World War Z:

The Chronicles of Dante

Fireworks blast into the night as New York City celebrates the twentieth anniversary of V-A Day. The festivities began sometime at six this morning and will continue long into the night. Celebrating my own triumph I gorged myself on wife, wine, and song for most of the day and now I am tired. Our little ones watch the fireworks with the typical awe-struck wonder of children. To them, this is a holiday of cookouts, family gatherings, and boring television filled with documentaries of the Plague Years. They are too young to remember the horrors of that time, thank God.

Over the radio, the broadcaster begins his recitation of the names of those heroes of the war that have died in the past year. The list is longer this year than it has been in years past. As I listen I wonder what life was like for those brave souls who rose up and saved us from the soulless. My younger children squeal with delight as one of the larger fireworks shakes the sky. As it ignites it sends a spray of burning colors in all directions. I remember the first celebration of V-A Day.

I was a teenager. I was outside at the time and word came over Radio Free Earth at first, then the televisions came to life with newscasters barely containing their joy, some of them openly weeping as they announced that American forces had reached the eastern seaboard and the war was over. We danced in the streets, yelling and screaming as if we were the ones who had banished the plague from the country. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. My attention is drawn back to the radio as the broadcaster completes his list. Again, as with every year since the first V-A Day, there is one name missing. It is missing from nearly every memorial in this country and for three long years it has been the sole focus of my life.

Say the name "Dante" to anyone who survived Stalemate on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains and you will likely be greeted with an urban legend-style story of some great deed done by the man. To most, he is a myth, his heralded actions seeming almost impossible for one person to accomplish. While offering the record of an ARO (Advanced Reconnaissance Operative) known as "D", the official position of the United States Government is that the man known as Dante did not exist. This does not sway those who believe and those who claim to know. Dante's life and deeds are a matter of fact to them.

No one is sure where he came from and no one is sure how long he lived. No one is sure whether he was Christian, Muslim, or Jewish, whether he was a vegetarian, a morning person, or a football fan. Even the date of his birth and his ultimate time of death are subject for debate. One thing is certain, if he only performed a fraction of the deeds he was meant to have done, he is worthy of mention with every utterance of World War Z heroism.

What follows is the fruit of my labors. It is a compilation of oral accounts from those who claim to have knowledge of the man known simply as Dante. I have compiled them in chronological order so that you, the reader, can get a full grasp of what is known from start to finish. I cannot fully attest to the validity of all of the items chronicled here as most are culled from memories of a time that all of us wish to forget. What I can offer is the assurance that my research is as complete as I can make it. It is my goal to present the best possible tribute to a man that meant so much to so many, but is acknowledged by so few. I pray I have done him justice. Here's to you, Dante…

Chapter I

The Legend Begins

(My research has brought me to the home of one Jasper Dawkins. He has requested that I do not reveal the exact location of his home, however it is a moderately sized two-story colonial built in the western foothills of the Rockies, there have been post-war renovations done with the addition of castle-style battlements and even a five-foot wide moat that Jasper boasts is ten feet deep. My host extends a metal bridge so that I can cross. A bear of a man, my hand disappears inside his as he greets me, a smile creasing a gray bushy beard. He ushers me across the bridge, retracting it as we venture inside.)

You can't be too careful. There was a small outbreak last month. You'd think people would get the hint, even after twenty years. They're starting to get complacent again. Did you know the author of the last oral history of the war came through here on his during his project? He was a character.

(We enter a large kitchen and sit where there is coffee waiting.)

I wasn't aware that he was chronicling Dante. It didn't make it into his publication.

I asked him about it after the book came out. He said that he couldn't find enough evidence to prove that Dante was real. Said something about wanting to balance emotional accounts with as many hard facts as he could. I don't know much about that but I can understand what it was that he wanted to do. Heard the government gave him no end of trouble. Did you run into any issues?

A few.

It's to be expected. They didn't part on good terms, Dante and Uncle Sam. (He chuckles and shakes his head) Listen to me; I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. First, Dante was a real person; let's get that out right now. He existed or exists depending on who you talk to.

Do you think he's still alive?

We'll get to that. Now you're guilty of getting ahead of yourself. Let's both stay at the beginning. It was during Regroup, you see? The government had run to the Rockies and was working on reestablishing its front lines. During that time, there were streams and streams of refugees coming over the mountains and descending into the western states. Once they made it through processing, they were assigned temporary lodging until more permanent accommodations could be found. Having the type of home I used to have, I made myself available to the government. You wanted to do that right off instead of waiting for ole' Uncle Sam to come knocking.

Why is that?

Well if you volunteered then you could kind of pick and choose your type of refugee. With my old house, I had more space than I needed. Wife and I had split after the kids were all grown up, so most of the rooms I had were empty save for when they'd come visit. I went for families, you know; folks that had a tough time of it amongst the folks having the tough time? I had people moving in and out of here all the time. Sometimes, though, the demand for housing came first. It wasn't long after the initial streams of people that the truck from the relocation center arrived and dropped him off.

Dante?

Yup. First thing I noticed was that he did not have the look of a refugee. He looked more like a soldier coming home after a tour in some war zone. Most refugees look strung out and wasted. They'd come a long way in reaching their goal and have a look like "Could you please point me to my rack? I'm going to pass out."

What did he look like?

Dante was a Black man, about a shade darker than you. He was about six foot, and was lightly built. He was lean, but that was probably from his trek from wherever it was he came from. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes. His eyes had a sort of intensity about them. In everything he did he always seemed to be completely focused. I'd imagine that there were probably a few ladies who found the look seductive. (He laughs)

You said that he was "lean" from his "trek". Where did he come from?

That's one of the mysteries, son. We don't know. His file read that he was from "back East" but he never said where. The government didn't care much then. As long as he was healthy, they were fine with it. They didn't have time to deal with everyone's psychological issues.

He had psychological issues?

Son, we all had psychological issues. Some people just didn't want to relive whatever hell they went through to get here. They wanted to get on with the rest of their existence. Getting back to where Dante came from, I don't know. I don't think anyone does. He never said.

Surely there was some clue?

There's only one. Come with me.

(He leads me out of his kitchen and then out of what turns out to be just a portion of the house. The front, sides, and rear, which I believed to be the whole home, turn out to be an elaborate wall. We travel through a small courtyard that has a garden, a well, and a basketball court and come to a rectangular stone structure that is simple in appearance. We walk through a metal door that is clearly reinforced and into a large area that is very sparing in appearance and furnishings. The door closes behind us, an ominous sound but then all sound from outside ceases.

On the wall farthest from us a series of screens come to life with images that are from all aspects of the inside and outside of the rest of the home. This is probably the first true Zombie-proof bunker that I have been in since the war. Mr. Dawkins is well-prepared for a catastrophe that all pray never happens again. He leads me through an archway to a slightly smaller room. In the center of the room there is a massive furnace, several large anvils, and troughs filled with water. I can tell from the ambient heat that the furnace is still in use.)

This is my workshop. I was a construction worker before and during the war. Before the war I moonlighted as a blacksmith at many a Renaissance Faire. During the war I used both sets of skills. Came in handy for yours truly and the subject of your quest.

(He opens a large cabinet and removes a long metal box.)

The author of the other book did not get to see this. You are the first in a long time.

(He hands me the box and I open it. Inside lying on a bed of black velvet is a genuine treasure. Its handle is about thirty inches in length and fluorescent yellow with a reflective stripe running down its center. A makeshift lanyard, made from a worn and tattered rope is tied to the ends of the handle. At the bottom there is a spear-type metal pommel with a hook. The blade of the spear is flattened and without an edge. The hook is not sharp either. At its top is the treasure's defining characteristic. It's a large metal head hollowed for use as a handle. At one end there is an axe blade dull now but with signs of crude attempts at sharpening it. Black smudges along the edge send a chill through my spine. Jasper gives silent assurance as to what the smudges are. At the other end, there is a hammer's striking surface. It is flat but it too bears the black smudges of battle with the undead. I want to touch it, but I am afraid. Not of contracting the virus, but of the possibility regardless how remote that I could damage something so important and something that I never expected to find.)

It's Dante's first hammer. He had this with him when he got dropped off. It's actually called a TNT tool. It's normally used for firefighting. If you look along the handle there is a stamp.

(I look and there is a faded stamp in stenciled style lettering. It reads, "PFD".)

That's the only clue as to where he came from. But who knows where PFD is? There are plenty of towns and cities in the east that start with the letter "P" not to mention the fact that smaller fire companies could name themselves whatever they wanted. But this is the only clue in existence. You can touch it, the virus is long dead plus I took a lighter to it a few years ago. Dante used this to fight his way across the most Godforsaken landscapes and through hordes of ghouls to get here. Sometimes I take it out and wonder just how many times he swung this and how many Gs fell to it.

You said it was his "first". How many did he have?

I made six for him. But we're getting ahead of ourselves again. Let's continue with a question that you'll probably forget to ask until you get ready to leave. What was he like? Well son, it's funny you ask. What was Dante like? Well when he first got here, like I said, he seemed more a soldier, come home from war than a refugee. There were the nightmares like with everyone. In the old place, I kept newcomers inside a room that was sort-of soundproofed with mattresses so that their screams wouldn't scare the shit out of everyone else. Dante was no different. After a week or so, he was ready to come out and stay in a normal room. He still had nightmares, I think, but he'd stopped screaming himself awake.

When he was awake, he wasn't the quiet, stoic man of action that everyone expects to hear about. I mean he was quiet at first, but I think that was because he wasn't quite comfortable. Eventually, he had a great deal to say and he had a good sense of humor. He liked to bounce off of anything you said with a sarcastic joke aimed at no one in particular. He kept this place light and laughing once he felt himself.

What did he do with his time?

Yeah, because there was a lot of it, right? At first he spent most of his time at the reception center up in the mountains. He would get up in the morning; help with breakfast, then catch a transport or a ride or something up to the center. He'd be gone all day and then come back by nightfall. He did that for a few months. He never said what it was he was doing, but I guessed he was looking for people he knew. It was typical. Towards the end he'd come back with a kind of depressed look on his face. When he came back the last time, I think he cried for a full day. I felt sorry for him. I really did. He spent the next week or so in his room. Then, just when I was getting ready to worry about him, he snapped out of it.

He came to me and asked me what it was that he could do to help things on this side. I took it as a good sign. He wanted to be productive, that's a good part of the grieving process. I asked him what he did on the other side but he just waved it off. "Nothing worthwhile," he said. I asked him what he wanted to do. He told me he had heard of the neighborhood security teams. You know the guys that went around clearing houses and patrolling the neighborhood? He wanted on one of those. I was concerned at first and he gave me the typical assurances. He told me that he needed to do something physical or he'd go out of his mind. Being a combat vet myself, I could understand. I knew a few guys who were doing it. I got hold of one of them. His name's Sullivan Kelly. A mook from Boston, he'd come clear across the country with a group of guys so I figured Sully and Dante would find common ground. Anyway, I got hold of Sully and told him that I had a guy with similar experience who was looking for something to do. Sully's guys were a traveling group and had been together since they crossed over. I made sure to tell Sully that Dante was Black. Sully's not a bad guy, but… you know. Anyway, I'll let him tell you what all Dante did when he was with them. Once you get your fill of ole' Sully you can come on back. I got lots more stories to tell you.

(He gestures to the cabinet from where he pulled the box. Hanging on the inside are five hand-made variations of the firefighting tool. Jasper assures me that those are the real deal and the only ones in existence. He says that there is only one of the six that is still missing…)

I

(Following the advice of Jasper Dawkins, I arrive at Kelly's Pub on Boston Harbor. It's a typical Irish pub in both appearance and feel. Its patrons, mostly dockworkers and fishermen greet my entrance with a palpable cool malice. I am clearly out of my element. Behind the bar I see my contact looking like the stereotypical barkeep complete with rolled sleeves, apron, cleaning rag and pint glass. He looks around and glares before rapping his knuckles hard on the bar.)

All right, asses, you don't get this uppity whenever Johnny Flannigan comes walking in here, so keep to your drinks. You must be the fella Jasper told me about. Come in and pull up a stool. What are you drinking?

(His Boston accent is thick and his Irish heritage beyond contestation. He raises a surprised eyebrow when I ask for a pint. After a few minutes he hands over a glass of Guinness Stout.)

You're not ordering this for my sake are you?

(I assure him that I am not capable of that kind of patronization and chug half of it. It is summer here after all. I tap the glass and he readies me another one.)

Good, didn't think so. Jasper says you're looking into Dante. Only took damned-near forever for someone serious to come around asking about him. You want to do right by me; you'll do right by him. I can assume you want to know about what he did when we was clearing houses back in Colorado. Fine then, here's what happened.

When I first met Dante, I wasn't sure of what to make of him. I don't think he knew what to make of me either. I don't want to offend you but I'm a bit of a bigot. It comes from the Irish Catholic bubble that I lived in as a kid. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I'm just glad that he was the understanding kind of guy or otherwise he would have used that hammer of his on me. (He laughs) Still, I could see that he had been through some hell or another and I gradually came to the conclusion that he had his head on straight about what we were doing and how it was to be done.

Can you elaborate?

Sure. First he showed up with that TNT tool of his. Carrying that was a good thing. It could do more than just smash skulls. Second, he dressed right. He wore dark colored military pants and combat boots that actually fit not baggy and hanging half off his ass. Then there was the leather jacket. It was a motorcycle jacket that had armor and whatnot. I guess he figured that if it could keep his ass alive bouncing off of asphalt at 60 miles an hour, then going up against Zack should be no problem. He was right of course. But that was not the thing that assured me he knew what he was doing.

(He takes my empty pint glass and hands me a full one)

The thing that impressed me most was the mask. He brought this leather mask that went over his nose and his mouth. That told me that he had smashed his share of skulls and knew the danger of getting any of that shit into his mouth or his nose. He was a smart one from the door, but I still had reservations.

Why?

I'm a bigot, remember? My guys and I had been together since the beginning. We'd shared time and knew each other in and out. Plus there was the danger that he might be nuts. I'm sure Jasper told you that the government didn't have time to adequately deal with everyone's mental problems? NST was full of nut-jobs in the beginning and we didn't need any more. You see Dante didn't have the typical reaction to Zack that most people had back then. Aside from the sight and smell of those bastards, there's the moan. That noise inspires one emotion and one emotion only, fear. Whether they freeze, get pissed, or run for the hills, fear is the root of their response. Dante was different. He heard ole' Zack moaning and he'd head towards it. There was no fear in his eyes. No fear at all. I thought that was a bit off. That's why I kept him pulling rear duty his first few jobs. I thought that he'd get bored with it and then quit but he hung in there. He took to the work and took the time to learn everything he could. He was always asking about strategies and how best to do this or that.

I understand that NST units were comprised of volunteers and that each unit operated based on the strengths of their members. How did it work in your unit?

We weren't typical NST. We would move around and help clear homes and neighborhoods for re-habitation. I don't have any military experience but I did run as a volunteer fireman so we ran the unit that way. There were sixteen of us in the unit. Depending on the size of the place we had to search, we split the unit up into teams, usually four guys or so. We'd send in one group to do a preliminary search. That bit is quick fast and in a hurry. Look in the obvious places for Zack or survivors. Then we send in the second team along with the first and do a thorough search of the place. Top to bottom in every nook and cranny we could think of. It's painstaking, nerve-wracking work but it needed doing.

What kind of weapons did you have?

Everyone thinks the American cowboys were packing all kinds of heat. Well not us. We made the trek across the country with baseball bats, crowbars, and pipes. It was like we were back in the Dark Ages. We busted heads the old fashioned way. When we got organized into a unit, we got two rifles, two pistols, and we were told that ammo was extremely limited. Anyway, Team One did preliminary; Team Two did follow up search. Team Three came in once we were sure that the place was clear and helped do inventory, and Team Four secured the outside. I put Dante in at rear on Team Two first. We had an opening after the first guy came a little too close to the jaws of a G he found tucked away in an attic. He just didn't have the stones for interior work after that.

There was a decent bit of action at that time. We could see a bit of fighting ten or fifteen times a month. It amounted to every two or three houses or so. Even at his spot, Dante still managed to find some Gs to splat. He had a knack for finding the damned things. And once he started swinging that hammer of his, it didn't take long for him to impress the guys.

I'll tell you about this one place tucked away in the woods a bit north of Denver. Some rich guy figured he'd turn his house into the perfect zombie-proof fortress. The place was a decent size, two stories and about thirty rooms with a pool house linked out back adding another ten rooms to the count. It was a bit much but we had the guys and the experience so we took it by the numbers. First search kicked up two Zack that turned out to be family members of the rich guy. Team One took 'em out no problem. Team Two comes in, Dante pulling rear as usual and the hard search began. First floor was nothing, that's where we found the first two. Second floor was equally empty. Going over to the pool house we were thinking about doing inventory and then calling it a successful sweep-and-clear. Then we heard the moan.

Almost everyone reacted the usual way. Freeze, figure out where it came from and then wait. Not Dante. He turned and was through the door. We followed and found him in a hallway staring down a ghoul. The hallway connected the pool house to the main house but it was narrow. Dante twirls his hammer and walks towards the G. I'm hissing at him to move out of the way because there wasn't enough room for him to get a decent swing and our shooter could pop it no problem. He's not listening. When he gets in range he jabs the thing with the hammer end of his hammer, not the wedge and hook. He hits the thing in the top of the chest hard enough to drive it back out of the hallway into the main house. Then he circles the thing squaring off with it.

I was thinking that Dante had lost his mind and couldn't wait to kick him out of the unit but then I saw what he was doing. He was lining up his shot. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't stupid. He was patient. There was only one Zack to deal with and it was entirely focused on him. He didn't need to rush to kill it. He had it where he wanted it. The thing raised its arms, dropped its jaw, and lunged at him. It never touched him. He wheeled that hammer around and drove the undead fucker right into the floor. All of us winced when its skull crunch. The thing was DRT bub, Dead-Right-There. All of us were speechless. We just watched as Dante shouldered his hammer, snatched up the leg of the now fully dead G and hauled its carcass outside to be burned. Joey Perkins, then the leader of Team One asked me right then to move Dante up.

Did you?

Do I look like an idiot? Of course I did. I'm a bigot, not a moron.

(He motions to my empty glass before taking it, then hands me a full one.)

Dante moved up in rank quick after that. From rear Team Two to rear Team One. Then he went to third man, then second, then lead after Joey's wife Wendy got pregnant and Joey quit. Once he got that position, he really hit his stride.

Which do you think he preferred?

Lead on Team One. I was hesitant to put him there at first. I was afraid that he'd run off chasing Zack or lead his group into something they couldn't handle. At first it wasn't a real danger but then we got contracted to help clear this little ski village up north Colorado. I went in with Team One on the first couple of jobs.

Ski village?

Yeah, something a bunch of rich guys set up before the war. It was supposed to be the Hamptons, mountain-style. They had a bunch of servants living there, in their own homes of course, to keep the place up and running for them in case they suddenly got the urge to ski. Even had a helipad and a landing strip installed. What that place must have looked like during The Panic? Every seven-figure shlub who knew, thought he knew, or even heard about the place trying to land the family jet, helicopter, ski-doo, dune buggy, dirt bike and lunar excursion module there. If even one of those spoiled heirs and heiresses turned out to be infected…

Were they?

Had to be. Place was gated for the most part. Any walking Zack would have had to come over the mountain and that's impossible for them. My guess is Zack flew in. About half the homes were sealed up. It was a place where Zack could nest and just wait to be unleashed. Twelve units like ours were slated to clear the place. After a few houses and about twenty ghouls we get teamed up with this unit from Nevada to take on this fifty room mansion. I tell ya, my pulse was going and not because of the couple hundred Zack that could be waiting for us but this was our largest fight since crossing The Wall.

For the readers, please elaborate, The Wall?

The Rockies. Those of us who crossed called them The Wall. Getting back on topic, Dante was lead. He was all smiles on the ride over, on the walk up the mile-long driveway, and even in the planning and coordination meeting. Once we got to the door he turned. Some of us talked about it when he wasn't around. He just seemed to morph into this all-business, ass kicking, G-killer. No more smiles, just the fight. He walked up to the door and took his spot. I was right behind him. We were starting from the east wing of this place. I was carrying a rifle for this job since the house was so big. He looked back at me and I could see the change in his eyes. Then he swung his hammer and the door imploded. He did the typical pause and then stepped inside.

He had a thing for left hand searches. You find that in servicemen, you know? Left, right left that kind of thing? It always made me wonder if he ever spent time in uniform. Some folks say he was a Marine. Anyway, he started to the left and took a few steps. We filed in after him. By the numbers, room to room, step by step. Five rooms into the mansion we run into our first clusters. Carrying the rifle, I step back and wait for mop-up while the rest of the team get in there and mix it up. Dante does his usual smash up job. Pun intended. Ten Zack later, we're washing their crud off our clothes and weapons and still in one piece. We reach the middle of the house and find that one of the rich dunces wasn't so much of a dunce after all and had a greenhouse-type atrium installed complete with a garden. The whole bit, automated sprinklers and humidifiers running on timers and solar generators that would have given every tree-hugging hippie a huge chubby. By the time we got there, of course, the place was the fucking Amazon jungle.

The plan was to meet the other team in the middle of the house before performing the secondary search. The atrium was the middle and it was bound to be warmer than the unheated halls. The doors were locked but we opened them and headed in. The place was huge, with high ceilings and just as high trees and thick bushes. You couldn't see more than ten feet in front of you it was that dense. We walked all the way to the middle of the damned thing. If we had just gone all the way through, maybe we would have figured out what we were standing in. We had been silent the whole way. One joke; I cracked one stupid joke. It wasn't even that funny.

(Sully rests his elbows on the bar and I can see tears in his eyes.)

Gallows humor, but it got a big laugh from everybody… except Dante of course. He was still all business. I told him to lighten up. He just kept looking around. Then the moaning started and we all shut up. It came from everywhere. Didn't take Patton to know we were surrounded. As the first few shuffled from the bush I was only starting to think, "Who locks an atrium in a house when the danger is from the outside?" I shouted for everyone to get back to back but we were too spread out. Our special unit of four bad-ass Zack-killers turned into three screaming pansies. Johnny McMinn went down first. He took a step in the wrong direction. Too close to the bush and got pulled into the green by five gray arms. I never heard a man scream like that. Timmy Dorsey was carrying two crowbars. He was a ninja with those things. He started hooking 'em down one after the other.

One of his bars got stuck in a ribcage on the backswing. The ghoul grabbed his arm and pulled him nearly off his feet. Three more came from nowhere and just shoved him over. They ripped right through the jacket he had on and started tearing into him. I stepped backward and fell over one of 'em that couldn't walk. Both its legs were gone below the knees. It clawed at my feet and started pulling itself up my body. I thought I was dead. Then Dante speared the wedge and hook end of his hammer through the back of the thing's skull just as it was about to bite into my chest. He barked at me to get up and then turned to fight. What I saw, I'll never forget.

Four of 'em come at him at the same time. He stepped to one side to give one of them a better vantage than the others. It lunged and got a face full of his hammer. He spun the hammer around and split the face of the next with the axe head on the backswing. Then he swung up like the hammer was a nine-iron. The axe took the upper half of the third's head clean off. He kicked the fourth in its leg; shattered the knee. It was something he did. He sidestepped when it fell forward. Then he took it with the hammer. More arrived. There had to be about a dozen. Johnny McMinn came crawling out of the green dragging most of his entrails. Timmy started twitching again even as he was being eaten. Dante ran over and hiked me up by my collar.

He dragged me further into the jungle, where we hadn't been before. Any Zack that got close enough to make a try for us, he nailed 'em. The whole sprint took less than two minutes but it felt like an eternity. Finally we found the doors. They were locked, but a quick swing with ole' Dante's hammer fixed that. He throws me through and turns as more Zack come out of the green. Guys from the Nevada team come running around the corner hearing the noise. They got to see a repeat performance of what I saw in the atrium. It took 'em a second to get into the fight, but it got done. When it was all over, the atrium was sealed up, we'd lost two of my best friends, Dante had saved my bigoted, Irish Catholic ass, and I hadn't fired my rifle once.

What happened after that?

After that, we regrouped. I stayed back. Dale MacDonald and Geordie O'Malley told me that Dante went right back inside the atrium. They said he fought like the devil in there. Even when he put down Timmy and Johnny, he never lost his nerve. After the mansion was clear, he came back and sat down next to me. I thought he was going to say something cliché or give me some sort of platitude about how "it wasn't your fault" or "things like this happen". I thought that's what he was going to say.

What did he say?

Nothing, the bastard didn't say a damned thing. He knew I wouldn't believe it. I was the one that opened the atrium doors, not him. I was the one that cracked the joke when we should have been backing out of there. He knew that Johnny and Timmy going down was my fault. Instead of saying something stupid, he just put an arm around my shoulder and sat with me while I cried like a baby for an hour.

The guilt over what I had done was crushing me. Still, we had a job to do and we stayed with it. I left Team One to Dante and hung back with Team Four and Billy Donnelley, the guy who used to be rear Team Two. Everything after that went smooth and we didn't lose another man although a few of the other teams lost some guys. The village got cleared and inventoried and we pulled out of there a week later. Dante stayed on with us for the rest of the spring and all of the summer before finishing his tour at the end of the season. Winter came on time back then so Zack would be freezing up and the regular authorities could handle them.

I retired from fieldwork after that. I hung back and managed things. I just didn't have it in me anymore. I would have eaten a bullet too, but I owed it to the boys to keep going. I had gotten too full of myself and two guys died because of it. Don't take Patton to know that's a sign that you can't lead. You done that pint, son?

(I drain the last of my fifth pint and slide the glass to him.)

Where did Dante go after that?

I don't know. He never came back and ran with us. A shame. The boys really liked him and he was awesome at it. Considering all the stories about him afterward, it seems like he put his talents to better use. I like to think sometimes that I helped him somehow. Then I remember Timmy and Johnny.

I

(Jasper Dawkins' interview continued...)

(We're outside in his courtyard as he tends to his garden. Leading me around to the other side of the yard he shows me a pen where he keeps several pigs and quite a few chickens. As we talk, he checks the chicken coops for eggs and looks in on one of his sows. He explains that he bred her and that she was due to produce a litter of piglets within the month.)

After Dante did a stint with Sully's boys he came back around late September and said he was done with the NST. He didn't say it with attitude or anything just simply that he was done. I think he learned everything he wanted to know from them, but then he surprised me by asking me to forge him a new hammer. I asked him what was wrong with the one he had and he says "It's not taking them down with one blow."

I made the joke that maybe his arm was getting too tired, but I knew it was the weapon. Sully kept me up to speed on how he was doing. When you talk to him you'll find that Sully was impressed with the way Dante fought. I saw that Dante was doing something that gave him a measure of peace. I still hadn't caught on yet. It took me a month to forge his first hammer. I made it out of one piece of steel. I also made some changes to the original design.

Why? What was wrong with the first hammer?

Just about everything. Remember, the TNT tool is made for use in firefighting, not Zack-killing. The striking face of the hammer is flat. Greater surface area decreases the amount force delivered by distributing it over a wider area. Sure you can crack a skull with one shot, but that ain't enough when you're fighting Zack. You gotta crush the skull and destroy the brain. So the first thing I did was round the striking surface of the hammer. I didn't bring it to a point but rounding it narrowed the point of impact so that more force would be delivered over a smaller area. It took a couple of tries, but it worked out okay. I also got rid of the hollow part between the axe and the hammer, made the thing stronger. Still the hook and wedge was important so I made the handle a bit longer. Not much, just a couple of inches. The gripping length on the TNT tool was about thirty inches. I just made the first custom job thirty and two. I took some leather from an old trench coat and gave it a wrap around the handle and there she was.

(We walk back inside the bunker and he produces the weapon he described. It resembles a large ball-peen hammer with an axe blade where the flat striking surface should be. He hands it to me and with shaky hands I heft its weight. It's heavy for me, about ten pounds total, but its weight is evenly distributed. It's also a matte gray color with absolutely no shine on it at all. Testing a theory, I try to swing it one-handed. For a stronger man, it would be surprisingly easy.)

Thought you'd need two hands to swing that monster, huh? You're not the first. Dante thought the same thing. It took some persuading to get him to even try it. After a week swinging it around, he felt comfortable. It was good too. He had just added another weapon to his arsenal.

His shield, right?

Technically it's called a buckler. True, it is a shield, but it's not the same as, you know, the knights of old. It's a lot smaller only a foot and a half or so in diameter. It's a good story, how he came to start carrying it. Let's see, I want to tell the story the right way. It happened back this way, after that whole ski resort thing but before Dante gave up the NST. A house with some people in it had gone quiet over the weekend. On Monday morning, I think it was; someone heard a moan come from inside the place. The local NST got called in on Tuesday. After hearing about what went on up north, they asked Dante to come along.

Dante says they did a walk-around of the property first, something that they hadn't really tried before. The back of the house butted up against a strip of woods. He said there was a fence but the gate was broken and there was a burn pit dug in the back with a beheaded G lying in it, skull crushed but unburned. So they went around to the front of the house to make entry. He said that they bashed in the front door when they found it locked. Taking the team in, he did a quick search of the downstairs and found nothing. Then they searched upstairs and found nothing. Then another team came in, I think. Same time as the first, they did a room to room search looking in all the crevices and everything. Well that's when they found them.

Turns out the G had come from the woods and pushed through the gate. The man of the house had taken care of it but somehow got infected. It probably happened when he was handling the head. Some people forget that the heads are still dangerous if the brain is intact. He may have hidden it from the other folks in the house, or they may have not have had the stones to whack him once he turned. It happened sometimes. Anyway, they found the whole nest in the basement. They opened the door and five of them came pouring out. Caught by surprise, members of the unit scattered.

Dante wades into the Gs swinging his hammer taking out two with two swings. The other three go at him at the same time. He swings but only knocks one of them down. The other two manage to get hold of him. He gets his hammer up and into the mouth of one so it can't bite him. The other is pulling at him. Dante's got it by the throat. He later said, "That was probably the dumbest fucking thing I have ever done." All he had was leather gloves. They can chew through that. Not easy but they can. He lets it go and snatches up a plastic trash can lid and uses it as a shield. The Zack lets him go and tries to claw around the lid.

Dante shoves it back and then yanks his hammer out of the other one's mouth. One of the other guys takes out grabby zombie and Dante smashes nibbles into the floor. But that's how Dante got his shield. Naturally he traded plastic for metal, something else I was happy to make for him. Put it to good use too from what I heard. Anyway, you asked something else, oh yeah. What happened after he left the NST?

Well there was this woman. Her name was Stacy Morgan and she was what you would call an outdoors enthusiast. I call her a hermit. She came over the Rockies just after the Battle of Yonkers, found a spot somewhere among the peaks, and then stayed there. At first I attributed her actions to women's intuition, but then Dante told me that he saw the survival guide that other guy put out in her library of books. Her I.Q. went up in my mind after hearing that. Anyway she would come down here to get things from me, tools, supplies, that kind of stuff. She was a nice enough broad but a little light on the social skills.

Anyway, she wanted a few tools made up and was waiting for them when Dante ran into her after coming back from… I'm not sure where. It was a chance meeting. I hadn't discussed her with him and neither did I discuss him with her. Like I said, she wasn't much on social graces. She had her own thing and was perfectly content with it. Somehow she got to talking to him while I was working. I guess it was those eyes of his, right? When I came back from the forge, she was scribbling something down on a piece of paper. She handed it to him and said, "If you can get there from here, you can have what you want." Then she snatched up what I had made, paid me, and left. I asked Dante what her whole thing was about but he told me that he'd tell me later. Two days after that, I found a note from him saying that he would be back in the spring and not to worry.

He went to her place.

Yeah, he was there for the winter. I'm not sure what went on up there and he didn't tell me. I can't imagine that she needed any houses searched or anything like that. Stacy believed in fair trade, one thing for another of equal value. I don't know what she gave him and I don't know what he gave her but they gave each other something. My guess is that maybe she gave him some knowledge on how to survive out in the wilderness. I know that he made it from back east all the way to the Rockies, but that's not really survival. When you're moving through infested territory you're more enduring than surviving. Anyhow, he came back in mid-March sometime. He was scraggly-faced and had lost a couple of pounds but he was in good health. The only thing he would say was that she had the survival guide and that she was going to need a few things from me. He said that she would be down for them in a couple of weeks and she was. That was that.

Is there any way that I can talk with her?

I haven't seen her in almost five years. I don't know how to get up to her place and even if I did I wouldn't recommend that you go traipsing up there looking for her. I'm not afraid you'll get lost. You found me easy enough. I'm afraid you'll find her. She's one hell of a shot and she's likely to blow you away before you even get close enough to explain who you are. Like I said, she's not one for social graces.

So what happened after that?

Well after that I started to put it together. Dante went out and bought a motorcycle suit. One piece and armored like his jacket and he got himself a pair of gloves of the same kind. He also came across a couple pairs of combat boots and a rucksack. When he showed up with a machete and a straight edged survival knife and asked me to teach him to take care of them I was sure. He was leaving and he was going back over the Rockies. We argued about it. (He scoffs)

Argued, I talked and he ignored me. There was no talking him out of it. I told him it was suicide; that the stream of refugees had turned into drips. That Zack had won everything east of the mountains. He didn't have any of it. He was going and that was that. The best thing I could do was give him what he needed. So I did. I taught him how to care for his tools. Two weeks later, he was gone again, only this time all his note said was "thanks – D". He'd been with me long enough for me to grow to like him great deal. I thought he was killing himself. You can imagine how I felt.

How did he cross the Rockies?

The first time? I have no idea. I heard from a soldier assigned to guard the Rockies that they turned him back a couple of times. His name's Jordan, Michael Jordan if you can believe it. He's retired now, and lives in Arizona. He ran into Dante a bunch of times. Maybe he can tell you.

Do you know where Dante went?

No. I came down to make breakfast one day and it was already cooking. He was standing at the stove making bacon. He gave me a smile told me to sit down and that the food was almost ready. It was like he had never left.

You didn't have any clue as to where he had been?

Not really, but he did give me this when he came back.

(From a small wooden box he pulls a faded postcard from Coney Island New York.)

I'm not from this way. I moved here after getting out of the service. I'm originally from Brooklyn. When I was a kid, going out to the Island and riding the rides and stuff was a big deal for me. He knew that.

I

(I arrive at the home of one SFC Michael Jordan US Army Ret. outside of Tempe Arizona. The former soldier lives in what has become a staple of post-war communities, stilted homes with retractable steps all within the confines of reinforced walls. Mr. Jordan greets me at the bottom of his steps and ushers me around to his back deck where he and his family are preparing to eat dinner. I meet his wife Elaine, and two sons Zachary and Elliot, both grown and serving the country as their father did. Mr. Jordan offers me a seat and Elaine unexpectedly puts a plate of piping hot food in front of me. After a quick prayer from Elliot we dig into a good meal.)

I always wondered when I'd get someone coming around asking about him. Always figured it would be somebody from the DOD, though. I'm not sure where to begin.

How did Dante cross the first time?

That's just it. No one knows. I heard stories from guys who were there when he tried walking out the front door. Back then, the establishment frowned on that. Now there were people living on the other side of The Wall but it was mostly military and support personnel. You have to understand that the other side of The Wall was a war zone. I spent several tours in the border towns defending against wave after wave of zombies. There weren't many civilians who lived or even wanted to live under those conditions. Those that did contributed to the effort and were allowed to cross whenever they wanted. When it came to going out beyond those areas, we maybe got ten of those requests a month and the answer was always no.

It was usually the same story. Some guy or group that thought a few weeks spent up in the woods practicing with hunting rifles and reading a few books on wilderness survival thought they could hack the trek through undead country to get back to wherever they came from for whatever they wanted. Problem was that if they didn't make it, they would either become food for those things or, what was even likelier, they would become another enemy for us to deal with. Back then, the government was not into the business of making more reasons to expend precious ammunition. When Dante showed up, and this is just what I heard, he was told to get bent and to enjoy his well-earned safety.

No, no one knows exactly how he crossed the first time. Now when he came back, that's a different story. He snuck out the back door but waltzed back into the front. That I was there for. I was manning the perimeter of one of the border towns, Starling, I think. Then he comes knocking at the gate. I was about to shoot him but he waved and asked to be let in. We got the dogs ready, handy buggers they were, and he walked the gauntlet without getting so much as a second sniff. He wanted to be let back across the mountains. A few of the guys I was with remembered him trying to get out and were more than a bit surprised that he made it. They were ready to give him a hard time but then he told us that he had something important to tell our superiors. One of the Lieutenants was around and took him to see the Colonel. After that it was hush-hush and "treat him with respect".

What did he have to say?

First, there was an attack coming of about a couple of hundred Zack and it was less than a day out. Second he had some information that they wanted. We weren't sure what it was he was talking about. We wouldn't know for about three days.

(We finish the rest of the dinner in relative silence. During breaks in silence, Zachary and Elliot ask me questions on places that I had been on my journey and what I had learned. After dinner Mr. Jordan takes me into his study and removes a rolled up piece of paper the size of a poster from a long drawer at the bottom of a bookshelf. He moves it over to an artist's drawing desk and unrolls it, carefully securing the edges. The piece of paper is a map of the United States. It has been colored on with marker. There are blue dots, red dots, purple dots, yellow dots and a massive swath of gray. It seems as if the artist had attempted to color in the gray area but had decided against it, traced a border around it and drawn an 'X' over the whole thing. Mr. Jordan looks at me and I can tell that this document is important.)

This is a copy of the map that Dante came back with the first time he crossed. This is the state of the US during the earliest days of Stalemate, long before Reclamation had even been thought of. This is how he managed to get back in without being arrested. The blue dots are civilian settlements. Red is the military. The purple dots are pockets of our military guarding civilian settlements. The yellow dots were areas where there was essentially nothing. The gray, well you can guess.

You have to understand how important this was. The government had no real idea as to the state of things on the other side of the Wall. They barely had an idea on what was happening on our side of the Wall. Dante was looking at jail time until he revealed this. It was comprehensive, it was accurate, and it was more information than they could have possibly hoped for. But, here's the thing, he didn't trade this map for re-entry.

Why not?

He didn't need our permission to go anywhere. He got over without us noticing. Of course he could get back just as easily. What he was asking for was the convenience of just coming and going as he pleased. I guess, whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't find it. He was interrogated on how he had gotten over the Rockies. They pressured him saying that Zack could use his route. Dante flat out told them that if a zombie could cross where he did, then the human race was fucked. He never revealed exactly how he did it and the map he had was entirely too valuable to make a federal case out of it, so they just let it slide. He got what he wanted. Once he passed all the medical screenings they let him back in.

(He takes down the map, rolls it up, places it in a protective tube and hands it to me)

You are going to need this if you're going to find him. Don't worry about returning it. The attack that Dante warned us about came exactly when he said it would. Thing is, a fog bank came down from the north and completely obscured the direction they were coming from. My post wasn't equipped with a mine field or even tin cans dangling on a string. We wouldn't have known about them until they were pounding on the gate. Without him, we would have been overrun for sure. As far as I'm concerned, Dante saved my life. Those two boys you met are here because of him. If you find him, you give him my thanks and an invitation to meet his Godsons.