Living With the Dead: This New Disease (Book 5) (11 page)

Posted
by 
Josh
Guess
Now
that I'm out of serious danger I can tell you what's been going on
with me the last several days. It's almost funny that with the Exiles
letting their true colors shine again, the New Breed ramping up the
rate at which they gather together even as we try to keep their
numbers down, and the other threats we face, the simplest ones are
what catch us off guard.
I had Aaron post the other day
because I was incapable of it. It was a lucky thing I managed to get
in touch with him, communications being what they are. His ability to
check in here at home has been spotty at best, but I was terrified
that if anyone knew that our medical staff were pretty much all busy
during that day, we'd be at risk for an attack. The Exiles aren't the
only opportunists out there, after all.
See, my appendix
almost burst.
In the old world that would have been cause for
concern but not all that dangerous compared to most other health
problems. I woke up Saturday morning with a sharp pain in my side and
decided after a few hours that it wasn't gonna go away on its own. So
I went to the clinic. Evans and Phil asked me a lot of questions, but
what it boiled down to was guesswork. Damned well-informed guesswork,
but still. No tests to confirm, no scans to make sure. They (and
Gabby) both thought I had appendicitis, so they did what all good
surgeons do and convinced me to let them cut my belly open.
Phil
decided to pepper his conversation with explanations about how easy
this surgery would have been before The Fall. How he could have done
laparoscopic surgery, minimally invasive, and had me up and about in
no time.
Instead, I have this gaping wound on my tummy, and a
lot of pain, and I'm down for a while. I'm told the surgery went as
well as could be expected, but given our circumstances that's not
saying great things. I've refused pain medicine (which I regret every
time I breathe) for the sake of those who may need it in a much worse
way later. That's about half altruism and half practicality--I might
be the one who breaks an arm or something, which hurts a 
lot 
more
than this does.
I'm here in the clinic until further notice. I
can work on stuff from my bed, but no duties that involve me having
to move around much. With luck I won't develop any infections, though
the antibiotics we have at hand are much appreciated.
Okay,
I'm not making much sense at the moment. I think Evans might have
slipped me some pain medicine, that tricky fucker. I'll be back (and
hopefully more coherent) tomorrow.
Weird to think that little
extra bit inside me caused so much trouble. An organ I didn't even
need almost killed me. I wonder what they did with it?
Ugh,
there are hungry zombies penned up not far away. I've decided I just
don't want to know.

Posted
by 
Josh
Guess
I'm
not gonna get into how much I hate being stuck in this bed unable to
do anything physical. I would actually be allowed up more by now, but
I'm running a low-grade fever and Gabby is insistent that I rest and
use my strength to heal. I still do some walking and sitting to keep
my lungs expanding so as to avoid pneumonia, but it's never for very
long. I always come back to this bed.
Not that I'm not doing
work, of course. I am. Will has me as his assistant all the time now
since I can't do anything other than use my brain. Will is going easy
on me with the work, though I wish he wouldn't. I'm weak, not dead.
Dave doesn't have that problem. He's taking up my extra time (roughly
equivalent to most of my time) helping him rework and improve the
designs for the expansion. It's a lot of number crunching and
managing supplies. Familiar territory.
No, what's really
bothering me is feeling like a freeloader. I know, I know. We take
care of our own. That's the point. But I've spent too long working my
ass off to feel okay with the notion that I should just be doing
paperwork. There's a healthy dollop of rational fear in there, as
well: I can't hop up and grab a weapon if there's any kind of
attack.
I'm not allowed to go hang out with the sick people
from Louisville, who are still here but getting a little better. That
they've struggled against whatever is in their lungs says something
about their toughness. I don't feel as though they should be putting
any effort in (the little voice in the back of my head is quiet now)
because they risked their lives to safeguard ours. I just got an
infection.
Yes, I know I've risked my own. I'm too hard on
myself. I'm a hypocrite with a double standard. Shut up. I'm ranting
here.
The captive zombies are all dead. It was decided while I
was being operated on that no one else should risk dealing with them,
in accordance with my desires. Dodger did the job himself. Those
rooms are filled with relatively comfortable cots now, ready for
anyone who may need a place to crash near the clinic. I haven't
discussed resuming our experiments with Gabby or the others yet.
That's too far into the future, and I've just begun the recovery
process.
One good thing about having so much time to sit
around and think is that the analytically skilled part of my brain is
getting a great workout. I can't miss the parallels between us
starting the bare bones of our own expansion and what the Exiles are
starting to do.
That's the most disturbing thing about being
stuck here, knowing the enemy is still the enemy and not being able
to observe for myself. Until now they've been content to do their own
thing across the river, knowing we're watching them and feeling safe
within the walls of the fallback point. Now, they've started raising
these huge posts into the air around their stolen home. Tall spears
of wood that must have been taken from somewhere else, maybe from
downed power lines. They've got long homemade extensions built onto
them, with attachments that carry steel cable between each one. Just
last night the first three of the posts went up as our watchers
observed.
Between them, two huge pieces of fabric flew high.
One of them seemed to be an old parachute cut and stitched into a new
shape. The other was a patchwork of material. The Exiles are blocking
themselves off from our sight, and that's probably a bad sign.
Says
something about the basic differences between us, doesn't it? New
Haven expands to bring others in, to grow. The Exiles build to hide
from us. Not that I blame them considering how coldly our folks view
them at present.
I'd love to see it with my own eyes. Sometime
soon, I hope. I'll be a good boy and heal up as I'm told. I just
don't have to like being apart from everyone. Jess has been too busy
to visit me in the last day with all the work being done in the annex
farm. Pat is shaping metal for twelve hours a day, his girls
apprenticing with him. Courtney and Steve are managing much of the
trade operations, Becky in her makeshift lab...
Yeah, I'm
going. I really don't want to start a pity party here, especially
since I'm the only attendee.

Posted
by 
Josh
Guess
A
reader asked a question of me yesterday that was both personal and
simply curious. The reader must be a loyal one, because they were
curious about things that don't have a lot to do with survival.
That's a thing that I sometimes forget: some of you out there
genuinely care about what's going on here in ways that can be
surprising. A lot of folks just read the blog to keep in touch or to
get tips on how to deal with the worsening zombie plague, but a few
seem to enjoy when I ramble about the place I love.
The
question was actually two: What happened with all the pregnant women
all those months back, and are Jess and I going to try again
ourselves. Let's do this one at a time.
I've touched on this a
little, but many of the ladies from Tennessee were pregnant back
when. Then they left, took over the abandoned strip mall in
Shelbyville, and had their babies. There were a fair number of
pregnant women who are natives to New Haven (if that term applies)
and they've given birth for the most part.
Not that people are
having babies in waves or anything. There are other folks carrying
children in various stages, and the ladies from Tennessee are living
here again so there are a fair number of kids all around the same
age. If it seems as if I ignored this, I guess that's because it
doesn't seem newsworthy to me anymore.
Wait. I'm not trying to
knock the importance of kids. I'm just saying that over time we've
all acclimated to the fact that there are a bunch of them around now.
Initially there was a lot of fear that the attention small children
would require might be a risk or cause people to be less productive.
That's a bit cold-hearted but remember when that speculation was
happening. Things were really bad, really desperate. We weren't
holding together well.
I guess the short answer is that the
babies were born, which just became something of a non-issue for most
of us. I think that's a great thing. We 
should 
see
new life being brought into the world as simply the way things ought
to be.
Oh, and on that note, Patrick's daughter was born. I
never mentioned how far along his...I can't say girlfriend or
whatever, because they aren't really seeing each other any more. It
was an equal split, no drama or anything, just one that came with the
lifelong prize that is a child. She's an adorable little bit, I have
to say. I hope Pat settles down with someone eventually, though I
know his little girl will be fine with having a single dad if that
dad is him. He deserves happiness.
On to the second question,
now that I've frolicked through the happy thoughts that are my new
godchild. Will Jess and I try again?
Many of you know what
happened before, and to be honest if you don't know the story I don't
want to dwell enough to go into detail. We lost our first child
because of violence. And whether or not I showed it much on here over
time, it messed me up. Maybe permanently.
My mom used to tell
a story about a doctor she worked with, who carried a list of
questions he liked to ask people to gain perspective on our culture.
He was from India, I think, and one of the questions was, "You're
in a boat with your wife, your son, and your mother. Which one do you
save?"
My mom answered that she'd save her child, because
children are the future. The doctor was used to that reply, but he
said he'd save his mother. You can remarry, he said, and have other
children. But you only have one mother.
It's not wrong, just
different. I've come to realize that the zombie plague has created a
new culture and forced a shift in the way a lot of us think. When
Jess and I lost our unborn child, I was devastated. In the world that
was, couples losing a child often meant the couple would split apart
under the immense emotional strain of that loss. We didn't. We found
solace in each other and in our duty to the people around us. So my
answer isn't a simple one.
If it happens, and we're not taking
a lot of precautions against it, then fine. We'll be nervous and
terrified and worried to the end of our wits. That might have to do
with a world that's fallen apart, though I'm equally sure parents
since the dawn o civilization have felt those same things when they
realized they were going to be responsible for a new life. Shaping a
whole person and keeping them safe until they can care for themselves
is a huge responsibility.
But, honestly? If it doesn't happen
I don't know that I'll have tons of regrets about it later. Jess and
I serve our people with a dedication that takes up most of our time
and energy. There's a lot of personal satisfaction in that. A part of
me wants to see my name continue, my features (and my need for
glasses along with it) passed on to a new generation of human
beings.
It's complicated, but I admit that my ambivalence has
a lot to do with fear. I know me well enough to realize that I might
be okay with never having children simply because then I won't have
to face that worry. It might make me a coward, I guess that's for you
to decide. But I was asked, and that's the best and most honest
answer I can give.

Posted
by 
Josh
Guess
Well.
I'm a dumbass.
I made the mistake of getting out of bed a
little too quickly this morning, and I slipped a little. I didn't
fall, but I did bang my side on the table next to the bed. Being as
I'm still in the clinic, and Gabrielle was watching...I was busted.
I'm stuck in bed and only allowed up with assistance. I know truly
know how it was for all my patients at the nursing home. My incision
hurts so much because of the nasty bump I gave it that I'm not
arguing.
As I write this, I'm carefully forking pieces of
steak and eggs into my mouth. It's so very good. There's even milk to
go with it. Granted, goat milk, but it's better than nothing.
At
the same time I'm hearing the sounds of battle outside. About twenty
minutes ago two bells went off, signaling an attack force of zombies
estimated between one and two hundred in size. I should be freaking
out and worried, feeling like an utter bastard for eating this rare
and delicious meal while other people fight for my safety, but I'm
not.
Two reasons.
First, hitting my side and feeling
that sweeping pain like getting kicked between the legs was a reality
check. I'm not just hurt, I'm seriously compromised. Out there I'd be
a liability to anyone I tried to protect. Long-term thinking has
always been our main advantage over the zombie swarms, and that means
getting better. Which means I need protein to heal. Which means
eating what I'm given. That the meal is tasty and fulfilling isn't my
fault. I'd be an ungrateful asshole not to enjoy what I have.
After
all, we have so little here at times. We don't live lives of luxury
and ease. In a way that's a blessing, because it makes us appreciate
the good moments so much more.
The second reason I'm not
losing my shit? I'm 
drugged
the hell up
.
I
don't know what it is, and I don't much care. It's relaxing me
without dulling my senses. I feel calm. Concerned about everyone out
fighting at the moment, but not anxious with worry over what's
happening. No amount of hand-wringing is going to change what
happens. Letting my food get cold or skipping a post here today won't
either.
Being in the clinic means that I'm not totally out of
the loop since medical staff come and go with casualty reports and
the occasional new patient. Triage teams have popped in for supplies
once or twice, and they know me well enough to rattle off what
details they know without being asked.
It's a group of New
Breed, but they didn't come from any direction we expected. They hit
us from the south, which has been abnormally sparse of them when our
scouts and Beaters head that way. We assumed it was because we
operate south of New Haven more than most places, and they avoided
gathering in large groups there.
But another detail makes me
wonder. These New Breed appear to be more ragged and disorganized
than the ones we usually deal with. Makes me think they might have
come from a long way off with few meals, and we were too tempting a
target to pass by. Says something about their self-control that
they'd lose cohesion at a certain point. Hunger is one of our deepest
primal urges. Even living people will go nuts when they starve long
enough. Can't expect better from the undead.
Apparently
they're not as spry or strong as their well-fed cousins, either. Our
people aren't having too hard a time scything them down, especially
since we've got so many new defenses here. There aren't many new
patients here at present, and only one so far with a bite. That guy
got hit high on his shoulder, almost his neck. He's probably not
going to make it. Can't really cut that off, you know?
What's
scary is that he was on the wall when it happened. Even weak and
disorganized, these New Breed managed to work together. Two of them
lifting with interlocked hands as a third sprang onto them, shooting
up to grab the top of the wall. How so many of them avoided being
annihilated by the air cannons and spear-throwers I don't know. Those
defenses should have chewed up at least a hundred of them if they
came at us all at once.
Come to think of it, I haven't heard
many of the loud hisses that ring out when the air cannons are fired.
Almost none at the start of the fight. That's curious.
Ah.
Phil just brought me a long roll of raw gauze. He wants me to cut and
fold it in case we need it soon. Need to sterilize my hands and go.
I'll report in later if possible.