Project Reclamation
Fort Apache
Case WV-21
Case Officer: Michelle Rickens
08312032
Subject: Nathan Bedford
Details: Born 1983 or 1984; 32 at time of recording, would be 48 or 49 today, no record found on subject
Source: Cassette Tape Duration: 00:09:24
Date of Source: 06122016
Location: Red Zone 6 – Section 9; Fairmont, West Virginia
Comments: Sweeper Team 3, Fort Apache, Capt. William Armistead, Reclamation Officer Paula Mansetti
Tape found in hallway of radio station; As subject mentions, site of heavy engagement, Capt. Armistead reports at least four hundred bodies in concentrated area, flagged for future disposal; Evidence on scene suggests subject likely present at least 6 years after engagement; Reference to site outside of Romney likely Fort Morgan, other references are too vague for analysis; No record found on subject Michael Grady; Subject witness to the move southward in 2016; No sign of subject found at scene, escape likely; Capt. Armistead reports minimal encounter with zack, no hostiles observed within designated area
Transcript
Testing.
Testing 1-2-3.
Sibilance, sibilance, sibilance. (Laughter)
(Long pause)
My name is Nathan Bedford and the date is June 12, 2016. I haven't spoken to a live human being for close to a year now, and this tape recorder might be the closest I ever get again. By the looks of things, this used to be a country station and as I'm sure you noticed, some roughnecks made one hell of a stand here. I counted about 300 shitsacks outside, and another 50 or so scattered throughout the building. Smell is almost non-existent, so all this must have happened a good ways back, probably right after all the shit went down.
(Long pause)
I seen so many places like this while I been wandering around, makes me glad I finally struck out alone. What hurts is lookin around a bit and bein able to tell exactly what happened. One place outside of Romney was totally secure, outer walls intact, no shitsacks in sight, all that good stuff. I jump the gate, there's about two dozen bodies fresh enough to still stink lying all over the place in the fetal position. I look around, there's plenty of guns but no ammo, and not one scrap of food. Even the leather on the boots had been eaten. Somethin must have caught zack's attention and they chased after it instead of poundin on the walls tryin to get to a meal that was no longer on the menu. I saw what was left of three kids inside one of the bedrooms. It's the kids that still get to me, but that's about the only thing anymore. I've seen that same scenario repeated about a dozen times. Hard to judge whats easier, starving to death or goin along with what zack has in mind.
(Long pause)
I had it good here lately, just scroungin around all over the county only running into a few stragglers here and there. Then a few weeks ago, I'm up in my tower and I hear something carryin on the wind. I put the binoculars to the north and the countryside is littered with em. Must have been at least a few thousand all headed south toward my simple ass. Zack is apparently a migratory species. (Laughter)
So I'm on the run . . . again, and I'm just as pissed now as I was when the shit came down in the first place. Most people got depressed as hell, with all the suicides and shit, but me, I just got madder than fuck. One night I got whiskey bent and grabbed a machete, determined to butcher every shitsack in a ten mile radius. Most of that night is still hazy, but I was cutting up zack long enough that I had time to sober up and think to myself, "Well this is fuckin stupid." I still don't know how the hell I kept from getting bit, but the funny part is I about got smoked comin back to the refugee camp because I was covered in blood and still half stumblin from the liquor. If the sentry hadn't been a piss your pants teenager who shook like hell when he pulled the trigger, I'd likely have had another hole to breathe out of. I never did thank him for being such a shitty shot, because the damn camp was overrun a week later and so far as I know, I'm the only one that got out. Lucky me.
(Long pause)
I don't know what else to blame for me still bein here other than luck. Bout three years ago me and Michael Grady both got brought down by the biggest goddamn zack I ever saw. Fucker was over 7 foot easy and even with most of his guts missin must have weighed 350 pounds. Me and Mike were just stunned when this bastard put us both on the ground, and I think zack was too. He glanced at both of us for about two seconds then chomped on Mike's throat. He must have liked the taste of that mick bastard pretty well because he let go of me and kept workin on the rest of Mike's face. Gave me time to reach my pistol and end it for both of them. How do you explain something li . . .
(Sound of glass shattering, moaning in background)
Oh, goddamnit!
(Two shots fired)
(Long pause)
Fuckin zack must have been stuck in that little studio this whole time cuz he was a ripe lookin bastard, must have heard me narrating my little tale here because he just all of a sudden busted through the glass across the hall and now it fuckin stinks in here! You asshole! I should have done a more thorough check anyway, just getting sloppy in my old age I guess. (Laughter) Who would have thought I'd be over the hill at 32. (Laughter)
(Long pause)
If it wasn't for the fuckin smell this life would almost be tolerable. But these bastards have to smell like stepped in shit when you open em up and its enough to piss a man off. Now, what the hell was I babblin about . . . oh yeah, luck. Take our most recent experience here, how is it that I happened to be sitting against this wall with the tape recorder instead of the other wall right in front of me, which very well may have gotten me killed. I can't explain it, I've survived a million close encounters, with skill only bein able to account for a handful of em. I don't know, I can't explain it. If you're hearin this chances are good you have the same questions I do
(Long pause)
Truth be told, I'm gettin tired, cause this shits getting old. Always movin, always runnin, holin up for maybe a week or a month only to have to run again. Gets boring really, the same routine, day in and day out. This one time I found a rubix cube and I figured that would keep me amused till I died of old age but I solved the damn thing in less than a day. I was so amazed I got it I almost didn't notice a pair of zacks creepin up behind me. If they hadn't moaned once they got close, my story might have ended two years ago. When I wasn't on the move, I did more puzzles than I can even remember. That first camp I was at raided a shopping mall and came back with about a hundred or so jigsaw puzzles, all of em' hard ones like a thousand pieces or more. Some prick with a psychology degree must have been worried about morale or some shit. They lasted six days before they were all put together, and we were still at each others throats afterwards. So much for pricks with psychology degrees.
(Long pause)
I don't . . . I just don't know what to think anymore. There doesn't seem to be much difference between me and zack. They move around, doin their damnedest to get what they need and I basically do the same. The only real difference is I scream and cuss a hell of a lot more in between.
(Muffled sounds, as if from a distance)
Well fuck, it appears as though there's still a few shitsacks left in the area. I shouldn't have shot that one bastard, but he pissed me off, so fuck him.
(Sound of breaking glass, followed by moans)
(Laughter)
Well I guess my rest is over, but have no fear loyal listener, your humble narrator Nathan Bedford has a well maintained SKS and a clear way out the back. Hope the world has righted itself by the time you hear this, if not, good luck and good hunting.
(Moaning from multiple sources)
End of Recording