Oregonaut tells a story. [TRIGGER WARNING: MATURE THEMES]

[bentheimmigrant]

We best hold a referendum first.

[nehpest]

So, New World - is that "new planet" New World, or (as I originally assumed) Columbian/pre-Colonial America?

Edit: Also, I'm Benedict Arnolding WWII - deconstructed utopia ftw!

[Adacore]

I voted Wild West, but perhaps I should switch over to Utopia. I fear Apocalyptic has an insurmountable lead, though

[Mumpy]

We best hold a referendum first.

Quick, break out John Prescott.

[natraj]

Post-apoc IT IS MY FAVORITE GENRE clearly that makes it the best.

I pushed the vote button REALLY HARD, shouldn't that count extra?

[podbaydoor]

I'm already writing a post-apocalyptic story with Oregonaut. >_> I voted for Wild West.

[bentheimmigrant]

We best hold a referendum first.

Quick, break out John Prescott.

Just be careful he doesn't punch you in the face.

So... remember guys, you only have a few hours left to switch to post-apocalypse. Everyone feels better when their vote is the one that won - so switch, before it's too late.

[nehpest]

I'm already writing a post-apocalyptic story with Oregonaut. >_> I voted for Wild West.

The hawkberry has spoken! Let post-apoc be stricken from the voting! Vive la utopia!

[bentheimmigrant]

I'm already writing a post-apocalyptic story with Oregonaut. >_> I voted for Wild West.

The hawkberry has spoken! Let post-apoc be stricken from the voting! Vive la utopia!

This simply means that we can keep track of Oregonodbaydoor's canon in their post-apocalyptic universe. Because, let's face it... that's the kind of people we are.

[Kewangji]

Nobody new vote now. There are exactly 100 votes, so the percentage is the same as the vote number. I find this great.

[Oregonaut]

I'd like to mention that I'm honestly humbled by the amount of interest I see here.

Almost a hundred votes? I really didn't think that many people would be interested...that's why I set the threshold at 20.

[Lazar]

Nobody new vote now. There are exactly 100 votes, so the percentage is the same as the vote number. I find this great.

So someone just... unvoted? 'Cause there are only 99.

[Kewangji]

Nobody new vote now. There are exactly 100 votes, so the percentage is the same as the vote number. I find this great.

So someone just... unvoted? 'Cause there are only 99.

Possible. Or I read wrong before, because all the percentages are the same as the number of votes and I didn't see the 'total votes' thing, nor actually count them.

Oops.

EDIT: Ah, someone voted now. Whew. 100.

[Oregonaut]

So, 104 votes in to date, and only five more hours in the voting. Spread the word, if your choice of topic is losing! A lot can shift in five hours, but only if you care enough to get the vote out.

[SlyReaper]

We best hold a referendum first.

Quick, break out John Prescott.

[Hope_]

We best hold a referendum first.

Quick, John Prescott: break dance!

[bentheimmigrant]

I would pay to see that.

[Oregonaut]

Five vote margin, two hours left.

[bentheimmigrant]

Listen, Utopia people... It's too late. Come to the dark side, and be on the winning team. There's so much more excitement in post apocalypse... the mystery of the catastrophic past, crazy and lawless society, mutants and zombie-like creatures, cannibalism, and Mad Max. What more could you ask for?

[Mumpy]

A alien being killed by a cake?
Oh Wait!

[Eseell]

What? Aliens love cake.

[Oregonaut]

18 minutes left, and the voting is close.

Post-Apocalypse it is.

[Retne]

In celebration I let loose a cry "OH WAAAAAARRRIORRRRS!"

[SurgicalSteel]

*clink clink clink*

[tastelikecoke]

Ooh! Bedtime story! I wanna hear a bedtime story!

[Oregonaut]

There wasn't much that could be said. The enemy simply overran most of our military installations with an almost clockwork efficiency. After nearly destroying everything, they moved on to our sub-military defense infrastructure. Police, firefighters, security firms, anything that could have mounted a defense, or assisted the dying were systematically wiped out. We lost contact with the global satellite network, the sky was dampened with clouds that interfered with radio broadcasts. Sunlight was a memory by the third day of the attack. Our team tried to escape. We, fortunately, were all stationed state-side. We even called in our ringer, the one guy who probably could have helped us survive through this without a problem. He told me no. He was going after a girl, a girl he made a promise to. He said if he could meet back up with us, he would. But don't expect him, because he had a lot of territory to cross, and they were everywhere. I have to believe he made it to her, and is trying to catch up to us.

If he didn't make it...what chance did we have?

[Oregonaut]

Chapter One: The Dying Forest

Our point man, Smith, slowed us down, we were running too fast, and likely would have ended up stumbling across something in the dark. We were ahead of the scavengers, at least far enough that we could move at a jog and not worry. The forest was pressing in on all sides, oppressive old growth trees, the clouds obscuring the moon overhead, the only visibility coming from our NVGs, and those were limiting our field of view. At this point, though, it was the best option of some horrible choices.

We had gone into the city to check for survivors. While the military superstructure had collapsed around us all, we determined that we'd hold fast to our oaths. We couldn't strike out at the enemy, we just didn't have the resources, but we could save as many people as feasible. That was our first mistake. It had taken us months to make it this far. Traveling on foot, for the most part, we had to regroup at the old training grounds. That was our fallback plan, and we used those limited windows of contact before all radio communication was cut off to pass that plan to all members of the old team. We damn near ended up killing ourselves because we forgot his first rule: People are stupid, they will get you killed.

Ferguson and I kept taking turns every three hundred feet stopping and looking behind us. I wish she had gone through the training we had, but I'd done my best to train her on the way out here. It was all I could do to pull her out of the barracks the night they attacked Andrews. She's come far since then, no longer jumping at shadows, or screaming when frightened. Four rotations now, I could not see anything moving behind us. We needed to stop, and communicate. Blindly rushing towards our safezone wouldn't be a good idea if we just ended up leading them there.

Sprinting past everyone, I made it up to Smith and motioned for him to stop. Everyone slowed, then halted. A few of the less...fit of us walked around a bit to avoid falling over from suddenly stopping after having run so far. I won't name names here. History shouldn't judge us by our moments of human weakness. I made a grasping motion with my hand, then realized that most likely no one could see me. "Huddle up," I whispered to each person, until I had everyone gathered around me. "Ferguson, keep an eye out." She nodded, and went back to looking around. "All right people. I think we've bought ourselves some time. Let's head over to Bravo, and wait there for the night. We need to lose these folks, otherwise they're going to send raiding parties after us. Copy?" Everyone nodded. Of course they did. I was in charge. He taught me. They trusted me to use his teachings to save us all. Only problem was, I wasn't him.

[Oregonaut]

Ferguson stopped moving, I stood up slowly, and looked at her drawing everyone to follow my gaze. She moved her hand over her eyes miming a pair of binoculars, then moved her hand like she was holding her weapon at bay. Five fingers. Zero. Five fingers. Zero. Five fingers. Shit. I gave everyone the crouch signal, and slowly made my way to her. As I got up to her, I gave her the "ok" signal, and we dropped to a crouch. She pointed at what I really hoped was east, and moved her fingers miming a spider crawling. I patted her on the shoulder and focused my attention where she was pointing.

There they were. We all used the term zombies, but they went from "mindless horde" to "directed force" awfully fast. They were almost like the Flood from Halo in their group tendencies. They were clearly ex-human, but they acted like drones. We couldn't see any command structure, no means of communication. We picked one off from a herd so silently I'm not sure we would have noticed if they had done it to us, and yet the instant that member was incap, the others all turned and attempted to engage the assailant. The whole thing didn't compute.

Ferguson and I moved back to where the rest of the team stood waiting, I filled them in on the situation silently, using CQC signals. Lacking the proper symbol for "zombie" we all agreed to use the spider crawling motion to fill in that void. We had to sit still, one snapped twig and we may have a herd hundreds strong fall on us. They tended to follow-the-leader when moving through territory, so the chances of us being seen if we stayed still were slim. Staying still for any period of time was difficult under the best circumstances, and we'd just ended up running two miles away from Mad Max rejects.

We were strong. We could do this. We can hold it together, and we will all make it...somewhere. Ferguson kept watch, as we all crouched where we were. Minutes flew by, seeming to drag into hours, suddenly Ferguson's hand shot down in the "move up" signal. I came over to her, and she pointed at another herd joining the previous herd. Thousands. Thousands of thousands of zombies, not a football field from where we were sitting. One cough, one sneeze, one cracked twig, and we'd have a crowd the size of my home town crawling up our ass. They showed no signs of slowing down. Every moment brought more shambling forms into view. I tried to get my bearings, but as much as I hated to admit weakness, I knew I had no idea where we were at the moment. I'd never done well in forests.

I walked over to Smith, and moved my finger to draw a square, then swept my arm in a waist to front motion. Smith thought for a second, then pointed directly at the herd. I shook my head no. He signed Alpha, then pointed away from the herd. Our only means of making it to Bravo were through the herd. Our only safezone left meant possibly drawing the scavengers to us. As I was thinking, I heard a twig crack. That was all the warning we had before Mendoza was grabbed violently from behind and dragged to his feet. The zombie that had him bit his neck, tearing huge chunks of flesh from him. I didn't think, and I regret that to this day. I shot the zombie in the head.

Everything stood still for a second. The zombie fell backwards slightly, dragged Mendoza with him. Everyone stared at the scene, then reacted as one when Smith started running towards Alpha. Ferguson shouted, as best she could, from the rearguard position that we were being followed by the conjoined herds. After that, everyone fell silent except for ragged breaths drawn through open mouths, into tired lungs, feeding fatigued bodies running from zombies that knew no pain, no fatigue, and no remorse. We were drawing them to Alpha. It was all my fault.

[Oregonaut]

Smith kept us all in sight, he was always the fastest of us. He'd pace us for a bit, leading us towards Alpha, then sprint ahead to make sure he wasn't leading us into a trap. It must have happened when he looked back at us to make sure we were keeping up. As I ran past, I saw them ripping chunks off of him, his struggles becoming weaker and weaker as pain, fatigue, and blood loss took their toll. All my fault.

Alvarez sprinted up to the point position, she wasn't quite the tracker Smith had been, but she knew her way through these woods. She'd spent many years guiding fledglings through them, she'd keep us alive. I whispered encouragement to the rest of the group. I was tired, and we were making a lot of noise as it was, but I knew if I spoke above the merest whisper able to be heard over our running I'd draw them closer. Quiet. Quiet keeps you alive, noise gets you killed. How had I forgotten that? Mendoza didn't even cry out when he was attacked. He kept his composure. Why did I lose mine?

Ferguson slapped me on the back of my head, drawing me back to reality. "Daydream later, run now." She whispered, glaring at me for forgetting myself again. I'm going to get everyone killed if I don't-- Jacobs suddenly fell over with a loud thump, grabbed from the foliage by a legless zombie. Several bites ocurred before we could get to him, and he just waved us on and took his knife to the zombie's head, killing it. The last I saw him, he was securing his suppressor to his weapon, and putting it to the side of his head.

They were picking us off one by one. Alvarez, Ferguson, and myself were the only three left of the squad of ten. We lost four in the city...how do I... This time Ferguson decked me. As I stumbled to regain my balance, I noticed Alvarez slowing down and stopping. Ferguson picked me up by my shirt, hauled me to eye level, and viciously whispered in my face, "Are you trying to get us killed? Wake up, or I will leave you behind like you told me to." With that, she threw me away and started running with Alvarez. They had two steps on me when I started running again. I had to keep the voices away. The doubts were killing my men.

[Oregonaut]

Alvarez rounded a hill and stopped. She turned, smiling, and pointed at Alpha. We took a few more steps, and stopped to assess the situation. Alpha was a fortress built from lumber cut down and shaped into walls remeniscent of pre-civil war America. Polished, and treated with resins, there was no way to climb them without using tools, and setting them on fire would be nearly impossible. Explosives were the only way to break them, and until now we hadn't needed to worry about that. There was only one main gate, which could only be opened from inside. Forcing the gate open would be impossible, as the gate itself was buttressed from the inside by a ramp made of stone and steel. Room had been cleared around the fort so nothing could sneak in, and entrance was normally allowed by a rope bridge connected between the fort and a scout outpost 200 feet away, and 75 feet up in a tree.

Spotting us, the lookout lowered the rope ladder, and signaled the lookout on the wall to prepare for our arrival. Alvarez hit the rope ladder and started climbing one side, while Ferguson started climbing the other. As per protocol, I stayed down at the bottom to keep the ladder clear, and waited for them to signal that they were in the treehouse. I grabbed onto the rope ladder, put my leg through one of the rungs, and held on as I was pulled up far enough off the ground that nothing could grab onto the bottom of the ladder. As tired as I was, I was grateful when I felt them continue to haul my heavy ass up.

As I reached the trap door, I grabbed onto the flooring and hefted myself in, with help from Alvarez and Ferguson. The lookout, Johnson, was working the winch. After fully retrieving the ladder, he secured the trap door and locked it. With a worried look, he asked the obvious, "Everyone else is dead?"

Ferguson sat down against the wall, Alvarez started across the rope bridge, leaving me to answer. "Yeah. We lost four in the city. Three on the way back here. We'll likely be surrounded by zombies soon. If they don't come, the scavengers from the city will." I started over to the rope bridge.

"Clarkson." Ferguson's voice was tired, weary would likely be a better way to describe it. "It isn't your fault. But if you don't get back in the game, I'll bench your ass."

I waved agreement, then started across the rope bridge. I had reports to make. I had explanations to give. Command was not going to be pleased when they discovered what happened in the city.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter Two: Lucy...

After crossing the bridge, I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. Unfocusing my gaze to take in the entirety of the fort, I noticed that some modifications had been made during our mission. The interior of the fort had nothing that could be honestly described as a "building". Even command was posted in a tent pavilion that only fit six adults standing up. This allowed for us to change and adapt to new arrivals, or other needs. One entire side of the fort was taken up with growing crops. We were lucky that we sat atop an aquifer, though honestly luck may not have had anything to do with it. As I idly glanced towards the well, I noticed her. His favored, the lady who was our commander. She stood hauling a bucket of water up, and with one glance at me made clear that I was lollygagging and needed to stop dragging my feet and get my ass over there and report.

Before I finished processing that thought, I realized I was already on my way down the ramp and moving towards her. Part of my mind growled at the fact that I outranked her, but it was a fairly community wide decision that I wasn't half the command material she was. Nearly six feet of imposing, her red hair tripped everyone up. She wasn't hot headed, in fact she was cold as the ice her eyes seemed to be made of; There were times we thought she made him look positively emotional by comparison. Sadly, the one emotion that always rang through with her was disappointment. It hurt all of us, because she was never disappointed in us, only in herself for not giving us what we needed to succeed.

As I arrived she pre-empted the normal cordialities with a simple, "What happened."

"We made it to town, ma'am. It seems that in the absence of centralized leadership, an anarchist commune seems to have taken over. They lured us in with a welcoming committee of children, then attacked with AR-15s and semi-automatic handguns once we were in the killbox. Cost me four people: Del Toro, Rankin, Jonas, and Phillips. We fell back, and during escape and evasion, were trying to make our way to Bravo in an effort to not lead them back here. Unfortunately we ran into a herd of zombies numbering in the thousands. As we were assessing our course of action, Mendoza was grabbed from behind by a stray walker, and I put a bullet in the walker. The herd altered course to attack, and we fell back towards Alpha. On the way back here we lost Smith and Jacobs." She cut me off with a gesture.

"So we lost seven people to find that the town is actively hostile. Three died because you made the decision to draw attention to yourself to avenge Mendoza. Four died because you were complacent. Is that accurate?" Her tone was completely detached, not an ounce of humanity came through. She was understanding my statement, not offering understanding or condemning me.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Understood. That will be all. Standard post-mission checks for you and Alvarez, I want to see Ferguson in the command tent in 20 minutes so she goes first." She finished pulling up the bucket of water, and after pouring it into another bucket, set the bucket on its hook and walked away from me.

[Oregonaut]

I watched her walk away for a moment, realizing how bunched my shoulders had become standing there waiting for her to shoot me for failing so miserably. We didn't have seven people to lose. We didn't have one person to lose. Every trained person we lost was one step closer to us no longer being able to regain footing. Every ounce of equipment we lost was one piece of equipment closer to not being able to hold what we had. Falling back as I had, in town, cost us four people, and their gear, and enriched the scavengers in town by four people's worth of military-grade hardware. We'd have to assess what was lost... I wish she had shot me.

Waving the thought away, he'd be disappointed in me for contemplating it, I noticed Ferguson coming out of the med tent, and Alvarez walking in. Ferguson made a bee line for me, a neutral expression on her face. As I approached her, she pulled me into a hug. "You ok?" Her voice carried all the warmth and compassion that the commander's lacked.

"Yeah. She wants to see you in 15, in the command tent." I was nowhere near ok, but none of us were. I'd survive. What choice did I have?

"What does Alice want?"

"Commander Whitten wants to see you, she didn't take me into confidence as to why."

Ferguson quirked an eyebrow at me, "She gave up her military rank, as agreed upon by everyone at the time. We need civilian leadership. Her name is Alice."

All I could do is shake my head. Ferguson had never sat in a shitpile with Whitten. Hadn't watched her grow up in a man's world. Hadn't seen a bright, vivacious young lady be ground into the Queen of Frost we all feared, and loved. "Well then, Alice wants to see you in 14 minutes in the command tent. I assume you've been checked?"

"Yeah, stripped naked, probed all over, and didn't even get a kiss out of it." She laughed, an odd sound contrasting the drab exterior we all had now. "At least Valerie is cute. I'd probably feel worse if Tallett did the inspections."

"I'd take either of them, over Denton. He's got the bedside manner of an axe murderer." I tossed a thumb over my shoulder. "Stop dawdling. I'm fine. I need to go get checked before he comes to find me, and you need to get going." She nodded and patted me on the shoulder as she walked past. Once again alone with my thoughts, I started towards the male medical tent.

People were busily going about their work. No one was left sitting around, even the cippled had duties given to them. Every scrap of cloth that wasn't necessary, or wasn't useable, was washed, dried, and turned into bandages for use later. Blankets were sown together, anything that required sitting still was typically assigned to the three people who couldn't move on their own. The children were their runners. They'd bring water for washing, or drinking, take bandages back to the medical supply depot, bring more cloth when they ran out, and always stay within eyesight of the three they helped.

I had to admit, I'd of left the crippled and moved on. She saw their potential. She maintained her humanity, while I thought only of survival of the fittest. It hurt to think back on how cold and calculated I had become during that time. The move from the training base, to out here in the forest, reminded me again, and again, and again. She was ten times the commander I'd ever be. I hated her for it. I'd die for her because of it.

[Oregonaut]

Ducking into the med tent, I noticed Denton poring over a Gray's Anatomy book he had managed to save, and comparing the notes in there to the medical manuals he had, and drawing notes in the margins. Complain as I might about Denton's demeanor, he was determined that if he died he'd leave behind everything he knew about medicine. He was a good man, he just didn't like anyone.

"Strip."

He also didn't waste words. I began taking off every scrap of clothing. Standard policy required us to submit to this, and it was for a damn good reason. One person more worried about self-preservation than group survival gets bit, and we all pay in spades. Didn't make it any less humiliating, just explained why we had to do what we had to do. After taking off everything, I stood there at parade rest, waiting for the doctor to look. After finishing his notes, he turned and looked at me.

"I must admit, it is difficult to inspect you, son. Your skin color, no offense, hides bruising, and I'm always worried that I'll miss something, or misread a scratch as a bite." He makes a clicking sound with his tongue, inspecting me as he talked. "I wish I had more experience with physicals, but during medical school, I was stationed in Iceland. Not many black folk there. Those few that I knew were females, and I...well I tended to stay away from females. Never comfortable with that." His words seemed forced, and this was more emotion than I had ever seen from him.

"Something up, doc?" I ventured.

"Hmm? No, no. Just glad to have the opportunity to push my knowledge. Turn please. Skin is skin, you see. The amount of melanin doesn't make a whit of difference to me, but it does challenge me in checking for those slight marks that we all must be wary of. Won't offend you by asking if you were physically assaulted by one of the post-living. You'd tell me if you were. But still, orders are orders, and we both are men who follow orders, eh?"

"Yeah, doc. That we are."

He nodded as he gestured for me to turn again. "Good thing too. I'm always glad to have people around who are willing to do what must be done, regardless of their own self sacrifice. Good inspiration, for the children. You see --" He cut off as we both heard the first howl. "Stand still son, I need to finish the inspection, then you can get to the line. I will not be rushed by the mindless abominations." He moved as fast as he could, finished the inspection, and gestured to my clothing. "Ok, son. You can get dressed. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks doc." I started throwing on my clothing, moving with a practiced speed that a decade and more of training had provided. "Doc, you sure you're ok?"

"I said I'm fine, son. I meant it. Don't take kindly to repeating myself. Now get out there and do your job, and leave me to mine."

I nodded and hurried out of the tent. Mysterious as his sudden friendliness was, the dead were knocking on our door soon, and I had to set the table.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter three: Knock, knock.

I wasn't the only one scrambling out of a tent, thankfully. It appeared everyone heard that heart rending, soul driven, cry of the damned and was engaged in those checks that would prepare us for locking down the fort. The children all gathered around the crippled and carried them to the sound proofed tent they slept in. Alvarez was overseeing the operation, whispering hushed praise to the children as they, with stern faces and all the might their tiny forms could muster, hauled the elderly to the little drab refuge. The children believed they were protecting the crippled. That gave them purpose. Once the last little one was inside, the eldest of the lot at six years of age, she counted heads, turned to Alvarez and gave the all clear, then slid shut the metal doors that braced the inside of the tent, separating the cork and resin covered bark from the brightly painted interior. Alvarez zipped, then taped shut, the outside flap of the tent, dropping to one knee to offer a prayer to her god that the children be kept safe.

All of this happened in the time it took for me to get from the med tent to the well, and meeting Ferguson there, we slid the oversized cover over the well, then bolted it to the ground on the four posts. We couldn't allow anything to contaminate our only source of water. Ferguson smiled at me, and then took off to go take care of those jobs that had been previously been the province of the now dead seven. I hesitated only a moment, worried that we were forgetting something, before running over to lift the wheeled ramp to allow the outlooks to rip the wheels off and replace them with the clawed studs that braced the ramp holding the door closed.

Commander Whitten was walking from post to post, ticking tasks off on a blackboard with a piece of chalk. Silently assigning people to cover things that needed doing, and walking the entire perimeter of the base checking every inch of the base of the wall for gaps or decay. As we had drilled so many times, so she saw us perform our tasks with alacrity and precision. Still, she seemed ill-content. She felt it too, something was forgotten, something wasn't right. I walked over, and she showed me the board wordlessly. She knew that I knew something was wrong. She never missed anything, and yet we both knew we were missing something. I checked it twice, a third time, still nothing jumped out at me as wrong.

She was scowling at everything. Everyone had assembled, and a headcount was in process. The doctors were accounted for in their tents, guards posted on the entry flaps, with the backs of the tents directly against the thickest portions of the wall, that was the only way in. Spears were in the barrels, at the ready. Long-poles and man-catchers were set up near logical points where the undead would be most likely to breech the defenses. Bows and arrows, silent, but still effective in the right hands, were being handed out, and after being counted, people were heading to fletch more shafts for use.

Everything was in order. Something was wrong.

[Oregonaut]

Commander Whitten and I climbed up the ramp, slowly to avoid making a lot of noise. While they already knew we were here, there was no sense in agitating them. As a herd, they were more likely to crush themselves against the wall, or against each other, than to mount a decent siege against the fort. If we drew their attention, they could press their immense weight against a single point, potentially leading to breaching the wall at a single point. While we were confident the fort could hold, we hadn't had a chance to test it yet, and we really didn't have the room to make a whoopsie.

Snaking my fiberscope slowly through the gap created in the wall, I handed the viewlens to Commander Whitten. She turned it from side to side slowly, and took them all in. As she gazed out, her right hand flashed five fingers, zero, five, zero, five. I relayed that down to the group eyeing us below. They didn't visibly change how they stood, for all anyone would see I just told them that rainbows were delivering pony farts to us. The howling grew louder as more of them pressed towards the gate. The gate swayed rhythmically with the press of the crowd. Just a fraction of an inch in, and then back to where it normally rested. The cross-beams looked steady, and the ramp didn't budge at all.

Handing the viewlens back to me, Commander Whitten snaked her way down the ramp. I put my eye to the viewlens and saw that perhaps our count was too low. There were enough zombies out there to surround us for a football field in every direction. If they were directed, instead of just following hunting instincts, we'd have to act fast or we'd be cut off completely. Almost as if she sensed my thoughts, as I looked down to Commander Whitten, she bunched her hand, summoning me down to her.

I pulled in my viewlens, and crawled down to her, no sooner did I reach her than she grabbed me by the collar and pulled my ear down to face level. "Get your god damn game face on," she whispered violently in my ear. "I do not need you breaking down on me right now. This is no more your fault than it is Mendoza's. We are alive. If you intend to help us stay that way, think. What can we do right now to try and pull this plane up? I'm loathe to sacrifice anyone on a suicide run to lead the horde away. If we have to, who should we send? I need advice, and I need it now. He taught you as much as he taught me. What would he do, right now?" She pushed me away enough to look me in the eye.

I nodded, made the "ok" sign, but she held my eyes a moment more. She was assessing me, making sure she got her message through. She was right, I've been acting a fool, and he'd pound my ass into the ground for doing so. I sighed, straightened my shoulders, removed her hand from my shirt and nodded.

Her smile was like cold fire. She knew. She knew she'd gotten through to me. She stepped back, giving me room to crouch. I drew my plan in the dirt at our feet. I couldn't shake the feeling we were forgetting something, or missing something, but it didn't matter. We had to act, or be crushed beneath their numbers.

[Oregonaut]

The wailing grew more intense as I drew the fort, and three lines going out. The plan was simple, but would require precise timing to pull off. I motioned to Alvarez, Thompson, and myself. Alvarez would take the left flank and draw as much attention to her side as possible, Thompson would take the right and try to draw as many towards her as possible, and I pointed to the lynch pin of the plan, myself. I would wait until the two of them had drawn the herd around to the rear of the fort, and then I'd make as much noise as possible. Shoot a few zombies, then run like hell. If it worked, I'd at least thin down the number pressing the fort. If it worked flawlessly, they'd leave the fort completely.

Whitten nodded as she saw me wordlessly explain the plan to Alvarez and Thompson, then kicked me lightly to draw my gaze when I pointed to my part. Using ASL she signed, "return?" I signed, "two, three days. Lose enemy, confuse, return." She held my gaze again, putting as much faith and trust in the look as she could. She didn't have the verve he did, but she made you want to please her. I smiled, made the "ok" sign, and then looked back at Alvarez and Thompson, who in turn made the "ok" sign and headed to the drop points.

As I passed Ferguson, she clapped me on the shoulder and gave me a "thumbs up". I bumped her fist with mine, and sprinted to the rear wall. Forgoing the ladder I simply jumped and grabbed the ledge, hauling myself up onto the deck surrounding the wall. I kept crouched down, and turned to see Commander Whitten standing holding a red strip of cloth tied to a stick above her head. She turned and pointed at each of us, waiting for us to signal that we were ready. She turned to face away from me, and after a slow count of three, lowered the flag in one swift motion. I threw down the two rope ladders and jumped off the wall, landing with my knees loose, rolling forward and sprinting for all I was worth directly away from the fort. I could already hear Alvarez and Thompson shouting and hollaring and whistling, I had to get some distance, I had to make myself easier to see.

I had made 40 yards when I heard Thompson shout my name, I turned around and started calling out to the zombies, shooting one with my sidearm. Alvarez rounded the corner just then with two zombies lumbering behind her. Two shots put an end to them, and she sprinted for the ladder as I slowly withdrew drawing the shambling legions of death with me. No time for regrets now...c'mon...that's right...keep following... Two shots kept their attention on me, and I had to save the last one. One more round, for that special occasion. I turned and jogged a little distance, singing that old jodie we all loved. "Twenty-two ravens just for me, twenty-two ravens on PCP. Raise the true cry, raise it high! Raise it high, and make them cry! Twenty-one ravens one is dead, twenty-one ravens shooting lead. Raise that banner, raise it high! Raise that banner, make them cry!"

Off and on, I turned, making sure I had their attention, singing the jodie the entire way. It was going to be a merry chase. Me, a couple thousand zombies, and my last kiss waiting in my holster.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 4: Torture? I hardly know her!

I set my jogging pace to stay 30 yards ahead of the zombies. I knew I could maintain that pace for quite some time, and it allowed me to keep their attention until I could make my escape. My SERE training screamed at me to do this differently. Breaking that programming was hard, the tactics you used against a living enemy using dogs and machines to track you were not as effective against a tireless herd of unliving. Suddenly his voice cuts through the mental white noise I'm creating for myself. "What is your mission?"

Survival. Doesn't matter how, doesn't matter where, doesn't matter against who. I'm no good dead. Focus. Look for terrain I can use to my advantage. I've already been through the worst anyone can do to me. No torture like friendly torture, everything else is Candy Land. Jumping over small gaps in the ground, climbing up and over logs, everything I can do to slow them down is one more step I get to take at the end of the game. As I jump off a downed tree, I see a hill I can use to get my bearings on.

Sprinting up to the top of the hill, I stop for a second to look back at the herd... If I didn't get all of them, I sure as hell pulled the lion's share. Spinning around, I see a chasm some distance off. Cliff training floods into my memories. I see him reaching down from the top to grab my hand and pull me up over the far ledge. He commented on something. I take off running towards the chasm, keeping a faster pace and shouting back to the zombies to keep their attention. As I reach the lip of the ledge, I look both directions for a way to cross. Nothing is jumping out at me...this may have been a mistake... I turn around and see the zombies walking, tripping, falling, climbing over their comrades down the hill and towards lunch.

Ok. Think fast. What can I do...what do I have... Chasm is at least 10 yards wide. Looks to be at least 40 feet down. I can't climb that in time. I know that I can't run around it, it'll take at least an hour to get to the narrowest portion from here... As I'm considering my options I note absently that they'll be on me in another two minutes. Focus. A sudden motion nearby draws my eyes. The breeze moving a branch...no, the whole tree. The tree's roots are exposed... I'm running before the plan finishes forming in my head. I have to cover 80 yards parallel to the enemy's course and knock over a tree, cross the tree, and knock the tree back down before they can catch me.

No sweat. It's all Candy Land from here on.

[Oregonaut]

I hit the tree at a dead run, having angled my approach to carry me against it at the optimum angle to knock it over. I felt my bones crunch, my brain rattle, my lungs collapse, my vision darken, and finally, the tree tip further towards falling over. "Less than ninety seconds before contact. I'd get moving." His voice draws me back, as it always has. I bend down and get the best possible grip on the tree roots. With a life time of training in power lifting from dead weight on the ground, I throw everything into one desperate heave. My face burns, my veins on my neck stand out, my elbows scream at me in agony, my feet sink slightly into the ground, and slowly, ever so slowly, the tree begins to fall.

"I'd put it at forty-five seconds to contact. You giving up already?" Smug as can be, I feel that cracker ass son of a bitch standing there, arms crossed, pose completely at ease...completely fucking right you bastard lift the god damned tree now! As my breath explodes out of my body, I feel the tree fall over. The tip of the tree just barely gripping the other side. I turn, check my six, they're fifteen yards away and howling for my blood. No time to debate it anymore, I see him on the other side...head tilted at the same damn angle, tapping his watch like he's impatiently waiting for me to make up my damned mind.

Doesn't matter now, I guess...My first foot causes the tree to settle more into the ground. Two-hundred and twenty-five pounds of unexpected weight. That's ok. The tree will hold me. Just like crossing the balance beam on Home Ridge. I'm heading on the obstacle course. Eyes straight ahead, arms out, step, step step stepstepstepstep.... The cracking sound of branches causes me to slip a little, then a lot, then a lunge for the other side as my last oh shit I'm not going to...the thump of my ribs hitting the far wall as the tree collapses to the ground, carrying a number of zombies who had lunged for me with it, causes my breath to explode from me, yet again. As I scramble for good purchase with my hands I see him laying on the ground...just out of reach. Smiling that god damn Cheshire Cat grin at me. "You coming? Or should I only set dinner for one?"

"You fucking asshole," I slam my foot into the cliff wall, gaining enough purchase to start climbing up, "you fucking well know," a fist full of roots from a nearby bush get my chest up on the ledge, "I CAN'T STAND YOUR WHITE BREAD COOKING!" A last heave and I'm on the other wall. I start laughing, rolling over to look him in the eyes, triumph on my face...he's gone. Of course he's gone.... Of course. He wasn't there. He's not here. It's just me. Just me, and a few thousand friends.

Heaving myself up to a seated position, I look to see what the Great Zed Menace is up to. All I see is a crowd of thousands reaching for me, and being pushed off like quarters at one of those horrid games you see at Chuck 'E' Cheeses, or seaside amusement centers. The splat, splat, splat, splat of their corpses on the floor below is like the sound of sweet rain to my ears. "Come and get it boys, COME AND GET IT!" I start to jump in a circle spanking my ass like I'm urging on a horse. "Come get some good ol' Texas Home Cooking! WOO!"

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 5: Killing time.

Calm down. Calm down. I chuckle, still feeling the adrenaline surge, but I start to even my pulse out. Shaking enthusiasm out of my limbs, I look around making sure I didn't just summon more on top of what I already have. A short walk, that's what I need. A short walk. As I set out parallel to the chasm, the zombies follow along, still reaching, still shoving each other off. Still feeling victorious, I pick up a few rocks and stop. Hefting one for weight, I smile and walk over to my side of the chasm.

The zombie I set my eyes upon was probably quite beautiful once. Exposure, and a vicious bite taken out of her neck have changed that. Not a lot of skin drooping, very little in the way of fat, judging by the clothing she was likely a size 12. Most of the clothing had adhered to her body as ichor and blood dried it to her. Somehow managing to not be shoved off, despite being right by the edge. Surviving against the ebb and flow of a sea of...what am I thinking? She's no more human than the tree behind you, you fucking idiot.

Angry, I throw the first rock at her. My aim was good, and it catches her in the sternum. The weight of the rock, combined with the force with which I threw it, knock her back a step, against the press of the horde, who ignore her "safety" and reach back for me, shoving her off the cliff's edge and into the ravine. It. Knock it into the ravine. It wasn't a she. It wasn't a human. It was a freak of nature. It was proof that for all the crazy ways humans have of killing each other, when you get right down to it, Ol' Momma Nature will still whoop our asses right proper when it comes around to culling the herd.

I turn around, and start walking the other direction. Again, the press of the herd shoves more off as they turn to keep up with me. Idly, I flip a few rocks at them, more to aid in thinking than to really kill any more. Gravity and Mr. Newton were taking care of that. How do I get around them, without leading them home? Should I... I could just climb a tree and stay in sight of the horde. No, that'd pin me to one location. What if a few are on this side. I've only got the one bullet. I need a weapon. My knife isn't going to cut it here.

[Oregonaut]

After searching for a time, I spot a good thick branch. Probably some sort of hardwood, hell if I know. I pick it up, it stands about three inches taller than I do, which is probably good enough. Never trained with a staff. Commander Whitten would likely be great with something like this. She seems to know all about various ninja weapon shit. Oh well. Make do with what you have, could be worse. Could have nothing at all.

I sit down with my back against a particularly large tree, and begin shaving off the bark, and trimming down the knots and stubs to create a smoother surface. Gotta do something to keep my mind off the moans. Should think about something. I spot a smaller zombie. Not a child...too oddly proportioned. Just an extremely small adult. Funny. That is actually funny. I hadn't thought about it like this. The zombies have managed a sort of equality. Managed it in...hell months, where we humans couldn't do that in a couple of tens of thousands of years? "Huh...may as well talk to you." I smiled and waved. It drooled at me and groaned. "Oh good, we can talk now."

"Black zombies, white zombies, brown zombies, yellow zombies, green zombies, purple zombies, male zombie, female zombies, tall zombies, short zombies...I wonder if that was the point of all of this. Mom telling us that we weren't getting the message, and spanking the lot of us and sending us off to our room to become dinner. I remember hearing about a cult of vegans, Alvarez ran into them. It's where she found that little brunette, yeah...crazy fuckers swore that the zombies were nature's way of punishing us for eating meat. Poor little brunette...what the hell is her name? Tammy? Tanya? 'T' something..."

"Poor girl got dragged into it. The leader was a real charasmatic asshole. They were living in peace somewhere in Arizona, just doing their vegan thing. I remember spending a night on watch with her. She said that they weren't always a "cult". They really just kind of banded together as friends, and took up living as vegans because they really did believe that meat was murder. Didn't bother me none, I believe that meat is delicious. Anyway, she said that the guy who became their 'leader' after the initial outbreak was always a little off. Always jabbering about how the animals were one day going to rise up. None of them took him very seriously, he was good at poker, and always found ways to amuse them so they kept him around."

"After the outbreak, he pointed out that there were no zombie animals. They were 'immune', because they were 'pure'. 'Course, stupid fucker didn't notice that there were no zombie animals because the instant they became infected, they died a violent, painful death as their muscles contracted so hard their bones shattered. But hey, you know, crazy is crazy. He had all these grand ideas about how to survive. Was going to lead them out to the coast in California, set up a commune. Alvarez was headed away from San Diego, and had just gone through some serious shit when she came across them 50 miles from the Cali-Zona border."

"She saw them walking along, out in plain sight, and from what I understand her damn jaw hit the ground. She had just managed to barely squeeze her way through some of the thickest fuckin' combat she'd ever seen. Here they were, walking along like it was a spring fucking picnic. She sprints over, and asks them where they think they are going, didn't they know that there was a herd hundreds of miles across heading east right towards them? The leader says 'I'm not worried, we're pure.' Alvarez, again, almost has to smack her own mouth to get over the fact that they were clearly deranged. Man, I love that little girl though, the brunette swears up and down that Alvarez says this, even though Alvarez don't remember saying it. 'Are you fucking deranged? Pure? Zomboni back there don't care if you're a fucking virgin or not, he's gonna eat you, shit down your nose, and then teabag you until you rise up and become another fucking zomboni just like him!'"

"See, from what I understand, at this point the 'leader' takes a swing at Alvy. Now, I'm a brave man, don't get me wrong. But I'd never take a swing at Alvy. Lady's had more shit happen to her than is fair. Father was a drunk, beat her every other day. Mother was a user, beat her on her father's off days. Brother tried to protect her, got killed when her father hit him hard enough to drive his skull through a window. Father went upstate for a spell, mother went through the phone book finding every drunk, abusive, pusher she could. Alvy was abused every which way she could be. Learned how to survive though. Damn that lady is a survivor."

"According to the police report, Alvy got tired of it one day. Mother took a swing at her, and Alvarez slipped around the blow, clotheslined the bitch into a wall, then swung her mom into the abuser du jour as he tried to intervene. Knocked them both out. She called 911, sat there, and asked to be arrested for domestic abuse. SHE asked to be arrested. The cops laughed at her, and arrested the adults for drug abuse. This lady cop, real nice lady, took Alvy to the local child services. Placed her in foster care. Lady she ended up with was a real religious sort. Took real gentle care of Alvy. Never broke her of her survival habits, just smiled and soothed her. Alvy loved that lady something fierce."

"Anyway, so this leader takes a swing at her. She blocks his punch with the butt of her weapon, whips him in the damn face with the nozzle, puts two in his head as he hits the ground, and takes two steps back aiming her weapon at the crowd. Brunette- Tamara! That's her damn name. Tamara swears, again, that Alvy says, 'Next fucker takes a swing at me is going to get real intimate with a fuckin' cactus. Now, I'm willing to help you vatos survive. But you gotta come with me now, because when I lower this weapon, I'm leaving.' Tamara was the only one to take her offer. She followed Alvarez, never complained, never whined. Alvy swears this lady has 'cojones'. Real tough girl, you'd pro-"

At this point, my new friend slipped and fell off the cliff. "Well, nice talkin' to you."