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.