Friends,
We find ourselves in a terrible situation. In Onondaga County, the zombies outnumber every one of us 500 to 1. Even with our perimeter fence, we will not withstand a massed attack come springtime.
We have been abandoned by the federal and state governments. The feds have moved west, into the Rocky Mountains, leaving us here to fend for ourselves. There will not be a rescue.
We are running out of food. The grocery stores are either picked bare or rotting. We are all hungry.
We are cold. A building this size with this much glass in it used to be expensive to heat. Now it is impossible. Our home provides us with nothing but shelter from the wind. In order to be warm, we must go outside into a Syracuse winter to huddle around a trashcan fire. The winds coming off Oneida Lake blow straight across the runways. It’s crazy.
The world is crazy. And it may never be sane again.
Continue reading ‘The State of The Zonion’
I remember the good old days when I wasn’t starving to death.
Remember when you could drive your car to a fast food window and get a day’s worth of calories in a single Extra Value Meal? Do you remember how a pint of that hippie ice cream–the one they made out of monkeys–went right to the pleasure centers of your brain? Do you remember those milkshakes that didn’t contain milk and didn’t need to be shaken, but were just some sort of chocolate-colored colloidal slop?
I do. What I wouldn’t give for one of them now.
I don’t want to complain. Everyone in the Zone is living this spartan lifestyle. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is sacrificing. Everyone is suffering. Everyone is hungry.
But they all have something that I don’t: homegrown insulin. They’ve got C-peptides in their bloodstream. They’ve got the ability to starve to death the old-fashioned way, by chronic malnutrition.
Not me.
Continue reading ‘Peeps’
I think Brooks should deliver a State of the Blue Zone Address. Probably after the Niagara Incident. It could explain when the generators would run, food rations, curfew, and updates on the cleanup of Syracuse/surrounding area.
Left or right, up or down, soup or salad. Life is full of choices. For Tom, making the right choice was usually simple: pick the option that worked best for Tom. He never thought how his actions would affect others, only how he could benefit most. Tom always seemed to make the right choice at the right time. Even though he was only two years out of school, he had been climbing the corporate ladder much faster than his senior colleagues. His future was bright. That is, until the dead made the choice to rise.
Continue reading ‘Choices’
The black is oppressive once Brooks cuts the power for the night. No more fans whirring gently in the background or the grind of generators with worn-out carburetors to block out the moans that might be in your head…or might not be. Everyone get so frakking quiet that it makes you sick, and all you can do is huddle in the dark or scurry like rats to the fire pits in the rusty barrel drums that start-up like fireflies back when you could actually spend time outdoors without fear of being eaten.
You can hide in the dark, or talk in the light where things can see you.
I always choose the lights.
Continue reading ‘World Weary Still of Observation’
In order to get some sort of morale boost and training going on, Slater develops a game called Hide and Destroy or Zack and Seek or something like that. One battalion ( or whatever we are calling the groups of twenty squads) will pose as the invading zombies while the other hunts them down. There are referees to determine tactics, and it’s pretty non-contact, but there’s a lot of smacktalk and incidental injuries. Betting on the results is rampant. Sgt. Meaker blows everyone’s mind by having his weakest squad go up against the opposing battalion–and the other 19 squads from his own battalion.
A cross between Ender’s game and Quidditch, I suppose.
Today, Billy Nielsen is a name that inspires laughter in the zone, but there was a time when in the city that name, the name of the best quarterback the city had ever seen, meant Bowl games and wins. It meant first downs and touchdowns. Then the man graduated, leaving behind a legacy of a three-year starter who was bound to be a top 10 draft pick, MVP awards, and championships.
He was drafted 4th overall in the draft. When he was selected there were cheers, fans jumping for joy. Finally, “the ‘cuse” had produced a future football legend. His initial jersey sales were astronomical. The streets were packed with #11 jerseys bearing the name Nielsen. It was one big beautiful bandwagon that spread like a virus throughout Central New York. Every man who knew anything about football was obsessed with his strong arm, good eye, and extreme mobility. He was a perfect athlete, destined for his fair share of records.
Continue reading ‘Nielsen’
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