by Joshua Guess
I mentioned that people died. Two trucks full of them. We tend to think of losses in terms of numbers and gauge them against the overall number of people here. Long-term survival is a game of statistics. When losses come in under a certain amount, you claim victory. But the people we lost were people. The zombies that swarmed over them cost us their individuality, their skills, their laughter and every future act they might have committed. It's well that we lost as few as we did and there weren't a lot of other options short of fighting house to house. But it's incumbent upon us to never forget that kind of sacrifice.
I know I say this every time we lose people and that it begins to sound stale and repetitive. Sorry for that. But if you're beginning to think it's time I stop pointing out how damaging it is for any group to lose people, then you need to really consider that opinion twice. We rely on one another now more than any time in recorded history. We can't allow ourselves to become so jaded that we lose touch with how vital we are to each other, both personally and in the sense of long-term survival.
Each other is all we really have. All we can count on.
When I look back at our recent history, I see New Haven recognizing this. In the harsh light of honest assessment, what we've done lately has been cold-hearted and ruthless to a degree that seems frightening in hindsight. We killed the Exiles on our side of the river. Burned the Hunters down to ash. And the savagery I saw--hell, that I experienced myself--as our people threw themselves at the zombie swarm the other day...it was powerful and dangerous.
But we did it for the right reasons. These weren't the actions of people bent on getting revenge or aiming for what wasn't theirs. If the Exiles and the Hunters had left us alone, we'd probably have done the same. That sense of community and belonging to one another has been the main impetus behind our actions. I can say that for sure.
I had a dinner with my close friends last night. Will, Rachel, Pat, Jess, Becky, Dodger, my brother Dave. Their reactions varied, but there was a communal sense of loss in our conversation. We looked back on the time we've spent together as survivors, the decisions we've made to stay alive, and we all felt regret at the necessity of many of those choices. The kind of heartache you feel when you put down a rabid animal--not guilt per se, but the deeper dissatisfaction in knowing that there really was no choice. No other way.
I say all this for two reasons: because it bears repeating as a lesson that we cannot forget if we want to retain our essential humanity, and because something dangerous has appeared on the horizon. Reports are scattered, but if what we're being told by other communities is true, we're all in danger. Not just New Haven and our allies: all the people who've survived until this point. Exiles, marauders, communities like our own, people living alone in the wilderness away from others. Everyone who lived through The Fall as we have, out in the world and doing the deeds that have kept us alive.
I'll have more on that tomorrow, but if we're facing what it appears we're facing, then our whole world may soon change.
The Changing Equation
Posted by Josh Guess
I've been up all night going over what I wanted to say today, how much I was willing to share, and what tone I wanted to take. In a shocking moment of confidence, Will and the council gave me carte blanche to use the information they passed on to me however I see fit. The problem, writ large, is that while our allies and other groups are now fully aware of the problem, there are some of you out there who don't communicate with others but do keep up with events via this blog.
Because of all the personal problems I've had and seeing my friends stand beside me to hold me up when I just wanted to fall, I cannot in good conscience allow anyone to move forward from today without being warned. You may not trust others enough to participate in the tenuous society we're building, but that doesn't mean you aren't valuable to the world. By surviving, those of you who choose not to associate with our allied force have made the world a brighter, better place. You're just as important and valuable as anyone else.
A few months ago I might not have been able to make that claim. The dark place I was in kept me from seeing the value in the world around me, warts and all. Thankfully the efforts of those I care about--and notably many people I didn't know well or even at all--showed me what community really is. The kindness of strangers has become a loaded term in the world as it is now, but you stragglers out there sometimes remind us that the phrase very much encapsulates one of the best angels of human nature. Rare, but marvelous.
So at the risk of putting all of us in slightly more danger, I'll give full disclosure. Because you deserve to know, and frankly you'll know soon enough without my saying a word. At least this way you'll have time to prepare and maybe make the call to join with a larger group for safety. Our doors are open if you do.
Without further ado: There are new players in the game, and they make the Exiles and Hunters look like rank amateurs.
While our scout team wasn't successful in putting off the zombie swarm (and may have inadvertently pointed them our direction), they did see some odd signs in the wake of the swarm's passing that made them curious. Enough that Will arranged a refuel with a few of our allies and a small trailer for additional fuel to extend their range.
There have been spotty reports over the last month or so from various places across the midwest and even a bit northeast of here. A large area stretching from the Gulf of Mexico in Texas to Minnesota. Off and on reports have been coming in describing large groups of men and women moving quickly into an area, then back out in a few hours. At first these sightings were assumed to be unrelated bands of marauders, perhaps more organized and disciplined than usual but nothing extraordinary. Sightings were few and without pattern, except that a common thread kept appearing: the same vehicles.
I don't mean similar ones, like they were all using military-issue transport (though they are using those). I Mean a few long-range scouts caught sight of them through powerful binoculars and tried to write down every detail they could, including license numbers. They're identical. Based on the time and location of several sightings, we now believe that there are many such teams from one large group. And they're bypassing us far more often than we're catching sight of them.
From what we can tell, they know a lot about us. Seems likely they read the blog and probably even watch communities, though we've not caught them yet. There are signs--now that we know to look for them--that they've been all over the map. Fresh tracks where there should be none, reports of storehouses and supply caches being cleaned out in the dead of night.
Whoever they are, they're very good. Stealthy. They don't engage with the undead that we can see. They seem to avoid them at all costs. Strange, and I don't have a ready explanation for that. I don't mean avoidance the way you're thinking of it: we found one storehouse with less than two dozen undead nearby, but fresh tire tracks tore away at full speed through the mud. Well, wedidn't find the tracks, one of our allies did. But it's an interesting piece of information to have. Evidence indicates that particular set had driven at least a hundred miles (based on private data provided by allies but not to be shared) only to run away at the sight of a group that half a dozen people should have been able to clean out with ease.
I haven't forgotten our scouts, no fear. Their report tied together the above data into one tapestry of "oh, shit, we're in serious trouble". The swarm that hit us was originally in the neighborhood of three, three and a half thousand strong. It takes a hell of a lot to scare off New Breed in the first place, much less so many of them. And I couldn't imagine what it took to send them packing so far and in such a hurry.
Now, I don't have to. We have every reason to believe that this group, whoever they are, are based in the area the undead came from. If our guess is correct based on the evidence we've seen, it seems likely they're bigger than almost any one of our communities. How they managed to stay hidden at that size is a question we've got no answer to, but the reality can't be ignored any longer:
Th
ey're out there. They're quietly raiding our supplies, and they don't seem to have any worry about moving across three quarters of the country to do it. Larger places like New Haven and North Jackson are presumably safer because of their reluctance to get close. Smaller groups and individuals are at greater risk. If you're worried about protecting yourselves, send us a message. We'll talk.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Pigskin
Posted by Josh Guess
Like many--in fact, most--people, I've spent a lot of the last day thinking about these...what to call them? I have a habit of giving groups names, but nothing really comes to mind. For now we'll just say strangers, with the lower case, because I don't want to give them more validity than needed.
Anyway, I've been bending my neurons around them for a fair bit, and I've decided that due to lack of new information, I'm going to put these strangers on a back burner. It's easy enough; they're not attacking anyone when they steal from people. They don't appear to be an imminent threat to us at present. No one will forget or lose focus, but the bones of it are simply that we've got a lot to do and (as always) stressing over these people without more to go on is fruitless.
It was a nice day yesterday. In an effort to let off steam in a way that didn't involve guns, dead people, and mortal danger, Will decided to have (for better or worse...) a game of football.
Look. I've never been one to beat around the bush. I'm not what you call a sports guy. I'll fight a pack of hungry zombies with my bare hands, put bullets in bad people when the time comes, but don't ask me to follow arcane rules in a competition that includes managing running and manipulation of a ball. It's just not a great idea.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I sat it out. My brother, Will, Dodger, and a whole lot of other people participated over in the little empty grass lot we use as a community theater. It's not nearly big enough, but it's in a low little valley where people can watch from the hills, the tops of houses, wherever.
And you know? It was fun. I sat with Jess and Patrick and watched friends and family laugh as they slipped and slid across the field. My brother got a little too competitive as he always does when sports happen. Will spent about fifteen minutes planning out all these plays and tactics. He'd have kept going if Dodger hadn't slapped him in the back of the head and pushed everyone out to just play and enjoy.
A few people set up in the theater itself and played some songs. Food appeared as if by magic. All around us, people joked and chatted. Some even watched the game and gave a good show of cheering and jeering when appropriate.
It was fun. And considering all the huge events lately, I think well-earned fun at that. I think I'll leave it there.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Critical Hit
Posted by Josh Guess
If there were such things as freight trains any more, I'd ask one of you out there to get the number of the one that hit me yesterday.
My day started off fairly normal. I woke up and made a little something to eat, worked on the archives for a bit, and started planning out a blog post. I was running a little behind since I'd slept in later than normal, but I was on track to make up the difference when Will himself showed up, banging on my door, shouting for me to hurry, to come on, that he needed me right that second.
I keep the armored coat Jessie made for me right by the door with my bow and quivers, so I snatched them up as I made my way out. My first thought was that the remaining zombies from the assault last week had pooled back together and were making a run at the wall. Then I realized that the warning bells hadn't sounded, and my mind went to horrible places. Had the strangers infiltrated New Haven and killed our lookouts? Were the Exiles across the river inside the walls? Did we have to fight house-to-house in an attempt to take back our home?
I was worried about Jess since she was out working on the greenhouse project that has taken her over lately. I haven't mentioned it only because so much else has been happening, but my wife still runs a lot of the agriculture here and she does tend to get lost in projects.
Will piled me into a car--unusual itself inside the walls since it's a waste of fuel--and we hauled ass. It was a short drive, only to the nearest community mess halls, and Will dragged me inside as I unsnapped my favorite knife. I didn't know what we were about to deal with, but I was prepared whether it be a person, a zombie, a rabid animal, whatever.
It's a good thing I didn't have my guns on me. It's a bad idea to throw a surprise party for people carrying firearms.
Yesterday was my birthday as well as Thanksgiving. Will made certain to run everyone in half shifts all day so everyone could spend some time enjoying themselves on the holiday. Not that the usual feasts like in the old days were possible, of course; we're on tight ratios until we can start farming again. We're not hurting for food, but we would be if we didn't keep a tight reign on it through the winter.
Patrick and Jess had, very sneakily, managed to throw me a party. In the weeks of tumult and upheaval here I had somehow managed to forget that my birthday was coming up and that I was about to turn thirty. It's a little strange to have cake and open presents in a room full of people armed to the teeth, but overall it was a good time. There were a lot of people there nearly fifty. All friends and acquaintances, and over a period of a few hours some filtered out while others stopped by to wish me well.
I basically spent the entire day hanging out, eating, and telling stories. The party moved to my house at some point, but by then someone had broken out a case of very old and very, very smooth bourbon that had somehow escaped the distillers who make pure ethanol to mix with our fuel. Somewhere around dark things get fuzzy. I remember a wrestling match against someone who (and this part is clear) had a much better theoretical knowledge of the concept than practical. I woke up this morning next to Jess, Becky, and Will. We were all on the floor in my living room amid a pile of pillows and blankets. It was cold, but that's probably because I was only wearing boxers, one sock, and for whatever reason an eye patch. I think it's Steve's.
Someone got their blood all over me, but I couldn't tell you how. After being awake for the last hour I'm leaning toward certain that I didn't kill anyone in a booze-fueled blackout. Will is still out like a light. He has a black eye and I think his nose is broken. We must have had a hell of a time. I'm still clueless as to where my pants are.
Some time during the festivities, an actual zombie attack did come. It was a minor one, out on the far side of East, and the defenders there weren't pressed very hard by the fifty undead that rushed the wall. Helped that the people staying at the hospital saw it happening and rushed up to clean up the enemies. I really want to feel bad that I slept through that, but honestly that's not a priority for me since I can barely even feel my own face at the moment.
I'd like to say I had a good time, but it would be untruthful to make that claim about the stuff I can't remember. I'm guessing that part was a blast. Hopefully someone will stop by to tell me exactly how the night went.
Then again, maybe I don't want to know...
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Industrial
Posted by Josh Guess
I found out this morning that the folks staying in the abandoned Wal-Mart just down the road from the hospital have been busy, busy, busy. They've cleared out the store completely and have even given it a nickname: The Box. Kind of a joke about "big box" stores, I guess. They've been coordinating with craftsmen living inside New Haven and at the hospital to figure out what kinds of things we need to start making or need more of. They want to turn the Box into a manufacturing center where many kinds of goods can be produced. The idea is to be more efficient by sharing a secure space, and to cross-train our craftspeople in multiple disciplines more easily.
The irony of that building being used to fabricate locally-sourced items is staggering.
Apparently since my birthday bender a lot of folks have been in and out of New Haven, bringing things to the Box to help set up product
ion areas. I'm excited to talk about some of the new stuff they want to make there, but for the moment the most pressing addition is going to be a massive woodshop. We've got a desperate need for structural timbers and rough logs to reinforce the wall as well as build new ones. The scraps will be added to our firewood supplies. There will be a full-time team of five people starting out, and Dave is so jazzed about it that he's stripping copper wire from a bunch of old power lines and searching for the right kind of magnets so he can build a dedicated wind turbine for the place.
Of course, we'll have to figure something out besides that to power the tools in there, but the turbine will at least let them build up a charge in the battery array they're going to install.
The only real negative is that all the traffic and work going on over there is attracting the undead. And that store sits just off the intersection of the interstate and the main state highway that serves Frankfort. There's a lot of zombie movement across that stretch of road, and they haven't missed the swarm of activity nearby. We can't easily put a wall around the store, and the deliveries have to be made on the ground floor (everyone else goes in through the roof via the small bridge connecting it to the hill behind the place). Most of the entrances are secured very well--some even welded shut--but larger groups of zombies have begun to filter in. We used a snowplow to push a bunch of the abandoned cars into a rough barrier around the front to slow the zombies down, but it's not a great solution.
We'll deal with whatever problems come up, though, because we need to get some major production going. I know food is going to be a concern next year when the current supplies grow thin, but shelter and infrastructure matter as well. If we could find some serious logging equipment, I'm pretty sure Dave would laugh maniacally and rub his hands together like a super-villain. He's hungry for raw materials to make his projects into realities.
We're diverting a small contingent of security people to the Box for the time being, both to handle the undead as well as scare off any potential living folks who might get ideas. It's insane to me how interconnected every aspect of our daily lives have become, and how important constant growth has become. I mean, think about it: to manage our potential food shortages, we need building materials to make pens for our rabbits and greenhouses to grow seedlings through the winter. To make those materials, we need to put in the time and effort to make the Box efficient and productive. To do that, we've got to arrange schedules and plan materials to be moved.
