Chapter 2
Welcome To Chenarus
I must wait for hours, biding my time in the abandoned air traffic control tower. Below me, partially obscured by the smoldering fire, partly by the assembled mass of undead, is the helicopter. I sit on a chair, leaning my chin upon the window ledge, trying to puzzle out, how does one gain purchase to the rifles, with those zombies in a feeding frenzy. I count no less than a dozen. I could not possibly hope to kill them, before they swarmed upon me and killed me. This will be a very difficult thing. As I continue to ponder this riddle, fortune favors me. Three deer catch the attention of the feeding mass. I hear them howl in their insatiable hunger as they chase off after the fleet footed deer. It is oddly amusing to me, from this distance, knowing those monsters stand no chance at all, of catching those deer. Still, they stumble off after them, leaving the remains of the crew and passengers, as well as the vital equipment contained within the burned out shell, for me to scavenge as I will. Yes, I certainly will.
With trepidation, I descend to the lowermost level. The door creaks just a bit as I open it. I flinch, re-actively. There is nobody, or anything resident to witness the doors squeal. With haste, I find myself hunched over, like in the myriad of war movies, racing along to the helicopter crash site. I look to my left, watching the hoard of zombies comically chasing the deer, whom I feel are entertaining themselves, galloping away a distance, then stopping, allowing the bedraggled motley crew to close partially, then galloping yet further. Inside I smirk, the deer are giving the undead a sort of "piss off" with their antics. Perhaps nature does indeed have a sense of humor.
Arriving just short of the helicopter, I see three of the soldiers had been thrown from the wreckage. I kneel down beside one, taking the time to un-sling his rifle from his corpse. I unclip the magazine pouches from his harness and attach them to my own. Then notice his knife. I detach that and clip it to my harness as well. I recognize this rifle. It is an AK 74. We trained on these briefly at the compound. I feel a little more at ease. I go to the next soldier and remove the magazines from his pouches and put them into my backpack. I do the same with the final soldier, also taking a pack of chewing gum. There is nothing else of value, until I discover a can opener on him. That, I decide, may be the most important thing I have found yet.
I leave the crash site as the sun appears to have reached its highest point. I have little shadow, which means it must be noon, or close to. It is starting to get warm. I look back at the now distant mob of undead, continuing to chase the deer. I return back towards the way I went last time. I check my compass. It is East. I go East.
The walk helps me to clear my head. At the same time, I begin to feel the aches and pains of the injuries from the crash. My shoulders are starting to hurt, and my right leg is throbbing. Turning to look back, the smoke is just a distant slender finger, reaching into the sky, where it dissipates into a trail that seems to go for miles. Even at this distance, however, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunfire. There is shooting going on at the airport. I crouch down, out of instinct, not necessity. I am torn. Part of me reasons that gun fire means humans. Humans mean safety, usually. At the same time, part of me says, I am a girl, on her own, in a strange land, injured and untrained to defend myself from trained soldiers. The weapons fire sounds like automatic rifles. Soldier carry those. Well, so do I now. It is possible that the gun fire is just another survivor, like myself, scavenging the crash site. If they are soldiers, they will notice the missing magazines, and the missing rifle. If they are able to track me, they will know where to look. I can either turn back and hope they are friendly, or push on, despite the pain I am experiencing. I sip some water, debating this. Such decisions are not to be made in haste, if possible.
I decide that my best fortune lies with heading away from this crash. If the smoke has attracted soldier, or other scavengers, it has also likely attracted zombies. Considering the number of shots I heard, either the large group of zombies had given up on the deer and returned to their feast, or more of them had arrived, or... more than one group of humans arrived at the crash site at the same time. None of those options appeal to me. The first two, well self explanatory, the last, also is distasteful. If they are willing to kill for what they find there, they most certainly would kill me, for what I have. No, I am better off on my own, for now. At least, until I can figure out just where I am, and who I am dealing with.
I push myself until I can no longer go on. With a reserve of energy, or just raw determination, I climb a tree, far enough up to be beyond the grasp of any undead that might happen upon me. I have seen the Hunger Games, and I know that it is a good idea to find a way to fasten myself to the tree, should I fall while I sleep. I use the shoe laces to tie the back of my harness to the trunk of the tree, so that I am sitting up, then I pull the harness on and clip it secured around me. I am too tired to eat, so I close my eyes, allowing sleep to engulf me.
I awake several times during the evening and night. Strange noises, animals scampering about, at one point a trio of undead wander past, chasing some rabbits. They do not notice me. I remain deathly still. My mind screams at me to flee, to shoot, to do something, but fear paralyses me, which saves my life. I watch them pass, then once my exhaustion once again reclaims me, I fall back into a troubled rest. Morning claims me far too soon.
Pain and fatigue are now traveling companions. We share the journey, they silently reminding me of my predicament. I, their reluctant victim, endure their companionship as I continue East. I opened one of the plastic bagged meals. As I walk, I eat some of it. It has no flavor. Whatever it is, I assume is less important than the nutritional value it purports to offer. I question how large soldiers could possibly survive eating but one of these as a meal. I am much smaller than most soldiers, and even I find myself unsatisfied by the ration. I am left to assume the meal is less about satiating one's hunger, than providing the very minimal level of nutrition that one would need to remain healthy. Expending energy with the demands of war, I question how this is possible. Still, it is all I have to eat, so I eat what it offers, determined not to get into the other bagged meal.
As I finish a portion, I replace the plastic pouch it comes in, back within the larger container. Then once I have finished it all, I carefully conceal that within some bushes. Sure, a trained soldier might be able to track me, but it does not mean I have to make it easy for them, and just toss it aside.
It is long after noon before I come to a hill over looking a city. I sit down, resting my legs. I am so very tired. Below me, the city looms, in ruins. It is the same picture as everywhere else in the world. The sudden infestation of zombies caused mass chaos. The fleeing survivors fought to find their way to whatever they identified as safety. The military and police, overwhelmed by both the chaos, as well as the growing zombie hoards, fell into panic and their concerted efforts failed to protect not only the civilians, but not even themselves. In the end, like all elsewhere, the result was predictable. The civilization fell. Mankind was decimated and scattered. The number of survivors is a fraction of a fraction of what it once was. I heard estimates that less than a million humans remain in all the world. As I look down at the ruins of the city, I am inclined to believe this.
There is activity in the city. I see lights from a vehicle, as well as some hand torches. There are always survivors. I know this. I can see the light dance off the sides of the buildings, as well as the low fence they have made from burned out cars and dumpsters. Upon occasion, one of the survivors ventures to a zombie or two as they collect against the barricades, and they slice them apart with an ax. I decide that I might be safe among that group. They seem to have figured out how to prevent large hoards from massing against their meager barricade. It is then I notice that they have arranged the wreckage of other vehicles so that only a few can approach at any given point, at one time. I smile at the forethought they put into that. Of course, judging by the size of the city, there could not possibly be the sheer number of zombies that there were in a major city like Paris or Hamburg.
I would go down there, but in the dark, I do not think it would be so wise. Instead I return to the tree line and once again, make my night strapped into a tree. As I watch them, down in the little city, I pull out the other plastic bagged meal. I tear open the pouches, one at a time, eating the dry tasteless meal. Once again, as I eat, I wonder if my family, back home, are still alive. I think, in my heart, I have reconciled, they probably are dead. The last news reports out of America looked very grim indeed. Major cities were falling like leaves in a storm. The emergency services had given up on trying to treat the dead or injured. Many police and National Guard members just gave up and went home to try to save their own families. In the end, America, like every other nation, fell apart. I drink from my canteen, laying my head back, wondering if I should bother to pray. I doubt there is a god. I mean, if there is, how does one reconcile all this, with a god that supposedly loves and protects from all of this? I can not do the mental gymnastics to rectify that, so I forget about it and just cry myself to sleep. There is nothing I can do about any of it anyhow. I am just one girl, in a world gone mad. I can not save the world. I doubt I can even save myself. Still, I have done a pretty good job so far, though I honestly have to give credit to the deer, without whom I wouldn't have been able to scavenge the rifle and magazines. Thank you deer.
Day two ends just as day one did, with me strapped in a tree. However, unlike day one, I now have a destination. In the grand scheme of things, I do not suppose that, that, is much of an achievement, but for me, at this moment, it is enough. I have had a little to eat, I am alive, I have some good equipment, and now, if all goes well, I have a destination to go to. Tomorrow promises to be an eventful day. I just hope, it doesn't turn out to be my final day.
I awake slowly. It is morning. I am cold, hungry, and very sore. As I unbuckle the harness, to untie it from the tree, I hear the snap of twigs. I pause, listening closely. I smell them before I see them. Undead are close. I force myself to breath. "C'mon Ellie... they cant reach us up here." I remind myself as I continue to untie the harness and slip it on. I close the clips, quiet as I can. They are just rambling about, no particular direction. I take the bag of empty food pouches and raise it over my head, prepared to throw it to distract them if I must. They come closer, I can feel the fear in my chest like a fist around my heart. I swear I can not breath. I feel my stomach wanting to vomit up what little I have eaten, or maybe just bile. The smell is horrible. The stench of putrid rotting flesh assails my senses, making me gag. My eyes even water from the disgusting abominations walking just under me. My body shivers in fear and I start to consider my options. I can stay here and hope they go away, I can throw the bag and hope it distracts them, but how far, and how long is questionable. Or I can shoot them. The last option, I fear trying. I am close to that human civilization, and to start shooting, they might decide I am shooting at them and return fire, killing me as I am helpless in this tree. So I decide to wait it out. That decision takes the better part of the morning, as they slowly make their way down the hill side towards the human compound, only to be killed once they arrive. I wait a while before I climb down. I am terrified, but I follow, walking down the hill, but I hold my rifle over my head. Zombies don't carry rifles, and this also shows, I am not wanting to shoot. I hope they interpret that as I intend it.
I walk towards the barricade and stop when one of them raises a hand to me. "I do not understand you." I tell them, hoping they understand English. At least one does.
"We were waiting for you. I was wondering if you planned to spend another day in your tree." he says grinning. I must look as stunned as I feel, because he points to one of the guards, who has a scoped rifle. "He spotted you yesterday, but we realized you are just a girl, so we did not shoot. I am glad you decided to come join us. I am Valeri. You can call me Val. Welcome to Grishino." he says escorting me to where they have some food laid out.
"I'm Ellie. I'm from... America. I was going to school in Paris, till Paris fell. We were evacuating, but the helicopter crashed." I say telling him what I assumed he probably mostly figured out. I do have a bit of a French accent, and he surely saw the helicopter fly over and saw the smoke from the crash. For all I know, it was his people that were at the crash site yesterday. But if they wanted me dead, I would already be dead. Right now, they are my best chance at survival.
"Yes, we saw the UN helicopter get shot down. I sent some men to try to find survivors, but they found only zombies, and some of our not so friendly neighbors. You were very fortunate you did not run into them. They would likely have just killed you and take your guns, or, taken them and then taken what they could take, from you. Very bad people out there." he says as I eat something that I think is chicken. I hope its chicken. Please let it be chicken!
"I have someone... his name is Banksy, he is English, he will be assigned to help you to fit in here." he says. I nod, glad to know I can at least talk to someone.
"How did he get here?" I ask. I look around for him, wondering what he might look like. Everyone here is dressed in some makeshift outfit. Most of them have on at least cammie bottoms, some the blouse too. Many are in just cargo pants and heavy shirts. I hate to say it, but they all kind of smell. Bathing, I guess, is not regular. The clothes look dirty and shabby. Everyone is armed. The one thing I notice is how they all keep their guns clean. Priorities, I guess.
"That is a good question. I am sure he would love to know that answer as well. You see, Banksy seems to have lost his memory." Val tells me. I blink a few times, wondering if that is because he wanted to forget the past, or because it's easier to tell people you just don't remember.
"I don't suppose it really matters anymore. The past is... another lifetime anyhow. Everything seems like it was a million years ago." I say as I sit down on a nearly broken chair. It creaks under me. Some other girls about my age go by. They also are armed, but only with pistols. They are jabbering away in whatever language they speak. "So... where am I?"
"Chenarus. Former Russian State." he says. Okay, so they speak... Russian? Sure, may as well. That explains the Cyrillic. I nod, satisfied with the answer. If I recall, its South of Germany. Makes sense. It's in the flight path of the helicopter, en route to Ithaca. I look at the rustic houses. Many of them are wood structures, some are brick. Not many seem to have plumbing and few have electricity. At least in this area. Farther into the city, the taller buildings had power lines and telephone poles. But most of the roads seem paved, and at least its closer to civilization than sitting in a tree. I suppose, in a world gone mad, even something as simple as this, can be considered quite extravagant. Still, it has food, drink, safety, and from the looks of it, a soft place to sleep, I do believe I will stay here, at least for the time being.