It's hard to explain the pride I felt as I watched my son anxiously copying me as I showed him how to load, cock and safe the 9mm pistols I had pulled from the cabinet for him. He didn't flinch, didn't complain, wasn't nervous; he simply watched and listened, making sure he understood the entirety of the process and then silently loading each pistol into it's shoulder holster, snapping them shut and turning to scan his surroundings. Such a trooper. Literally, a trooper.
We loaded as many shotgun and pistol rounds as we could find into our carts, grabbed gun cleaning kits, a couple of hydration backpacks and sundry other outdoor gear. Although there were only seven one-gallon tin cans of stove fuel, we grabbed them all - I knew we needed it, and we could always switch to gasoline once we ran out. We grabbed all the matches we could, and lighters. We grabbed sleeping bags, camouflage jackets, anything we could think of.
And we realized we were overloading our carts. We still needed food. And to leave enough room in the truck for us and the dogs to ride back.
"We'll have to make trips, Dad."
"I agree, but the more time we spend running back and forth between the store and the truck, the more we expose ourselves to attack."
"It's been a while since the last one, though, Dad."
"True. I wonder why."
The dogs remained silent, watching us, watching our surroundings. Their ears were pricked forward and their hackles never went down, but they remained silent. They were an excellent early warning system. I wondered, if we loosed them, whether they would take off or remain at our sides to protect us. I wasn't sure I wanted to try that experiment quite yet.
We began to make our way back to the truck, each struggling with our overloaded cart. Perhaps our impromptu shopping trip was a bit over the top, but who knew how long we'd have to stay in our mountain retreat?
Although we could hear the creatures still moving about the store, we were still unmolested. I wasn't sure why this bothered me, but it did. We'd killed several, we'd made a lot of noise and the zombies obviously wanted our flesh for food - why weren't they pursuing us?
At the doors, we had to stop and drag bodies out of the path of the carts. I grabbed Marie's remains and pulled them to the side. Looking up, I was surprised to see Bill doing his part, moving the man's body aside without being asked. I would have done it - but I was glad he was dealing so well with the situation.
We loaded our goods into the back of the truck, ammunition last, so we could get to it. We had plenty of room, but the look on Bill's face confirmed my thoughts: we needed a definite plan - a list of what else to get, so we could do it quickly and efficiently. Although, ideally, we'd take enough to fill the back of an 18-wheeler, we didn't have the time or the space. Weapons were one thing, but it was time to show a little more discernment in our preparations.
"Let's make a list, Son."
Bill simply nodded. We started discussing what we had and didn't have both at home and at the cabin. We knew we'd need fresh items, but those wouldn't last forever, so we thought in terms of storable items. We also thought of things like extra clothing we might need - and then though about saving that for the sake of carrying more immediately needed, survival related items.
And then we cut the list in half, because we still had to have enough room to load the dogs back into the truck and head for home.
This was becoming more complicated than we had thought.
And we had to go back in to the zombie infested store ...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
H1Z1 Chapter 12
I snapped the last bullet into the magazine, shoved it into the pistol and chambered the first round just as the source of noise rounded a rack of sleeping bags to my right. He was dressed in hiking shorts and a tech-shirt. Obviously a customer who had stopped before a morning trek. And obviously heavily infected.
"Bill, hold the dogs," I warned, raising the pistol. The sound of the gun drowned out any other noise, even the low growl of the dogs. My pistol shooting skills were a bit out of date. Two rounds hit the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back and down as I, almost on auto pilot, kept pulling the trigger on the big .45. Boom! Boom! Boom. click. Uh-oh.
The zombie was dragging itself toward me with its right arm, a weird high keening noise coming from its throat. I could see shattered bones poking out the back of its shirt, the result of the two rounds that had actually hit. Slamming the pistol down onto the counter, I reached for my shotgun.
BOOM!
Bill beat me to it. I hadn't even noticed him rounding the corner from the shelves, but he had, and had immediately raised his shotgun and took action, blasting an almost neat hole through the back of the creature's skull, spreading its face across the floor and splashing little bits of brain on my shoes.
I was frozen, that little voice of terror trying to make its way back into my conscience. Bill, face ashen, promptly leaned over and threw up. He then calmly reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a shell, replacing the round he'd fired from his shotgun.
I managed to eke a "thank you" out as he turned back into the aisle he'd been searching for the right sizes of shoulder holsters. He simply nodded. When had my little boy turned into a cowboy? I didn't have time to continue that line of thought, though, and returned to the task at hand, loading magazines.
There were more zombies in the store, and between my wasteful unloading of an entire magazine and Bill's single shotgun round, we'd practically given them a foghorn to guide them in. We needed to hurry.
I loaded the mags for each pistol without incident, then turned back to the cabinet, selecting a pair of 9mm's for my son. He could handle a 9mm a lot easier than the big .45s I had chosen, and the rounds would be just as effective if he aimed for the head.
Bill returned, pulling his head into his second shoulder holster. "Jump back here and find spare magazines, Son.
".45's for me, 9mm Ruger for you. And get rounds. All you can find."
I began loading Bill's magazines, listening for the creatures I knew were approaching, our fresh flesh their only aim. The dogs' hackles raised again, and their low growls confirmed my fears. We still had to pull supplies together. We still had to get everything out to the truck and loaded. We had too much to do, and the danger increased the longer we stayed in the store. The only good thing about the situation, if there could be a good thing, was that there was a finite number of the creatures in the store. Bad, however, was that by now, they were probably all coming right for us.
"Bill, hold the dogs," I warned, raising the pistol. The sound of the gun drowned out any other noise, even the low growl of the dogs. My pistol shooting skills were a bit out of date. Two rounds hit the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back and down as I, almost on auto pilot, kept pulling the trigger on the big .45. Boom! Boom! Boom. click. Uh-oh.
The zombie was dragging itself toward me with its right arm, a weird high keening noise coming from its throat. I could see shattered bones poking out the back of its shirt, the result of the two rounds that had actually hit. Slamming the pistol down onto the counter, I reached for my shotgun.
BOOM!
Bill beat me to it. I hadn't even noticed him rounding the corner from the shelves, but he had, and had immediately raised his shotgun and took action, blasting an almost neat hole through the back of the creature's skull, spreading its face across the floor and splashing little bits of brain on my shoes.
I was frozen, that little voice of terror trying to make its way back into my conscience. Bill, face ashen, promptly leaned over and threw up. He then calmly reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a shell, replacing the round he'd fired from his shotgun.
I managed to eke a "thank you" out as he turned back into the aisle he'd been searching for the right sizes of shoulder holsters. He simply nodded. When had my little boy turned into a cowboy? I didn't have time to continue that line of thought, though, and returned to the task at hand, loading magazines.
There were more zombies in the store, and between my wasteful unloading of an entire magazine and Bill's single shotgun round, we'd practically given them a foghorn to guide them in. We needed to hurry.
I loaded the mags for each pistol without incident, then turned back to the cabinet, selecting a pair of 9mm's for my son. He could handle a 9mm a lot easier than the big .45s I had chosen, and the rounds would be just as effective if he aimed for the head.
Bill returned, pulling his head into his second shoulder holster. "Jump back here and find spare magazines, Son.
".45's for me, 9mm Ruger for you. And get rounds. All you can find."
I began loading Bill's magazines, listening for the creatures I knew were approaching, our fresh flesh their only aim. The dogs' hackles raised again, and their low growls confirmed my fears. We still had to pull supplies together. We still had to get everything out to the truck and loaded. We had too much to do, and the danger increased the longer we stayed in the store. The only good thing about the situation, if there could be a good thing, was that there was a finite number of the creatures in the store. Bad, however, was that by now, they were probably all coming right for us.
Monday, September 07, 2009
H1Z1 Chapter 11
Leading the way, I gingerly stepped over the body lying in the automatic doorway and into the entrance. Bill was right behind, the dogs on either side of him, guardians with hackles raised, noses busily determining which direction the next threat may come from.
We angled over to the cart park and each grabbed one. "I should pull both the carts, Dad. That way your hands are free with the shotgun."
"Good thinking, Son, but what about the dogs?"
In reply, Bill unbuckled his heavy canvas belt and passed the loops of both leashes through it.
"OK, but if they sense something, another ... zombie, they'll try to go after it."
"I know, Dad, but I can push the cart in between me and the thing and then you can shoot it."
"All right. Straight to the outdoors section. Move beside or behind me, don't stop, and keep your head on a swivel."
"I never understood what that meant until today, Dad." Smart boy. The saying hearkened back to my Navy days - the skipper of the aircraft carrier I was stationed aboard would say it to the flight deck crew before every cycle. It meant "keep your eyes open, 360-degrees around you." Good advice.
We entered the inner doors to quiet. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be alive. Sarah let out a slight whimper which Steve replied to with a light growl.
"Knock it off, you two," I said, almost a reflex. They were excellent dogs, but they could be a little high strung. Probably a good trait in this circumstance.
Bill and I began moving toward the outdoors section. Not exactly marching, not exactly strolling. Both of us moved warily and scanned our surroundings, searching for sign of another creature. As we rounded the final tall display shelf into outdoors, we both sighed with relief. There was the gun counter, nothing and no one around it, and our goal directly in sight.
"OK. Shells. 12 and 20 Gauge. Load up your cart, Son."
Bill broke left to the shelf with the shotgun shells while I stepped through the gate behind the gun counter.
"Shit!"
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"Keys. They're on Marie's body."
"Oh, shit."
"Bill!"
"Sorry, Dad. What will we do?"
I raised the butt of my shotgun and rammed it into the lock on the drawer which held the trigger lock keys. It burst immediately. Some security.
"I guess that works, huh?" Bill asked, one eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of my own wry expression. "Keep working, Boy."
It was funny that he retained his budding sense of humor even in our current predicament. I quickly located the cabinet key and unlocked the shotgun rack, pulling out the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 20-gauge I had been eyeing for my son for months.
"Grab a shooting vest, Bill. And toss me a box of shells." He already had a vest his size on, and was filling the pockets. He looked up and threw me a box with a handful of shells left in it. I removed the trigger lock and began to load, racking one round into the chamber so I could push a fifth round into the gun. "Here, Son," I said, clicking on the safety and tossing the loaded gun across the aisle to the boy. He snagged it deftly from the air and turned to the rack of rifle straps. Smart, smart boy.
Just then, I realized that I was hearing something. A kind of dragging sound, and the moaning we'd heard earlier was back.
"Hurry. I want you to find shoulder holsters - you'll need a woman's small, I need an extra large. Automatic pistols - we'll need the extra bullets."
Bill nodded and turned to the next aisle, clicking the safety off of his gun.
I unlocked the counter-top pistol case and began pulling out handguns. .45 calibers for me - a pair of matched stainless steel Smith and Wessons. I grabbed them. "Left and right shoulder for both of us, Bill," I shouted as I pulled the trigger locks off of the pistols.
Pistol shells were behind the counter. Ejecting the magazines onto it, I turned and grabbed a box of .45 rounds, dumping it out on the glass top. The moaning was getting louder. And the dragging sound nearer. Hurriedly, I began jacking rounds into a magazine, looking under the counter for the guns' cases as I did so. Too much time. This was all taking too much time.
Both dogs began to growl.
Time was almost up.
We angled over to the cart park and each grabbed one. "I should pull both the carts, Dad. That way your hands are free with the shotgun."
"Good thinking, Son, but what about the dogs?"
In reply, Bill unbuckled his heavy canvas belt and passed the loops of both leashes through it.
"OK, but if they sense something, another ... zombie, they'll try to go after it."
"I know, Dad, but I can push the cart in between me and the thing and then you can shoot it."
"All right. Straight to the outdoors section. Move beside or behind me, don't stop, and keep your head on a swivel."
"I never understood what that meant until today, Dad." Smart boy. The saying hearkened back to my Navy days - the skipper of the aircraft carrier I was stationed aboard would say it to the flight deck crew before every cycle. It meant "keep your eyes open, 360-degrees around you." Good advice.
We entered the inner doors to quiet. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be alive. Sarah let out a slight whimper which Steve replied to with a light growl.
"Knock it off, you two," I said, almost a reflex. They were excellent dogs, but they could be a little high strung. Probably a good trait in this circumstance.
Bill and I began moving toward the outdoors section. Not exactly marching, not exactly strolling. Both of us moved warily and scanned our surroundings, searching for sign of another creature. As we rounded the final tall display shelf into outdoors, we both sighed with relief. There was the gun counter, nothing and no one around it, and our goal directly in sight.
"OK. Shells. 12 and 20 Gauge. Load up your cart, Son."
Bill broke left to the shelf with the shotgun shells while I stepped through the gate behind the gun counter.
"Shit!"
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"Keys. They're on Marie's body."
"Oh, shit."
"Bill!"
"Sorry, Dad. What will we do?"
I raised the butt of my shotgun and rammed it into the lock on the drawer which held the trigger lock keys. It burst immediately. Some security.
"I guess that works, huh?" Bill asked, one eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of my own wry expression. "Keep working, Boy."
It was funny that he retained his budding sense of humor even in our current predicament. I quickly located the cabinet key and unlocked the shotgun rack, pulling out the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 20-gauge I had been eyeing for my son for months.
"Grab a shooting vest, Bill. And toss me a box of shells." He already had a vest his size on, and was filling the pockets. He looked up and threw me a box with a handful of shells left in it. I removed the trigger lock and began to load, racking one round into the chamber so I could push a fifth round into the gun. "Here, Son," I said, clicking on the safety and tossing the loaded gun across the aisle to the boy. He snagged it deftly from the air and turned to the rack of rifle straps. Smart, smart boy.
Just then, I realized that I was hearing something. A kind of dragging sound, and the moaning we'd heard earlier was back.
"Hurry. I want you to find shoulder holsters - you'll need a woman's small, I need an extra large. Automatic pistols - we'll need the extra bullets."
Bill nodded and turned to the next aisle, clicking the safety off of his gun.
I unlocked the counter-top pistol case and began pulling out handguns. .45 calibers for me - a pair of matched stainless steel Smith and Wessons. I grabbed them. "Left and right shoulder for both of us, Bill," I shouted as I pulled the trigger locks off of the pistols.
Pistol shells were behind the counter. Ejecting the magazines onto it, I turned and grabbed a box of .45 rounds, dumping it out on the glass top. The moaning was getting louder. And the dragging sound nearer. Hurriedly, I began jacking rounds into a magazine, looking under the counter for the guns' cases as I did so. Too much time. This was all taking too much time.
Both dogs began to growl.
Time was almost up.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
*Author's Note*
Hey you zombiefiles! Sorry it took me almost TWO months to whip out H1Z1 chapter 10 - it's been a rough summer, to say the least.
In brief, I am suffering a debilitating back injury and it's been rough making my way through not only the military medical system, but the struggles of narcotic painkillers, muscle relaxers and depression iincluded in no longer being able to lift even my cat (and she's a little damned cat).
I am trying very hard to keep my positive (or at least pragmatic and probably a bit sarcastic) outlook and learn to deal with my newfound disability. Hopefully, I'll bbe able to get surgery and fix this so I can re-start my zombie survivalism training.
But, no matter what, I'll keep pluugging away at the H1Z1 saga 'cause, damn it, we need to be prepared when H1N1 mutates and people start re-animating in search of fresh human brains!
In brief, I am suffering a debilitating back injury and it's been rough making my way through not only the military medical system, but the struggles of narcotic painkillers, muscle relaxers and depression iincluded in no longer being able to lift even my cat (and she's a little damned cat).
I am trying very hard to keep my positive (or at least pragmatic and probably a bit sarcastic) outlook and learn to deal with my newfound disability. Hopefully, I'll bbe able to get surgery and fix this so I can re-start my zombie survivalism training.
But, no matter what, I'll keep pluugging away at the H1Z1 saga 'cause, damn it, we need to be prepared when H1N1 mutates and people start re-animating in search of fresh human brains!
H1Z1 Chapter 10
There are no words to fully describe the horror which was pulsing through my mind and charging through my body as the thing in front of me stopped it's grotesque motions almost at the same time as the resounding boom of the shotgun shell echoed off the wall of the building beside us.
I watched as, in slow motion, its skull disintegrated, blood and ichor spraying across the pavement and painting a macabre moire of pinkish death where a man's head once lay.
I wanted to vomit.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run, the raving voice in my head screeching that this wasn't possible, this wasn't real, I couldn't have just killed two people, there are more there are more there are more there are ...
"Dad," Bill whispered, the dogs looking calmly at me as though they knew that the immediate danger was over. "Dad, are you OK?"
I turned to look at him. He was calm. His young mind wasn't raving like a lunatic, screaming to get out of here, to run, to hide, to pretend it had never happened. His young mind, I realized, was flexible enough to acknowledge and understand the shift in reality the world around us had taken, and to take it in stride. His young mind saw that I had a good plan and that it was up to us to make sure the rest of our family survived the zombie pandemic. His young mind, and his clear, calming eyes brought me back, and I firmly shoved the madman in my head, kicking and screaming all the way, to the back of my consciousness.
"Son, you handled that well. I am very proud of you. Way to keep the dogs safe, too - good job, Son."
"Thanks, Dad. But, I ..."
I looked him over, searching his small frame. "What is it, Son?"
"I was scared, Dad."
"Well, so was I. There's nothing wrong with being afraid. It's what you do with that fear that makes a statement, Son. You did good."
"Thanks, Dad," he managed, still looking at the ground. "But can we grab some clean underwear and a clean pair of pants while we're in there? Please?"
It was then that I saw what was bothering him. In the terror of the moment, he'd wet himself. Yet he'd stood strong, even as his little body was betraying him. All thoughts of my own fear were gone and I smiled with both pride and compassion. "Of course we can, Son. I may need a new pair my own self."
He didn't believe me, but he met my eyes and slowly, my smile.
"I guess we'd better get to work, huh?" I asked, tousling his hair and reaching down to pat the dogs each on the head.
"Well, it's now or never, Dad."
I turned to the door, swallowing, as the fear tried to return to the forefront of my mind.
Not this time. It's time to just head in and kick some zombie ass, I thought, stepping over Marie's corpse.
I watched as, in slow motion, its skull disintegrated, blood and ichor spraying across the pavement and painting a macabre moire of pinkish death where a man's head once lay.
I wanted to vomit.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run, the raving voice in my head screeching that this wasn't possible, this wasn't real, I couldn't have just killed two people, there are more there are more there are more there are ...
"Dad," Bill whispered, the dogs looking calmly at me as though they knew that the immediate danger was over. "Dad, are you OK?"
I turned to look at him. He was calm. His young mind wasn't raving like a lunatic, screaming to get out of here, to run, to hide, to pretend it had never happened. His young mind, I realized, was flexible enough to acknowledge and understand the shift in reality the world around us had taken, and to take it in stride. His young mind saw that I had a good plan and that it was up to us to make sure the rest of our family survived the zombie pandemic. His young mind, and his clear, calming eyes brought me back, and I firmly shoved the madman in my head, kicking and screaming all the way, to the back of my consciousness.
"Son, you handled that well. I am very proud of you. Way to keep the dogs safe, too - good job, Son."
"Thanks, Dad. But, I ..."
I looked him over, searching his small frame. "What is it, Son?"
"I was scared, Dad."
"Well, so was I. There's nothing wrong with being afraid. It's what you do with that fear that makes a statement, Son. You did good."
"Thanks, Dad," he managed, still looking at the ground. "But can we grab some clean underwear and a clean pair of pants while we're in there? Please?"
It was then that I saw what was bothering him. In the terror of the moment, he'd wet himself. Yet he'd stood strong, even as his little body was betraying him. All thoughts of my own fear were gone and I smiled with both pride and compassion. "Of course we can, Son. I may need a new pair my own self."
He didn't believe me, but he met my eyes and slowly, my smile.
"I guess we'd better get to work, huh?" I asked, tousling his hair and reaching down to pat the dogs each on the head.
"Well, it's now or never, Dad."
I turned to the door, swallowing, as the fear tried to return to the forefront of my mind.
Not this time. It's time to just head in and kick some zombie ass, I thought, stepping over Marie's corpse.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
#H1Z1 - Chapter 9
Automatic doors. All this time I'd been outside of the store, talking with my Son, getting the dogs out of the truck, loading my shotgun, calling 911 - all this time, and it just now hit me that they were automatic doors. All the front entrance doors - four sets - to the Wad-Mart were automatic. A motion sensor at the top triggered them. You simply needed to move in front of it.
Or stagger.
"Dad! Behind you!" Bill shouted as the dogs surged forward, hackles bristling and showing fierce snarls I never imagined my two goofy mutts were even capable of.
I whipped around, raising the shotgun to my shoulder just in time to see the remains of Marie lurch through the automatic door and stumble toward me.
"Don't come any closer, lady!" I shouted. My hackles, if I had any, were raised as well, and my flesh seemed to want to be somewhere else, goose-bumps instantly covering every inch of me. The voice in the back of my head was screeching now, tearing through my resolve to the forefront of my mind and refusing to be controlled. "Get back lady! Get away from us!"
Her eyes were so bloodshot they almost appeared red. A long string of saliva hung from one corner of her twisted mouth and she was actually gnashing her teeth - making chewing motions as she reached toward me. Her skin was white. I could see the branch-like tracery of veins through her eerily translucent skin. She was obviously dead, yet somehow walking. My brain raged at that, terror ripping the silence, or so I thought, with gut-wrenching screams.
Somehow, she managed a kind of half-hiss, half-moan and took another shuttering step.
I pulled the trigger of my gun.
Nothing happened.
Standing there, aghast, shocked, terrified, my mind quickly racing toward the precipice of abject terror, I almost didn't hear Bill's admonishment. "Safety, Dad! Take off the safety!"
It was too late. Marie was right in front of me, inside the 30-inch reach of the barrel of my skeet gun. She reached out, hands like claws hungrily trying to catch my shooting vest.
Call it reflexes. Call is survival instinct. Call it dumb, blind luck, but I managed to stave off the terror trying to peel itself out of my brain and run gibbering down the street for home and react.
I did the only thing I could. I swung the stock of the gun down from my shoulder and whipped it up in a sharp blow to her chin, knocking her head back with every ounce of force I could muster in so short an amount of time.
Her head shot back - too far back - and the momentum of my blow sent her sprawling backwards through the still open door, landing hard on the concrete pad beyond with a sickening crunch. I saw a pool of blood forming under her skull as her body writhed slowly through a sickening kind of death throe.
Then, her remains, her re-animated remains, seemed to collapse. She, no, it (I had to start thinking of them as 'it') cease to move altogether.
I had done it. I had killed my first zombie. How in the HELL was I going to deal with that when this was all over?
Bill's shout brought me back from this brief reverie. Why was he shouting, anyway? And why was I so detached all of a sudden?
It felt as though the air were made of gelatin rather than gasses as I turned toward my son and the dogs he was barely restraining.
Standing in front of the dogs, inches from their snarling, snapping jaws, was the second one. The second zombie from inside of the store. The man. Reaching - clawing for my son.
I didn't have to think this time. My finger snapped the safety off. I raised the shotgun and shot from the hip, aiming for center mass. I was to the right side of this second catastrophe, and was standing fairly even with the creature that threatened my son. Bill was clear of any shot, but the dogs weren't. No matter. This thing was not going to get my Son, I thought as I pulled the trigger.
At such short range, the tightly choked gun punched a hole deep into the side of the man - of what was left of the man. The force of the blow knocked it sideways onto the ground and it was close enough to the muzzle of the shotgun that it's shirt caught fire.
It writhed for a moment there on the ground before, astonishingly, beginning to lever its self up onto its knees, never losing sight of its target, my Son and our two dogs. But I had bought Bill the time he needed and somehow, I felt a flush of pride through the still gibbering terror which ran rampant through my mind as he dug his heels into the pavement and yanked the pair of savagely snarling animals back from the creature before them.
My shotgun was a semi-automatic, so I didn't have to pump it to chamber another round - it was already cocked and loaded. I raised it to my shoulder this time, taking aim for the center of the creature's chest and pulling the trigger again. It was sickening to watch as the shot ripped through its chest. It was blown back onto the ground again, but still, it writhed. Again, I shot it. Still it moved, clawing at the ground and trying to right its self so that it could pursue the child. Finally, I aimed for its head, something telling me that that would stop the creature. I pulled the trigger.
Or stagger.
"Dad! Behind you!" Bill shouted as the dogs surged forward, hackles bristling and showing fierce snarls I never imagined my two goofy mutts were even capable of.
I whipped around, raising the shotgun to my shoulder just in time to see the remains of Marie lurch through the automatic door and stumble toward me.
"Don't come any closer, lady!" I shouted. My hackles, if I had any, were raised as well, and my flesh seemed to want to be somewhere else, goose-bumps instantly covering every inch of me. The voice in the back of my head was screeching now, tearing through my resolve to the forefront of my mind and refusing to be controlled. "Get back lady! Get away from us!"
Her eyes were so bloodshot they almost appeared red. A long string of saliva hung from one corner of her twisted mouth and she was actually gnashing her teeth - making chewing motions as she reached toward me. Her skin was white. I could see the branch-like tracery of veins through her eerily translucent skin. She was obviously dead, yet somehow walking. My brain raged at that, terror ripping the silence, or so I thought, with gut-wrenching screams.
Somehow, she managed a kind of half-hiss, half-moan and took another shuttering step.
I pulled the trigger of my gun.
Nothing happened.
Standing there, aghast, shocked, terrified, my mind quickly racing toward the precipice of abject terror, I almost didn't hear Bill's admonishment. "Safety, Dad! Take off the safety!"
It was too late. Marie was right in front of me, inside the 30-inch reach of the barrel of my skeet gun. She reached out, hands like claws hungrily trying to catch my shooting vest.
Call it reflexes. Call is survival instinct. Call it dumb, blind luck, but I managed to stave off the terror trying to peel itself out of my brain and run gibbering down the street for home and react.
I did the only thing I could. I swung the stock of the gun down from my shoulder and whipped it up in a sharp blow to her chin, knocking her head back with every ounce of force I could muster in so short an amount of time.
Her head shot back - too far back - and the momentum of my blow sent her sprawling backwards through the still open door, landing hard on the concrete pad beyond with a sickening crunch. I saw a pool of blood forming under her skull as her body writhed slowly through a sickening kind of death throe.
Then, her remains, her re-animated remains, seemed to collapse. She, no, it (I had to start thinking of them as 'it') cease to move altogether.
I had done it. I had killed my first zombie. How in the HELL was I going to deal with that when this was all over?
Bill's shout brought me back from this brief reverie. Why was he shouting, anyway? And why was I so detached all of a sudden?
It felt as though the air were made of gelatin rather than gasses as I turned toward my son and the dogs he was barely restraining.
Standing in front of the dogs, inches from their snarling, snapping jaws, was the second one. The second zombie from inside of the store. The man. Reaching - clawing for my son.
I didn't have to think this time. My finger snapped the safety off. I raised the shotgun and shot from the hip, aiming for center mass. I was to the right side of this second catastrophe, and was standing fairly even with the creature that threatened my son. Bill was clear of any shot, but the dogs weren't. No matter. This thing was not going to get my Son, I thought as I pulled the trigger.
At such short range, the tightly choked gun punched a hole deep into the side of the man - of what was left of the man. The force of the blow knocked it sideways onto the ground and it was close enough to the muzzle of the shotgun that it's shirt caught fire.
It writhed for a moment there on the ground before, astonishingly, beginning to lever its self up onto its knees, never losing sight of its target, my Son and our two dogs. But I had bought Bill the time he needed and somehow, I felt a flush of pride through the still gibbering terror which ran rampant through my mind as he dug his heels into the pavement and yanked the pair of savagely snarling animals back from the creature before them.
My shotgun was a semi-automatic, so I didn't have to pump it to chamber another round - it was already cocked and loaded. I raised it to my shoulder this time, taking aim for the center of the creature's chest and pulling the trigger again. It was sickening to watch as the shot ripped through its chest. It was blown back onto the ground again, but still, it writhed. Again, I shot it. Still it moved, clawing at the ground and trying to right its self so that it could pursue the child. Finally, I aimed for its head, something telling me that that would stop the creature. I pulled the trigger.
H1Z1 - Interlude 2
Current WHO phase of pandemic alert
Current phase of alert in the WHO global influenza preparedness plan
Pandemic preparedness
In the 2009 revision of the phase descriptions, WHO has retained the use of a six-phased approach for easy incorporation of new recommendations and approaches into existing national preparedness and response plans. The grouping and description of pandemic phases have been revised to make them easier to understand, more precise, and based upon observable phenomena. Phases 1–3 correlate with preparedness, including capacity development and response planning activities, while Phases 4–6 clearly signal the need for response and mitigation efforts. Furthermore, periods after the first pandemic wave are elaborated to facilitate post pandemic recovery activities.
The current WHO phase of pandemic alert is 5.
In nature, influenza viruses circulate continuously among animals, especially birds. Even though such viruses might theoretically develop into pandemic viruses, in Phase 1 no viruses circulating among animals have been reported to cause infections in humans.
In Phase 2 an animal influenza virus circulating among domesticated or wild animals is known to have caused infection in humans, and is therefore considered a potential pandemic threat.
In Phase 3, an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus has caused sporadic cases or small clusters of disease in people, but has not resulted in human-to-human transmission sufficient to sustain community-level outbreaks. Limited human-to-human transmission may occur under some circumstances, for example, when there is close contact between an infected person and an unprotected caregiver. However, limited transmission under such restricted circumstances does not indicate that the virus has gained the level of transmissibility among humans necessary to cause a pandemic.
Phase 4 is characterized by verified human-to-human transmission of an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus able to cause “community-level outbreaks.” The ability to cause sustained disease outbreaks in a community marks a significant upwards shift in the risk for a pandemic. Any country that suspects or has verified such an event should urgently consult with WHO so that the situation can be jointly assessed and a decision made by the affected country if implementation of a rapid pandemic containment operation is warranted. Phase 4 indicates a significant increase in risk of a pandemic but does not necessarily mean that a pandemic is a forgone conclusion.
Phase 5 is characterized by human-to-human spread of the virus into at least two countries in one WHO region. While most countries will not be affected at this stage, the declaration of Phase 5 is a strong signal that a pandemic is imminent and that the time to finalize the organization, communication, and implementation of the planned mitigation measures is short.
Phase 6, the pandemic phase, is characterized by community level outbreaks in at least one other country in a different WHO region in addition to the criteria defined in Phase 5. Designation of this phase will indicate that a global pandemic is under way.
During the post-peak period, pandemic disease levels in most countries with adequate surveillance will have dropped below peak observed levels. The post-peak period signifies that pandemic activity appears to be decreasing; however, it is uncertain if additional waves will occur and countries will need to be prepared for a second wave.
Previous pandemics have been characterized by waves of activity spread over months. Once the level of disease activity drops, a critical communications task will be to balance this information with the possibility of another wave. Pandemic waves can be separated by months and an immediate “at-ease” signal may be premature.
In the post-pandemic period, influenza disease activity will have returned to levels normally seen for seasonal influenza. It is expected that the pandemic virus will behave as a seasonal influenza A virus. At this stage, it is important to maintain surveillance and update pandemic preparedness and response plans accordingly. An intensive phase of recovery and evaluation may be required.
**Actual World Health Organization document found here.
Current phase of alert in the WHO global influenza preparedness plan
Pandemic preparedness
In the 2009 revision of the phase descriptions, WHO has retained the use of a six-phased approach for easy incorporation of new recommendations and approaches into existing national preparedness and response plans. The grouping and description of pandemic phases have been revised to make them easier to understand, more precise, and based upon observable phenomena. Phases 1–3 correlate with preparedness, including capacity development and response planning activities, while Phases 4–6 clearly signal the need for response and mitigation efforts. Furthermore, periods after the first pandemic wave are elaborated to facilitate post pandemic recovery activities.
The current WHO phase of pandemic alert is 5.
In nature, influenza viruses circulate continuously among animals, especially birds. Even though such viruses might theoretically develop into pandemic viruses, in Phase 1 no viruses circulating among animals have been reported to cause infections in humans.
In Phase 2 an animal influenza virus circulating among domesticated or wild animals is known to have caused infection in humans, and is therefore considered a potential pandemic threat.
In Phase 3, an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus has caused sporadic cases or small clusters of disease in people, but has not resulted in human-to-human transmission sufficient to sustain community-level outbreaks. Limited human-to-human transmission may occur under some circumstances, for example, when there is close contact between an infected person and an unprotected caregiver. However, limited transmission under such restricted circumstances does not indicate that the virus has gained the level of transmissibility among humans necessary to cause a pandemic.
Phase 4 is characterized by verified human-to-human transmission of an animal or human-animal influenza reassortant virus able to cause “community-level outbreaks.” The ability to cause sustained disease outbreaks in a community marks a significant upwards shift in the risk for a pandemic. Any country that suspects or has verified such an event should urgently consult with WHO so that the situation can be jointly assessed and a decision made by the affected country if implementation of a rapid pandemic containment operation is warranted. Phase 4 indicates a significant increase in risk of a pandemic but does not necessarily mean that a pandemic is a forgone conclusion.
Phase 5 is characterized by human-to-human spread of the virus into at least two countries in one WHO region. While most countries will not be affected at this stage, the declaration of Phase 5 is a strong signal that a pandemic is imminent and that the time to finalize the organization, communication, and implementation of the planned mitigation measures is short.
Phase 6, the pandemic phase, is characterized by community level outbreaks in at least one other country in a different WHO region in addition to the criteria defined in Phase 5. Designation of this phase will indicate that a global pandemic is under way.
During the post-peak period, pandemic disease levels in most countries with adequate surveillance will have dropped below peak observed levels. The post-peak period signifies that pandemic activity appears to be decreasing; however, it is uncertain if additional waves will occur and countries will need to be prepared for a second wave.
Previous pandemics have been characterized by waves of activity spread over months. Once the level of disease activity drops, a critical communications task will be to balance this information with the possibility of another wave. Pandemic waves can be separated by months and an immediate “at-ease” signal may be premature.
In the post-pandemic period, influenza disease activity will have returned to levels normally seen for seasonal influenza. It is expected that the pandemic virus will behave as a seasonal influenza A virus. At this stage, it is important to maintain surveillance and update pandemic preparedness and response plans accordingly. An intensive phase of recovery and evaluation may be required.
**Actual World Health Organization document found here.
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