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.

Day 8 - Goat Gate

Today will be forever remembered as Goat Gate!  Once again, we count ourselves lucky to be alive and must accept that some plans simply don’t come together.  We have arrived back in Pusta, though not unscathed and with fewer rations than we’d hoped.  I’m beginning to wonder if Matt is carrying a curse of some kind and I’m sure he’s questioning our vetting process with regards to our new companion, Mackie.  While collecting road snacks from one of the farm houses near the barn, our young friend managed to accidentally discharge his crossbow…directly into Matt’s left arm.  It could have been quite a bit worse, in fact the damage was mostly superficial; but it brings to light our commonly held concern for safety in such close quarters.

Mackie, horribly embarrassed and very apologetic, was relegated to being on point for today’s hike, just to be safe.  We decided to put some distance between ourselves and the airborne bandits by returning to our alternate safe haven, the mansion in Pusta.  We made remarkably good time, despite remaining under the cover of the forest, by avoiding contact with major Zed population areas.  Only a few hours had passed by the time we were rounding the southern side of Vysoky Kamen and within sight of Pusta.

We were headed directly towards the mansion when I spotted two mountain goats on the side of the hill.  Unfortunately there were also more than a dozen Zeds in the general area.  We all agreed to save the canned goods for emergencies and began figuring out how to take down the goats without bringing the surrounding horde down on top of us.  My plan, initially, was for me to climb the hillside away from the Zeds, since my AKS had the best long-range capability, and drop the two goats.  The other three would remain nearby to haul off the meat quickly and quietly before the Zeds could detect the kills.  Once we got into the vicinity, though, impatience and the agitation of the natives got the best of Mitch.  He shot both goats, at point-blank range, apparently hoping we could escape with the carcasses like hyenas stealing a gazelle.  Suffice it to say, that Mitch’s “Gun-n-Run” plan failed miserably.  The nearest Zed contingent was upon us almost instantly.  Mackie managed to shish-kabob one’s cranium, but the excruciatingly long reload process prevented him from taking any more shots before departing in haste.  Mitch and Matt were likewise scrambling across the small field and emptying the magazines of their pistols into as many snarling abominations as they could line up.  

I opted to run towards the next pasture to the east to escape both the fracas and a possible crossfire situation.  When I turned back to face the running battle I found Mackie barreling straight towards me with a pair of Zeds close on his heels.  Mackie swerved abruptly as I raised my rifle; giving me a perfect sight picture with the chevron centered on the nearest Zed’s brain bucket, a split second before it disappeared in a claret shower.  The monster’s headless body crumpled and slid to a stop near my feet, just as my second shot missed the trailing beast still focused on Mackie.  I spun to reacquire my target when it was masterfully dispatched by Matt, trotting down the hill with his black powder rifle still shouldered and smoking.  Mitch joined us in our corner of the pasture a short time later as we helplessly watched the remains of the Zed clan devour our goats.

We still have plenty of canned goods; and Pusta, as a whole, seems to be well stocked with provisions.  Matt and Mackie are planning a side trip to Topolka Dam tomorrow while Mitch and I will see what can be scavenged from the rest of the town.  We haven’t seen or heard the bandit helicopter since leaving our last base camp; so, barring any of our usual luck, the next couple days should be fairly uneventful.

Day 7

Nothing much to record for today; with the arrival of the bandit gunship yesterday we have decided to lay low for a day or two.  The pig that Mitch killed will sustain us for some time and the well next door is still providing plenty of water.  Frankly, I’m quite thankful for the downtime.

Day 6

I was awoken early this morning by the puffy blast of Mitch’s Winchester outside the barn.  A quick glance at my watch show the local time was just after four in the morning.  The sky was beginning to lighten, but the forest outside was still shrouded in darkness.  Matt was casually leaning on a makeshift cane by the backdoor and motioned that all was well.  When I got down the two flights of stairs he informed me that they had spotted a wild hog in the trees and that Mitch was going to lure it far enough away from the barn so as not to bother the Zeds while harvesting the meat.  Shortly thereafter, the great white hunter emerged from the darkness carrying his bounty of bacon.

After yesterday’s events, I really didn’t have the motivation to accomplish much today.  Mitch wanted to climb to the top of Pop Ivan, the highest hill in the area, and see what was visible from there.  From our limited perspective in the forested valley the weather looked very clear; despite my lack of enthusiasm, I couldn’t let him go alone, so we ventured forth.  We headed out to the south to get clear of the local Zed population before turning back east towards Pop Ivan.  We hadn’t gotten far before Mitch dove to the ground quietly exclaiming that he saw another human running across the other end of a clearing only a few hundred yards away.  The individual had been running at a full sprint straight north.  He didn’t seem to be showing interest in the farm where Matt was still recovering, but we radioed him to be on the lookout.  Our progress slowed significantly as we spent the next several minutes crawling through the field grass.  We didn’t hear any gunfire and Matt never indicated that he made visual contact with the mystery runner, so we quickly sprinted east across a paved road and back into the forest at the base of Pop Ivan hill.

Our nerves were exceptionally frazzled after our near miss with the armed human; so when we reached the edge of the forest near the top of the hill only to find yet another lone survivor, the ensuing encounter was tense, to say the least.  It quickly deescalated though, when the crossbow armed man stared down the firepower wielded against him.  He lowered his weapon and exhibited genuine relief at finding survivors that don’t live by “Shoot-On-Sight” rules of engagement; we may have been through Hell, but we still have our humanity.  After introductions, Mitch and I conferred briefly before agreeing on a vetting process to accept the young man, Mackie, into our group; if he so wished he would spend the day with us on our reconnaissance mission in order to establish a level of trust and responsibility.  

At the top of Pop Ivan we found a 50 foot tall radio tower that proved to be an excellent vantage point.  A quick round of rock-paper-scissors decided that Mitch would climb to the top for a look around, which was fortunate since he was the only one who expressed interest in the climb in the first place.  After spending only a few minutes exposed at the top of the tower, he quickly returned to ground level.  Visibility was good and he had been able to see north into Stary Sobor and south to Vyshnoye and beyond to the ruins of Zub; however he was unable to discern any signs or recent activity or human occupation.

Slightly disappointed in the amount of intelligence gathered from Pop Ivan we decided to hike further east towards Pogorevka.  Just west of the town we found two deer hunting stands on the east edge of the forest.  Unfortunately there wasn’t much more than some scrap ammunition for weapons that none of us carry.  As midday approached the humidity began picking up and a storm was rising in the east and heading our way.  Not wanting to get caught up in the weather we decided against further reconnaissance of Pogorevka and began the return hike to our base camp.  On the eastern side of Pop Ivan we became aware of a faint thumping that sounded very much like a helicopter.  The arrival of that kind of hardware in the area means one of two things:  Civilization is still out there somewhere, or a bandit gang has managed to cobble together a wrecked chopper.  

It didn’t take long to discover which possibility was true.  As we sought concealment under the thick pine canopy around Pop Ivan, the Huey emerged from the east.  Machine gun fire rained down on the hilltop around us kicking up small explosions of dirt and pine needles.  Thankfully the shooting seemed random and the gunship didn’t hang around very long.  We all agreed on a very hasty, but covert, retreat to the farm, concurring that to use the radios at this point could be more dangerous than ever.  Once back inside the barn, introductions were made between Mackie and Matt; and a thorough debriefing/planning discussion has ensued since.

DayZ + 5

Today started out well enough, but eventually our luck ran out.  By the time midnight came around we were all rested, but hungry and anxious for the day ahead.  We feasted on rations of canned sardines and baked beans, washed down with tepid well water.  As Christian was scanning the radio channels he came across the tail end of a transmission.  He radioed for the person at the other end to repeat his call and we quickly confirmed that it was our former companion Matt, and he wasn’t far away!  In fact he was just outside Vyshnoye, to our southwest; but he was wounded and in need of medical attention.  Mitch volunteered to meet Matt at a farm to the west to reduce the amount of hill’s he would have to climb.  Christian and I planned to visually recon the two sister cities to the northwest in advance of the four of us staging a supply run.

The darkness in the sky was fading as Christian and I arrived just inside the tree line southeast of Novy Sobor.  We checked in with Mitch once more to discover that Matt was in pretty rough shape and would require some extra time before making the run for supplies.  Regardless, the visual recon needed to be done beforehand, so Christian and I continued what was to be our ill-fated mission.  The closer we got to Novy Sobor though, the more we realized there were practically no Zeds…anywhere.  We passed a couple near a barn south of Novy, but then had zero resistance all the way to the edge of Stary.  We bagged the visual recon and went to full interdiction at that point, figuring that with such low Zed count we were pretty safe to at least explore the outskirts of town.  

Things were going really well by the time we entered the hastily erected medical compound on the southeast side of Stary.  We had climbed to a gangway at the top of a horribly rusted and barely enclosed barn to look for signs of activity.  Having counted less than a dozen zombies in our general area, we figured a quick, stealthy belly-crawl between the barn and the hospital tents would be the best route.  The tents proved to be a bonanza of equipment, weapons, smoke grenades and basic necessities; but none of the high end medical supplies we were hoping to find.  Christian and I both swapped our Winchester black powder rifles for more modern weapons; he picked up an AKM in 7.62x39mm and I scored an AKS-74 in 5.45x39mm with a Kobra green dot reflex sight.  I also exchanged my M9 for a very nice Glock 17 I took off the body of a peacekeeper along with a larger, better fitting backpack.  

I’m not really sure how it happened, but at some point a Zed must have gotten wind of Christian’s presence and followed him into a tent.  I heard a shot and then running footsteps, lots of footsteps!  Christian flashed by the opening of the tent I was in at a full sprint, close behind him were at least 20 Zeds in pursuit.  I couldn’t take any shots of my own without endangering my friend, all I could do was watch him run north into the lightly wooded hills.  Mere seconds after losing sight of him in the brush a hissing smoke grenade soared through the air back towards the medical compound and rolled to a stop about 100 meters to my northwest.  The Zeds forgot all about their bipedal quarry and immediately turned to investigate the billowing smoke.  I belly crawled out of my tent and into the waist high grass near a trio of derelict cars and a decaying deuce-and-a-half.

Once under the cover of the deep grass I fished my radio out of my backpack and quietly called to Christian.  He was in the process of patching up some of his wounds and then planned to work his way back down the hill towards me.  Just as the radio fell silent the crack of a supersonic bullet snapped by me, followed a split second later by the muzzle report.  The shot was fired from nearby and also came unnervingly close to finding its mark in me.  I heard two more shots, this time without the crack of the bullets, which were obviously not aimed in my general direction.  My comfort in not being the intended target quickly faded when the rifle was answered by three shotgun blasts in quick succession that sounded like they were barely five meters away.  If I was right, that meant the shooter was inside the medical compound with me.

As quickly as it started, the shooting stopped.  Lying in the tall grass I tried desperately to both shrink smaller yet still be able to see towards the tents.  From my position I could just see the openings of the two tents at the end of the row.  My ears were strained listening for the slightest movement, or telltale sounds of injury; but whoever had been doing the shooting nearby wasn’t moving or was already gone.  Even more strange was the fact that the altercation hadn’t seemed to have alerted any of the wandering Zeds.  After listening intently for what seemed like five minutes, I quietly keyed the mic on my radio hoping Christian could see better than I could.  Christian’s response was encouraging: Not a Zed or bandit in sight.  The smoke grenade had long since burned out, but if anyone was nearby they would have surely seen it; perhaps that’s what provoked the shooting.

I realized that couldn’t stay there forever, the Zeds would certainly return soon.  Dragging my pack along with me, I slowly crawled out of my hiding place and up the hill towards Christian.  No more shots were fired and still no Zeds in our immediate area, so we continued north and out of sight from Stary Sobor.  With our upgraded firepower and the confidence, perhaps overconfidence, of having survived such a close call, Christian and I thought a side trip to what is known as the Northwest Airfield was in order.  Rumor has it that the NW Airfield is THE location for high powered weapons and significant amounts of supplies and rations.  As such, it is also the place many a survivor never leaves.  Admittedly, despite being quite happy with my new rifle acquisition, it would be nice to find something quieter…perhaps suppressed, and NWA is the only place we’d be likely to find hardware like that.

The hike was uneventful, almost routine, and a welcome change of pace.  We arrived at the perimeter fence from the southwest just as the clouds split and a heavy, cold drizzle began to fall.  Looking back, I suppose that change in weather was the proverbial harbinger of doom.  Once through the fence we saw a solitary cow roaming near the runway and seriously considered taking it for the meat; but the wide open visibility of the airfield called for extreme discretion.  As we moved through the trees southeast of a line of aircraft hangars, Christian again caught the interest of a wandering Zed.  We both began retreating and firing at the same time, killing three more of the bloodthirsty beasts.  Taking a hasty, defensive stance, we waited for the coming waves of Zeds…that never came.

We chose to cover the open ground between the woods and the first hangar at a crawl.  We hadn’t seemed to draw the attention of any bandits with our shooting, but the Zeds were certainly agitated again.  Staying low and slow has been the most effective way to avoid detection that we’ve found so far, but the recent rain again made crawling less than pleasant.  Once inside the hangar though we were able to move around much more freely, however it proved far less lucrative than we’d hoped.  We found some small rations of food, which we consumed immediately rather than deplete our stores, but the rest of what we found amounted to some tin cans and more road flares.  We started thinking that our excursion was a bust.

I’ll never forget what happened next.  As we were exiting the hangar to move to the next in line we could hear a couple Zeds in the alley between.  It was like they were waiting for us; but I just know they got lucky, they’re not that smart.  As Christian rounded the corner ahead of me a Zed was right there and connected with a swipe to his head.  It was a vicious blow that would have easily killed a lesser man.  Christian was down, but not out; he started firing, wildly at first as the Zeds swarmed en masse. Then, amazingly, he started landing aimed shots, his rifle spewing death at the rampaging horde.  I’ll never forgive myself for hesitating the way I did, I was so shocked at the speed and brutality of the attack that by the time I had regained my wits it was nearly over.  The green chevron in the Kobra reflex sight made zeroing in on the heads of the monsters easy, and the low recoil of the heavily compensated muzzle allowed me to make rapid, accurate shots that literally turned them inside out in a crimson mist.

Regardless of the body count, the Zeds kept coming; I was forced to retreat deeper into the hangar, while the roar of Christian’s AKM had ceased.  The tide of snarling fiends seemed unstoppable, even as I began circling back towards the opening of the hangar.  When I reached the door I found dozens of bodies, blood was pooling and skull fragments littered the area like confetti.  Abruptly the onslaught ended as a handful of Zeds actually retreated (a new behavior?) down the alley, caterwauling and barking as though fighting over a prize.  Wading through the gore I raced to where I’d last seen Christian under a mountain of diseased and rotting savages.  I began throwing corpses and body parts left and right, digging to find my friend and pull him to safety.  By the time my fingers clawed the concrete tarmac, I had found nothing more than his shattered rifle and a torn, not quite empty boot.  The remains of his shredded backpack and its contents were strewn about the alley amid yet another trail of viscera only a medical student could identify.  I followed the debris trail only a short distance before finding enough of my friend to call off the search.  Most of the top half of his torso was intact; the rest of him was simply gone.  Grown men aren’t supposed to cry; maybe it was a piece of skull or dust from the battle in my eyes, but my soul was irreparably wounded.

Time was short; the noise of combat would surely bring curiosity, both human and otherwise.  There was nothing left to salvage from Christian’s gear, everything he’d carried was destroyed or lost.  It went against every moral bone in my body to leave Christian’s remains that way, but the danger of detection and counter assault was growing with every passing second.  I made my way south, out of the airfield to a small lake east of Vybor where I washed away the putrefaction that had clumped and clotted on my clothes.  From there I headed southeast, through Dichina, and past Stary Sobor.  My passage south of Stary was still close enough to hear gunfire.  It was sporadic, but enough to remind me of the level of danger in that town as well.  As I approached the barn where Mitch and Matt were supposed to be I called on the radio to confirm their presence.  Once cleared to approach without being shot, I quickly covered the ground to seek shelter and friendly company.  The debriefing was not easy; the story I had to relate was as painful as the event itself.  Both Mitch and Matt were exceptionally compassionate and laid no blame upon me, although it will take some time before I’m able to do the same.  This has not been a good day, many more like this and I wonder what the point of going on really is.

DayZ + 4.5

Change in plans.  After only a few short hours of fitful rest; Mitch, Christian and I unanimously agreed that if we were to have any chance of finding Matt, it would have to be in the daylight.  The smothering darkness of the forests could easily have us passing within meters of each other without notice.  Since the radio remained silent on all channels, and we refused to give in to the pessimism gnawing at our insides, we decided to leave our drafty mansion behind.  Setting out, our primary objective was not actually to find Matt; we still need to find more than just a day’s worth of food and water.  Survival is, and has been, the foremost concern of every day.  Cans of beans, sardines and pasta will only go so far to sustain us under these conditions.  The raw meat we had butchered outside Balota was lost in the fray of yesterday.  Probably for the best, since the temperatures have been relatively civilized and any nourishment would have likely been offset by the chance of illness.   

Our goal today was to reach Novy Sobor to the north-northwest of Pusta.  We’re not there yet, but we are much closer.  Physical exhaustion, lack of sleep and the mostly uphill hike has certainly taken a toll on all of us.  Given the size of Novy Sobor and its sister city to the west, Stary Sobor, we can be fairly certain of a significant Zed population as well as possible bandit occupation near the more lucrative stockpiles of goods.  The decision to make our run on Novy after a decent rest and meal was not difficult to agree upon.  We don’t have far to go, less than two kilometers by my guess, so we are setting up to rest in the lofts of a barn about a kilometer west of Guglovo.

Before departing Pusta we were able to find an entry into very unstable barn; it really wouldn't surprise me if it is fully collapsed the next time we pass through.  Inside we found a couple very useful items including a hatchet and a folding shovel very similar to those found in surplus stores.  Just northwest of Pusta, on the west side of Vysoky Kamen, we killed and butchered another wild hog.  With the daylight helping to prevent visual detection we set about building a small fire to immediately cook the meat we’d gathered.  After the recent rain, finding enough dry fuel for the fire was no small task, but well worth it considering the “Shoot-Me-Now” smoke signals that we’d be hoisting otherwise.  I’ve never eaten freshly killed game, but in this case it was quite possibly the best “pork chop” I’ve ever had.  In the interest of self-preservation, we opted to not linger and quickly extinguished the fire under a thick layer of soil dug up with my folding shovel. 

We moved straight north to yet another retention pond for water and an opportunity to rinse the gathering filth from our bodies.  We may be in the midst of an apparent zombie apocalypse, but personal hygiene is great for morale.  Our next stop after the lake was a church indicated on the map, just west of Kumyrna.  After our last experience around a church though, the tension was extremely high.  This time however, the church was wide open; on pretty much all sides.  Parts of nearly every wall were collapsed both inwards and outwards.  What was left of the roof was in shambles, but most of it was on the floor of what would have been the center of the sanctuary.  Of the surrounding buildings, not one was without signs of intense conflict.  Bullet holes riddled every wall and signs of either high explosives or artillery being used against the structures were clearly evident.  The Zed population was thankfully light, although I was forced to eliminate one who surprised me as I exited the front door.  I have to note at this point that I’m particularly fond of the Winchester 1866 I acquired; with its black powder cartridges I’m able to dispatch Zeds easily without drawing too much attention.  Thankfully, it appears to have been a very popular weapon and cartridge in this area as each member of the party is now so equipped and ammunition has been quite plentiful. 

Leaving the ruined church to the ravages of nature we moved on towards Novy Sobor.  Along the way we paused on the side of a hill long enough to cook some more meat and get our bearings.  From our vantage point we could make out the ruins of Zub Castle across the valley to the southwest.  By the time we reached this barn it was clear that an assault on a Zed and bandit infested population center was not in our best interest.  Another hog-steak dinner and some rest is in order before we start our planning.  All things considered, this afternoon has been pleasantly uneventful; I sincerely hope that it’s not the calm before the storm.  Mitch is taking the first watch and is scanning the radio channels for any sign of Matt.  Our hopes are still high, he’s made it through before; but I wonder if it’s crossed the minds of the others that it could be any one of us out there.  I can’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have met such high caliber companions.

DayZ + X, A Survivor's Journal

DAY 3

I awoke late in the afternoon of this, my third day on this wretched continent; the musk of damp straw barely concealing the stench of filth and rot wafting in through the barn doors.  Less than 72 hours ago I was holed up in the control tower of Balota Airfield with Mitch, another survivor.  Yesterday we were joined by Matt who shared in the division of supplies we had been gathering.  There was quite a bit of useful equipment laying around the airstrip; road flares, chem-lights, first aid, ammunition and several two-way radios with surprisingly long range.  The food we had accumulated was composed of canned beans, pasta and sardines, but not a roll of toilet paper anywhere.  We departed the seaside airstrip after passing the dangerous daylight hours in the control tower; taking turns on watch while the others attempted to sleep through the moaning and barking of the Zeds.  I left behind the rattle-trap Makarov I'd had since arriving after retrieving a used, but well maintained, M9 from what was left of a Chernarussian military officer.  

We moved in a sweeping arc from straight north to northeast, staying inside tree lines and out of the deadly bandit rifle scopes in Chernogorsk.  Along the way I quietly dispatched a wild warthog and Mitch butchered it before we each took a share for later nourishment.  Our initial destination was a small lake, south of a town called Nadezhdino, and indicated on a worn map I found squirreled away in a file cabinet in the tower.  To be honest, it turned out to be more of a retention pond than a lake, but it was the most freshwater we'd seen since leaving the coast.  We drank our fill and topped off our canteens, barely daring to hope for nothing more than a stomach ache from the slightly murky water. 

Another look at the map and we decided on an ultimate destination of Zelenogorsk to the northwest.  A handwritten note on the map pointed to a supermarket and a water well in town, as well as two smaller settlements along the way that offered shelter and possible supplies.  We set out, me leading the way; which, in hindsight was the end of the easy part of our journey and the beginning of my current predicament.  I had recently bragged that my sense of direction had been flawless up to this point, but it turns out that karma has a sense of humor.  After a number of slight, but compounding, changes in direction I finally had to admit that I had no idea where we were on the map.  After settling on an agreed direction we climbed a hill to get a better vantage point and hopefully some insight to our location.  We found a small settlement at the base of the hill and could just make out a radio tower or antenna on a hill beyond.  

Based on the visible landmarks of the settlement below and the tower in the distance, I proposed that we were on a hill southeast of Kozlovka and that the radio tower rests on Green Mountain, putting us about a third of the way to Zelenogorsk.  The settlement was composed of several dilapidated farm houses and an open barn with very little Zed activity in the surrounding fields.  A drizzling rain had set in and with the assessed risk being low; we sought shelter and a chance to scavenge supplies in the barn.  After a drink, a snack and a chance to dry out we began trying to zero in on our location.  Unfortunately from our vantage point inside the barn, navigation became even more complicated.  Nothing we could see outside the barn matched the layouts of either of the two settlements on the way to Zelenogorsk.  

Outside the barn we could see large power line towers and concluded we could follow those to Zelenogorsk.  By this point I had convinced at least myself that we were actually in Drohzino, not Kozlovka, which meant the trek to our final destination was shorter than I'd hoped.  I don't know if it was exhaustion, or exasperation at my navigating, but it was here that Matt left our company.  The parting was amicable enough and no shots were fired; we even left him with one of the two way radios and the hopes to rejoin ranks in the near future.  Perhaps he was holding out on food or knew something we didn't, I may never know; then again maybe I'm just paranoid.  He could have done us in at any point, taken our supplies and moved on, just as we could have done to him.

Mitch and I moved on to the power lines, skirting Zeds and livestock, and made quick work of covering the open fields without incident despite the moonless, overcast sky.  It wasn't long before the town came into view and we set our sights on yet another barn on the outskirts.  The Zed population here was more pronounced than the previous places of respite we'd visited, likely due to the size of the town.  The final hundred yards into the barn was a silent ballet of timing and careful slinking between wandering Zeds.  With the coming dawn we opted to spend the day in the barn and search the town the following night, and I found myself amazed that the only shot fired in nearly three days was to take wild game for food.  I hope that keeping this journal will help me maintain a bit of my sanity and, more importantly, my humanity.  These are dark, frightening times and it is difficult to remain optimistic and humane when it seems like everyone and everything wants a piece of you.  I have friends, I still have hope, and I still want to survive.  I’ve often said that things are never so bad that they can’t get worse…at least we've made it to Zelenogorsk.

DAY 4

After the events of last night I am doubling my efforts to record as much as possible in this journal, in the hopes that should the worst happen maybe someone will find it and glean some useful information from its pages.  The fact that I'm even here to pen this entry is a huge testament to the loyalty and symbiotic brotherhood that has formed between Mitch, Matt, me and our new comrade Christian.  I'm sitting in what I'm sure used to be a beautiful mansion in the rural community of Pusta; surrounded by empty bags that once held precious blood, expended syringes of morphine and blood soaked bandages that all tell the story of a desperate, life-saving operation.  My life, my survival, thanks to my brothers-in-arms who put themselves in harm's way to cross the Zed infested wasteland of Chernarus to perform procedures I could not perform on myself.  

When I awoke in the barn yesterday, Mitch had already left.  Not in abandonment, but in the hopes of gathering intelligence on the town.  I attempted to contact him on the two-way radio but for quite some time my only answer was silence.  While continuing to attempt communication I searched the barn once again, this time combing through the haystacks with an old rusty pitchfork.  I hit pay dirt in one haystack and uncovered a stash of shotgun slugs, two cans of beans and a full canteen of water.  I tried to raise Mitch again on the radio to convey my incredible luck and finally got a response.  However, being the snarky buzz kill that he is, Mitch quickly dashed my enthusiasm with not one, but two tidbits of not-so-good news.  

First off, Mitch informed me that he wouldn't be returning to the barn.  He had ventured out to find some water and gather intel on our whereabouts in relation to the market in Zelenogorsk.  When he attempted to return to the barn, he found that a large contingent of Zeds had moved into the area and were blocking his way.  Evidently in the daylight one of them spotted him and he was forced to try to outrun them.  He was able to outdistance them after some time, but it had left him some remarkable distance away from the barn.  In fact, he found himself at that very moment looking down the hill into Kamyshovo.  Kamyshovo...that's over ten kilometers away; which confirmed the second bit of bad news:  The barn that I was sitting in was indeed not located in Zelenogorsk.

Mitch informed me that he needed to find some food and water and then he'd start heading back west towards Pusta.  I let him know that as soon as I figured out where I was at, I would make for Pusta as well.  The horde of Zeds had apparently been led away by Mitch's rapid departure, leaving me the opportunity to explore my immediate surroundings relatively unmolested.  There was an intersection of roads a couple hundred meters away from the barn that appeared to have signs with city names and distances still legible on them.  My command of the Cyrillic alphabet is dismal at best, but I was able to recognize two city names on all three signs.  According to the signs, I was only one kilometer from Chernogorsk and four kilometers from Elektrozavodsk.  That most certainly means I was nowhere near Zelenogorsk and my navigation skills had completely unwound themselves the day before.

The upside was that I appeared to be less than three kilometers from Pusta.  As I set out towards the hills northeast of Chernogorsk my radio crackled to life with an unfamiliar voice.  Another survivor had discovered a two-way radio and was channel hopping looking for friendly support in the vicinity of Prigorodky.  Any other time and I would have more readily offered to join ranks, but at this proximity to Cherno and Elektro, the bandit population is overwhelmingly in their favor.  About the same time, our previous ally Matt came on the radio and agreed to meet with myself and the newcomer identified as Christian.  Two against one odds with an unknown seemed fair to me and we all eventually met up at a lake near Kopyto Peak.  Christian turned out to be an accomplished survivalist and a welcome addition to our party.

The remainder of the hike to Pusta was uneventful aside from the radio call from Mitch informing us he'd arrived at the east end of the town and was awaiting our arrival.  When we reached the west side of town, we contacted Mitch and attempted get visual confirmation of his location.  Eventually we settled on the idea of pitching a road flare into the field between us, which served double duty to also distract the attention of the handful of wandering Zeds.  We caught sight of Mitch making his way down the hill and towards town as we moved north.  Once in town we could all see the mansion and chose that as our rendezvous point.

Inside the run down mansion was a considerable amount of supplies and equipment, but we discovered a danger as well.  Through neglect and disrepair the creaky wooden floor has developed large cracks and loose floorboards.  Christian was rearranging his gear and dropped his sidearm which bounced and fell through a large crack.  None of our arms was long enough to reach it and attempting to pry loose the flooring attracted too much attention from the Zeds outside.  This left Christian in a dangerous state with no weapon, which was quickly punctuated when I accidently kicked an empty tin can in the kitchen.  The noise turned the already agitated Zeds into an invading swarm that we were forced to engage from defensive positions inside the mansion.   We killed a couple dozen before the attack was over, with only minor injuries amongst our group.  We began an earnest search for weapons, ammunition and the ever important food and water.

Up the street from the mansion was a storage barn that yielded practically nothing of value but nearly landed us in another Zed attack.  Several road flares and tossed tin cans were needed to sufficiently distract the horde.  We hit the water well in town, looted the mansion one more time and then struck out for Mogilevka.  The hike northwest was uneventful, even routine at this point, with no Zed nor bandit contact along the way.  In hindsight, that ease passage may well have been enough for us to take down our guard, or perhaps just the strain of trying to survive was taking its toll; because in Mogilevka, everything went south.

Our first point of interest in Mogilevka was a large barn, or stable, on the east side of the town.  The moon was bright and visibility was very good, maybe that's what started the first attack; it was impossible to enter the barn without being seen.  Regardless of our attempted stealth, at least one of us was spotted before getting the door closed.  That wave of Zeds went down relatively easily and seemed to be the end of it.  The stable yielded only some flares and chem-lights, but someone had been there recently as there were large piles of empty cans.

The previous occupants, of whom there was no sign or remains, had left the local Zeds in a state of higher alertness than most.  Our movements around this section of town were much more contested than any settlement we'd visited up to that point.  Upon making our way to a smaller barn, we were immediately set upon by multiple waves of Zeds; some even reaching through cracks in the walls.  Our situation immediately deteriorated when I flubbed throwing a road flare that landed five meters from the door.  That resulted in a raging firefight that took a massive toll on our ammunition stockpile and more than one injury requiring medical attention.  

During a lull in combat, we decided to vacate the barn and made a run for a smaller building away from the flare.  At first it seemed to work but soon the Zeds began swarming our new hideout.  Tactically, the building was a deathtrap, far too small to effectively maneuver and defend.  The fact that we escaped that building without a friendly fire casualty was no small miracle.  Mitch however, who was the last one out, was gravely injured by a Zed.  He managed to crawl to safety while Matt dispatched the pursuing undead.  There was a great deal of near panic as we patched Mitch up enough to make the run to the church, and hopefully sanctuary, at the other end of town.  

None of us came out of that small room in excellent shape; we all had our share of wounds.  By that point I had lost a great deal of blood and was suffering blurred vision and a pounding in my head.  I know the others were similarly suffering.  More cautiously we made our way up the street towards the church, but were sorely disappointed to find it sealed up tight.  A couple of Zeds, dressed in torn rags that used to be robes of clergy, roamed the area.   Our hopes of sanctuary were dashed.  The Zeds were highly alert too; they rushed us almost immediately, our fresh wounds like chum in the water.  We all ran to the four winds as the horde fell upon one of their own and tore it shreds in a sickening display of voracity.

The amount of ground a person can cover when running for his life is truly remarkable.  Matt and I had run mostly west, into a large pasture, but didn't have far to go before escaping.  The last I saw of Christian and Mitch they were headed south away from the church, pursued by the bulk of the snarling Zeds.  I was now sorely wounded, with my vision completely blurred and losing consciousness at almost regular intervals.  I knew I had lost a lot of blood and was in dire need of a transfusion.  The only place to find that much blood and the right equipment would be a hospital; and the closest was in Chernogorsk, bandit country.

Matt vowed to stay with me and be my eyes, so we set off south west towards Ozerko Lake and Vysota Hill.  Somewhere in the forest north of Vysota Hill we became separated by the dark and my lack of vision.  We tried to reconnect at a pair of stables but as Matt approached he was swarmed by Zeds.  Over the radio he announced his intent to run through the area and draw out as many Zeds as possible and lead them out of the area.  That was the last I saw or heard from Matt.  His sacrifice may well have saved me, but at what cost.  Maybe he made it, I hope to find out.

I continued southwest and looped around a large power station, approaching Chernogorsk from the west.  Since I was losing consciousness very regularly, I didn't want any more exposure than absolutely necessary.  The fear of fainting amongst a pack of Zeds and being consumed in my slumber was overwhelming.  Coming out of the forest from the west I slowed to a crawl, literally.  Zeds were everywhere, but I was more concerned about being spotted by a bandit with a high powered rifle.  The crawl to the edge of town was excruciating and I know I fainted at least a dozen times.  Once near the hospital though, the Zed population decreased significantly.  I quickly located and packed away as much blood and medical supplies as I could carry and returned to the forest the same way I came in, crawling...slowly and quietly.  More than once I had to lie still in the prairie grass as Zeds lumbered within feet of my torn body.  I knew they could smell my wounds, but felt only a slight comfort knowing that their night vision was exceptionally poor.

In the relative safety of the forest I dared to try to raise Matt on the radio again.  Nothing.  Then suddenly, a crackle and a voice on the radio.  Christian and Mitch had made it; they were seeking refuge in a castle called Rog, east of Pusta.  The signal was weak from the distance and the stones of the ancient fortress, but it was enough to sort out a rendezvous point.  Despite my blood loss, my adrenaline skyrocketed, enabling me to run as far as Vysota Hill before collapsing again.  I slowed my pace, mindful of my condition and the distance yet to cover.  To compound matters, I was on the verge of starvation.  With no food since leaving Pusta and the wounds I had received, I was facing the very real danger of slipping into unconsciousness permanently.  The odds of Mitch and Christian finding me then would be practically nil.  My fainting was becoming more frequent with the hunger, my haste and the altitude increase approaching Pusta.

I eventually came to Pusta from the west, again, and upon arriving at the mansion came upon an unnerving discovery.  Bodies of Zeds littered the yard, belying a recent battle.  I was in no condition to engage the Zeds, much less a healthy, ill-mannered human.  Pausing outside the mansion for only a brief moment I listened through the rushing in my ears for sounds of bandits inside.  With nothing significant coming through my impaired senses;  I had no choice but to make entry and hope there were no unfriendly occupants still around.  My good luck prevailed, for once, and within a few minutes Mitch and Christian arrived.   Mitch administered my transfusion bringing me back from a very near death.  Afterwards I administered a transfusion to each of them, restoring each of their health and vigor.

We sit here now, in this decaying mansion, as another day begins to break; each with his own thoughts, me with this journal.  We dare to hope that our comrade is out there, and that we can find him when the dark returns tonight.