopter, where he found a group of thirty-six ghouls, including local villagers and the missing members of his advance team, feasting on the pilots. Tailor did not understand what he was seeing, but knew enough to run for his life.
The situation seemed grim. Tailor and his cameraman, soundman, and field researcher had no weapons, no supplies, and, being in the middle of the Siberian wasteland, nowhere to turn for help. The filmmakers sought refuge in a two-story farmhouse in the village. Instead of boarding up the doors and windows, Tailor decided to destroy the two staircases. They stocked the second story with whatever food they could find and buckets of water filled from the well. An ax, a sledgehammer, and several smaller tools were used to destroy the first staircase. The arrival of the zombies prevented the destruction of the second one. Tailor acted quickly, taking doors from the second-story bedrooms and nailing them onto the second stairway. This created a ramp that prevented the approaching zombies from gaining any traction. One by one they attempted to crawl their way up the ramp and were pushed back down by Tailor’s team. This low-intensity battle went on for two days; half the group kept their attackers at bay while the other half slept (with cotton stuffed into their ears to deaden the sound of the moans).
On the third day, a freak accident gave Tailor the idea for their eventual salvation. For fear the ghouls would grab their legs if they attempted to kick them back down the ramp, the filmmakers had resorted to shoving the zombies down with a long-handled wooden broom. The broom handle, already weak from so much use, finally snapped as it was grabbed by one of the attacking fiends. Tailor managed to kick the zombie back down, and watched in amazement as the sharp, broken tip of the handle, still clutched in the falling monster’s hand, went right through the eye socket of a fellow ghoul. Not only had Tailor unwittingly killed his first zombie, but for the first time he realized the proper way to dispose of them. Now, instead of trying to force their attackers back down the ramp, the film crew aggressively encouraged them. Each one that came close enough to attack was given a devastating blow to the head with the team’s ax. When this weapon was lost (stuck in the skull of a dead zombie), they switched to their sledgehammer. When its handle broke, they resorted to a crowbar. The battle took seven hours, but by the end the exhausted Canadian filmmakers had dispatched every one of their attackers.
To this day, the Russian government has no official explanation of what occurred at Zabrovst. Any official asked about the incident will explain that it is being “looked into.” However, in a country with as many social, economic, political, environmental, and military problems as the new Russian Federation, there is little interest in the deaths of a few foreigners and backwoods Siberians.
Tailor, amazingly, kept his two cameras rolling throughout the entire incident. The result is forty-two hours of the most exciting footage ever recorded, digital video that the Lawson Film cannot hold a candle to. Tailor has tried, for the last few years, to have at least a portion of this footage released to the general public. All international “experts” who have viewed the video have labeled it as an expert hoax. Tailor has lost all credibility in an industry that once hailed him as one of its finest. He is now in the process of settling a divorce and several lawsuits.
2001 A.D., SIDI-MOUSSA, MOROCCO
The only evidence of an attack comes from a small article on the back page of a French newspaper:
Outbreak of Mass Hysteria in Moroccan Fishing Village—Sources confirm that a previously unknown neurological condition has affected five residents, causing them to attack their relatives and friends in an attempt to eat their flesh. Acting on local custom, the afflicted were bound with rope and weights, taken out to sea, then dumped into the ocean. A government investigation is pending. Charges range from murder to negligent manslaughter.
No government trial materialized, and no further reports appeared.
2002 A.D., ST. THOMAS, U.S. VIRGIN ISLANDS
A zombie—bloated, waterlogged, with skin completely dissolved—washed ashore on the northeast coast of the island. Local inhabitants were unsure of what to make of it, keeping their distance and calling for the authorities. The zombie, stumbling up on the beach, began to pursue its onlookers. Although curiosity kept them close, the crowd continued to retreat from the approaching ghoul. Two members of the St. Thomas police arrived and ordered the “suspect” to halt. When no reply came, they fired a warning shot. The zombie did not respond. One of the officers fired two rounds into its chest, producing no effect. Before another volley could be delivered, a six-year-old boy, excited by the events and not realizing the danger, ran up to the zombie and began to poke it with a stick. The walking dead immediately grabbed the child and tried to raise it to its mouth. The two officers rushed forward and attempted to wrestle the child from the zombie’s grip. At that moment, Jeremiah Dewitt, a recent immigrant from the island of Dominica, stepped out of the crowd, grabbed one of the officer’s sidearms and fired a round through the zombie’s head. Amazingly, no human was infected by the ghoul. A criminal trial acquitted Dewitt of all charges, claiming the act was in self-defense. Photographs of the zombie corpse show it, even though decomposed horribly, to be of Middle Eastern or North African descent. The tatters of clothing and rope make a convincing case that the creature was one of those dumped into the ocean off the coast of Morocco. Theoretically, it would be possible for an undead specimen to travel with the currents across the Atlantic, although it would be the only case on record. In one of the strangest twists of outbreak cover-ups and suppression, this case has taken on celebrity status. Like Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest or the Loch Ness Monster in Scotland, tourists can buy “St. Thomas Zombie” photographs, T-shirts, sculptures, clocks, watches, and even children’s picture books at many of the shops in downtown Charlotte Amalie (the island capital). Dozens of bus drivers compete (sometimes fiercely) every day for the chance to drive newly arrived tourists from Cyril E. King Airport to the site where the famous zombie came ashore. After the trial, Dewitt left for a new life in the United States. His friends in St. Thomas and his family in Dominica have not heard from him since.
HISTORICAL ANALYSIS
Until the late twentieth century, those who studied the living dead were convinced that the frequency of outbreaks remained constant throughout time. Societies that suffered more attacks than others appeared so only because they kept the best records. The most commonly held example was ancient Rome compared to the early Middle Ages. This theory was also used to calm “alarmists” by stating that, as humanity as a whole relied more and more on the written word, it would appear as if outbreaks were becoming more and more common. This way of thinking, although still common, has been falling into disfavor for some time. The world’s population is growing. Its center has shifted from rural to urban zones. Transportation has linked the planet with increasing speed. All these factors have led to a renaissance of infectious diseases, most of which were thought to be eradicated centuries ago. Logic dictates that Solanum can flourish in such a ripe environment. Even though information is being recorded, shared, and stored as never before, it cannot hide the fact that zombie attacks are on the rise, their frequency mirroring the “development” of this planet. At this rate, attacks will only increase, culminating in one of two possibilities. The first is that world governments will have to acknowledge, both privately and publicly, the existence of the living dead, creating special organizations to deal with the threat. In this scenario, zombies will become an accepted part of daily life—marginalized, easily contained, perhaps even vaccinated against. A second, more ominous scenario would result in an all-out war between the living and the dead: a war you are now ready for.
APPENDIX: OUTBREAK JOURNAL
/> This space is reserved for a journal of suspicious events that could indicate a possible outbreak. (See “Detection,” for possible signs.) Remember: Early detection and advance preparation will ensure your best chance for survival. A sample journal entry follows.
DATE: 05/07/14
TIME: 3:51 A.M.
LOCATION: Anysmalltown, U.S.A.
DISTANCE FROM ME: Approx. 290 miles
SPECIFICS: The morning news (local, Channel 5) reported that a family was butchered and partially eaten by some kind of “maniac” or “maniacs.” The bodies all looked like they’d been in a hardcore brawl: bruises, cuts, broken bones. All had big bites in their flesh. All died from gunshots to the head. They say it’s a cult killing. Why? What cult? From where? And who are “they”? All the reporter said was that the explanation came from an “official source.” There’s a manhunt on now. I noticed that it’s only police (no deputized citizens) and half of the cops were sharp-shooters. The press isn’t allowed on the search because the police “can’t guarantee their safety.” The reporter said that the bodies were taken back to Largecity, and not the local morgue because they needed to do a “full autopsy.” The hospital they are taking them to is ONLY 50 MILES AWAY!
ACTION TAKEN: Got out the checklists. Called Tom, Gregg, Henry. Meeting tonight, Gregg’s place, 7:30 P.M. Sharpened the machete. Cleaned and oiled the carbine and signed up for practice at the range tomorrow before work. Filled the bike’s tires with air. Called the park service just to make sure the river is at normal level. If incidents occur at the autopsy hospital, we’ll take more serious steps.
DATE:
TIME:
LOCATION:
DISTANCE FROM ME:
SPECIFICS:
ACTION TAKEN:
DATE:
TIME:
LOCATION:
DISTANCE FROM ME:
SPECIFICS:
ACTION TAKEN:
DATE:
TIME:
LOCATION:
DISTANCE FROM ME:
SPECIFICS:
ACTION TAKEN:
DATE:
TIME:
LOCATION:
DISTANCE FROM ME:
SPECIFICS:
ACTION TAKEN:
DATE:
TIME:
LOCATION:
DISTANCE FROM ME:
SPECIFICS:
ACTION TAKEN:
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thanks to Ed Victor for believing.
To David, Jan, Sergei, Jacob, Alex, Carley, Sara, Fikhirini, Rene, Paulo, and Jiang for the translations.
To Dr. Zane and his team for their field research.
To James “The Colonel” Lofton for his strategic perspective.
To Professor Sommers for the data.
To Sir Ian for the use of his library.
To Red and Steve for their help with the cartography.
To Manfred for a look through an old museum’s basement.
To Artiom for your honesty and courage.
To “Joseph” and “Mary” for making a stranger feel welcome in their country.
To Chandara, Yusef, Hernan, Taylor, and Moishe for the photographs.
To Avi for the transcripts.
To Mason for the footage.
To M.W. for his illustrations.
To Tatsumi for his time and patience.
To “Mrs. Malone” for cutting through the red tape. (THANK YOU!)
To Josene for the tour.
To Tron for a drive by “the place.”
To Captain Ashley and the crew of the Sau Tome for proving the point.
To Alice, Pyotr, Hugh, Telly, Antonio, Hideki, and Dr. Singh for the interviews.
To the boys (and girl) at the lab for “you know what.”
To Annik for her brilliance with pen and sword.
And, of course, to all those who have asked to remain anonymous. The lives you have helped to save will be your greatest credit.
CONTENTS
Master Table of Contents
World War Z
Dedication
Introduction
Warnings
Blame
The Great Panic
Turning the Tide
Home Front USA
Around the World, and Above
Total War
Good-Byes
Acknowledgments
Notes
For Henry Michael Brooks,
who makes me want to change the world
INTRODUCTION
It goes by many names: “The Crisis,” “The Dark Years,” “The Walking Plague,” as well as newer and more “hip” titles such as “World War Z” or “Z War One.” I personally dislike this last moniker as it implies an inevitable “Z War Two.” For me, it will always be “The Zombie War,” and while many may protest the scientific accuracy of the word zombie, they will be hard-pressed to discover a more globally accepted term for the creatures that almost caused our extinction. Zombie remains a devastating word, unrivaled in its power to conjure up so many memories or emotions, and it is these memories, and emotions, that are the subject of this book.
This record of the greatest conflict in human history owes its genesis to a much smaller, much more personal conflict between me and the chairperson of the United Nation’s Postwar Commission Report. My initial work for the Commission could be described as nothing short of a labor of love. My travel stipend, my security access, my battery of translators, both human and electronic, as well as my small, but nearly priceless voice-activated transcription “pal” (the greatest gift the world’s slowest typist could ask for), all spoke to the respect and value my work was afforded on this project. So, needless to say, it came as a shock when I found almost half of that work deleted from the report’s final edition.
“It was all too intimate,” the chairperson said during one of our many “animated” discussions. “Too many opinions, too many feelings. That’s not what this report is about. We need clear facts and figures, unclouded by the human factor.” Of course, she was right. The official report was a collection of cold, hard data, an objective “after-action report” that would allow future generations to study the events of that apocalyptic decade without being influenced by “the human factor.” But isn’t the human factor what connects us so deeply to our past? Will future generations care as much for chronologies and casualty statistics as they would for the personal accounts of individuals not so different from themselves? By excluding the human factor, aren’t we risking the kind of personal detachment from a history that may, heaven forbid, lead us one day to repeat it? And in the end, isn’t the human factor the only true difference between us and the enemy we now refer to as “the living dead”? I presented this argument, perhaps less professionally than was appropriate, to my “boss,” who after my final exclamation of “we can’t let these stories die” responded immediately with, “Then don’t. Write a book. You’ve still got all your notes, and the legal freedom to use them. Who’s stopping you from keeping these stories alive in the pages of your own (expletive deleted) book?”
Some critics will, no doubt, take issue with the concept of a personal history book so soon after the end of worldwide hostilities. After all, it has been only twelve years since VA Day was declared in the continental United States, and barely a decade since the last major world power celebrated its deliverance on “Victory in China Day.” Given that most people consider VC Day to be the official end, then how can we have real perspective when, in the words of a UN colleague, “We’ve been at peace about as long as we were at war.” This is a valid argument, and one that begs a response. In the case of this generation, those who have fought and suffered to win us this decade of peace, time is as much an enemy as it is an ally. Yes, the coming years will provide hindsight, adding greater wisdom to memories seen through the light of a matured, postwar world. But many of those memories may no longer exist, trapped in bodies and spirits too damaged or infirm to see the fruits of their
victory harvested. It is no great secret that global life expectancy is a mere shadow of its former prewar figure. Malnutrition, pollution, the rise of previously eradicated ailments, even in the United States, with its resurgent economy and universal health care are the present reality; there simply are not enough resources to care for all the physical and psychological casualties. It is because of this enemy, the enemy of time, that I have forsaken the luxury of hindsight and published these survivors’ accounts. Perhaps decades from now, someone will take up the task of recording the recollections of the much older, much wiser survivors. Perhaps I might even be one of them.
