Chapter One
Brattleboro, Vermont
March 15, 2011
I am John Mason, and this is as accurate an account as I can make, based on the events beginning just before my wife and I arrived here in Brattleboro, Vermont, on September 21, 2010. In the beginning...
No, that's not right. It all started back in September, when some kind of terrorist attack in Mexico brought the dead back to life.
That isn't quite right either. We don't know for sure what caused the dead to walk again, but I have a few suspicions about who started it. In this journal, I will record the events of our continued survival as they transpire.
Ugh, that doesn't look right either.
Captain's log, stardate...
Alright, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to do it my way. Sara suggested I start keeping a journal, so the kids will know what really happened. I think it's a good idea. I'd rather have them read about it here than remember it on their own. Maybe it won't seem so frightening this way.
Back in September, something happened. It seems to have started in Mexico. Whatever it was, and wherever it started, the only real fact we have is that the dead stopped acting dead. They started killing and eating the living, who in turn stood back up and joined them. We call them Zeds, but others call them infected, or zombies, or the undead.
Sara and I gathered as many of our family as we could and barricaded ourselves in the valley I grew up in, here in Vermont. Those first days and weeks were chaotic, every moment had us fighting for our lives while the rest of the country slipped into darkness. We lost so many good people then. But we stuck together and survived.
Our little chunk of the human race made it through the winter. The Zeds don't like the cold. Most of them just holed up and hibernated for the winter. Most, but not all. We found a couple of small nests and killed as many sleeping Zeds as we could find, but we barely made a dent based on the pre-NZO population. NZO. That's what we've been calling it. Stands for New Zed Order. Doug heard someone use the term over the radio, and it kind of stuck.
We found a couple other settlements not too far away. The big one, over in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, has been trading with us. They have a big Navy ship, the U.S.S. Barry, a destroyer with a small compliment of Marines on board. Back when It first happened, some smart Navy Captain realized the only way they were going to survive was by staying away from land until they had no choice but to come in for food and fuel. When they did, they met up with another group of survivors on yachts, sailboats, and barges, all tied together off the coast. The survivors stayed together far enough away from land that the big Zed packs couldn't get to them, then they moved in when the cold really set in and raided the town for supplies while the Zeds hibernated.
Portsmouth is bigger than us, with have over a thousand people living on the boats and the destroyer. During the winter we cleared a road and sent trade caravans through. We have guns, ammo, liquor, and a few other scavenged things they trade for. They have things we need, but none so important as people. We've sent a few to them, they've sent some to us. Experts in different fields. We have a real doctor now. They have farmers, and fishermen, and hunters courtesy of us. All volunteers, of course.
Some people don't like living on boats. We've taken as many of those as we could, especially ones with skills we were lacking. We had quite a few people who craved the extra security the Naval presence appeared to provide. We sent as many folks as we could spare to Portsmouth in return.
I stopped the trade caravans, though. It's starting to warm up and I can't be too cautious. The Zeds will be on the move again, if they aren't already. The last caravan should be back tomorrow.
Even without the people we've sent to Portsmouth, we're growing. We need to find somewhere else, and fast, before the Zeds start moving again. The valley just can't support this many. We need a place big enough to grow crops, but small enough to defend. I have a few places in mind.
We found three horses over the winter, and six cows. We have chickens and turkeys, and even a family of pigs. We got lucky finding them. The Zeds ate through most of the domesticated animals pretty fast. Thank God none of the animals “came back”. Whatever it is that causes the dead to rise doesn't seem to pass on to animals. Poor Fish lost his tail for nothing.
Jesse came in a few days ago. He made it all the way to Texas and back! Some of the things he's seen are far worse than what we've been through here. The southern part of the country, where winter doesn't hit so hard, is a horror zone. Zed packs go on and on, as far as the eye can see. The cities are charnel houses, the countryside is bare, stripped of everything living. The few humans who survive are grouped together in bands that range from slavers to cannibals to tyrannical military fanatics. Jesse's working with Doug to put together a full briefing. We'll share it with Portsmouth, though they haven't been all that forthcoming with us, as far as sharing Intel. They're still acting like Navy.
Doug has been piecing together information from the rest of the country. He gets most of it from the radio, but some from the “civilians” at Portsmouth and the survivors who wander in from time to time. Alaska and a few places in Canada seem to be well organized. Some of the islands off the East Coast have survivors as well. We also have scouts up in the White Mountains checking out a town that might be still kicking.
I don't know yet if the soldiers we tangled with at a National Guard base last year are with any of the organized camps or not. I'll find out, though. People wearing the same uniforms and insignia raided a Zed nest we blew up last year. They managed to capture what we are calling a pack leader, a Zed with an intelligence I can only describe as...evil. Malevolent. Insidious. Horrifying.
Things around the compound have stabilized. We've continued to build as needed. Mostly housing and storage. We've expanded our machine shop as well and added fuel tanks for diesel and gasoline.
We set up a little theater in the new meeting hall. We're showing “Red Dawn” tonight. My favorite. Wolverines!!! I think there might be popcorn. I hope so. I didn't even like popcorn all that much, before. But now it's comforting. It's the little things I miss the most.
Last week the movie was “Mannequin”. I prayed the Zeds would attack, but no luck there.
John Mason laid the pen down on the battered old wooden table. He closed the leather-bound journal just as the front door of the little cabin swung open. A gust of early spring air blew into the room ahead of a tall, dark haired man. Stooping slightly as he entered, the man threw a blue three ring binder down on the table in front of John.
"It's called knocking, Jesse," John growled, though he couldn't quite contain a grin as he saw his cousin.
"Why yes, I will have a beer. Thank you for offering, Cuz." Jesse Sanderson smirked and sat down across from John. He placed two bottles of Sam Adams on the table, melting snow running down the sides of the bottles. A vivid red scar ran down the left side of his face, from his forehead to his chin, a souvenir of his recent adventures.
"Help yourself from my stash, why dontcha? The beer is right outside on the porch."
Jesse raised a bottle and chuckled. "Next time I'll ask first. Maybe."
John slid the three ring binder closer to him and looked at it for a moment. "Is this what I think it is?"
Jesse nodded. "Pretty much everything I could think of that might be relevant. Plus Doug's been keeping a lot of notes from the radio."
John flipped the binder open and glanced through the pages, stopping every now and then to read something more thoroughly. Minutes ticked away as the two sat in silence. John stopped at a particular page. Unconsciously, he ran his hand over his freshly shaven head as he read. After a few moments, he looked up at Jesse, his eyes glassy, his expression distant with memory.
"You saw a pack leader too.” It was spoken quietly, not as a question.
Jesse nodded again. Frowning, he lifted the bottle to his mouth for a moment. He set it back down without drinking. "Yeah, I did. Scariest shit I've ever seen." He raised the bottle again and drained it.
"I know. Every nest we've managed to find had a handful of Zeds still awake. But only the first one we found, the biggest one, had one of the leaders. I would really like it if I never saw one again."
Wind howled as the door crashed open. John's brother-in- law, Jose, ran in to the room. He was shirtless, even in the early spring cold, wearing loose black pants and a white headband. A curved sword in a black lacquered sheath was slung across his back. He carried a pump action shotgun in one hand.
"Trouble with the caravan. You'd better come quick!"
John and Jesse followed the teen outside and began to run toward the compound gate.
John shook his head as he ran. "Ever hear of a shirt, Jose?"
"I don't have time for shirts, John! They just slow me down," Jose hollered over his shoulder.
