BAKER DAM______________________________________________________________________________pg. 9This place is probably one of the most isolated setups you'll ever see, and one of the smallest too - a community of about seventy-eighty people at most, tiny when you compare it to the setup they had at Evergreen. Located in upstate Washington, Baker Dam's technically made up of three separate dam systems which run subsequently down the Baker River, bordering nearby Concrete to the south. Most of our people live inside the area surrounding the northernmost two, West Pass Dike and Upper Baker, whilst a few hours downriver is another group who keep the Lower Dam running and often send our crews down into the surrounding area to scout what the lookouts miss and gather what supplies we'll need.
In case you're wondering, we have a leader of sorts - a guy who we know better as C'. He's not what you might call the friendliest of people from a glance, and it's obvious that those tattoos of his aren't just for show, but he's dedicated to keeping us going and a fighter through and through, the kind of leader we need in a time like this. That's not to say that we don't have a say in things: C' keeps a 'council' of different guys who handle separate matters like our supplies and defenses, but if we bring something up its heard likelier than not. Granted, we can't rely on thick walls like they do in California, yet we have a ten-foot barbed wire fence that's more than enough to keep anything unwanted from wandering in and on the off-chance that they do slip through, C' keeps enough guards on patrol to make sure we don't lose anymore of our own. Some might call it too much of a risk, but most other places don't have access to power like we do from the dams, and in a time like this you'll find plenty of people willing to trade sitting behind thick walls in cold darkness for sitting behind a thinner wall with some light and heat.
The only real thing that we've got to worry about these days is the 1007th. Some of us won't admit it, but C' knows better that the jarheads will take this place if they find it, and some of us already had to leave our homes at Evergreen to avoid that before. We won't let that happen again.
-Brent Geralt, 11/4/20
II.
BestiaryThe walls are closed for a reason. I know those of you who were young or somehow left unexposed may see this as crazed ravings. Truthfully, I would have too before this all started and even our news called the earliest incidents religious ritual taken too literally or simply Bath Salts. But rumors like that don’t produce journals through time. They don’t create journals documenting strange beasts, their dangers, or where they roam. Today we are lucky, but we are not safe. Read this and know what dangers lie beyond these walls. Abandon all hope, you who leave here.
-The Author
Infected
It can be just a small bite or a scratch, or maybe an unlucky blood splatter. I’ve seen victims not know they were infected until they start turning. Sometimes amputation might work if done quickly. But once it starts, it’s always the same. You start coughing too much, and then the fever comes on. Sweating, mucus and phlegm. Soon the vomiting and diarrhea begin.
That lasts for a few hours. A short time after that they become agitated, emotional, reckless and irrational. They’ll get muscle spasms and hallucinations. Soon they stop making sense. They might remember you, but not for long. They’ll attack you, disregard their own safety, become animalistic and suicidal. The person you knew before the infection is no longer there.
It takes just twelve hours. Twelve hours, and a monster is made. It all starts with just a cough.
- Winifred Ross, 10/12/25
It doesn’t take long to figure out that most things don’t seem to phase them. If you want to put them down permanently then you need to take out the brain, either with a bullet to the head - an axe, a sharp blade - even decapitating them is good enough to keep them from getting back up again.
There isn’t a lot else that seems to work, I’ve seen a few of them end up being doused in gas and set on fire before but from what I know it takes a while to reach the brain and cook them and even then, sometimes you’ll have these mangled, burnt bodies which haven’t exactly been put down just yet. The cold sometimes works against them too, I saw it down in Southern Cali a few years back. When it starts snowing and freezing over, I’ve seen a few of them start slowing down or completely icing over. Doesn’t work forever, though - when the ice thaws out so do they.
Take it from me, if you can spare the bullet (and the noise) then use that, otherwise the closest you’ll have to a ‘clean’ method of putting the dead down is by scrambling their heads.
-Trane, December ‘20
Zombies
All dead things came back. If you died with the infection, you come back no matter what. Eventually all Infected come back as one of them, and every corpse that had it rises within a day.
They’re slow, only ever going at a normal pace. You can outrun them if there’s only a few. But they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. They never give up. Sometimes you can see one clawing at the same door it was last week. That’s when the others show up, and soon a loner is just another moan in a horde.
- Winifred Ross, 10/12/25
Berserker Related to Bladers, Sisters of Mercy, & Collectors
From what we can tell the Berserker is related to a few other forms of undead. I ran into one first in the forests surrounding Evergreen. They are lanky with lean, tightly woven muscles and tattered skin. Many have patches of hair all about the body, so maybe some of them are still alive like the Infected. Either way, these bastards are dangerous. You’ll hear them howl and their hands and feet, worn to the bone, scratching against the ground. The basic form will tear you to shreds.
Listen. You’re not going to know if it’s a Berserker or Collector from seeing it. The only difference I know is that the Berserker will rip you apart while the Collector will beat you to hell before dragging you to its ‘nest’. Pay attention. Next time you wander through a sleeping tent, question it.
-Simon-Pietro Lombardi, 11/03/20
Ever seen a handless zombie with its forearms gnawed down to a point or its face deformed by its skull splitting through the skin? Then you, my friend, have met a Blader. Nasty, calcium eating zombies that can display two types of behaviors: lone wolf or pack hunter. When in a pack they are impatient, very aggressive but also very reckless. Loners however seem more patient, able to stalk their prey and that makes them more dangerous. Both types tend to have a long memory so don’t expect all your tricks to work forever on them, namely those that have seen said tricks in action.
There’s very few ways in fact that we discovered actually works when killing a Blader: total decapitation and hitting the quarter size kill spot near the nose. If that weren’t bad enough then let’s not forget the fact they can play possum. Yes, possum as in fake death when you fail to kill in those ways I’ve mentioned. They will jump right back up and bite you in the ass when you least expect it.
-Abigail O’Keeffe, 10/28/20
Don't let them get close, either - even with armour, these fuckers have teeth strong enough to crack bone. That's how they get through to the marrow.
-Michael Dougherty - 12/6/19
Sisters of Mercy. Well, their name kinda makes sense… In a fucked up, don’t-wanna-live-anymore kinda way. I’ve never actually seen one, personally, but I’ve gotten close enough to hear one’s wails. These guys, for whatever reason, still have the ability to make basic human noises like crying. They lure you to them with plaintive sounds and then once you get close enough they go for your throat. I’ve been told that they only take that one bite, and then sweetly caress you until you die before actually eating your brains and whatnot. Creepy little shits. They’re also supposedly faster and hardier than the average infected and prefer to hunt alone, so there’s that. I guess the moral of the story is to be careful when you decide to play hero and save the damsel in distress, because she may or may not attempt to lovingly eat your face off.
-Cassie Shannahan, Summer ‘21
Titans Related to HAMs
Ever see a small mountain in the distance, but somehow it’s grown or moved while you haven’t? Titans are extremely large and, we think like the Berserker, somehow developed from the Infected. I’m writing this because we saw one a few days ago on our way to Riley. Not sure where it is now, but the thing was so slow we just kept driving. Miles behind us and I still can’t shake the sight. The head was small, arms and legs hulking, I get the sense we’d need heavy artillery to take it down. They’re slow though -- thankfully. I doubt anything could get in its way. The thing must’ve been two men tall. More.
-Simon-Pietro Lombardi, 10/12/20
OrganizationsPirate Crew/New FarmersThe Pirate Crew and New Farmers are difficult to describe. We know them today for their influence on the world, good and bad, but unlike other organizations listed here, they defy being labels. Hard to believe, but every account describes them as a group who just sort of collected. What we know is many accounts show that the Siege of Evergreen was pivotal. Either there or shortly after, the group(s) formed. Members might separate a while, but they never seem gone long. We’re lucky for that.
-The Author
Legion The Legion was born under Emperor Guy Keyes. A strong, charismatic man with para-military experience and a respect for the Ancient Roman Empire, he formed the group in their image. Ours is a hardened lot, tested through action with our minds set on the greater good and our souls given in the name of absolute loyalty. We hail from many backgrounds, yet in Legion we are one. Keyes reigns in the west, set on solidifying control in order to establish a new civilization. In the east, many say I reign. Here spreading is less a concern than maintaining our lines. Bandits without loyalties, the Condemned, challenge the lands we’ve built.
The Western Legion stronghold is in eastern Oregon. In the Eastern Legion, I have walls and various safe-zones around the former US Capital. We are more stable here and, truthfully, I am concerned to hear that Keyes may soon move onto this ‘Evergreen Haven’.
-Juneau Motzkin, Emperor of the Eastern Legion, 09/27/20
1007thListen, we’re not like the others. We don’t buy or sell humans, don’t crucify or torture, and we don’t think take pretend to be some higher class. The 1007th are all that’s left of the good ol’ Red White and Blue. Our aim is to use our training to return order -- that’s it. Freedom means sacrifice. I admit sometimes we act like the devil, but if that’s what it takes to bring back the old America so be it. We started in the east and Evergreen was a big step forward. Why still fight us? We aren’t some big group trying to take over, we are just a skilled, selective bunch who know what it’ll take to get right. If a hundred gotta die so we can bring safety back, so be it. Why don’t they get that?
-Unnamed Soldier, October 2020
When they first took over our community, it was to 'protect' us from the dangers of the outside. The dead, the bandits, the legion - it seemed like we'd found ourselves on the better half of the deal, until they started bringing down their authority upon our heads. Twenty four hours a day under martial law isn't a way to live, and yet when we spoke up or even dared to act against it they just blurted on about how it was for our 'own good', and necessary for the restoration of the United States of old - right before they shot us down and shipped the rest off to some far-gone labor camps to 'reinforce our loyalties to the American people'. I'll tell you something, whatever kind of America they're hoping to bring back, it's nothing we'll ever recognise.
-Washington State Refugee, November 2020
ShepherdsWe are sick of our friends and neighbours being shot or beaten in the streets. The 1007th took over for ‘our protection’, yet it is us who suffer most. Our Council is now a puppet, they have taken our voice. Evergreen will be free again and we won’t wait. This disease must die before it spreads further. Revolution is coming and we are its Shepherd.
-Milo ‘Franco’ Francoise, November 2020
I've seen what these jarheads are capable of, the families they've destroyed - the people they've broken. Someone has to take a stand against the 1007th and if that means we drag this into a war - then so be it.
-C' Avarisque
SentinelsCondemnedYou know how many people were in the American Prison System before everything went to shit? 2.3 million. Yes, that’s right - 2.3 million inmates locked up for crimes ranging from tax evasion to first degree murder, and even before it all went to hell it was barely under control. When the infection hit us and the country began to fall apart it wasn’t long before the inmates realised that everything was completely fucked and ended up taking over. These days, they’re a dangerous bunch who don’t take too kindly to outsiders and are just as much of a problem in some places as the bandits or the Legion are. Though, the word is that they respect anyone who can ink them up with tattoos, and there’s a couple folks who reckon that if for some mysterious, suicidal reason you wanted to talk with ‘em - the tat man’s your guy.
-Unnamed Chico Scout, Spring 2019
WarRecorded ConflictsSiege of Evergreen, October 2020
The Evergreen Haven, a stable and strong community was faced against the Legion for control of the land. While the haven had many defensive strategies in place, the combination of undead and Legion proved too much. A deal made in the background by a few offered salvation. The 1007th repelled the Legion on behalf of Evergreen. The Siege ended within a day, resulting in Evergreen Haven falling under complete 1007th control.
III.Abigail Farhan O’Keeffe
I guess it’s best to introduce myself, that’s being polite after all. I’m called Abigail O’Keeffe. My name is one of the few things I’ve got left after the world came to an end but I’m proud of it. It’s a wonder I managed to survive this long but that’s what I am: a survivor. I’m not a fighter and when it comes to down to it, my reflexes are better at flight than combat. I can run like crazy and pretty far too at the most important times because that’s what I’m built for. I’m lean even under my slightly oversized flannel and grey tank, to my two sizes too big boots and thinning jeans so I have to think around situations that require brawn. So far I’m still here after all this time.
I look like a redheaded farm girl that’s outgrown her birth place and while some say I’m a very pretty thing, I don’t feel like it. My girlfriend always scowled when I disagreed, she said her favorite features were my light green eyes that seemed to hold a hint of the old world innocence and rosy pink lips that were rather kissable. I know she got a kick from the blush across my white face and freckles though how she could tell since it’s usually covered in dirt and grime is a mystery to me. It’s been a long time, hard to believe I’m now eighteen when I still feel like that scared thirteen years old sometimes. I can use a composite bow decent enough to kill deer, infected and other dangers to me if needed yet I’ll admit finding arrows isn’t easy. Most the arrows I have were made from resources I found and yes, they might not be the best but they work just fine for my needs. Each one is precious so I tend not to leave them behind if I can. Why not use a gun you ask? Pretty simple really, I’m terrified of them because one day when I was young, a bullet could’ve ended my life. It crashed through the window and nicked my cheek so now I’ve got a phobia of guns, namely those bigger than a handgun. My aim with my small knife, wooden baseball bat, composite or a reconstructed bow, I can manage a hit most the time. Give me a handgun… I would be lucky to hit one out of every ten targets I try for.
I came from a normal family of five, my parents, twin brothers and me, which lived in New York. Not the best place in the world and left in shambles, mostly, when the meteors hit. When the infection was just rumors circulating around, my father was comatose after being caught in a riot. It ended up being mom and me that stayed, my brothers sent out west to a relative's house. During the trip home, we became caught up in a life and death struggle when infected chased us down an alleyway. My life saved by a stranger’s, Kurtis Connor, kindness while behind a closed door I heard my mother eaten alive and telling me to run. We made it out of the city and stuck together, keeping each other safe. He taught me how to use the composition bow, construct a crude one if needed, and everything about archery, including arrow making. Even tried to get me over my fear of guns but only managed to get me able to use a handgun without shaking. I still freeze up at loud shoots like machine and shotgun from time to time. We came to Eden. A small town with more land than population, they willingly took us in and that’s when I met Kathrin. My girlfriend and yes, I’m bisexual though I didn’t know it then.
At Eden I was a jack of all trades. From cooking (not well mind you!) to cleaning, mostly rigging up quick fixes until more permanent solutions- ones that never happened- were found. So to be honest, I was used to traveling long walks with about 4 hours sleep across Eden.
It was a few days ago when Kat died. We were salvaging for whatever little remained around the town and it seemed something was stalking us. Kat immediately shoved me into a coffin, my gun in her hand, before investigating it. It’s hard to explain what it’s like to hear someone you love screaming, flesh ripping, and dying when you’re so close yet helpless to save her. Just like my mother...I don’t think the term ‘Hell on earth’ came even close to reliving that. So add claustrophobia to the list. When it had been silent for a long time, I made a hole that allowed me to unblock the coffin and came out. She was dead. Whatever killed her was long gone. I still regret not burying her as I ran off instead . I saw in the distance that Eden was gone, over ran by infected.
I drove for two days straight on pure fear toward Fort Riley, Kansas, stopping only once when I hit a gas station and seemed to attracted unwanted company. It was around the second or third day I met the Farmers and the small group they traveled with to the same place. That first meeting was interesting. I admit to having a particular fondness for the girls, namely Lacy since she reminds me of my brothers. They would’ve been around her age right now. While I still hope to see Kurtis again one day, I can’t dwell on that thinking forever or yet face a possibility that I might never see him again. I’m starting to get sick of losing those I love nowadays and a pain swelling in my heart that I really wish wasn’t there. Does it just get worse before it ever gets better, I wonder? Or does it just never get better at all?
One thing I will always remember is that nothing is permanent and people die. It’s hard to accept, I know, but now it’s all I know is a guarantee.
-Abbie O’Keeffe
Cassandra Shannahan
Once upon a time, in a land that was super shitty and infested by zombies, there lived a woman who was really awesome and the coolest thing since shortwave pocket radio transceivers. Her name was Cassandra Shannahan. She’s me. I’m Cassie. And I’m only writing all this shit about me down so that when I turn into a Zed-head someone can pin it to my shirt and when I inevitably get my rotting, human flesh craving brains bashed in the lucky bastard who did it will know how fucking cool I was. So, Lucky Bastard, pay attention.
About me? Well, I’m a tall and lanky brunette. Greenish eyes. Long face. Evil smirk. Damn hot. Armed to the teeth with an M4 with an under barrel mounted grenade launcher…with no grenades; I’ll find some that don’t shoot chalk one day. Got a hatchet on my left leg, a sweet piece in the shape of a Glock 23 on my right. Then there’s my skydiving rig. 96sqft of red, black, and grey fabric that sits on my back in a red and black container. This rig has saved my life in more ways than one.
Guess you need to know who I was before knowing who I am so… Before the end of the world, my life was still pretty epic. My parents were both professional skydivers up in Michigan, so I grew up in a community of adrenaline loving, thrill seeking, crazy people. Needless to say, I was a pretty badass little kid. When I graduated from high school I moved out to Hollywood to become a stuntwoman since, you know, I’d been participating in life threatening activities since I was knee high. Fucking loved it. It… didn’t like me so much. Think I’ve broken like every bone in my body at least once. Shit, some days I can barely move my bad shoulder anymore. But yeah, one day, after a stunt that went horribly wrong, I spent a few months in a hospital bed and had a little “come to Jesus” moment. Figured my body wouldn’t hold up forever, so I needed a backup plan. That was a degree in Communication Technology. Basically, if it sends or receives signals, I can fix it or make it. I’m a genius like that. A year after I graduated, the world turned to shit.
Seriously, dude, zombies. But you know that if you’re reading this. I got the hell out of Hollywood and drove off into the desert as soon as things got sketchy. Eventually I found my way to Reno Haven. Fucking sucked there, though it’s not the worst haven I’ve been to. Started actually using my degree in comm tech, making people radios and solar panels for electricity. But, ahh, I have a problem with authority… and sitting still. So I started drifting and salvaging parts to make into comm stuff and sell. I traveled all around the country, found a bunch of other havens, and had more than a few close calls.
For some reason, I never went looking for my family until some fucked up shit happened and I ended up pregnant, scared, and totally alone. That was a bad time in my life; the worst, really. I don’t like telling people about it.. Nut I traveled up to Michigan to find someone from my old life I could anchor to and ended up finding more than a few. My mom, and some friends so close to family that the only thing different was our blood and last names. I lived with them on the island haven of Mackinac until my daughter, Brianna, was weaned. Then I left again, alone. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I like to make the excuse that I leave my family to provide for them and to find them somewhere better to live, and that’s some of it, just not most of it. I don’t know what is.
But after one of my handful of visits to their haven, I decided that they’d be better off in Evergreen and I wanted to make it as comfortable as possible for them when they got there. So I made a deal with their council: I’d build them a device to make their haven safer, if my family was allowed to move there and be provided food and security. That’s when I met Petey; he was made my babysitter while I was there. I guess nothing’s really changed over the years as far as that goes. We survived and fought through the Siege of Evergreen and then escaped into the night with some others. I suppose those first couple of days were really when the Pirate Crew came to be. Yeah... Me, Petey, Isaac, Gunner (that asshole), Daryl, and Acacia; we were the first. And together we traveled out to Riley, Kansas where we met the Farmers for the first time. After that, well, everyone seems to know the rest of the story.
-Cassie Shannahan, Winter ‘24
Coltrane Anders
My story isn’t exactly one I’m proud of but I don’t see the point of trying to water it down, so here it is. My name’s Coltrane - Trane to friends. Some people describe me as a pretty imposing guy, strong like - I figure it’s just how I’m naturally built. Not that I want to be scary, but it helps when you have to knock heads together. Guess it makes up for not being much of an expert with knives or computers, I guess. If you ever need to recognise me, I’m usually wearing a set of cargo pants with a white vest, and I like to wear a leather cargo jacket most of the time. Never could tolerate anything more, I’m not a fan of burdening clothes – which is also probably why I keep my hair trimmed down. Don’t mind having a short beard, though. Usually I’m carrying my trusty fire axe too, as well as a reliable Glock 17 strapped under my waistband.
I grew up in South Central L.A in the late eighties in a neighbourhood which wasn’t what I’d call the best place to live around. Gangs, drugs - not the best of places to be, but I guess things could’ve been worse. I could’ve been dead, for instance, but no - I’m not gonna spin some bullshit about coming from a shitty family. I had a baby brother who was pretty smart for his age, destined for some good education at college or something like that. Moms was always soft spoken and kind. And my old man? Honest as they came - he worked at an Autoshop a couple blocks away and always had a love for cars, so I figure that’s where I got it from.
Hell, I remember he used to be proud of a ‘64 Chevy Impala which he’d been restoring over the years. Used to enjoy working on it with him, too, like when we had our little arguments about stuff and he’d take the both of us into the garage, throw some Marley tunes on the radio and start wiping down that car whilst we talked things out. See, he was always kind and understanding like that, never blaming me for anything, always encouraging me to find an honest living and to steer away from all the bullshit you’d find in a place like South Central.
At any rate, it was my own damned fault and nobody else’s that I ended up where I did. First, it was something you’d hardly notice - running errands for friends of friends, occasionally passing the ‘laundry’ to a corner captain in exchange for a small wad of cash. Was just a kid back then, but I should’ve known better. Even my old man started to take notice but instead of yelling at me - or even beating me as some might’ve - he tried to talk me out of the path I was going on and steer me the other way. But, as I said. I was a kid back then, and enough of a fool to ignore him, and now it still haunts me.
I got deeper and deeper into things. Saw some bad shit, did some bad shit until one day I ended up gunning down two kids in the same shit as me in retribution for the killing of a close friend. Got paranoid after that, jumpy, and ultimately it led to me winding up in prison. Then a couple weeks later I learned that my old man had been murdered, killed in a drive-by on my house as revenge against me.
After that, well.. I didn’t really talk to a lot of people on the outside. Moms was too upset to even see me. She’d lost a son and a husband at the same time. And my baby brother loathed me for it. For what I’d put the family through, and for costing our old man his life. I don’t blame him for it, he had every right - and I knew it even then. Sometimes I still wonder what happened to the both of them, you know. Moms... well, I know L.A got it pretty bad. I just hope she didn’t suffer long. And my brother? He ended up on a flight to the East Coast, wanting to get away from the ghetto and all that bullshit with it. Last I heard was that he became a Detective. Good for him, I guess. Even with what happened between us, I hope he’s alright – that he made it and that he’s still out there somewhere. Markus – if you ever find this, I’m so sorry. You deserved better.
I can’t remember how long I spent inside prison, other than that I wasted my best years - at least a decade inside, either way. Realised all that gangbanger ‘glory’ was bullshit and gave it up. You know the rest; guess the apocalypse was my lucky break. I managed to keep my head down during the riots and lived long enough to see the ‘new management’ take over. Those bastards everyone know as the ‘Condemned’. These people were dangerous, I knew their kind - killers, thieves, the types who hurt others because they could, and one day I just snapped. Turned on them after seeing something which got to me and couldn’t stand for; never did like seeing women or kids getting hurt. I never went back to the prison, not that I could, and headed out on my own.
I drifted around Southern Cali for a few years, never stopping in one place for too long. Back then the idea of a ‘safezone’ was out of the question for me, you either kept on the move or you got swept over by the next wave of dead or bandits. Occasionally I’d run across a couple of survivors who were decent enough to not bash my skull in over a can of beans, but any groups we had never lasted long and we went on our separate ways after a few months, one way or the other. It wasn’t until a couple years later, maybe, I learned something of interest - another one of those so-called ‘safezones’ up in Northern Cali, based in Chico. I was skeptical, but the least to say they said they’d seen it themselves, even had a detailed map of it all. The way I saw it, it wasn’t as if I was doing much else other than surviving. Southern Cali was running dry and I had my reservations about heading east.
So, ‘fuck it’ was what I thought. Following the highway, I ended up out on my ass towards the end of the journey and got lost, but that’s when I met those people. Daryl, Abbie and the others too. See, they were headed towards Chico as well, only difference was that they actually knew the road. So yeah, I took a gamble and ended up I followed them into Chico. And what a place it was.
Maybe for other people, people who’d been raised in these safezones for a large part of their lives - it might not have been anything special, but for me it was... shit, I couldn’t have described it at the time. For the first time in... fuck knew how long, I saw people doing their business, going about their lives, not worrying about what was on the other side of those walls. Closest thing I knew to paradise. I settled in after a while, took some getting used to when it came to being part of society again I’ll admit, but these people helped me through. I talked to Abbie a little bit, got to know her - a good person, she’d been through some shit herself, like pretty much everyone. Lost her family, and she seemed to blame herself for it - I sympathised with her for that, so yeah, I guess you could say I could’ve considered her a friend at the time. So yeah, I decided to stick around with these people.
Hell, there’s a lot more I have to say here, y’know? But that was just the start of things, and there was plenty more to come.
-Coltrane Anders, 202X
Daryl Romanson
Why this can't wait for some other time, I have no idea, but I suppose I'll humor you. I've got a hundred other things I need to be doing, not the least of which involves cleaning the guts off of my truck's front manifold. Of course, I said that to you last week, and the week before, and the week before...
My name's Daryl Romanson, and I'm best known as a scavenger. Scout for the Chico haven on occasion. That means I spend most of my time out of havens, wandering around, looking for... stuff. Cars, gas, old-world food, batteries, guns, ammunition, stuff you can't just grow behind a haven wall. People know me because I rescue people. Not usually intentionally, but I come across people, sometimes. Survivors from old, destroyed camps, sometimes the odd slave or down-on-their-luck bandit. And I bring them all to Chico, or Reno. It doesn't happen very often, but it's often enough that you've got me writing this down, I guess.
I like being out of havens. Don't get me wrong, a safe place to lay down is great and all, but people there spend too much time trying to make things the way they were. Wake up, brush teeth, go to school, go to work, come home, drink, go to bed. I can't get into it. My life was boring enough before the meteors hit, I have no interest in trying to replicate that. So instead, I go outside, survive on my own. It's much more rewarding, I think. I've traveled back and forth over the Sierras so many times I've lost count, and I'm up and down the west coast at least twice a year. It's nice, you watch your own back, and don't have to worry about anything besides what your next meal will be, and how to avoid being something else's next meal.
That's something I've always disagreed with other people about, just the general view of life in Apocalyptica. The way some people talk about it, you'd think it's something out of Fallout, some irradiated desert where nothing can survive, but that's not true. I think of it like those scenes in I am Legend – remember that movie? - where it's just a montage of Will Smith living a good life with his dog. Lots of wild animals, everything's quiet, everything's overgrown. That, to me, seems more like what I experience. Zombies don't bug anything but people, as long as nothing's stupid enough to get close to them. Something about seeing a pack of wild horses roaming around makes you think; 'I've made good choices with my life.'
When I am in havens, I spend most of my time trading and living with my buddy, Wess. We survived the first few weeks of the apocalypse together, holed up in his little 1-bedroom house outside Sacramento. To be honest, Wess is the only reason I stayed alive. He's a guru on surviving the zombie apocalypse, knows everything there is to know. He's the one who takes care of my truck, and trades the scraps of supplies I collect into fresh food. He likes experimenting, always working on something or other. He makes a lot of money off of selling mines to the city, makes them out of bleach and old slotted toasters. He's real well connected, too, knows all the city councilmen, though how he does, I have no idea. You should talk to him, he could probably get you an interview with the mayor or someone important.
Anyways, that's enough blathering. Edit this how you will, use it if you want. I've got other stuff to do.
-Daryl Romanson, Spring '21
Simon-Pietro Lombardi
My looks aren’t remarkable. I’ve been called handsome by some, totally invisible to others. My skin is a deep tan from my Italian ancestry and Californian youth. Fortunately, I’m a pretty average height and my belly has slimmed since the world changed – not too hard to scavenge clothes. Back then I wore a patched up, dark turtleneck, some likewise patched cargos, and a dark long-coat given by Evergreen Haven before I left. Don’t spread it around, but my lover, Franco, gave me a light Kevlar vest that hides well under the coat. Nothing hardcore, a lifesaver though. Cass is reminding me to note weapons. I used one of the stockpiled M-14s back at Evergreen and a hunting rifle before that with Legion. At Fort Riley I picked up an old school lever-action Winchester with a scope. I kept a M1911A1 on one hip and a machete on the other. I’m not too bad a shot given a moment… am without. Ultimately, I survived because my wits and good company. I am not a strong man by any means, but I am quick and eloquent enough to usually get around this. And that’s me, unless you want a life history.
You want my life history… Right. I followed the most appealing path society would allow for me, albeit with some liberties. A recent college grad with all the idealism the liberal arts promised and double the grit. Visual Arts major with some skills with metal and wood, a 2013 recipe for success. What job I held didn’t matter, well, the field didn’t anyway – I wouldn’t flip burgers or work retail. I found an okay job, an affordable flat, and a few friends to help with rent. We worked the day away and gave our nights to our passions and wine and weed. Celebrate life, because with high strung, corporate-endorsed superpowers and the lack of fucks given about resource moderation, the world wouldn’t last long. We imagined nuclear war, not meteors and walking death.
The world went crazy. Seeing friends and family fall ill, die, and try to eat you does that. A group called Legion; Roman inspired para-military of bandits with a sick idea of discipline set my flat and friends ablaze. Somehow I escaped. I had my wits, but that wouldn’t fight and hunt for me. I had no other choice but to join them. Their leader went by Emperor, his real name Guy Keyes. Former convict, charismatic like no other, enough apparently to lower my walls. He picked up on my secret, perhaps irrational hope. Evergreen State, tucked away in the forests near Olympia, Washington with high cement structures and many self-sustaining projects might’ve survived. He liked the thought too. I snuck away when we neared the campus and found electric fences, massive walls built with cars, spotlights, and machine-guns – just a bit different. I was lucky they accepted me, but I came with a warning.
I fought through the Siege of Evergreen along with a group of friends. A few left Legion with me, another was to be protected by me, and more appeared just before the battle. We fought hard, but couldn’t win without support. The Evergreen Haven’s council had expected this. The 1007th appeared like ghosts, old world soldiers trained and merciless, and they gave us the win. That night I had to leave alongside most of my friends. The 1007th took over hard like something out of Orwell. A few stayed to keep some bit of sanity.
Life felt new with the Pirate Crew. Many fought in the Siege, others came from another haven and called themselves New Farmers. We suffered undead and crazed bastards, but I’ll write more another time. My mind is elsewhere. With her.
-Simon-Pietro Lombardi, 10/29/20
Trake HaversWinifred Ross
Someone said we should write these things down, said the world needs to know who we are after all we’ve done. After all we’ve been through and all we’ve sacrificed. I can’t say I like being compared to the heroes in the history books from my youth, but maybe I agree that maybe I deserve to tell my story. We forget too easily the faces we didn’t look at long enough. I don’t want to be forgotten.
My name is Winifred Ross. I survived the end of the world, and then some. This is who I was.
I was a follower, quiet, hesitant; I never was confident in myself. Back in the early years, I used to like the simple days too much – to block out the heartbreak for just a little bit of peace. I wasn’t suited for the apocalypse in the beginning. I was still an Old World soul. I was still too empathetic, too forgiving. Too willing to hope an honest humanity remained when the world fell apart. Sometime in the middle of the outbreak and now, I lost that youthful look my dad always said I had - the face of a prepubescent boy. Breasts aside, I suppose. Always short, small, dark, oily skin; a round face with big eyes and lips. Still the same face, but not the same person.
I had to adapt, to protect everyone I needed to. Weapons became extensions of my hands, and slaughter was an art I became expressive in. Even if I always was inept at war from a small body frame, physical weaknesses and an unwillingness to kill, I grew to learn quickly. I was intelligent and level-headed enough to stay calm under a relentless amount of pressure. It’s the only way I managed everything. Before we took refuge in Fort Riley so many years ago, I had never held an assault rifle. Yet I still have the M16 I took from the armory there. The M9 I was given by a friend was lost somewhere in time, but it served me well for a solid decade.
When the infection started, I was somewhere around my mid-twenties. I was in maybe my final year of university when it all happened. In the midst of that uncontrollable chaos I was swept into, I lost a father I never returned to. No siblings; and my mother had left years prior. I went from the Canadian pseudo-city I studied at to the alien territory of North Dakota before I even got a chance to catch my breath. For a long while I stayed in Bismarck Haven. I was terrified and depressed, barely able to face the world within the walls let alone the one outside. But it was in Bismarck Haven where I met the others, the ones who would become my first of my many post-apocalypse families. Amanda Keane and Angela Moore, two inspirational women who never lived to see what they made of me. There were others, about nineteen of us. Some left with us and others we found along the way. We made our home in the countryside of Kansas, our Farm. We became known as the Farmers. For almost two years we lived in solitude. It truly was a blissful ignorance there. Most of them perished there when it was raided. I escaped with a few – Darius, Aurora, Chuck, Sam and Toby and the Greenfield sisters. We fled to Fort Riley in Kansas and found another group. There, I met Simon, and everything changed unexpectedly from there
There was also Abigail, a young woman who became close to my heart, a well Trake, Cassandra and Daryl. There was another man with them whose name I can never remember. The number of people who came in and out of my life is too high to remember. The same goes for all those we’ve lost.
Sometimes I think back on those days. Sometimes I don’t want to anymore. I’d like to think they’re over. We’ve rebuilt the world enough for it to stand again on its own.
I hope my daughter never has to pick up its pieces.
- Winifred Ross, 10/11/26
Joshua 'Gunner' Evans
I used to say I was nobody’s bitch. Now here I am...
I am former Sergeant Joshua Lee Evans, known as Gunner by my comrades. Used to be friends called me that, but I don’t suppose they do anymore. What’s ironic is I would’ve fit better with them. The 1007th calls them the Pirate Crew and I’d hate to sound like them, but does it even matter anymore? See I enlisted right out of high school, some baby faced just legal to vote and smoke little shit. I was played, shot at, raped, and imprisoned. I was manipulated before and after the fucking government fell. I’m trained by United States Army, hardened by war, and mad as fucking hell. I’d fit better with them. So why am I here?
It started when they sent us to Fallujah right out after expediating our training. A lot of my class died in that city and I got out with just a few bits of shrapnel in my ass. When my lieutenant congratulated me, the very same dickbag who told me to forget Ranger training for this, I showed him the buttend of my beat up rifle. For that I was made a civilian and arrested. Incarcerated for eight years. The Great Outbreak reduced our sentences to immediate release by the authority of too many fucking Berserkers. I met Guy Keyes before then, but when the cells opened, that’s when I met Emperor.
Military training and familiarity with all sorts of terrain and weaponry is valued in any paramilitary. Keyes gave me and my buddy Pope safety so long as we shared our skills. That meant I trained former criminals with weapons, strategy, and close-quarters combat. Did my best to replicate military precision in minds left to rot for too many years in too shitty of cells. As they learned we grew, so I trained those, and so it went for years. Along the way I met Norah and Simon, not a couple, just survivors. Simon, Pope, and I became fast friends. After Keyes started raping Norah I realized how much I cared for her, really cared for her, and just as another victim. When our little camaraderie decided we could fend for ourselves at this Evergreen Haven I gave full support. I became a soldier in Military Defence for the Evergreen Haven and fought to protect our borders against Emperor’s Legion and Zed. Fought hard until we fell. Fought hard until the 1007th saved us. Fought them too, until they threatened Norah. Very cliché, that weakness... Still true. I used to smile and say I was nobody’s bitch now here I am betraying my friends, the Pirate Crew, and forced to hunt them just to protect the love of my life, who’s kept ‘safe’ in the 1007th’s little dystopia, Evergreen. So nobody trusts me much anymore and I can’t blame them. I did this. I made this monster.
-Joshua Evans, October 30, 2020
Dante Ralston
I suppose I should start with my name. I’m Dante Ralston. I’m forty-six years old. My hair’s getting kinda long; it’s reaching past my ears a little now. It’s a chestnut brown and sort of untidy these days. I need a shave too, I got some thick stubble going on right now past my moustache and goatee, and those are getting thick and untidy too. I’m about five… nine, I think? Yeah, five, nine sounds about right. My eyes are a dark brown color too. Heh… my mom used to always joke and say I was full of shit… my wife would say that too. Ah well. They’re both gone now. Anyway, I used to be a gunsmith before this apocalypse happened. I made my own revolver actually, and I keep it strapped to my hip all the time. I’ve gotten to be a pretty good shot with it. I carry a scoped hunting rifle too, so I can take those things down at a distance, but I usually choose to get by ‘em without engaging, so I usually do a lot of sneaking. It's become a strength of mine, oh and gunsmithing of course. I can refill ammo as well. I don't have much endurance though, on account of my nasty smoking habit. I can't really fight one on one; I prefer shooting over close combat.
I guess I can blend in with a crowd pretty easily. I’m not too noticeable. I usually just wear plain black T-shirt with a chest pocket on them so I can keep my cigarillos handy. Other than that, I just wear plain jeans and my boots.Pretty plain, like I said. Anyway, back to me before this whole apocalypse thing. I used to be a gunsmith. I was married with two boys too. My wife and youngest son died when it first hit. My oldest enlisted with a guard regiment at the Chico haven. I decided to settle down there for a bit. At least my son’s flourishing in this new world and found some happiness with a girl he met. I’m not doing so well. I’m an easygoing guy, and I’ll talk to just about anyone, but I still have nightmares about my wife and youngest, and I hit the bottle a little too hard at times, but it’s not a big issue.
- Dante Ralston, 6/22/24
People of Interest FormatI have collected accounts of those associated with the Pirate Crew and New Farmers, mostly written in personal journals and diaries. This collection is by no means complete and I suspect new material will keep surfacing. Many of these people seemed to have thought they might be worth remembering. Fortunately, most established basic and complex characteristics such as name, a rough age range, appearance, their personal histories, their personalities, and what they often wore and used as weapons. The writing must have been therapeutic, all noted a couple strengths and a weakness they felt stood out in them. I find these important as material surfaces about their exploits and challenges. I am thankful that most of the journals described their histories briefly, the highlights really, most detailed up to November 2020. On a strange note, nearly every entry was about a page (roughly 1000 words), though some were longer or shorter -- like a damned class requirement.
-The Author
laser 
