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UNDEAD DIARIES
Chapter 4 text by Jenna Pitman - photo by Donald Holman
When the dead came back I took Jasper (an Akita mongrel) and Stella (an AmStaff/Catahoula mix), fleeing as far away from anything that could liberally be considered an outpost of humanity. For six days we pressed forward through the wooded trails and abandoned logging towns I’d known as a child. When we arrived at the forsaken village Tyellington, we stumbled upon the frantic origins of Haven. Three men and one woman were working desperately to erect a fantastically high perimeter surrounding the edges of the ghost town. Without thinking I threw my weight in with theirs. For hours we toiled under a watch kept by four furry sentinels. It darkened and with the wall half finished and a biting cold embracing us, Haven saw the first of our nightly bonfires. It was small and a weighty risk but it seemed to be needed. In the primal glow of lapping flames we began to talk, to compare notes. We spoke of who we were, where we came from, but only a little. It didn’t matter much. Though we were strangers, we already knew that we would fight to the death for one another. For the first time in my life I found myself caring for another human being. Maybe connecting had been our biggest mistake. The next few days saw the completion of the first wall and a slight increase in our numbers. Immediately we set upon building a second wall, drawing upon the resources and knowledge of our newcomers. Soon even more people found their way to us along with their own supplies, expertise and dogs. Before long, construction began on Haven’s tree-housed inner cloister. It was a year before we’d completed the eighth wall. Haven’s residents tallied between 50 and sixty now. Each new batch brought new information from the outside. The humans were losing. The unseeing ferocity that drove the Walkers was too strong a force to combat it seemed and all the bastions of humanity were folding or already had. Sometimes they had news of a more local and useful quality, the locations of untouched sundries being the most important. This information inspired controversy, especially as the bombardment continued. More than one perfect sanctuary had fallen due to the comings and goings of well meaning individuals. Still it was plain to everyone that if we were to actually come out “on the other end” we would need many things we simply could not produce from within our fortress. Deals were struck and a deadline for gathering set. We had until the fuel ran out and a strict “no exception” rule for those wounded was set in place. It was violated once. The ensuing treatment of those who almost brought our destruction could only be described as brutally barbaric, albeit effective... This ended six months after the first year, our careful comings and goings. No one took much notice. We were far too busy. Haven had innumerable chores and duties to be performed simply to stay alive. It wasn’t until the beginning of the third year that our own nature caught up with us. Life had finally settled into a pattern. Finally we all knew what was expected of us, life was running somewhat smoothly. Almost habitually. There were almost two hundred of us by now. Suddenly strangers became familiar and once passionate bonds boring. It became obvious who was not pulling their own weight; or rather it became obvious who SEEMED to be slacking. People whose leadership and advice had been invaluable and sought after during the period of construction were now leaving a heavy track of resentment in their wake. Neighbors and friends began to study one another in concealed hostility. Men and women swapped beds, friends became closer to the “boss” and “moved up” in status, brushing nerves a little too sharply. Then They got in... I’m still not sure if it had been intentional or an accident, it’s not a topic that comes up much anymore. They came through a weak spot in the eighth gate. It was very nearly a massacre, as it was They ended up with 20 of our own and dozens more had been bitten and later exterminated. We’d kept them from the inner two circles and eventually destroyed Them, but it was a close call. Far too close. Many had fallen to blind panic, a nightmare we’d all hoped was over had threatened to overwhelm us once more. We didn’t even pause to repair most of the breeches before the first figurative lynching. A true lynching would have been far kinder than what we did, but it was over quickly. That’s when the ninth wall was set up. It has no gate, no door to the outside. No coming, no going. The only ones who have left in a year have been the dead and we know they’re still out there... somewhere. The tension abated for a bit, but I can feel it again. I duck my head and do my chores, hoping to go unnoticed. I’ve stopped attending the bonfires. I can see where we’re headed and it terrifies me. |
