The Zombie Combat Manual (14 page)

Then came the second demoralizing blow. Instead of the blast of an atomic cloud, it was the sound of our economy crumbling on itself like a controlled demolition. The financial collapse was too much tragedy within too short a historical time frame for our culture to bear. Now, we were defeated not only as warriors, but also as providers. What did we have left? Sociologically speaking, in a world of adults, we became pubescent children. Our society became obsessed with the juvenile, the prurient. Instead of exporting semiconductors and electronics, we were foisting Hello Kitty and Keroppi Hasunoue upon the world. What a travesty. Thousands of years of culture, and the best we could now offer society was cartoon characters and soft toys. Elements of a healthy social order began toppling like domino tiles—rising obesity rates, dramatic increases in
otaku
⁷
and
hikikomori
,
⁸
plummeting birthrates, and abandonment of religion. Even despite a mild economic recovery, the cultural damage that had been done was irreversible. By the time the dead began to walk, our populace was in no condition to fight back.

At the same time, the family business was doing well. Our primary industries are essentially recession-proof. The greatest losses we suffered were as a result of our diversification into so-called legitimate lines of business—the Internet, high finance, real estate. Therein lies the irony. All those bankers, executives, and politicians—the ones responsible for hollowing out our financial system—how many lives did they ruin? And we were the ones considered criminals.

Don’t get me wrong. I am under no false illusions regarding the nature of our business. It was not something I was proud of—the extortion, the gambling, the pornography. This is the reason I left. As much disdain as I felt for our cultural woes, I wanted no part of this other life either. I wouldn’t admit it then, but I sought to distance myself from the embarrassment of both my homeland and my family. I convinced myself that my travels were a way to explore the world, to take advantage of what other countries had to offer. And because there were few legitimate opportunities in my own country, I went to the place where there was—to America.

And so it was for almost fifteen years. I kept in touch with family, sent money regularly, even though I knew they didn’t need it. I didn’t want them to worry. I almost returned when Mother passed, but my father, in his typical stoic manner, told me it was unnecessary. As an investment banking drone putting in hundred-hour weeks, I was in no position to argue. That all obviously changed when the first signs of outbreak began.

I’m still unsure what prompted my decision to return. It wasn’t a question of safety; the reports coming from Asia were just as frantic as those in the West. It wasn’t a question of protection; I knew that my family would not need my help in this respect. I curiously wondered, if the death of my mother could not drive me home, what could? It was then, facing my own fragile mortality, that I realized if I were to meet my end between the jaws of a shambling corpse, I would rather it be on my nation’s soil. I arrived at Kansai International just before civilian air travel was grounded indefinitely.

This was our country’s darkest moment. After Prime Minister Sato declared a national evacuation and all of the major islands were abandoned, many believed this to be the final nail in our nation’s coffin. Our financial system failed us. Our government failed us. There was no one left to turn to for help. There were pockets of civilian resistance surviving on various islands, but no cohesiveness, no unification. The other syndicates were close to deserting the homeland and reestablishing businesses from their base of international networks. Father, however, was steadfast. “This is not the time to run,” he declared. I mistakenly took this declaration as arising from an archaic sense of pride or nationalism. Though I’m certain there was an element of both in his decision, Father has always been a businessman first, and a patriot second. What he saw was the clear opportunity to take rightful control of a country that, in his eyes, had been utterly mismanaged. Where so many legitimate sources of power failed the people, he believed the families would not. Where many saw the end of days, he saw a beginning. No. A rebirth.

And like most beginnings, this one too would be painful. Before we could address our common external adversary, we needed to deal with the internal struggle among the syndicates. We anticipated much difficulty. There have been several attempts throughout history to consolidate power by various families, all of which ended badly. In order for Father’s plan to work, the syndicates needed to unite. The Ohki-gumi clan had contacts with international militaries. Kobayashi-kai had resources in heavy manufacturing. We controlled the ports and shipyards. There was no question that the syndicates had to band together, and there could be no disrespecting of families or territorial disputes. Even in a land overtaken by walking dead, loss of face was of the highest concern.

ZCM: How did he bring them together?

KI:
To paraphrase our Italian-American peers, he made offers they could not refuse. Not threats, mind you, but lucrative opportunities that would far exceed the wealth and power they could have achieved in pre-infested Japan. First, the syndicates would divide equally any profits derived from this new business venture. Second, any of the country’s abandoned islands or regions would be available to any family who cleared the area and reestablished order. Much like your nineteenth-century western land rushes, syndicates could claim any territory they desired, so long as they dealt with the living dead. Of course, Father made certain that our family’s strategic regions were secured before offering this arrangement.

Although the internal strife was being resolved, it still was not an easy process. Despite our connections with arms traffickers and gunrunners across the globe, we made a conscious decision not to pursue this route to secure our country. We knew that if we relied on firearms as our primary defensive source, we would be forever beholden to the networks that control the manufacturing and production of such firepower, and we would to continue to suckle the international teat. We wanted, we
needed
to be self-reliant in our attempt to rescue the homeland. Not only did we desire to take advantage of our indigenous knowledge and resources, we saw it as our way to right our cultural ship. And with a sword-making history that dates back more than five hundred years, we had the knowledge, as long as we could find living sensei to guide us.

We began by locating any surviving swordsmiths on the four major islands. There are only a few hundred to begin with at best, and we were able to tap a talented handful. I distinctly remember the recovery of one sensei in Kochi Prefecture; his apprentices were defending the perimeter of his village workshop around the clock when we arrived. The pile of bodies was so high, the extraction team needed to scramble over them like boulders to snatch him and his protégés out. Once the expertise was assembled, we began to scavenge for resources—namely steel—to begin production. This was extraordinarily difficult, as the government had begun stockpiling metals in anticipation of an ambitious retaliatory effort that of course never materialized. We knew that we would not have access to the traditional premium-grade metals that these swordsmiths were accustomed to using, but they understood the complexity of the situation. We began by salvaging steel from local kitchen supply shops, smelting down anything we could get our hands on—knives, forks, even pots and pans. The steel composition was very impure, but at that stage we had to make do, knowing that eventually our production lines would be able to refine their resources. We were able to produce a quantity of crude weapons to outfit our security forces as they continued to sweep the islands for survivors and materials. As we began eradicating the zombie threats, our support from the remaining populace grew. Now, look how far we’ve come.

Itto pauses and gestures toward a wall of glass that provides a full view onto the factory floor. Rows of sophisticated-looking, miniature blast furnaces are visible, with forging tools and equipment alongside them. Two people work each station: one sensei, one apprentice. Each team seems oblivious to the other, concentrating on forging the blades that will become the weapons for which Itto’s company is renowned. Slats filled with finished swords line both sides of the factory floor. A worker arrives alongside us, bows respectfully to Itto, and extends to him in both hands a finished
katana
in its scabbard. We continue to walk.

KI:
As much as I resented our family business in my youth, the command of our family’s industries was instrumental to our success. Because we controlled the harbors and shipping lanes, we were able to quickly establish both rescue and commercial routes to the major island ports, and our ability to fend off attacks enabled us to control many regions across the islands. We’ve been able to fully reclaim half of the previously inhabited lands and establish safety perimeters on the remaining half. We’ve even secured the routes and processes to produce the rare
tamahagane
steel, the finest sword steel on the planet, the entire quantity of which is shipped right to our storage facilities.

ZCM: Your entire inventory is produced at this one facility?

KI:
Heavens, no, we could never manage the international volume we’re required to produce daily in this setting. Most are manufactured in several automated factories in Shimane Prefecture.

ZCM: Isn’t that a bit misleading?

KI:
How so?

ZCM: Doesn’t Kusanagi Enterprises state that it produces only traditionally crafted samurai weapons?

KI:
We simply do not have the number of swordsmiths necessary to do that.

ZCM: Why not import resources from other countries?

KI:
Like many foreigners who visit this facility, you have misunderstood our purpose here. This isn’t merely about producing weapons and armor. We are restoring what was nearly lost by our country, lost at the hands of those who thought they knew what was better for our people. We lost, some believe renounced, our tradition of
bushido
, the way of the warrior, and foreign influence played no small part. It is why the country has made the recent decisions it has: closing foreign immigration, revoking Article 9, choosing not to participate in the restored UN Security Council. Until we re-instill a sense of honorable tradition to our people, we cannot afford to open our doors again to Western influence. We nearly sold our souls once in doing so; we must ensure that it does not happen again. In time, this nation will return to our historical preeminence and our rightful place as a warrior society.

Itto unsheathes the finished
katana
.

KI:
Our country is much like this sword. For centuries, it represented the soul of our people. Then the world bastardized and abused it, ruining its edge. Like the master swordsmiths we now employ, we have taken it back, trued the blade, and restored its luster. Once again, it can be considered the most distinguished of weapons, rather than a cheap cinematic prop. And every individual on the planet who uses one in combat against the living dead can be considered not only a warrior, but an extended member of the Kishida-kai family.

Itto resheathes the sword, and like the worker who brought him the weapon, he extends it in both hands and offers me the
katana
.

KI:
For you, to remember what you’ve seen. Now you are family as well.

CLOSE-QUARTERS WEAPONS

At a combat range of two feet or less between opponents, your weapon must be compact, fast, and easily accessible while simultaneously providing sufficient cranium-penetrating power. Your strike also needs to penetrate the zombie’s skull without requiring a great deal of acceleration or momentum given the distance from your attacker and still cause an appropriate level of brain damage. Therefore, a bladed armament is your most logical choice when engaged in zombie combat at this precarious distance.

Not every knife, however, will work effectively in a close-combat situation against the undead. You should look for certain characteristics when selecting the optimal edged tool for close-range zombie encounters.

Weapon Characteristics

•
Length:
The length of the blade is the most important trait to consider when selecting your weapon. The blade needs to be long enough when thrust to the hilt to penetrate the brain from the farthest point of distance possible on the human skull—the underside of the chin. It is recommended that you choose a knife with an edge length of six to nine inches. If you are unsure of a weapon’s adequacy, line up the base of the knife edge along your jawline. If the tip of the blade extends beyond the top of your ear, it is a sufficient length to tap into brain matter.