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.