Surviving World War Z
Emerzo Peters- Hero of Fortress Pokk
Chapter One
The Monotony Begins
Disclaimer- The book World War Z does not belong to me. I am simply writing about the book that I love so much. Max Brooks Rocks!!
TOLD BY:
Emerzo Peters
We hardly accomplished anything more that first day. After we emptied the warehouse, nearly everyone was lying in their bundle of blankets, depressed and miserable. I had vowed to myself earlier that I would never allow myself to be overcome with grief. I spent my first day looking after two seven year-old children, Z'ria and Tom. They were brother and sister fraternal twins, and had been separated from their mother and father during their escape.
They were strikingly different for being twins. Z'ria was up and about, exploring the warehouse with a curiosity she didn't bother to mask, while Tom was trying to keep from bawling. I talked to him for almost two hours before he got up and went exploring with Z'ria and I.
Our company was fortunate enough to have an underground well, so we were set for drinking water. The three of us found several coins around the edge of the open water pump; apparently, the workers had thought it to be a wishing well. Money wasn't of much value around here, but Z'ria hid all of the coins behind a loose brick in the lower level of the Southern warehouse. She would eventually use this space to store all kinds of things she and her twin found. They found a tennis ball, some marbles, a box of thumbtacks, and more random trinkets. It was their private treasure trove.
My private treasure was a metal cigar box that my dad had mistakenly placed in my suitcase. When I first found it, I tucked it away like Z'ria had her coins. I thought of it as a memento of my father. I prayed silently to the hidden box when I felt scared.
I never cried in all the time that I was at our temporary home, but my heart ached every day. I comforted Z'ria and Tom when I wasn't working around the field, and they soon became reliant on me as a friend, a father figure.
Most of those first few days were spent tilling soil, and planting seeds. We knew that winter was six months away, but we would not have enough food if we were holed up for that long. We would have to rely on our stored food and whatever we could scavenge to survive.
On the fourth day, we were suddenly swarmed with zombies. They couldn't get past our fortified outer wall, but somehow they had learned of our presence. Had we been making too much noise?
Many people suggested that we shoot them all, but the doctors in our group all agreed that this was dangerous; we had no means of getting rid of the bodies, and the decomposing flesh could make us all sick from being so close to it. Instead, we made sure the children stayed away from the walls, and to wear ear protection of some sort outside at all times, to muffle the maddening moaning of all the zombies.
The zombies constantly clawed at the brick walls and our stacked crates, but they weren't strong enough to get to us. The people who planted the seeds and worked the fields, including me, were the closest to the zombies and many of us became depressed and moody. One girl recognized one of the zombies as one of her classmates. She was strong, and overcame this in a day. I was really impressed. I couldn't imagine how I would react if I met someone I knew on the other side of that fence.
Her name was Hannah. She was a student from a school that was directly north of my own. She was one of the first people Harold had rescued, along with her grandfather. She and I quickly became friends, and we spent our nights swapping stories about our former lives. Her mother had gone missing as she went out to buy groceries, and Hannah and her grandfather had fled only a few hours later. Hannah still had hope for her mother; she wasn't confirmed dead, at least. When I told her my story, she placed a hand on my shoulder and said she was sorry.
On the morning of the sixth day, one of the large crates along the outer wall fell with a deafening crash. One of the taller and stronger zombies had reached over the chain and brick based fence and shoved it over. One of our sentries that was patrolling shot this threat in the head without thinking. He didn't realize that the zombie still had no hope of climbing over unless it toppled the other crates, which were oblong in such a way that it would take enormous strength to topple the lower level. Our doctors suggested that we burn the body by dumping gasoline on it and the setting it on fire, but we were afraid the crates could catch on fire. Instead, we just replaced the top crate, and then bound the entire top level of crates to the bottom level with lengths of rope so they wouldn't topple again. Regardless, our sentry duty was doubled for about two weeks.
Tom and Z'ria invented a new game that they could play, also on the sixth day. They called it 'Obstacle race.' Basically, they used pieces of wood that they collected from the unused crates to make a long track, and in it they placed hurdles and balance beams. The first person to the end of the course, and then back was the winner. They built this course just outside the southern warehouse, and the course ran about eighty or so yards with several bends and twists. It was built well away from the outer walls, and the voices of the zombies were muffled by our crate barrier.
Hannah suggested that they keep an official record book, and keep track of 'high scores'. Tom had a wristwatch that doubled as a stopwatch, and the four of us partook in many races. Many other children soon joined us, and the game became very popular immediately. The competitors were grouped into age categories, and Hannah was ahead in mine, with me a close second. They also designed several track variations, with a 'high score' for each one.
We made this game as a way of staying sane, with a little healthy competition between us. Tom even wrote a song that was to be played on a guitar before the first game every day. We had to keep the spectators quiet however, cheering couldn't be allowed for fear of attracting any more zombies.
Our first week was spent in denial of our situation.