10-14-09 – The Good Soldier

I’m worried about Corie.

I think – no – I know she’s fallen in with the wrong crowd. This is like those first critical days of junior high when you’re just learning the ropes, tempted by different groups; am I more of a jock or more of a stoner or should I align myself with the unsavory drama types? Corie, I’ve found, has quickly and sadly gone the way of the dodo. I use dodo in the sense that she is simply no longer around; when Evan needs her she’s hard to track down. He scraped his elbow yesterday playing with Dapper and Mikey and it took me almost forty-five minutes to locate his mother. It turns out she was up on the roof, sitting up there in a semi-circle with the Black Earth Wives.

In a way, I saw this coming. Maybe it’s my fault; I feel like I’ve completely commandeered her husband. Ted and I have been monopolizing his time, encouraging him to put us through back-breaking work-outs until we’re crawling on all fours, panting like dogs dragging ourselves across the desert. I think he likes that we do this; he seems to enjoy being in charge, giving order and directing us around the gym. There’s a bit of a natural leader in him and it’s emerging more every day.

Corie, on the other hand, is a completely different story. I thought at first that she would be a leader too, that she and I would bond over the strange roles we’d been forced into. I was never much of a boss or a manager and I’ve always depended on myself to get things done. In undergrad I cringed inwardly at the dreaded group assignments, the inevitable all-nighter that would come when my classmates managed to shirk their minimal responsibilities, leaving me and my conscious to complete the entire presentation. I was hoping to find strength in Corie, in her obvious talent for survival; she managed to get two little boys across a wilderness of burning wreckage and flesh-eating monsters. She deserves, at the very least, my respect. But I haven’t found that partner I was hoping for and I’ve watched her drift away, inching out of my reach until her allegiance shifted completely.

The clipboard is no longer taken from tent to tent in the morning. The Black Earth Wives are contracting, drawing their considerable numbers up and inward, curling up like a crab dead on its back. They are rarely sitting outside of their tents and no one seems to bother checking up on where they go. There’s no one to spare and there’s no time; between spending time in the gym with Ned and Ted (ha, that rhymes!) and check-out duty, I haven’t been able to keep tabs on the Wives. Everyone else seems immune to their existence, so over it that they hardly bat an eye when Mariane has another episode in the night.

But this afternoon I had to find Corie. Mikey and Evan wanted her to teach them about geometry (they’re determined to continue having school despite the recent events – I need hardly mention that they are odd children), but Corie wasn’t in their family tent and she wasn’t in shouting distance. I was given the thankless task of tracking her down while Evan and Mikey ate string cheese and threw a ratty old tennis ball for Dapper. I’m not even sure he’s my dog anymore; I think he’s officially defected.

At last I find her; she and the rest of the Wives are being herded back inside by a very distressed looking Finn. He’s grimacing as he tries to gently shove a particularly rotund old woman back inside the building. They’ve tried to go out the northeast exit to the parking lot. There’s a perimeter set up there and a few people standing watch but it’s by no means safe.

“You can pray in the gym with everyone else!” Finn grunts, slamming the door shut behind him. He physically plants himself in the way, making sure they can see the beefy assault rifle locked across his chest.

“But the damned! We must pray for them! To them!”

“What a bloody nightmare.”

“Corie!” I shout, wading into the sea of floral cardigans and Clinique Happy-scented tennis bracelets. I grab her by the elbow and extract her from the angry mass of housewives. They stay to pout at Finn and his black mood. It’s not hard to pull Corie away; her elbow fits neatly in my palm. “Evan and Mikey were hoping you could do a geometry lesson.”

We slowly make our way down the dark, low corridor. There’s muted gunfire from outside and the buzzing of soft voices at our backs. I know the Wives are watching us, glaring at me as I take Corie away from them. Corie trembles a little and then draws herself up; I can see the mother, the warrior, creeping back into her face. She’s so terribly gaunt now, it’s a miracle any hopeful light can radiate through her sallow skin.

“I should teach them,” she says obtusely, nodding to herself. Her black hair settles in a ripple down her back. “Are they very lonely?”

“No, no I don’t think so. Dapper is good company,” I say, smiling for her, “They’re all worn out by the end of the afternoon.” She knows all of this and I’m not sure why I have to remind her. Something is up; it’s all too obvious that hanging around with the Wives has sapped her. I’ve tried to broach the topic with Collin but he thinks they’re harmless, even helpful.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Oh? Yes, everything is fine,” she says. We stand in the doorway just before the opening to the arena. The empty pipes over our heads sing in the chill of the hall. If we go much further we’ll run into the stream of survivors being brought in from the cold.

“It’s just… You haven’t spent much time with the boys lately, or Ned.”

“Hmph,” she says, tossing her hair, “Right.”

“I… Sorry? Didn’t mean to touch on a sore spot.”

“No it’s okay… I just… Forget it, it’s not important, not anymore.”

I jerk her a little back down the corridor, making sure she can’t escape. It feels awkward to be doing this to a woman older than I am, a woman who should be vigorous and fearsome. I want so badly for her to wake up, to shake off the fog she’s fallen into. It dawns on me that she hasn’t been making friends at all but hiding.

“Is something going on with you and Ned?”


“Corie… Come on.”

“We… We were…” she glance around, her dark blue eyes darting over my shoulders. With a shrug she bites down a little on her lower lip; she’s so beautiful, it’s difficult not to cave and comfort her. I can imagine her as a young girl running in the sunshine, her arrow-straight black hair flying in every direction. She must have been stunning, a heart breaker. “Things between us… We were going to try a separation. I wanted to divorce him but he convinced me to go for a separation first.”

This is incomprehensible to me. I’m not some huge proponent of marriage necessarily – my mom got along well enough after my dad died and never felt like remarrying – but I can’t for the life of me see the point in divorcing someone like Ned. I want desperately to take Corie’s side but it’s hard to sympathize when Ned is still energetic and engaged and Corie is looking more and more like an extra from a Tim Burton film. Her skin is ashy around her lips and eyes and I can’t help but wonder if she’s getting enough to eat.

“Ned seems like a great guy. I’m sure it was just a bumpy patch. All couples go through that.”

“He is a great guy, that’s why we’re still together. I don’t know… I feel like such a coward, but I can’t stop thinking about… About the separation. I mean, I just can’t believe it! I almost left him… And then, well everything just went to hell and I couldn’t leave him, not then, not like that. I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about it, Allison.”

It starts to make a disastrous sort of sense – the distancing herself, the religion, the malnutrition. I’m sure a divorce, especially now, would be more than enough to test anyone’s faith.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We all go through tough shit and ya know, people change their minds. They can do that and there’s nothing wrong with it. No one has to know, no one. And look, there will be time later to think about all this, about marriages and futures and all that stuff. But right now, well, I think we should all just focus on hunkering down, making this place livable and safe, okay?”

“Okay,” she says in a very small voice. I let go of her elbow after rubbing it a bit. It doesn’t seem right to let her go without a small gesture of solace. She brushes past me with her eyes red and puffy and her fingertips worrying along the edge of her chin. If she just trusts, if she just looks at Evan and Mikey, if she sees what she has, how lucky she is…

“Everything alright here?”

I turn around to find an enormous bandoleer of ammunition staring me in the face. When I tip my chin up I find a pair of startling green eyes above the bullets. It’s Collin and he’s smiling apologetically. Wonderful. I do not like when large men make this face. It is entirely too charming.

“Collin!” It comes out in a squeal even louder than the shade of scarlet my cheeks are turning. I shouldn’t be surprised but I can’t help noticing the way my stomach does a horrific little dance of nerves. “Everything is fine, just having a chat with Corie.”

“Is she alright?”

“I think so,” I mumble, “Yeah… Getting there.”

“I see.”

It’s getting awkward; I can tell he’s about to give up on this particular failed conversation, I can feel his shoulders hitching up as he prepares to leave.

“Can we go somewhere?” I ask, “To… To talk?”



“Not now, I’m afraid,” he says, looking crestfallen. He’s shaved his hair down short and he’s developed a habit of running his free hand over it as he thinks. It’s a bit like watching a hopeful dreamer rub the belly of a lamp and I wonder if ribbons of blue smoke will coil out of his nose. But there’s no genie, just a snort of frustration. “Later? Could we do this later?”


“Come by after nine.”

I do, all the while carrying around a queasy knot of tension. I can’t stop worrying about Corie. I can almost feel the Emma compulsion, the forceful desire to make sure she and Ned stick together, to scheme and plot and make them dance a dainty dance of courtship. But that’s a fantasy. There’s no room for that kind of frolicking, no room for risk. They have to stand by each other, if not for Evan and Mikey then for our general survival. We’re a flock now, all of us here in this place, and if any one of us starts to stray than the rest of us suffer. And then of course there’s Collin and the dreadful anticipation of the “talk.”

As planned, I go to his tent at nine. I feel like a crook, tiptoeing through the deadened air, the cold just beginning to creep back in over the sleeping, sweaty bodies sprawled out in tents and sleeping bags. I can almost feel a hundred pairs of watchful, suspicious eyes on me as I navigate the labyrinth of tents. I don’t know why I feel so stupid and guilty; I’m just a normal adult, out for a late-night stroll through the slumbering gymnasium. Nothing to see here, nothing out of the ordinary.

His tent, not surprisingly, is black and lit up with the gently muted glow of an old fashioned lantern. When I climb inside I can smell the slowly melting and congealing bee’s wax rising in thin, black stripes from the flame. The floor of the tent is a mess of pillows and old blankets and an open sleeping bag, the poor man’s harem. It’s not a very big tent so I sit close to him, cross-legged and growing extremely warm from the lantern.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. There’s plenty of extraneous noise outside the tent but I can’t help thinking that everyone in a ten-foot radius is listening closely.

“It’s no problem,” I reply. It was a bit of a dilemma getting dressed for this. It’s not a date so there’s no use looking nice, but I didn’t want to show up in pajamas. I settled on a long-sleeve thermal tee and my usual pair of jeans. Collin is out of his fatigues and it’s rather nice to see him in a soft shirt open over a tee shirt. He’s wearing scrubs too, or what look like loose, lightweight pants.

“It’s a bit cramped in here,” he says, laughing quietly, “I didn’t think it quite right to take one of the big tents just for myself.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, “It’s a big upgrade from snoring and dog, I promise.”

“I think I owe you an apology,” he says, grinning in a way that makes his dimples stream down his face toward his jawline.

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

“Really? What on earth are you sorry about?”

“Well… Avoiding you for one, and not being totally honest for another.”

“Not totally honest?” he repeats and the dimples vanish into his frown.

“I just… I should have told you that Ted and I aren’t together. And I should have told you that you make me sorta nervous,” I say, feeling my throat grow dry and lumpy.


“It’s nothing you did, not anything bad. I just thought maybe I should, ya know, not try to move in on you.” It sounds even worse than it looks. My words are so jumbled up and ridiculous that I cringe even as they fall out of my mouth. I’m a god damn adult and I can’t even say what I mean to say, which is obvious, because Collin looks befuddled. I scrunch up my face, preparing for the big one, one end of the knot that’s been living in my gut for days now… “It’s your wife. It weirds me out. It weirds me out that you lost her and… It just seems wrong… and too soon… and weird.”

“You mentioned the weird bit.”


“A few times actually.”


“Allison,” he says, and it’s not a voice coming through a radio but a voice right there next to me, close and warm and skimming across my forearms. He puts a big, heavy hand on my knee and I can feel his palms sweating even through my jeans. “Is that all?”

Is that all?”

“You have a right to ask questions and you have a right to the answers, too. I don’t want you to worry about her or about me, is that clear? I think perhaps you’ve failed to notice, really notice, that I’m quite a bit older than you are. No – let me finish. I’m older than you are, I’ve seen a lot more than you have and I can safely say that there is nothing in my life that even begins to compare to this monumentally fucked up situation. I can question it, I can hate it, I can rage against it all I like, but the fact remains: This is who we are now, this is the life we must live. I don’t need to tell you that every day here is fleeting, every a moment a gift, and so I won’t have to prove to you that I am quite capable of making up my own mind about what and who I want in my life. Do you understand what I’m saying?”


“What am I saying?”

“You’re saying I should stop being such an idiot, that I should stop over-thinking every shit, piss and breath I take from now on.”

“Yes, I think you do understand.”

“So… It’s not weird?” I ask, noticing then that his knee is touching mine. I’ve almost forgotten that we’re surrounded, hemmed in on every side by people just like us – survivors, humans. It’s not hard to imagine that none of it exists, that we’re sitting together at the perfect center of all things.

“It’s not weird,” he says.

“It’s not weird.”

I don’t return to the other tent for hours. It’s nice to think that I have two tents now, that I can have two homes. I think maybe I’m a bit of a nomad now. I think perhaps we all are.


10 Responses to “10-14-09 – The Good Soldier”

  1. Good news, Josh, one of the former military security guards here is alive.
    Difference is, he’s from the “real” military. The military that has plenty of actual use in a situation like this. USMC. Glad I took the time to learn Morse Code.

    Bad news, he’s one floor down from me.

    I’ll tell you why it’s bad, why I can’t just go get him. Turns out, when the others left, they left the security door 50 feet down the hall latched open. I assume, in case they had to make a hasty retreat. Downside is, they never made that retreat, and now there’s 11 of Them outside the security office door, coincidentally the only door in or out of where I’m at.

    Josh and I conversed quietly through a drainage pipe that runs from the level above me down to the sewer system beneath the facility. 3 hours later, he finally “says” that he’s pinned by at least 30 of Them and can’t leave the room he’s in. Suddenly 11 isn’t so bad. I know it’s 11, because for the last hour, I’ve had nothing to do except count them. I even named a couple. The one with his cheek bone sticking out is “Jaws”, I said name them, not creatively name them.

  2. Well…. that was not good. Seems like the emergency power systems are on the verge of dying.

    Where was I? … Oh yeah. I counted the ammo that I have for the 9mm, damn I wish I had managed to grab that Security Officers belt…

    8 rounds.

    I just realized what I’ve been thinking. My sub-conscious started to plan a rescue for Josh before I even realized it. 8 rounds, no *real* melee weapon to be found… except my eight inch crescent wrench, not sure how much damage that would really cause.

    Well… it’s a few minutes later now, I’ve been staring at this blinking line for a while, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. Turns out, I only have enough food for about two days and I’d have to leave either way. And since the only way out, is past the room Josh is in….

    I have a plan. And there’s only two outcomes. Death (or undeath) or success.

    You will probably not hear from me again. I’ll wait until tomorrow, and I’ll check here before I go.

    If you don’t hear from me, keep fighting. Fight until you can’t lift a weapon, then fight until you can’t lift your arms. And if you get to that point, know that you’ve taken at least some of Them with you.


  3. The foreboding broken transmission comes across as tacky, but it was really the only way to announce our continued survival. That or hurling a paper airplane in your general direction.Goddamn monsters. Being afraid of the dark turns out to be a good idea, and insomnia a life saving predicament. I couldn’t sleep cause I never can sleep, and CJ couldn’t sleep because he flet like the dark was staring at him. He was right. What proceeded to happen was what could only be described as a clusterfuck. Coyotes. Normally shy and opportunistic. Zombie Coyotes, very daring and hungry. Very, very hungry. When I heard the grunt and the thump I thought someone fell. It turns out CJ had twisted the things head off. God bless him, he came away clean and his strength was required in the ensuing maelstrom. It was dark, we couldn’t aim and if we could we risked a crossfire. Branches, makeshift shields, steel pipes everything that was to be had that looked like it could do damage. There had to have been a dozen. Kim got taken down, drew her pistol and shot it, then herself. She knew the rule. Destroy the brain and it can’t come back. She wasn’t about to lay down and take being undead. She was a good person, and I’m sure whatever plane she exists on now, if any, her resolve adds iron to our bones. And a bad taste in our mouths. But we had to get out of there. Our supplies wouldn’t have carried for much longer. Not with this many people. But we made it. A new place. We secured a building next to the river. Working on a hydroelectric generator. A really basic and crude one, working on essentially the same principle as a flashlight you shake. But it puts out watts and lights up some things. We lost 1. 31 people made it here to this new place. We lost 1 too many. The scouts report good medicine and food at the grocery here. Good news. Too many headaches for the aspirin. Stress does terrible things to people. A panic attack can mimic a heart attack. Things are so fucked. But I can fix it, I know I can fix it. I know the answer is out there. An amino acid chain, a pathogen. for every pathogen there is an antigen. Everything that has been done, can be undone, or repaired. I never thought I’d have to dust off the scientist routine again. I quit school to be a musician. But they always said I was smart, I always had the answer when the answer was needed most. I trust these people to hold a tight fort. CJ, Sarah, Julie. They can be deadly. They keep pests out. We and the techies. We have work to do. Where can I find a goddamn microscope and some petri dishes in this desolate world. And how am I gonna get a good sample….

  4. Just confirming what the Alaskans seem to have figured out already – cold weather does not stop them. We’re a group just a hundred miles or so south of the polar circle, and they’re as active as ever out there. Maybe winter will help, maybe when the temperature dips below freezing they’ll at least slow down, but mere chilliness does nothing.

    Right now, I have a hell of a lot to thank America for. One, this blog. The zombies came late to Norway. When we were just getting vague and incoherent reports of chaos in America and everyone thought it was another swine flu scare, or maybe civil war, a buddy of mine found this blog. So we knew what was coming, when noone else did. Man, for a country with so much warning (there were even confirmed reports from Denmark a few days before us), we really screwed the pooch. No plan, no call up of reserves, no concerted action, no quarantines, nothing until it was too late. As far as I can tell, every major settlement south of Trondheim is (un)dead.

    The government (or the remaining bits of it) fled to Tromsø. They had quite a settlement going up there, out on an island. Most of the town’s population and a large chunk of the Norwegian Army were holed up on the island that makes up the city centre. I heard they even maintained control of a nearby hydroelectric plant. We’re fairly sure something bad happened there, though – they’d been broadcasting on the frequency used by NRK, the Norwegian Broadcasting Service, regular as anything, almost like things were normal, but the broadcasts stopped three days ago. Consensus is that that can’t be good.

    Which brings us to the second reason I love America: Supply dumps. In man-made caves. Supplies enough for thirty thousand marines fighting Russians (or whatever) for three months. The minute my friends and I figured out this was for real, we set heaven and earth in motion to find someone who had keys to one of these places. So, now we’re a band of survivors consisting of the us, the key guy, some of his buddies from the army, and any friends, family and local populace we could convince, beg, coerce or otherwise impress upon to go. We’ve got HumVees, fuel, medicine, satelite uplinks, separate power and enough food to last our rather small number for years, and all of it in a fortress with only one massively armoured way in.

    One thing they didn’t have here, though, is guns and ammo. So we’ve had to make do with what guns and ammo, hunting, military and otherwise, we could scrape together. Thank god this is a sparsely populated area. The worst our scouts have had to take care of is ten-zombie packs and the occasional carnivorous moose. All in all, invisible helpers in the US of A have given us a huge helping hand. Thanks, Allison, thanks USMC. You have given us as good a chance as anyone could hope for to make it out of this alive.

    The big nightmare, though, the one that keeps you up at night – what if they all come at once? What if, even now, there’s a wave of 300.000 hungry, shambling horrors moving slowly, inexorably, from Trondheim to the nearest source of meat: us?

    • allisonhewitt Says:

      Stay strong and make an exit strategy in case your position is compromised. Weapons can be made out of everything – sharpen a twig if you have to. I don’t want to imagine the kind of damage a carnivorous moose could do, and I hope I never have to.

      • We have a plan of sorts. It involves a very large heavy-duty army bulldozer, home-made explosives and praying a lot. Hopefully we won’t need it.

  5. Spent the morning in the “lab”. Noticed something strange. Haven’t seen a non-mammal zombie. Could be something airborne, triggers an ongoing stage of mitosis that is congruent with homeostasis. Have heard birds, seen fish. Doesn’t make sense. I also don’t know what it would do to an herbivore. Would a zombie cow still feel the need to eat flesh, even though it is not evolved to do so? Don’t know. And why does it seem a person need not be dead when they’re infected? This would support the mitosis theory. Much like when you have a cold, the virus cells take over natural body cells to create more of themselves. Being scratched or bitten would create the same effect, with the foreign cells overriding the host cells….like a zombie cold. I need more books, the only way to know is to learn. I’m no expert, but I feel I can be. I have to be. Too bad my molecular biology professor isn’t around. He could tell me how bad I’m fucking this up. Need to rest. Haven’t slept in 2 days. If it takes me 50 years I’ll figure this out. But for now, we’ve gotta live.


  6. Things are getting tight here. Have to type fast so excuse the typos. Tim is getting agitated. at first he was helpful and amusing, now he s starting to say things that make me wonder if his mind needs someone to blame and since we’re so close by i dunno

    My wife and i are considering our options. Stay, leave, leave minus Tim or something more drastic. i’m just telling you this because well, i need a record — we’re not bad people, but i put my family first and no one or thing is going to harm them while i’m still walking … i mean living. No worries about Tim reading this — he’s only on his anti-government msg boards plus i clear the cache out.

    I don’t like what i’m reading about the zombs not slowing down or at least decomposing. We only see hte odd one around here now which makes me keep thinking about escaping. Anyone near Greenville, NC? Got a shore house further south — can only get there via big bridge or boat — plus stilts — but it’s a long drive….

    Gotta go. Good luck everyone.

  7. Timothy Says:

    Does anyone know of a safe haven in the mid-atlantic area? I need to get my family somewhere safer. My wife is pregnant with our second child and our son is only 14 months old. We are safe for now, holed up in an old backyard bomb shelter. The supplies are minimal, won’t last a week. why? Why did this happen?

    I need some help!!! I have very little battery power on my laptop and no source to charge it from. I’ll check back in a couple of days.

    Be safe and please, if you know where I can get help…..PLEASE!!!

  8. NotInBaghdadAnymore Says:

    It is good to finally see that comms are still up in some form or another. We had been feet dry over US soil for a mere 15 minutes when our C-130 pilot informed us that we were diverting from Hurlburt Field to Ft. Campbell, Kentucky due lack of comms. After a flyover of Hurlburt we found the base in flames. We were about halfway to Campbell we were told it had been overrun as well so we made a soft landing on one of the access roads leading to the 160th SOAR barracks just outside of Ft. Campbell. There we hooked up with what was left of the NightStalkers and did what we could to secure a perimeter around the barracks. That was a week and a half ago. As of now there are 46 of us holed up here, 16 shooters of the 1st. SFOD-D, 8 Nightstalker pilots, 12 from the 21st SOS C-130 crews, and 10 various 160th personnel. Imagine that, leaving one war to fight another at home. How’s that for a homecoming?

    Now for what we know as of today:

    1. Inspite of the fact that we have secure sat up links, they were routed through JSOC and SOCOMM over at MacDill AFB which to our best guess has been compromised. We’re trying to establish contact with other possible channels but first we have crack our own gear which I’m not sure we can do, unfortunately we have no cryptographers among us. As far as we know, we are the last remnants of the US government until we get our secure comms up and establish contact with either NORAD, CENTCOMM, or any of the various bunkers we hope our nations leaders were fortunate enough to get to. Hell, I’d even like to find out how the squids that were currently out to sea fared and hopefully warn them about returning to any ports until they can be secured.

    2. We have established intermittent radio contact with other survivors who have found that plain old household ammonia goes a long way as to not attract the infected in the first place and we’ve been carrying rags soaked with it on us during our foot patrols with much success. That’s not to say that they won’t come after you once they make visual contact though but once you kill them or lose them, they can’t track you. I’m not sure why but they can’t seem to stand the stuff. Ammonia now has more value than gold and even in some cases, bullets. Also, to not make any attempts to reach us over here unless you have an aircraft, the Ft. Campbell area is saturated with the undead and our patrol routes and supply runs have gotten shorter everyday. If you do decide to fly in, do not do so without making prior contact with us first for the access road we used as a runway is not within our secured perimeter.

    3. We still have a handful of operational aircraft. 5 MH-60L Blackhawks (2 are equipped with refeuling probes), 3 MH-47G Chinooks, 12 MH-6 Littlebirds (not sure as to their usefulness now since their range is limited but will prove useful to rescue nearby survivors when the need arises), and the 2 C-130’s we came in on. One being an MC-130 Combat Talon and the other being an AC-130 Spectre Gunship. Of these aircraft, the only ones viable for a prolonged evac are 2 of the Blackhawks, the 3 Chinooks and the C-130’s, and that’s assuming that fuel permits. But the real bad news is that fuel is scarce since most of it went up in flames when Ft. Campbell got overrun and what is left is guarded by 1300-1500 servicemen turned undead, possibly more. We do have a plan to get to it but not until we decide where were flying off to once we have it. Supplies are thinning and we have just enough to get through the winter with careful rationing so we have to decide soon. Should we manage to get to the fuel, it may only be enough for for a one way trip with no guarantee as to our ability yo pick up survivors along the way.

    4. Which brings us here. We managed to capture a few infected and have them in a makeshift brig to see what, if anything, causes them to die naturally so to speak. Nothing has worked so far and the only thing we haven’t tried is forced dehydration (think of the desert). But considering the winter coming upon us, that’ll have to wait before we turn our heaters on them.

    Should we be able to accomplish everything we set out to, we hope to set up a centralized base of operations to provide relief, support, and rescue to all the scattered survivors out there good ‘ol US Armed Forces style.

    I have more to report but there’s been a small perimeter breach I have to see to. So until next time, may god help us all and keep hope alive out there and take some solace knowing that we’re still doing everything we can to serve and protect our country. Wish us luck!!!

    Cpt. Pat Cortez, US Army 1st SFOD-D

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