The Long Road Home
I come into the office of Professor Jake Heidegger. He stands, comes around the desk, tells me to sit down and relax, then goes back around to his side, and leans back in his chair. I take a moment to look around his office. On one wall hangs a SIR, a Lobo, and a Pulaski1, along with a picture of several young men and two older men, weatherbeaten and well-armed. I decide to ask about the Pulaski first, as my curiosity is piqued. Note to the reader: I have chosen to render the interview as I heard it, as accents such as Jake's are growing rarer and rarer due to the great intermingling that occurred during the war.
So, what's the story behind the Pulaski?
Oh, the Pulaski? That's one of the reasons I'm alive. Killed my first Zack with it.
How'd that occur?
If I can give you some background, I was a Boy Scout back in the day, and, if I may say so, a pretty decent one. Decent enough, at any rate, to where I was elected t' the Order of the Arrow, which is rather like Scoutin's honor society. Anyways, it was getting to be the end of my last year in Scouts—you're no longer a Boy Scout when you turn 18, if you want t' stay you have t' become an adult leader—Junior Assistant Scoutmaster or somesuch. The OA's different, you can stay in 'till you're twenty-one—anyways, the real point of OA is "cheerful service." That's what we did—and they still do. He says this with evident pride in his voice. The point of all that is this: There's a High Adventure2 base up on the Minnesota-Canada border called "Northern Tier", which is a canoe base. One of the things the OA used to do was a trip up there where you did upkeep on the portage3 trails for a week, then you got to pick a weeklong canoe trip.
Sounds fun.
Trust me, it was. And yes, I'm getting t' the point. Anyway, the troop's older OA members decided to do an en masse sign-up as kind of a last hurrah 'fore we all aged out. His eyes cloud briefly and he pauses, then shakes his head and continues. Now, I'd heard all the news 'bout "African rabies" and whatnot, and, in all honesty, I was really gettin' annoyed with it. All the news media people were actin' like it was "the end of the world." He snorts. And who was gonna take it seriously, after the SARS and swine flu4 scares? Get Phalanxed, maybe, buy a gun, perhaps, but don't take it too seriously. After all, to quote George Bernard Shaw, "Newspapers cannot distinguish 'tween a bicycle accident and the collapse of civilization." Most—all, really, of the guys in my troop were of that opinion. So, we headed up without a care in the world more'n usual.
We drove north for a few days, havin' a good old time, reminiscin' 'bout various camping trips, hikes, summer camps, occasionally talkin' philosophy or theology or politics. Anyways, we got up there, unloaded from the van, got our training and tools, got in the canoes, and paddled out t' the trail restoration sites.
We were doin' good work, and got some compliments from our crew boss…He pauses. But on the fourth day things changed. As we were kickin' back and takin' a lunch break, we heard a strange moanin' sound comin' from the forest behind us—from the south. We jumped t' our feet, tryin' t' figure out what in the world it was—and then a Zack came shamblin' out of the trees.
Did you know what it was at the time?
I guessed. Only reason we kilt it was 'cause one of the guys—name of Mitch Robertson—had read some survival guide 'bout how to survive a zombie infestation and yelled to get it in the brain—the yellin' broke the freeze we were all in. Well, as none of us wanted to get around those teeth, we split into two groups—one group, 'bout five of the guys and the two adult men distracted the critter, while me, Mitch, and t' crew boss, whose name was—lemme think here—Jeff Olafson snuck around behind it to whack it in the head. I had a Pulaski, as did Mitch, and Jeff had a pickaxe. We rushed up behind it, I reached the thing first, swung back as it turned, and, by the grace of God, buried the axe blade in the thing's braincase. Half a second later Jeff stuck the pointy end of the pickaxe through the critter's brain stem. It was pretty much dead at that point. Fortunately we got no flesh spall, as I called the spray that comes from penetration through the whole body. That would've been—bad. We'd been workin' all day, got various minor cuts and scrapes—little bitty things, but 'nough, right?
That's correct.
So now that the Zack was finished off, we took stock and tried t' figure out what we'd do next. Here arose a difference of opinion. Me, Mitch, Jeff, and one of the adults—name of Tom Ricketts—and Larry Finley wanted t' git back t' the first portage we'd taken after we'd hit the lakes, and wait and see, while t' other five—Rob Bedfordson, Dennis York, Sam Sparrow—we always kidded him 'bout that—Logan Benteen, and the other adult, name was Mark Warren—wanted t' hang back a bit. We ended up persuading 'em that, if Zack came up, havin' only one portage 'tween us and the vehicles was better'n multiple portages, and thus multiple places t' get Zack attacked. They listened, fortunately.
Fortunately?
When we were on the last portage before we got to the next-to-first lake, we heard Zack moanin' comin' from where we'd last camped. Must've followed the moan from that one we killed. So we got to the last portage, and me, Jeff, and Mark went up it t' see what was goin' on. It was—bad.
How so? I ask. He looks down briefly, then raises his head with eyes full of remembered horrors.
It was a nightmare. Apparently the roads north were blocked or sumthin' cause a bunch've folks had come to this town lookin' for shelter. Now, you've heard of how the Minneapolis-St. Paul outbreak happened, right?5 (I nod.) Well, apparently a truckload of illegal workers came up there, don't ask me why, I just know they did based on the tales from the few survivors. Apparently one was bit in the city or sumthin', 'cause when the driver opened the back 'bout thirty, forty Zack came out, and the folks on shore apparently were the most unprepared people that came out of Minneapolis-St. Paul. They had one huntin' rifle, a couple shotguns, and some pistols—might've been enough, 'cept they broke and ran for the canoe outpost. Well, turns out there weren't any canoes left there. There was just this millin' crowd on the end of the dock, 'bout to get overrun by Zack. They started jumpin' in the water as the Zacks closed in—and a bunch of 'em were weighed down or couldn't swim. And the folks on the dock didn't know to headshot. The screamin'— He cuts off.
Anyway, we piled back on down the trail as fast as we could t' get back t' the canoes and maybe try to save some folks, only t' meet the other seven comin' on down with the canoes and nothin' else to help us out. He smiles at that. We were OA. We tried t' pick up everyone we could, but we didn't dare get too near the dock, and the Zacks had been jumpin' in after the swimmers. Most've the first ones to jump managed to get around the Zacks' rear and haul out. Didn't blame 'em much. We picked up…lemme think…two kids, one boy, one girl; three teenagers—one boy, two girls; and a grandfather. We then paddled back across the lake—'twas about a quarter mile—and Mitch took charge and told us t' do bite check on all of 'em. The presence of the lasses made things somewhat awkward, as you can probably imagine, but they got sent a brief distance off t' check each other, while I got sent t' watch for Zack in that direction.
Why you?
Mitch knew me, and knew I wasn't going to do a Peeping Tom.
Why?
If I may quote the Word, "Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery" — and he knew I adhered to the Word, as I still do. And as there were multiple lasses, that would be the only reason to look. Although I will confess I was listenin' rather hard, as I didn't know if any of 'em knew each other, and I wasn't sure if any of them would be thoughtless or ignorant enough t' conceal a bite mark out of some regard for the bitten person—you've heard of cases like that, I'm sure. I heard no gasps of shock or anything of the kind, however, and after about five minutes I started yellin' if they were decent yet, which I'm sure annoyed 'em significantly. It worked, though.
Anyways, they finished checkin' each other and we headed back to the main group, where we proceeded to plan out what we'd do next. While the adults and crew boss were in charge, they were vigorously listening t' Mitch, mostly 'cause he'd read the survival guide. We ended up decidin' to get across the lake ASAP, abandon the canoes, find a couple of vehicles, preferably ours 'cause they were some of those new hybrid vans—the ones with actual power6—find some supplies, and head west.
Not north? I ask. He grins and leans back.
We figured, based on the info we had, that ever'one was headin' north. So we decided to avoid that by driven' west, hopefully at worst skirt the leading edge of the Zack horde we all figured was comin', and maybe get to the Rockies or some easily defensible position, like the Black Hills. He snorts. Now, I don't know what anyone else thinks, but that was botched on all sides. Unlike some, I've read the interrogation transcripts—they've been declassified, y'know—and when all's said and done—eh, listen t' me, getting' all wound up and ahead of myself. Sorry 'bout that.
That's all right.
Eh, need to stay on topic. Anyways, we loaded up in the canoes, got across the lake—takin' care to use the dock t' get the rescued out of the canoes, then moved the canoes up to the shoreline, whence the rescued helped us pull the things ashore so's we weren't in the lake.
We then pulled our stuff out of the canoes and started headin' for the vans, fast as we could—especially when the Zacks started comin' out of the lake.
We made it out of town and headed west as fast as we could. 'Course, we didn't know that this was just the beginning of our problems.
1. Pulaski: A tool with a mattock blade on one end of the head, and an axe blade on the other.
2. Scout program for older boys only, generally involving long, arduous trips.
3. Portage: term for the periods in a canoe trip when the canoers get out of their canoes, get their stuff out, and carry it and the canoes from lake to lake.
4. Health scares overblown by the media that turned out to mean nothing.
5. The Minneapolis-St. Paul outbreak is thought to have begun with Chinese illegals who spread it to other illegals, many of them houseworkers, who then spread it to the houseowners.
6. In the early days of hybrid vehicles, it was well known that they were underpowered compared to gasoline operated vehicles