Post by Jack on May 8, 2005 17:21:14 GMT -5
Chapter 1
John and I finally made it to the stairway. Upon arriving at the bottom of the stairs we took the time to check our equipment, ammo and whatever else that helped us in our slow, tiring and painful journey to death.
I throw all the magazines and boxes of bullets I had horded from our supply run to the city streets, and John continued to do the same.
A small pile of bullets, magazines and a few packets of dried fruits had formed at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t long until we realised that we had spent more energy and ammunition GETTING to the streets and the shops than we had retrieved.
It was always times like these when it doesn’t seem worth the energy… John slumped down on to the stairs and curled up into a ball, crying. I felt I couldn’t… There was nothing worse than being caught in a fit of tears and torn apart… I’ve seen that happen too many times…<br>I pulled the cabinets from the walls and threw them to the ground as a makeshift barricade against the dark and gloomy corridors we had come from.
We decided earlier that morning, that we needed some more supplies. After Tony had fallen sick a few days before and needed all the food we had, we needed to get some more. The only way of getting more food and other equipment was to find a way to the city streets and search the maggot infested bodies and the ransacked buildings and shops.
This “adventure” was a weekly choir, and so far, every trip has resulted in a casualty or one of our teammates going missing, but luckily that didn’t happen this time… I think that if I had lost John, I wouldn’t be able to carry on… Getting dragged into a dark and damp corner to be eaten alive by my neighbours, family and friends was a better alternative. But then I think about Tony… He can barely talk, let alone defend himself. Of all people, he is the most optimistic… I would give my life a thousand times to preserve the flickering happiness he gave in this black cloud of hell.
John had got over his incident and got back to the mission in hand. The doorway above us lead us to the roof tops of a giant Tesco’s store and from there we would have to walk across the bridge to find our way to our safe place.
Unfortunately, the supermarket below always attracted the hungry infected; the stench of the rotting meat downstairs was like curry to a pisshead.
John and I stuffed everything back into our pockets and webbing and got ourselves ready for the possible problems up ahead. I gave John my spare bullpup magazine and started up the stairs.
We could see the various floodlights across the rooftops. Our original groups set out to set up as many of these as we could. These were our only ropes back to hope. Without these flood lights we would see next to nothing. The electricity went out months ago, and the black clouds from the untamed city fires blocked the majority of moonlight and sunlight we could get.
As we reached the top of the stairs, I slowly opened the door on to the roof… Nothing.
For once there wasn’t a hunched over infected somewhere, feasting on a fallen crow or rat. This gave us clear run to the bridge we had made and up to our outpost.
We hopped onto the bridge and ran across to the other side. I crouched down behind the wall and covered John while he dragged the bridge up and across. Thankfully the infected generally can’t get across this gap, but some manage to grasp on, but a boot to the fingers normally sorts out the problem and the sight of the blood ridden body falling to the dark alleys below was probably the best feeling of the week.
John and I lifted the bridge onto our shoulders and jogged back to our outpost.
I call it an outpost, but it’s more of a big barricade. From debris and random office utilities we had made a “bunker” type shelter. It’s separated into three rooms. There’s the toilet area, which is just a bucket and some papers we find on the desks and in the filing cabinets. The second room is the bedrooms; we discovered that lying on papers and bags of vegetables from downstairs is actually quite comfortable.
Although we don’t get much sleep and what sleep we get is haunted by our thoughts, we find enough energy to do what we do.
We call the third room the supply room, we put all our ammunition, food, water and fuel in there and we also have an oven-like machine.
The floodlight just outside the outpost uses a fuel-powered generator, and at times when light would do nothing but draw attention, we hook it up to the cooker and have some morale boosting hot soup.
At first we thought that we could just light a fire using the flint and steel sets we were given, but its only now that you realise you can’t start a fire, because all the material is soaked in rain or blood.
Back within the first month of infection, a friend once told me that this situation isn’t so different from our everyday lives. He said,
“From the four weeks of infection, this is what I’ve seen… People killing people. Which is much the same as what I saw in the four weeks before that… and the four weeks before that, and before that, as far back as I care to remember… People killing people. Which, in my mind, puts us in a state of normality right now…”
He was right… But he was wrong. These people killing people… They aren’t people. They’re some sort of hellish creature that could of come from no other place than hell itself…<br>
Religion plays a huge part in our survival. People criticise religion and it’s beliefs when there’s nothing they need it for, but when you living only to die, you spend nights and days thinking, hoping, wishing for there to be something or someone to guide you through your actions and what remains of your life. And it’s that that stops us from taking our lives. It helps us justify what we do, and what has happened. For example, about two weeks ago, we saw Paul, our section commander, being pulled into a shop window and torn into three parts… by his own brother…<br>It’s times like this, when people need religion. That’s what religion is… a state of mind to feel relaxed and seek security in.
Knowing that your doing this for a better tomorrow is what makes us carry on, and it’s that that brings us courage and determination to do what we need to do.
I feel so strongly connected with John and Tony ever since the incident about a month and a half ago. When we were searching for materials and objects to help us build the outpost. We had got attack when we were carrying beds and cabinets from M.F.Is three blocks away. I had trapped my arm underneath the bed and was left on the floor in front of the infected horde. My team had started to run back to the rooftops and left me to face my almost certain fate, until I heard Paul and John running back towards me. Both of them used all ammo they had and resorted to using the broken bed legs and poles to keep me alive.
Obviously they succeeded or I wouldn’t be here to tell the story.
When we got back Tony was the same as when we left him. In fact, I think he was better. All he did was laugh when he saw us dragging ourselves into our safe place.
I asked him how he was feeling,
”I’m alright now, Tom”, he said huskily,
“Good…”
“Did you get any of the goodies?”<br>
“No… Well… We did, but it’s nothing fantastic… A few boxes of bullets… Dried fruit”,
Tony let out a very disappointed sigh.
”Damn I hate that stuff… Please don’t tell me it’s dried apricots…” he asked
I unleashed the bad news upon him, and he let out another very disappointed sigh and then said
“Ah well…”, and continues with his carving.
We were told by our section commanders to start “personalising” our weapons and equipment. Other than the fact is relieved us from our thoughts and took our mind off of reality, we did it so that if we stumbled across a torn apart carcass, we could identify who the person was, and what “tribe” he was from, by his equipment.
A tribe was a nickname we gave to the different teams that were deployed throughout the cities.
From identifying where one of these tribesmen have fallen, we can come to a conclusion whether they’re running from something (in which case we must get prepared) or are in search for us, in which case there’s something we should know.
…It’s not all good though. It limits us in terms of what we can scavenge and take. We would only take unmarked weapons or weapons and equipment that has only been slightly marked.
We have deep respect for the people who this body once belonged to, but we now live in a world where what you do in death can be just as important as what you do in life. We survivors take it as a compliment that our stuff should be used, and thankful that our bodies haven’t been so torn apart that it would be worthless to attempt scavenging stuff.
Every action we do in life is to reflect upon what happens in death. It’s no longer a single-dimensioned situation. Some things that may be beneficial to us in the short term could be very unbeneficial for others in the long term, and our belief is that the people in the future are more important that us, because we may just be those people in the future or if not, those people have done something worthy to survive for that length of time.
Within the time I have spent talking to you, John had started taking out all the bullets from each half empty magazine, and then refilling them so that the majority of the magazines were full. This saves time from reloading and it also means that we can lay down some real fire support instead of firing off about thirteen rounds, then having to reload.
John and I finally made it to the stairway. Upon arriving at the bottom of the stairs we took the time to check our equipment, ammo and whatever else that helped us in our slow, tiring and painful journey to death.
I throw all the magazines and boxes of bullets I had horded from our supply run to the city streets, and John continued to do the same.
A small pile of bullets, magazines and a few packets of dried fruits had formed at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t long until we realised that we had spent more energy and ammunition GETTING to the streets and the shops than we had retrieved.
It was always times like these when it doesn’t seem worth the energy… John slumped down on to the stairs and curled up into a ball, crying. I felt I couldn’t… There was nothing worse than being caught in a fit of tears and torn apart… I’ve seen that happen too many times…<br>I pulled the cabinets from the walls and threw them to the ground as a makeshift barricade against the dark and gloomy corridors we had come from.
We decided earlier that morning, that we needed some more supplies. After Tony had fallen sick a few days before and needed all the food we had, we needed to get some more. The only way of getting more food and other equipment was to find a way to the city streets and search the maggot infested bodies and the ransacked buildings and shops.
This “adventure” was a weekly choir, and so far, every trip has resulted in a casualty or one of our teammates going missing, but luckily that didn’t happen this time… I think that if I had lost John, I wouldn’t be able to carry on… Getting dragged into a dark and damp corner to be eaten alive by my neighbours, family and friends was a better alternative. But then I think about Tony… He can barely talk, let alone defend himself. Of all people, he is the most optimistic… I would give my life a thousand times to preserve the flickering happiness he gave in this black cloud of hell.
John had got over his incident and got back to the mission in hand. The doorway above us lead us to the roof tops of a giant Tesco’s store and from there we would have to walk across the bridge to find our way to our safe place.
Unfortunately, the supermarket below always attracted the hungry infected; the stench of the rotting meat downstairs was like curry to a pisshead.
John and I stuffed everything back into our pockets and webbing and got ourselves ready for the possible problems up ahead. I gave John my spare bullpup magazine and started up the stairs.
We could see the various floodlights across the rooftops. Our original groups set out to set up as many of these as we could. These were our only ropes back to hope. Without these flood lights we would see next to nothing. The electricity went out months ago, and the black clouds from the untamed city fires blocked the majority of moonlight and sunlight we could get.
As we reached the top of the stairs, I slowly opened the door on to the roof… Nothing.
For once there wasn’t a hunched over infected somewhere, feasting on a fallen crow or rat. This gave us clear run to the bridge we had made and up to our outpost.
We hopped onto the bridge and ran across to the other side. I crouched down behind the wall and covered John while he dragged the bridge up and across. Thankfully the infected generally can’t get across this gap, but some manage to grasp on, but a boot to the fingers normally sorts out the problem and the sight of the blood ridden body falling to the dark alleys below was probably the best feeling of the week.
John and I lifted the bridge onto our shoulders and jogged back to our outpost.
I call it an outpost, but it’s more of a big barricade. From debris and random office utilities we had made a “bunker” type shelter. It’s separated into three rooms. There’s the toilet area, which is just a bucket and some papers we find on the desks and in the filing cabinets. The second room is the bedrooms; we discovered that lying on papers and bags of vegetables from downstairs is actually quite comfortable.
Although we don’t get much sleep and what sleep we get is haunted by our thoughts, we find enough energy to do what we do.
We call the third room the supply room, we put all our ammunition, food, water and fuel in there and we also have an oven-like machine.
The floodlight just outside the outpost uses a fuel-powered generator, and at times when light would do nothing but draw attention, we hook it up to the cooker and have some morale boosting hot soup.
At first we thought that we could just light a fire using the flint and steel sets we were given, but its only now that you realise you can’t start a fire, because all the material is soaked in rain or blood.
Back within the first month of infection, a friend once told me that this situation isn’t so different from our everyday lives. He said,
“From the four weeks of infection, this is what I’ve seen… People killing people. Which is much the same as what I saw in the four weeks before that… and the four weeks before that, and before that, as far back as I care to remember… People killing people. Which, in my mind, puts us in a state of normality right now…”
He was right… But he was wrong. These people killing people… They aren’t people. They’re some sort of hellish creature that could of come from no other place than hell itself…<br>
Religion plays a huge part in our survival. People criticise religion and it’s beliefs when there’s nothing they need it for, but when you living only to die, you spend nights and days thinking, hoping, wishing for there to be something or someone to guide you through your actions and what remains of your life. And it’s that that stops us from taking our lives. It helps us justify what we do, and what has happened. For example, about two weeks ago, we saw Paul, our section commander, being pulled into a shop window and torn into three parts… by his own brother…<br>It’s times like this, when people need religion. That’s what religion is… a state of mind to feel relaxed and seek security in.
Knowing that your doing this for a better tomorrow is what makes us carry on, and it’s that that brings us courage and determination to do what we need to do.
I feel so strongly connected with John and Tony ever since the incident about a month and a half ago. When we were searching for materials and objects to help us build the outpost. We had got attack when we were carrying beds and cabinets from M.F.Is three blocks away. I had trapped my arm underneath the bed and was left on the floor in front of the infected horde. My team had started to run back to the rooftops and left me to face my almost certain fate, until I heard Paul and John running back towards me. Both of them used all ammo they had and resorted to using the broken bed legs and poles to keep me alive.
Obviously they succeeded or I wouldn’t be here to tell the story.
When we got back Tony was the same as when we left him. In fact, I think he was better. All he did was laugh when he saw us dragging ourselves into our safe place.
I asked him how he was feeling,
”I’m alright now, Tom”, he said huskily,
“Good…”
“Did you get any of the goodies?”<br>
“No… Well… We did, but it’s nothing fantastic… A few boxes of bullets… Dried fruit”,
Tony let out a very disappointed sigh.
”Damn I hate that stuff… Please don’t tell me it’s dried apricots…” he asked
I unleashed the bad news upon him, and he let out another very disappointed sigh and then said
“Ah well…”, and continues with his carving.
We were told by our section commanders to start “personalising” our weapons and equipment. Other than the fact is relieved us from our thoughts and took our mind off of reality, we did it so that if we stumbled across a torn apart carcass, we could identify who the person was, and what “tribe” he was from, by his equipment.
A tribe was a nickname we gave to the different teams that were deployed throughout the cities.
From identifying where one of these tribesmen have fallen, we can come to a conclusion whether they’re running from something (in which case we must get prepared) or are in search for us, in which case there’s something we should know.
…It’s not all good though. It limits us in terms of what we can scavenge and take. We would only take unmarked weapons or weapons and equipment that has only been slightly marked.
We have deep respect for the people who this body once belonged to, but we now live in a world where what you do in death can be just as important as what you do in life. We survivors take it as a compliment that our stuff should be used, and thankful that our bodies haven’t been so torn apart that it would be worthless to attempt scavenging stuff.
Every action we do in life is to reflect upon what happens in death. It’s no longer a single-dimensioned situation. Some things that may be beneficial to us in the short term could be very unbeneficial for others in the long term, and our belief is that the people in the future are more important that us, because we may just be those people in the future or if not, those people have done something worthy to survive for that length of time.
Within the time I have spent talking to you, John had started taking out all the bullets from each half empty magazine, and then refilling them so that the majority of the magazines were full. This saves time from reloading and it also means that we can lay down some real fire support instead of firing off about thirteen rounds, then having to reload.
