American Recovery

by Joshua Guess

  Will be in touch when possible. Just needed to let everyone know we're still standing. Radio blackout for the last day must have had some of you worried. Need to see to the injured. Keep us in your thoughts.

  Saturday, September 29, 2012

  Reasoned Out

  Posted by Josh Guess

  The attack wasn't as bad as it could have been, let me just start with that. The totals are in for our casualties. We lost twenty people in the initial attack, which was a coordinated long-range strike on the wall itself. Seems the enemy was at a distance chucking improvised explosives at us. They'd have demolished huge swaths of our wall if the buffer hadn't tangled up the explosives as they came rolling--literally rolling--in across the ground. The explosions were offset enough that the concrete and stone of our wall only had big sections ripped away from the top to about halfway down instead of thirty feet of just no wall at all.

  Three of those bombs hit central New Haven all at once. Twenty guards, sentries, and support staff were killed just by the explosions. In the rush that followed, in which our reserves were called up and the enemy rushed through the night to swarm the breaches, we lost another thirty lives. They had body armor, guns, and a lot of practice using both. The casualties we suffered were old guard and new arrivals alike. Even after the attackers retreated and we took our prisoners there were problems.

  The undead noticed the easy access right away. A lot of people took wounds in the frantic struggle to hold them off while we patched the holes. Working at warp speed meant injuries from accidents as much as from zombies. It has been a total mess, and in addition to losing fifty lives in less than an hour there are now another hundred with injuries ranging from negligible to life-threatening.

  The theory floating around at the moment is based on a lot of assumptions. Most people think they're the ones who've been ransacking small settlements. Given how precise the attack was, I agree. We're also assuming they attacked us because they know we've been in contact with other groups and know about their activities. As a larger group that just keeps growing it's entirely possible they thought we might field some hunters to track them down and stop them.

  The irony is that if they hadn't attacked us, we might have done so. Will has certainly been angry enough about their activities to consider it. But they gave away some details about themselves when they attacked, just by the very act of doing so.

  We know they're careful planners and don't attack unless they have the advantage. Yet they hit us, which means they were really worried we'd become a threat to them. I can't imagine risking all of their lives to slow us down--which they managed, there's no way we can field any counterstrike at present--and to prevent us from doing anything to jeopardize their activities. We've assumed these people are one giant mobile assault group, like marauders.

  No. No way. If that were the case they'd have been risking total annihilation by coming here. This reeks of a small raid, and you don't send the whole enchilada in a small raid. You send a fraction.

  There must be a lot of them. I don't know what the prisoners we took have said about that, as I'm not in that loop. I wouldn't put that kind of intel out to be read at any rate. But I'm damn certain we didn't deal with all of them when they hit us. And if that was only a small percentage of their number, one other thing is obvious:

  They aren't marauders in the sense that they move constantly. If there are actually hundreds of them instead of the fifty or so that hit us, then they couldn't possibly manage these attacks andmove around the map constantly. The logistics just don't work. They'd have to be incredibly desperate to throw all they have against us, and nothing I've read makes me think this attack was desperate. It was calculated, well executed.

  There has to be a permanent settlement they operate from. These people seem less like marauders in the traditional sense and more like, well...

  Us.

  Sunday, September 30, 2012

  Fight Club

  Posted by Josh Guess

  Though we're still recovering from the attack and will be for a while, life must go on. Hard truths haven't been in short supply over the last few years. We mourn our dead and tend our wounded even as we work and learn to laugh again. More and more it becomes clear that despite our hope for a more unified society there will always be those who tear down what others try to build. Because of that I don't know that there will ever be a time that we aren't in recovery of one kind or another.

  I spent a good chunk of my morning getting my face rearranged. I'm doing the combat training as promised, and those ladies and gentlemen aren't playing nice with me. I need that. One-on-one sparring with no pulled punches is definitely something that wakes you up in more ways than one.

  This morning was the first time since my incident that I felt some kind of fire rise up in me when I needed it. I actually did a little bit of fighting when the wall breaches were being swarmed by zombies, but that was mostly cleanup work behind a shield. Hard to feel angry when you're doing what has become routine work while others take point and fill the gap with their bodies.

  No, this morning I got mad and didn't for a moment feel the specter of anxiety or depression creeping in on me. I was fighting my third bout of the morning against a woman named Faye who is whip-fast, slender, and very good at quick strikes to vital areas. We're under orders not to let our fights disable, but that doesn't mean they can't hurt a lot. Faye has a thing for light kidney strikes as a distraction. Nowhere near enough to make me piss blood or do any real damage. They just hurt like hell.

  She also used a lot of taunting. Most people wouldn't bother since talking in combat is a distraction to the one speaking as much as the listener. Faye is a lot faster than I am, though. She could get away with it. She must be one of the people here that regularly read this blog, because everything she said mirrored my own personal fears.

  How would I protect Jess if I had to, if I couldn't fight properly? Then a flare of pain in my back. If I feel bad now, how terrible would it be if I allowed a child to die because I hesitated? Another strike and more pain.

  On and on for several minutes like that. Faye knew her business, because I started getting really angry. At first I thought it was directed at her, but I recognized the truth quickly. It was all me. As trite as it sounds, I was furious at myself for allowing my depression to overwhelm my priorities. I let the anxiety control my actions. The most frustrating part, what truly fueled that rage into something cathartic, was knowing that I literally had no control over either. I was raging out over something I knew intellectually I couldn't have overcome.

  You can't just choose not to have a panic attack. You can teach yourself to lessen their intensity and duration by harsh mental discipline, but they happen. You can't think yourself out of depression so bad it keeps you in bed. It's a chemical process.

  But I've spent the last month healing. Lots of time put in with therapy and building a framework for long-term recovery. I should have been able to strike out those feelings, push them down when needed.

  Compelled by the truth in what Faye said to me, I did. I didn't just respond to her attacks. I felt the urge to live, to fight, to protect. Whatever instinct drives us to do stupidly brave things while ignoring the overwhelming possibility of death and failure...I rediscovered mine. I don't know how else to explain it. I feel complete for the first time in many months, if not whole. Sounds like a contradiction, I know, but a circuit can be complete and still be made of worn-out and damaged wires. That's me.

  Pretty sure I'm ready to take on whatever dangers we might face. I need to. I need to know if what I'm feeling isn't just the thrill of finally taking the offensive in a tussle with a woman half my size or if it's a genuine watershed. There has to be a way to know.

  Monday, October 1, 2012

  Just Like Miles O'Brien

  Posted by Josh Guess

  Yes, that Miles O'Brien. The one from Star Trek.

  Bear with me.

  I'm about to go out to my morning routine
of getting beat up and doing a little beating up of my own. After that I'll spend some time with Steve and a team of scouts cleaning up zombies from outside the walls while the repair crews work on the breaches.

  My brother, the mighty Dave, went on a rant yesterday when he stopped by my house on his lunch. He and his family have relocated into the new expansion (soon, I'll have an answer as to what the sections of New Haven are called, because this is getting ridiculous) and his work keeps him over here for the most part. Dave is in charge of building stuff, and that pretty much includes all repair work. Not only those things, though, which was what he was complaining about yesterday.

  In theory, all requests for repairs and improvements have to go up the chain. Dave has people to manage the whole system, and it allows for a lot of work to get done at once. In practice he can't stand being cooped up all day, so he goes out and oversees tricky projects and critical items himself. That means he has to walk around a lot. And since everyone knows him by sight--he shaves his head, which is something most men don't bother with nowadays, as short hair is enough to prevent your coif from becoming a weapon--a lot of people will pull him aside. Just to mention this little problem or that little annoyance.

  Something he said yesterday stuck with me. He said he feels just like an engineer on Star Trek. Those poor bastards were always overworked and expected to perform miracles on command. The problem according to Dave is that in the real world, the one overrun by zombies and a decided lack of science fiction to make it all magically work out in the end, there just isn't enough time to do everything.

  He sounded a lot like my favorite character from Star Trek, Miles O'Brien. Not just because both of them solve problems others can't or won't handle, or for any of the more obvious reasons. I love O'Brien above all other characters in that show because he was an everyman. Not an officer. A grunt. A fully-fleshed character that had more facets than you could count. To me he was a real person; someone who did his job ably and with creativity, but was more than that. He drank booze and worried about being a good father. He fought in wars. He had demons but tried to be a better man. O'Brien was approachable though gruff. He was the kind of character most likely to give you practical, good advice and even a little bit of wisdom.

  Dave is that way, and I realized after most of a day thinking about it that a lot of other people are as well. Faye and many of my other combat training partners talk with me about my problems. Hearing that others have been in the same frame of mind helps, believe it or not. Each person who pats me on the shoulder and tries to make me feel better because they've been there too helps just as much as the ones who've suffered depression and kick me in the gut, telling me to get the fuck over it.

  I've experienced a lot of different kinds of help. Those are just two examples. A huge positive for me in the last month is seeing just how resilient people are. So many of us have been broken down yet struggled through to recover. Even in the wake of the attack that took so many lives and injured twice that number, people keep on. The smiles might be tight, but they're there even if it's just to keep the tears away. We all deal in different ways, but I'm right on the edge of something. A realization, I don't know. I feel...

  Normal. Not less than others. The anxiety and depression aren't gone but I feel like they're under control now. One of the major stress factors--aside from fighting off the undead, our own fear and sadness, and worrying about human enemies, of course--is how many hats each of us has to wear. O'Brien was whatever the script needed him to be, and more on top of that. He could create a workable solution to some zany transporter problem and move right on to playing the cello or teaching his son to read.

  We have to learn a lot of skills, many of them with no overlap. It's hard and thankless. Fighting and how to dress game, butcher meat, tend crops, make clothing from scraps or even from scratch, cooking raw foods to be edible and safe.

  Learning to do all the things we need to do to survive while also making the effort and time to remember that we're people, real people, who need social interaction and enjoyment, is the kicker. Striking that balance between hard labor, self-education, and the psychological needs that keep us from losing it from sheer exhaustion and despair...I don't know how people do it.

  Scratch that. I didn't know how. I think I've got it now. I've always said that surviving comes at a cost in this mad world. The Fall taught us the need to make hard choices, and I always thought the key to keeping sane was making those choices while still feeling the negatives that come with them. I still do, to an extent, but it's clear to me now that I tortured myself too much. You have to insulate your mind from dwelling too long or sinking too deeply. Feel those things, but find a way not to be crushed by them. Be cold if you must.

  Because if a thing is necessary to your safety and survival, if it must be done, then burying yourself in guilt isn't a winning long-term scenario. Instead deal with whatever situation is at hand and move on afterward, working like hell to make sure you can avoid a repeat down the road.

  I'm babbling again, but that's because the concept is big. And wide. It covers a host of situations and scenarios, way too many to go into here. But, for example, I'll say this (and end on this note): we lost those fifty people, and I feel bad about it. I really do. Not terrible, not enough to hinder my function. Yet I wasn't fighting.

  My heart tells me that I should feel guilty, as if by me including myself in the battle I could have saved all those people. I know that's not the truth. The trick is focusing on the feeling I get when I tell myself that fact, the few seconds of relief from feeling responsible, and driving it home. It's a mantra I'm going to apply to many aspects of my life. Gabrielle thinks it's a good idea, and it seems to be doing the job pretty well so far.

  I am not a victim. I am capable of doing what I must to protect myself and others. I will not give in to fear, or guilt, or despair. No matter what.

  Tuesday, October 2, 2012

  Nine Shots

  Posted by Josh Guess

  I'm keeping it short today because if I don't I'm going to blather endlessly, and we've all had enough of me doing that.

  The three prisoners we took during the attack wouldn't talk. They gave us absolutely nothing about where their people came from, what their goals were, what the motivation was. Nothing at all. So, a public trial was held for crimes against us. All three were found guilty.

  Our system for dealing with executions, though rarely used, relies on a draft. If no one volunteers then names are drawn. That's just how it goes.

  I volunteered. I didn't want to do it, but I felt as though I had to. Those people were enemies, merciless and dedicated. I looked into their eyes as I approached them, no hoods or blindfolds to keep them from seeing the end coming. I think that was a piece of theater to allow fear to build. Maybe if they saw death coming at them they'd break and start telling secrets.

  Two men, one woman. The woman was between the men. Their crimes and punishment were read out before the crowd. They were given a chance to say a few last words. None of them took the opportunity. Will presided over the event, and he was the one to give me the signal to continue. I thought there would be hesitation, some creeping sense of wrong.

  My hands did there well-practiced trick, though. Smooth and easy. In the old days we were taught to put two in the chest and one in the head. Now it's reversed. One bullet to the heart to kill or close enough to it, two in the head after the first prisoner fell over.

  I moved on to the woman. I felt nothing but a vague sense of waste.

  I might have expected anger or hate or some kind of fire, but her eyes were empty and resigned. She closed her eyes. I took the light out of them.

  The last prisoner was no different. It was all over in less than a minute. Nine bullets, nine cracks of thunder, and then cleanup. I took a cold shower after then ate some breakfast.

  Guess I'm ready for anything now.

  Thursday, October 4, 2012

  Time Warp

  Posted by Josh
Guess

  I'll be straight with you; I expected to be emotionally torn up yesterday. I really did. My mind seems to be a lot less fragile than I accounted for, though, because I woke up on my day off from the blog not feeling any different than I did before I volunteered to carry out the sentence of those prisoners.

  I remembered back to the early days of The Fall and how deeply the horrible things I did affected me and there just wasn't any comparison. Part of how all of us learned to deal with going to extremes much farther than life had prepared us for was to objectively judge our actions. I won't rehash two plus years of moral observations right now. You know what I'm talking about.

  Didn't expect that to make a difference. I knew those people had to die--had earned that punishment for killing our own people--but I expected some fallout from the choice to do it myself. As it happens, I seem to have reached a place where knowing intellectually that an action in necessary and moral (relatively speaking) is enough to stave off the deeper issues I've been dealing with. After all, these people weren't desperate and hungry. They weren't waifs without resources or hope. Hell, even most marauders have the driving force of need behind them. Constant hunger.

  No. Our prisoners were well-fed, heavily armed, and outfitted with very good equipment and clothing. They weren't hurting at all. Just more red marks against them and their people for the attack, which was a piece of calculated strategy to remove New Haven from the effort to find these fuckers and wipe them from the face of the earth.

  On the whole it was a good thing for me to remember the man I was a few years ago. I went back and read over some of the blogs I wrote after particularly hard episodes and seeing how far I've come has hardened my resolve.

  This morning, for example, I took part in a defensive response when a minor zombie attack came. They've been hammering us for days though not in large numbers. There's a lot of damage yet to the buffer even though the walls have been repaired well enough. The buffer has a lot of weakened areas and one huge spot that just doesn't exist, and it takes time to fix. Priorities mean we have to do what we can, when we can, and it still benefits us in regards to the zombie attacks to just leave that space alone for now and let the undead enter through it.