The Pen Is Passed

I am not the original Author of this journal but I will do my best to document my journey as he did.  I found this book last week as I was approaching Stary Sobor from the northeast.  Had I not literally stumbled over the body I never would have seen it in the darkness and pouring rain.  I’ve been able to read through his entries and it seems he was a man of great courage and integrity; hopefully he’s at peace now and free of the demons that haunted him.  The fact that his corpse has lain in a field for an untold number of days, with his gear essentially untouched, reminds me that the Zeds are not our most dangerous enemy in this land.  Whoever killed this man did so, for lack of other evidence, purely for sport.  Unfortunately for me, at least one of the bullets that struck him also destroyed the bag of blood and the GPS unit he was carrying. 

As for me, until recently, my travels have been solitary and uneventful.  I’m a killer, or a murderer, depending on your perspective; not deliberately or for sport, but through negligence, miscalculation and really bad luck.  In the midst of a very heated battle on Green Mountain, I threw a grenade towards a group of Zeds.  Just as I threw it though, I was struck from behind and my trajectory was ruined; the grenade bounced off the hood of a destroyed HMMWV and landed near another survivor whose name I hadn’t even learned.  He was killed instantly; it was the worst throw ever…of all time. 

Originally I had no intention of continuing the Author’s work on this journal, but recent events and my new companion convinced me otherwise.  Shockingly he patched me up and carried me out of harm’s way, acknowledging the horrible accident for what it was and not condemning me to a similar fate.  It turns out that he had actually met and traveled with the Author…which explains his compassion.  Mitch, the man who tended to my medical needs, was the same Mitch written about in this journal.  I can only wonder what the odds of that happening would be, although it seems we’ve been living in the same general areas for some time.  He’s the one who encouraged me to continue the writing; perhaps it will be therapeutic or at least useful to someone in the future. 

It seems over the last few weeks the Zeds have become more dangerous, and for obvious reasons humans are even more so.  I sincerely hope this isn’t a sign of some kind of Zed evolution, but I know my strategies have changed as a result.  Their night time awareness and perception remains a weakness though, thus most of my activities are nocturnal.  As we were leaving the vicinity of the radio tower on Green Mountain, Mitch and I were hailed from the forest by another survivor.  We were caught completely off guard and were very lucky that his intentions were noble.  The survivor we met is named Aleksey.  He has a very thick accent and can be difficult to understand at times, but seems genuinely thankful for the friendly company. 

Mitch taught us an interesting technique for daytime raids into places like barns, markets and other large buildings.  Something in the Zed’s sensory system renders them more cautious and less mobile while indoors.  When we got within a couple hundred yards of our objective, we sprinted as fast as possible into the building.  Once inside we quickly set up fields of fire and simply picked off the Zeds as they bottle necked in the doorways.  This was more of a challenge in some of the larger buildings with numerous entry points, but all in all it was quite effective.  We left Vybor and headed south, using this new strategy to raid the more promising buildings in Pustoshka, Sosnovka and Zelenogorsk.  The pace was exhausting, but I have to admit…it was exhilarating.

The most bizarre thing I’ve experienced yet occurred while we were raiding the supermarket in Zelenogorsk.  As we were planning our next move, the Zeds outside began going crazy and running south.  Moments later a tour bus roared up the road, haphazardly swerving and running over Zeds left and right.  As the bus screeched to a halt at the front door, the driver and a companion leapt out and ran inside the market, using a similar strategy to let the Zeds bunch up in the door way and then cut them down.  The driver identified himself as Meat, apparently in reference to the amazing amount of scarring on his hands and face, and made it know that he meant no harm to us.  The man riding shotgun was named Francis, not Frank we learned, and was only slightly more reserved than Meat.  These two characters had been tearing around the coast and countryside in their bus laying waste to every Zed they encountered.

Mitch, Aleksey and I joined Francis and Meat on their rampage, but the bus blew both front tires in Sosnovka.  In our quest to find the parts needed to repair the bus, the five of us found ourselves as far north as Vybor.  We were able to scavenge a wheel and tire from a derelict deuce and took turns rolling it back south to Sosnovka.  Along the way we broke into a tool shed and discovered a toolbox and another wheel and tire.  With the bus repaired we struck out again, this time headed south and then east into Kozlovka where the bus finally gave up.  Something in the engine let go completely on our way out of town.  We left it parked in an old rusty warehouse as it may still be of use one day. 

I parted ways with the group in Kozlovka mostly out of self-preservation.  For now I am comforted knowing there are at least four people I can trust and perhaps we’ll meet again.  My path lead me east back to territories I’m more familiar with around Pusta, Staroye, and up to Berezino.  I stopped in my usual haunts around Pusta, Topolka and Msta in the hopes of finding supplies.  Food and water aren’t as much a concern as first aid; and I’m finding that the biggest challenge to carrying military weapons is the scarcity of ammunition.  I had used my last auto-injector shortly after leaving Kozlovka and carelessly alerting a Zed I hadn’t seen; so I set my course towards the hospital in Berezino.  Chernogorsk was closer of course, but far more dangerous than I’m comfortable with. 

By the time I reached Msta, it was well past dark and a storm was moving in quickly.  The conditions were less than ideal for navigation, but in my experience perfect for raiding a major population center.  I moved north as fast as the conditions would allow, fearing the weather would break before I could reach Berezino.  When I reached the tree line south of the hospital, the rain was at the point of torrential downpour, but the Zed population was inordinately high.  Not wanting to waste the opportunity I crawled through the high grass, winding my way between Zeds, all the way into town.  When I reached the hospital, I didn’t even have to go inside.  Someone had apparently tried to leave with a large box of medical supplies but didn’t get very far.  The rain had rendered the cardboard to mush, so I picked out a few choice samples of Type-O blood that still felt cold, an epi-pen and handful of morphine auto-injectors and stuffed them into my Alice pack. 

The rain stopped and the clouds dispersed abruptly as I was crawling away from the hospital leaving me feeling very exposed crawling through the open fields.  The night was thankfully moonless though and despite the return trip being more stressful, I arrived at the tree line without incident.  As testament to the visibility obscuring capability of the weather, I found a farm tractor in the forest that I hadn’t seen on my inbound trip.  I checked it out and it was in pretty bad shape, the electrical worked and I got the engine started, but it wouldn’t budge an inch.  Onboard all I found was an empty canteen and a half eaten can of sardines…which didn’t surprise me at all. 

I stopped to fill the empty canteen at a lake just east of Dolina.  The water was cold and remarkably refreshing, likely due to the recent weather.  As I turned away from the water’s edge my heart nearly stopped.  Through brush I could just make out a red light in the forest.  The underbrush was thick enough to conceal me since I was running without any light at all, but it also made discerning the nature of the source difficult.  I tried shifting around to determine if the light was from a distant road flare or a much nearer chem-light.  Nothing I did seemed to help and rather than risk investigating I quickly left the area to the south east and then turned back south towards Msta. 

Outside Msta I found a cozy barn in which to camp.  Unfortunately, at first, I found it to be occupied.  As I had moved towards the doors a warning was shouted and a muzzle flash lit the interior.  I quickly responded with my genuine friendly intentions and after some tense negotiation was granted entry.  The young man inside identified himself as Mackie and, after seeing this journal, he confirmed himself to be the same Mackie found in these pages.  I explained how I had met Mitch, whom he already knew, and the other three fellows out west near Green Mountain.  There is no question that I have experienced some incredible luck these last few days and I am encouraged that this good fortune may bring us into their company again soon.

Day 11 - Another Man Down...

The last 72 hours have been exceptionally difficult.  The stress of constant mortal peril, coupled with dwindling rations of questionable quality food and less than desirable living conditions, is threatening the cohesiveness of our group.  Before we could leave the mansion, day before yesterday, the town was visited by a lunatic on a four-wheeled ATV.  We, as a group, spend the majority of our time sneaking around to avoid attention and detection; while this madman careened into town, spraying rocks and dirt as he slid sideways around corners and did doughnuts.  He raced through crowds of Zeds, purposefully antagonizing them and then running them down or shooting them as he rode.  When he had stirred up more Zeds than he could handle, he sped off to the south; that was the last we saw of him.  Hopefully, madness like that is not the destiny ahead for us all.

Mackie was taking watch duty on the second floor when he spotted another survivor moving into town; this one, though, was far more cautious than our psychotic visitor hours earlier.  While Mackie provided security from his elevated position, Mitch, Matt and I made contact with the newcomer.  Long story short, we have a new companion, Alex.  He’s much quieter than the rest of us, more reserved it would seem.  He claims to have avoided contact with other survivors up to this point but seems no worse off than any of us; thus, I would have to label him as remarkably self-sufficient.  He is armed and well provisioned, though not carrying military grade hardware. 

 

With our ranks having grown to five, the mansion was getting crowded; Matt and Mackie decided to depart on their expedition to Topolka Dam.  Several hours before dawn yesterday, the radio crackled to life as Matt reported in.  His news was dire, Mackie was badly wounded; unfortunately none of us carried the proper medical gear required to plug all of his leaks and replace the missing fluids.  The nearest depot we could think of that might have the necessary equipment was either in Stary Sobor, or the Northwest Airfield.  Since Mitch has proven to be the most adept at critical medical care, he set out for the vicinity of Topolka to administer what aid he could.  Meanwhile, Alex and I headed north towards Stary Sobor, rendezvousing with Matt along the way near the lake on the north side of Vysoky Kamen.  

Interestingly, the closer we came to the twin cities, the less enthusiastic our newest group member became.  I could tell that after so much time in the wilderness on his own, being a part of the group was not easy.  Alex was not accustomed to relying on others, or being relied upon.  It seemed to have worked for him in the past, so neither Matt nor I protested when he decided to depart our company as we neared Stary Sobor.  We left him at our former base camp south of Novy Sobor with the assurance that he would always be welcome in our group.

As Matt and I approached Stary, we started out heading straight for the medical supply tents that Christian and I had visited on the east side.  The local Zeds however seemed determined to prevent us from reaching our destination.  In a desperate attempt to distract them, Matt flubbed throwing a flare which forced us to retreat into the corroded warehouse building nearby.  From the gangway of the warehouse it was clear that the Zeds had no intention of leaving the area; as such Matt and I felt compelled to thin their ranks.  An interesting side-note at this point…Zeds can climb ladders, and with surprising agility!  

Matt’s Winchester was efficient at quietly dispatching the Zeds from our advantageous angle; I will admit that, in boredom, my decision to open up with my AKS immediately made a difficult situation much, much worse.  The short barrel and military grade ammunition delivered a bellowing roar that reverberated off the sheet metal siding of the warehouse.  I may as well have rung a dinner bell; Zeds flooded the warehouse, climbing ladders and stairways to reach us.  The numerous chokepoints along the gangway though turned the warehouse into a kill-box.  I stopped counting at around forty dead; I have no idea how many more Matt put down.  

Once the rampage finally ended, Matt and I were able to freely walk to the medical compound and explore without menace.  Matt had thoroughly surveyed the area through his binoculars before we left the warehouse, aware that the 30 minute battle would have likely attracted a great deal of attention.  Much of the gear that Christian and I had found in the tents several days before was still there.  I quickly gathered up more magazines for my AKS and my sidearm, while Matt filled his pack with more survival gear.  At the far end of the line of tents I came across an amazing discovery, but didn’t recognize it for its true purpose until much later.  Near the flagpole was a very organized stack of several dozen weapons and associated magazines.  The pile contained AKMs, AKSs, and M4s, M1014 shotguns, field glasses, hunting knives, flashlights and various pistols.  The mother lode of weapons had not been there when Christian and I came through earlier in the week; Matt and I wondered why someone would leave such a valuable cache out in the open.  Without even thinking to check for traps, Matt quickly grabbed an Aimpoint scoped M4 and fistfuls of magazines; finally discarding the Winchester relic he’d been carrying, while I added a pristine pair of binoculars to my inventory.

Despite the bounty of weapons and equipment, we were still lacking the necessary medical gear that was the primary purpose of our visit.  Aside from a day’s hike south to Chernogorsk or Elektrozavodsk, and the associated bandit threat, the next closest candidate was the airfield to the northwest.  Not wanting to make contact with whoever might have been collecting the arsenal of firepower, we departed quickly into the hills to the north.  After the failed raid with Christian a few days earlier, Matt and I decided to enter the airfield from the south; we would hit the living areas and barracks before moving towards the fire station, tower and hangars.  The Zed population around the deserted living areas was low; our main concern was the fact that the airfield remains a bandit hotspot.  Inside the barracks we found enough bandages, morphine and lower-grade painkillers to fill both our packs; the last outstanding necessity was an unspoiled blood supply.  Unfortunately, blood has a relatively short shelf life; especially when not properly stored.  

As we were preparing to move across the open airfield to the fire station, Matt spied a figure near the runways moving in a very un-Zed-like manner.  I quickly doffed my backpack, retrieved my binoculars and trained them on the lumbering, hunchbacked humanoid thinking it might be a new variant of Zed.  Through the crystal clear lenses I was able to easily discern the familiar features of Alex; but he appeared to be severely wounded.  With less regard for our own safety than circumstances would warrant, Matt and I ran to meet him.  Apparently Alex had changed his mind about staying behind, but without a radio, had no way of contacting us.  He had heard the commotion in Stary, but assumed it was another band of survivors and gave the town a wide berth to the north.  He knew our secondary objective was the airfield but made the same mistake that Christian and I had by entering from the east, where he had been unable to avoid detection and barely escaped.

We bandaged Alex as best we could with our limited skills before setting out for the fire station; but he was still in bad shape with blurred vision and on the verge of passing out, Mitch was going to have his hands full when we returned.  Crossing the open fields of runways and taxiways went slowly and without incident; but once we neared the firehouse the gaps between Zeds began closing.  We all tip-toed between the nearly blind, but far from deaf creatures as though threading multiple needles at once.  I reached the large bay door of the empty fire station first and turned around in time to see Alex finally succumb to his wounds.  Apparently fainting he slumped and fell forward, failing to even attempt to break his own fall; the impact of his body with the tarmac was the proverbial sack of potatoes.  Every Zed within 50 meters immediately zeroed in on the sound and pounced.  Matt and I both emptied our rifles into the rampaging throng of Zeds, but to no avail.  The Northwest Airfield had claimed another of our companions.  

Retreating into the three-story multi-bay garage, we continued shooting the random Zeds that came to investigate Alex’s body.  Inside the building we found only more beans and cans of soda.  Just outside the bay doors of the fire house though, Matt discovered the bullet ventilated body of yet another survivor.  Interestingly, all of his gear still lay beside him; but his body was cold and rigor mortis had long since set in.  Whoever had killed him hadn’t bothered to collect their spoils; which Matt and I quickly divvied up.  From the dead man we collected several smoke grenades, a machine pistol, and I took his ALICE pack as an upgrade to my own small backpack.  On the north side of the building we found a ladder to the garage roof and from there another ladder two levels higher to the top of an observation tower.   From that height I could see most of the airfield and numerous buildings that offered the promise of supplies.  As I was surveying the buildings nearby I happened to just barely catch sight of a pair of legs and boots through an open shed door.

Someone was hiding in a tool shed less than a hundred meters away.  I tried to whisper to Matt as I lay on my stomach below the low walls of the roof.  After the commotion around Alex’s untimely demise, there was no chance this person was unaware of our presence.  I began wondering if he had seen me climb to the roof; the ladder was on the side of the building facing his hiding place, making me a very easy target if I were to climb back down.  After about five minutes of waiting, I carefully peeked over the wall back towards the shack; the person hiding therein was nowhere to be seen though.  Before long we heard gunfire from the control tower and observed numerous Zeds running that direction.  I guessed that the person attached to the now missing boots had broken cover and run that way.  Shortly after the shooting stopped, the lone gunman cautiously emerged from the doorway.  As I watched him through my field glasses, it occurred to me that he may not know exactly where Matt and I were hiding.  I was about to relay that sentiment to Matt when another, much closer, rifle blast ripped the air.  I watched the supposed bandit in the doorway collapse, falling motionless on the threshold as my heart pounded in my chest.  Matt quickly reassured me that he had taken the shot so that I could escape the roof safely.  I appreciated his concern, but since we were not certain of the other fellow’s intentions, we both immediately regretted the shooting.  

More than a few Zeds had moved into the area, curious about the commotion, before we could descend the last ladder back to the ground.  Matt and I were each peering over separate edges of the roof looking for the best route when I heard an odd noise and a thud.  When I looked back to where Matt had been, I found myself alone on the roof.  I raced to the edge and saw his crumpled form several stories below, already engulfed in flailing, barking Zeds.  I quickly threw a smoke grenade a short distance away to distract the horde as I climbed down the ladder; but there was nothing I could do for Matt, his skull was shattered from the impact with the concrete and his throat was gnashed and lacerated beyond repair by the Zeds.  With little time before the smoke grenade ran out, or the Zeds lost interest in it, I quickly gathered what I could from my third friend claimed by NWA and raced into the woods to the east.

This was my second trip to NWA, and the second time I’ve left behind fallen comrades.  I felt cold and heartless for leaving their bodies to the whim of Zeds and nature.  For several kilometers, as I traveled south east between Grishino and Kabanino, I mentally replayed the events leading to Matt’s fall.  I only remember hearing a noise and then the impact of his body.  Was he shot by a suppressed weapon?  Was it a freak accident?  There was no time for me to forensically analyze his body before departing; I’ll always wonder if there may have been another shooter in the area, and if so, where were they that Matt was the unlucky target?

As I neared Stary Sobor, sporadic gunfire met my ears. Approaching from the north, I crawled to a position in the wooded hills just above the medical compound.  A solitary figure was emerging from the large stables beyond the tents and headed up the hill towards them.  He wasn’t exercising a great deal of caution upon entering the line of tents and quickly discovered the cache of weapons that Matt and I had also found.  Moments later a deafening blast split the air, while smoke and rubble flew from between the tents.  The survivor I’d seen was lying on the ground, unmoving; when suddenly another figure emerged from a tent, dragged the body into the high grass, then quickly cleaned up the area and rearranged the weapons.  It was that moment when I realized the purpose of the weapons cache “hidden” in plain sight.  Bait.  The merciless bandit quickly ran out of the compound and began heading straight up the hill in my direction.

My pulse was hammering as the bandit came within 5 meters of my hiding place in the brush, he then promptly turned, went prone and trained his rifle on the medical compound.  Thankfully he seemed completely unaware of my presence.  I was terribly conflicted.  This man was killing other survivors in cold blood, apparently for sport.  I finally convinced myself that eliminating this bandit was justifiable and likely necessary; especially since I would be unable to depart without alerting him.  The angle I had was perfect, allowing a very precise head shot and hopefully eliminating the possibility of trading fire.  My rifle spat, the grass ahead of me flattened by the muzzle blast, and the bandit threat was eliminated.  I waited several minutes before breaking cover to ensure he was truly alone, and then proceeded to check his pack for useful items.

This bandit was incredibly well equipped.  I concluded that he most certainly was killing for sport because he carried so much advanced gear that there was likely very little of value he could acquire from others.  My spoils included a compass, a GPS, M67 hand grenades, ammunition, food, an adrenaline loaded epi-pen, and most importantly and fresh bag of Type O-negative blood.  My conscience was clear, I had gained the prize we originally set out for; but again, at what cost?

My spirits lifted by the fortuitous acquisitions, and navigation made easier as well, I made excellent time circumnavigating Stary Sobor and Novy Sobor.  With the compass and GPS the hike south east to Topolka Dam was almost easy.  Once in range, I radioed to Mitch and Mackie to announce my approach.  Mitch expertly administered the medical care to our young companion; while I, again, have the duty to tell yet another story of friends lost.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m glad to be alive, but I will forever carry the guilt of not being able to save my brothers-in-arms.