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  American Recovery

  Living With the Dead [6]

  Guess, Joshua

  (2013)

  * * *

  Tags: Living With the Dead

  Living With the Deadttt

  Two and a half years have passed since The Fall. The survivors in Kentucky have faced death and war, famine and disease. Threats both obvious and subtle. In this, the sixth volume of Living With the Dead, new alliances are born between communities as those left behind at the end of the world begin to take sides.

  American Recovery

  Volume Six of Living With the Dead

  Joshua Guess

  This work is ©2013 Joshua Guess

  If you like my work, you should check out Beautiful, my smart-ass urban fantasy novel.

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  If you have reached this point in the Archive, you should be made aware of several facts before you continue, and perhaps a point or two should be made.

  Though we as historians endeavor always to remain impartial, it is of deep importance to us that you, the reader, recognize the achievement of the survivors you have been reading about. This, the sixth volume of the historical document known as Living With the Dead (called a 'blog' in the parlance of the time in which it was written), is one such achievement. By the end of this work you will have read a total of three years worth of text, told in real time. You have probably done this in less than a week, but it cannot be stressed enough that thirty-six months passed for the author(s).

  Three years of not only living through conditions so hellish they are scarcely imaginable, but striving to create better conditions. Consider it similar to a great jungle cat growing unhappy with his lot in life and slowly using his claws to fell trees to build a house. Perhaps not the best metaphor, but one that illustrates, if crudely, the difficulty inherent in such an act.

  If you are the student we archivists expect you to be for reading this far into the histories, you are probably aware of many of the events that take place in this volume, though you have not yet read it. They are well-known and among the most influential revelations since the cataclysm known as The Fall. Even the basic history we all learn touches on them; some of the surprise is ruined for you. But it is only fair that the uninformed be warned; ahead lie recollections of the Schism itself. Not dry notes by isolated old men.

  These are the words of one—and sometimes more—who lived it. As you move forward, keep your mind on the fact that every word of it is true, at least in the experience of the author(s). Their previous woes, the time between The Fall and the Schism, were nearly enough to cause extinction of the human race.

  Another fact: the Schism itself was worse. Much worse. Keep that in your thoughts when you grow bored or distracted. The survivors suffered through these pains so that you might never know their bite.

  As always, this document is the raw and unedited original.

  Sunday, September 2, 2012

  Shine On

  Posted by Josh Guess

  Thirty months ago today, I wrote the very first words on this blog. At the time they were only half-serious. I was so floored by what I was seeing on television that I couldn't wrap my brain around the idea that it might be real. Yet, somehow, the deeper part of me that believes in the impossible regardless of the circumstances knew that what I saw was fact.

  From that initial spurt of violence came The Fall. The end of the world as we know it. If you're reading this right now, I'm not telling you anything you aren't painfully aware of.

  But since today officially marks my first day as New Haven's historian, I thought a little reflection was in order. It's easy to forget how the world used to be, even at the beginning of The Fall. Back then there was still working infrastructure. Running water wasn't a miracle even weeks into fighting swarms of undead. I've been looking back on how that has changed over time and come to the conclusion that we're all insanely lucky to have what we do. Hard work plays a major role, but luck? I love that bitch.

  Because I'm obsessive about seeing connections between things, I can't look around New Haven right now and witness all the great works being accomplished without comparing that to my own recovery. I'm tempted to say that I'm still not 100% or not quite right yet, but then I begin to wonder if I could make the same statement about my home. Is a community ever one hundred percent? I mean, is there a set level or state of how it should be, and when you reach that point nothing important changes?

  No. And the same is true of people. I think of myself as being less than I was, and I might be. But the arc of a person's life is a constantly changing and (hopefully) evolving set of conditions. We aren't static beings. So when I see New Haven growing around me, expanding, becoming something new and different, it gives me hope. Maybe I've been looking at myself and the events that weigh me down in the wrong way. Instead of letting them fill me with guilt and break me apart, I should be learning from those events and making the active choice to become a better man. To find a better way.

  Wow. Okay, my first official post is seriously way too focused on me. Sorry about that.

  So, let me say that I know nothing is perfect. Just as I will falter and be pressured in ways I'll have to struggle against, so can a community.

  Take the undead, for example. Our assault and patrol teams have been very active the last two days as more zombies make their way in from Louisville. Most of the Louisville crew--along with our volunteers that went there--have made their way to Franklin county. We've got the temporary quarantine zone set up for them, but the trip here seems to have reinforced whatever trail the undead follow to get here. They smell people and take to it like a dog hunting bacon. Without the presence of a large number of living people in Louisville to take their attention, nearly all of the zombies coming from across the river head here now.

  The good news is that our assault teams had fairly well emptied the county of zombies, so the new arrivals, who are nearly all New Breed themselves, don't have any waiting clusters of allies to team up with. The bad news is that we've had to take another fifty people from work crews to bolster the number of fighters out there keeping the undead population in check.

  Which sucks, because we are making amazing progress with the expansions. It's going a bit slower than it was a few days ago, obviously, and may slow down even more as easily obtainable materials thin out. That's okay, though. There is no shortage of creative solutions with so many people here putting thought into how to solve so many logistical problems. I just hate to see our momentum blunted even a little, not when the expansion and settling of the first wave is going so well.

  It's stupid and kind of mental of me, I know. The reality is that the increase in assault and patrol crew is probably keeping us at the highest level of productivity possible. Though there are several hundred zombies shambling around at the moment, no major attacks have hit us solely because our people are breaking up clusters of them and swatting down would-be attackers in droves. Not having to fight them here at home means we can accomplish a lot.

  And, yeah. I do mean 'we'. I've put in some hours over the last two days swinging a hammer and learning the finer points of improvised plumbing. I've been invited to work at my discretion with several work crews among the first wave's carpenters. Because of a slight misunderstanding with some industrial glue and a crew foreman with no sense of humor, I've been asked not to work on any more pipes. Ever.

  The only serious burr in the music of our daily lives at present is the Exiles. That's a situation still pocked with perils and pitfalls. So far no roving groups of them have declare
d war on us, but given the circumstances and how much we outnumber them now, I doubt there would be any grandiose gestures anyway. Those Exiles out there in the wild who don't like our decision regarding our captives and the idea of another amnesty aren't likely to tell us they're going to attack. If it comes, there won't be warning. They'll just strike as hard as they can.

  But, as Gabby keeps telling me, I can't focus on what might happen. None of us can. We have to plan for those situations, but life is meant to be lived. Work has to be done, plans met, and family seen to. Which is what I have planned for today. I'm off to start the hours-long process of making a big lunch for all my friends and family, in thanks for the time they took caring for me and reminding me that the world can be a beautiful place.

  Zombie-plagued, filled with people that want to shoot my face, and a struggle to survive in, but beautiful all the same.

  Monday, September 3, 2012

  Dream A Little Dream

  Posted by Josh Guess

  I was sleeping like a rock until two and a half hours ago. Lately, thanks to an occasional melatonin when I need it, I've been able to get some rest. I've actually gotten used to a solid six or eight hours in a row, so much so that when the alarms started going off at four thirty in the morning, I woke in a panic.

  Even with my problems, I usually don't panic. Worry, feel down, and a host of other negative emotions, but immobilizing fear isn't one of them. Most of us have had enough harrowing experiences since The Fall that what used to induce paralysis now just makes us nervous. The reason the alarms hit me so hard isn't hard to figure out; I was already having a bad dream. In it, there was a storm hitting us, magnitudes beyond anything I've ever seen in person.

  I've been having variations of that dream for several days, ever since we learned about the hurricane. We're long past the point where people name storms, so I don't know what the National Weather Service would have called the one that hit the gulf recently, but it was powerful. Our contacts in that area have survived many such powerful events, and gave us warning that this was a big one. Big enough to make the weather between here and there batshit insane. The wind and rain calmed down a lot as the power of the hurricane spread out and caused ripples, but yesterday we got nonstop rain for hours on end.

  Which had several consequences.

  On the macro scale, the best result of the rain was seeing the cisterns and reservoirs around New Haven drink their fill. Our dedicated (and grudge-bearing) plumbers have been hauling ass to set up every kind of catch-and-retain system they can think of, though this bout of storms came too early to utilize the big centralized tank they've just started working on. It's a dubious and frankly sort of scary looking thing, but when it's done they say the giant, half-buried cylinder will hold a hundred thousand gallons on its own.

  Sounds impossible, I know, but Frankfort's main city reservoir is only two miles or so down the road. A team of fifteen workers have been cutting the enormous tank there into pieces and hauling them here for a week. It may not get finished before winter, but it's a fantastic long-term storage option. If the sketchy-looking welds hold out, that is. I'm not going to place any bets.

  The second consequence of the rain was spending the day with Becky. She has been incredibly busy the last several months. Mostly she works out of a building my brother had built for her, tucked away in a corner of New Haven's original core area. It's one of those prefab metal things, sitting on a pad of baked clay as hard as brick. Other than the wall, there are no structures within fifty feet of it, because Becky does chemistry in that twenty-by-forty space. Mostly she turns raw metal powders into thermite, with the occasional break to make explosives. She has other projects to fiddle with as well, but those two take up a lot of time. She even has two assistants.

  Too rainy and humid to do any delicate work, she set her minions on mixing powders as usual and then came here to hang out with me. She looks more vital now than she did when she first appeared at New Haven's gate. Whatever damage her trip across the world did to her has made good progress toward being healed. With most people I try not to talk about the past or focus on old times, but yesterday I spent three hours sprawled on the floor of my living room with her, chatting about our halcyon days while we snuggled comfortably and listened to the rain.

  Becky has always needed a project, a goal. It drives her forward. Doesn't always matter what that goal is, whether it's chasing down a potential piece of ass or trying to understand a key component of some obscure biological molecule. Her laughter, that always-shocking girlish sound, made me smile. Especially considering how little of it I've heard recently.

  Maybe I was just on her mind, but when the alarms went off last night, Becky came straight to the house. Technically she lives here, but most of the time she sleeps in her lab. I had my jolt of panic well under control in a matter of seconds, so when she came through the door I was calm. Cool. Hell, I even had a pitcher of my brother's beer handy.

  On her way, she told me that the New Breed was attacking in force. Rain used to keep the undead docile, but we've seen them break that habit more than once. The downpour was heavy enough to obscure their forms as they worked through the outer defenses. They seemed to have learned their lesson about hitting the new expansion (I really need to rename the parts of New Haven we've added, for the sake of clarity and not giving myself an aneurysm) and trying to deal with the ring of cable and wire strung around it to slow them down.

  Like the old myth about Washington: I cannot tell a lie. Well, I can, but I'll be honest here. I'm actually glad I'm still not allowed out to fight. I think I can face zombies well enough, but the idea of slogging through the mud and rain to fire arrows at barely-visible enemies doesn't appeal to me right now for some reason. Instead I spent that time listening to Becky tell incredibly dirty jokes--one involving a bus full of nuns--and trying to pretend I was offended as a former Catholic.

  I can say in total truth that I don't feel bad about not fighting. I really don't know if I would break or not in the heat of the moment, and there will certainly be other battles ahead. I haven't heard further alarms since the initial bells announcing a hundred or less attackers at the north wall of New Haven central, so I will assume all is well. No one is pounding on my door and screaming.

  Instead a pretty girl is standing behind me as I write, rubbing my shoulders and trying to explain how amino acids join up like an L.A. street gang to build a DNA molecule. I'm only half listening.

  ...and she slapped me on the back of the head. Damn. I thought I avoided a fight today.

  Tuesday, September 4, 2012

  Idea Man

  Posted by Josh Guess

  I really enjoyed seeing and working with Will every day, even though we've butted heads about as often as agreed. Looking back on the timeline of his life here, the roller coaster of how he has been viewed by the populace, gives me fresh perspective on what real strength and determination are. Will is our leader, the one who bears ultimate responsibility for every decision that comes down.

  But he's much more than that. Some leaders rule through fear and others become lost in their office. Sometimes the forces bearing down on them can be overwhelming, but I honestly think the time Will spent as a prisoner here taught him some important lessons. He's the kind of leader that doesn't expect men and women to do as he says because of an election. When shit goes down, Will shows up and kicks ass. He does his time on the wall--he was on duty as an on-call fighter night before last during the zombie attack--and he doesn't ask anyone to do something he wouldn't be willing to do himself.

  All that being said, he's not a hero or a myth. Will Price is a regular, if busy, guy. He's a history nerd that spends much of his spare time reading old books about war and tactics and military service. Will sees himself as a normal person being asked to do a difficult job, and he believes that leading by example, by making people want to follow you, is the only way to go. I'm in awe of his strength of character, to be blunt.

  Which is why, whe
n he stopped by this morning, I was caught flat-footed at an idea he had that's nothing short of brilliant. It's simple, too, but such a work of utter genius that when he bounced the concept off me to get some feedback, I just sat there and stared at him like an idiot.

  Let me back up a little.

  The rain only stopped this morning. The intensity varied a lot over the last few days, but it just kept on coming. Every catchbasin, bucket, reservoir, and hole in the ground is filled to capacity. One consequence of all the new water retention mechanisms we've installed is that when they get full we have to deal with the overflow. Changing New Haven as much as we have to accommodate new people has its drawbacks. Giant tanks to hold water are awesome, and the wide array of tarps and whatnot that catch rain to feed them work really well.

  Then they get full and we have to slog through muddy rivers in the middle of the streets. Will was in meetings all day yesterday trying to figure out a solution. It's not a world-shattering crisis or anything, but it really is annoying. Event the blocked-off creek at the bottom of New Haven filled way beyond capacity.

  What to do? Will thought about it a lot yesterday, but the flash of insight came to him when he woke up this morning: he wants to build a moat. Well, not a real moat as in a ring of water that surrounds our home like some awesome Disney castle, but the same basic concept. Since most of our big water tanks are at the top of the hill New Haven is built on, he had the idea to build runoff systems--simple ones--that would feed a series of big-ass holes in the ground outside the wall. The first hole would fill from the runoff pipe.

  Say the hole is five feet deep. Once it fills, a shallow trench in the dirt, maybe a foot deep, leads to the second hole a little further down the hill. He wants to dot the entire hillside in them, maybe even run them around the newer expansions. The only tricky part would be running the overflow pipes. The rest is just a lot of digging, something a small crew could bust ass on.