The Zombie Combat Manual (10 page)

TD:
It’s a logical thought, so I don’t blame anyone for trying what they did. Find a place that has plenty of food, fresh water, and supplies. A place that could become a potential long-term stronghold—somewhere accessible and familiar—and stay put until the cavalry arrives. It’s a great plan for five people, or fifty. Maybe even five hundred. But five thousand? There was just no way. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Al was working the gates as our hospitality greeter. He always arrived at work a half hour before everyone else. I used to razz him about gunning for my job, and he’d just grunt at me. It was late afternoon when we received a message from corporate that we were going to be closing early. That was the first sign that something wasn’t right. Corporate never closed us early. Then we noticed the emergency broadcasts that started flashing on the plasmas in the electronics section.

We started to direct shoppers out of the store so we could begin shutting down, but once people saw what was happening, they just refused to leave. They ran around stacking their carts with soda, canned fruit cocktail, and beef jerky, even though we had already closed all the registers. We finally gave up and just let whoever was in, stay in, and began locking down the gates. Al and a couple of others managed to get them closed, but through the metal slats we saw more and more people headed for our entrance. They were screaming, begging for us to open up. Behind them, I saw at least seven fire trucks and ambulances speed past. Al wanted us to open the gates, saying that we had plenty of room on the floor, but I nixed that idea quick. An hour passed, and the crowd outside just kept growing larger and more frantic. Some held up their babies, pleading for us to just take their children, if not them. That’s also when we started hearing the moans in the distance.

The pounding on the gate became more frenzied as people tried desperately to get us to open up. I saw Al’s hands ball into fists. He screamed that we couldn’t just leave them out there. I shouted back that we couldn’t do it, that management ordered us not to open up, but I’m not sure if he could or wanted to hear me. The people already in the store started backing away from the entrance to get away from the screaming and crying outside. I went upstairs to the office to ring the district manager and ask what we should do when I glanced at the parking lot security cameras. From across the lot, what looked to be a large, heaving mass was moving slowly toward the crowd of people pressed up against the entrance. My call had just connected with the DM when I heard the whir of the gates rolling up.

I dropped the phone and screamed to Al, but when I looked down toward the entrance, he was giving me the finger as he opened up the gates. His extended hand was the last I saw of him before he was trampled by the crowd. The desperate mob that scrambled in under the half-opened gates was so crazed, they made a Black Friday sale look like a quiet Sunday morning. A couple of assistant managers and I fought our way back toward the entrance and managed to bring the gates back down. That’s when I saw Al’s sad, broken body a few feet from the entrance. We got a picnic tablecloth and carried him back toward the storage area. I thought to myself, “Well, at least we’re all safe again.”

That feeling lasted exactly ten minutes. Just as the crowd began to settle and things quieted down, a pair of high beams lit up the entrance. Seconds later, a yellow Suburban crashed through the gates and buried itself in a vitamin display. Behind it, the same gray mass I saw earlier on the security cam—now much clearer, and much more terrifying.

Pandemonium erupted on the shopping floor. ShopMaxx is basically just one big warehouse space, with pallets of merchandise and scaffolding providing the only means of escape. I saw everything from the second-floor office. The image of a kid’s smashed ant farm flashed in my mind. I watched as the decisions people made in those few seconds determined if they stayed alive or were pulled apart by the dead. Whether you turned left or right, if you paused to pick up a purse or a child: These became grave choices.

The most critical decision was the choice of elevation—some people chose sensibly and stationed themselves on solid, heavy merchandise. Others clearly didn’t give it as much thought. They positioned themselves on items that were more fragile—laundry detergent, boxes of diapers, rolls of paper towels. When the dead started going after these folks, reaching and pulling down items on their foundation, it looked like some nightmarish game of Jenga. It was only a matter of time before the whole structure came tumbling down, along with the victims. The only thing worse to see was people fighting for space, pushing others down closer to groping, rotted hands so that they themselves could survive. Ironically, one of the best places to stay was on top of the crashed Suburban. I’m not sure what the driver was trying to do, probably a smash-and-grab of supplies. He was beaten to death by the survivors even before the dead could get hold of him. After seeing victim after victim tumble down into the mouths of waiting dead, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

ZCM: What did you do?

TD:
What else could I do? I escaped through an office window on the second floor.

ZCM: You didn’t try to help them?

TD:
No.

ZCM:
Didn’t you feel guilty for leaving those people?

TD:
I was just a company employee for ShopMaxx, and I had to comply with the company’s policy. If Al had listened, maybe he’d be alive today, too. If you’re looking to blame someone, blame those customers. They’re the ones who acted like animals, and they made their choices. They chose to stay. They chose to rush in and ransack the place. They chose to throw others to their death while saving themselves. I had already done more than enough.

It could have been a nice setup there. We might have been able to ride it out for at least a month, maybe more. But it’s always the same thing, no different than when we have a “limit two per customer” sale. There’s always a selfish asshat that ruins it for everyone.

Donner looks down at his grimy, stained ShopMaxx vest. It is dotted with a variety of ornamental pins and badges. He unclasps one exceptionally glossy button and casually tosses it onto his cot. It reads “Employee of the Year.”

IV.

WEAPON SELECTION

You don’t want to go into battle with anything that feels less than perfect.

—LOU BROCK

Facing the living dead in combat is, first and foremost, a weapon-based art. Although we will later address strategies to face a walking corpse completely unarmed, most of your engagements should involve the use of an appropriate hand weapon.

Finding the ideal weapon and technique to use against the living dead requires a personalized approach. As you continue to train and develop your fighting skills, you will find yourself more proficient at certain tactics than others. Your preferences for particular combat ranges and techniques will also become apparent. Because of the inevitability that you will have to engage in zombie combat at a distance that is not your preferred method, and because one weapon will never be appropriate for all situations, it is advised that you gain moderate competency in all ranges covered, and equip yourself with at least one weapon to cover each designated combat distance.

When assessing a weapon’s adequacy in combat against the living dead, there is one specific factor by which all armaments need to be judged: the effectiveness of neutralizing a ghoul in as few blows as possible. What this means is that any weapon, modern or historical, Asian or Western, needs to be judged under a set of parameters specific to undead combat. Many traditional armaments that have serviced warriors for centuries may not perform as acceptably when your opponent is an ambling corpse. Simply because a weapon has fared well against the living is no reason to assume that it will function just as well against the dead.

SOURCING YOUR ARMAMENTS

Regardless of the type of weapon you choose, it is critical that you rely on a reputable supplier when assembling your arsenal. When selecting a weapon, your first thought may be to venture to your local flea market martial arts supply stand and pick up one of many swords, axes, or spears on fanciful display. In reality, you would be better off heading to your neighborhood toy shop, as many of the weapons you’ll find in such establishments are little more than that. A majority of mass-produced weapons are cheaply made and poorly crafted. There is also the other mistake of choosing a weapon reproduction intended to mimic those from an alternate time period, television program, or galaxy. It is strongly recommended that you avoid these facsimile weapons at all costs, regardless of any personal connection or affinity you may have toward them.

True battle-ready weapons are available from custom craftsmen and weaponsmiths but are notably more expensive than those found at mass merchants. There are also reputable large manufacturers who produce quality armaments (see Combat Report: Kenjiro Itto). Use price as an initial indicator of superiority as well as the reputation of the producer. In undead combat, the phrase “You get what you pay for” takes on a much more critical meaning, and could result in having your weapon shatter into fragments against a zombie skull, as described to the author in this firsthand account of the Tragedy at Hever:

If I could take back that message, I would. I didn’t mean any harm. It was only supposed to be our small group, the circle of friends that regularly came together and had some fun in the fields just beyond Hever Castle. But I reckon my note was forwarded, and reforwarded, and reforwarded. When I arrived at the clearing, there was what looked to be more than a hundred people, none of whom I knew from Adam.

I was a medieval role player. All of my kit was based on authentic historical context. There were a few like me there, one guy in a full suit of armor. He looked well hard, even though I thought he’d overdone it a bit. These other types, I haven’t a clue as to what they were thinking. They came dressed in all sorts of genres—high fantasy, cosplayers, goth—all of them happy as Larry, and all of them carrying bizarre weapons. Some of the items, they certainly looked menacing, but how they’d hold up in actual combat they hadn’t the faintest idea. I guess that’s what they were hoping to find out. I wondered to myself if any of them had any experience with the weapons they carried. This one bloke, I remember, was waving around this double-hooked scythelike thing. How anyone could possibly use it in a real battle was a mystery to me. That didn’t stop him from trying when we saw a large horde rising over the low hills to the east. That was our first blunder, waiting in the bottom of a valley for them to come to us. I take that back; the first blunder was ever thinking to do something this daft in the first place.

It was a bloody horror show. In the first attack wave alone, I saw four swords splinter on impact. I watched another blade fly right out of its handle through the air and stick itself into the chest of a man dressed as an elf, who let out a ghastly scream. Many other weapons didn’t hold up much better than that. I’d be lying if I said those wielding the medieval arms fared better than the others. Even I was shocked at how terribly many of the so-called fighting-ready weaponry fared against the dead. Most of those who saw their weapons come apart in their hands were smart enough to scamper off. Others weren’t that wise. By the time they tried to pull out some backup dagger, it was too late. Screams echoed across the open valley as they tore through us. Even those with armor managed poorly. I remember seeing this one unlucky sod wearing a chain-mail top; I thought he’d be alright. A zombie grabbed him by the collar with both hands and ripped it apart like it was a T-shirt. A shower of chain rings scattered to the ground, followed by the man’s innards. Right after seeing that, I figured I’d had enough and took off running. One of the last sights I caught was that bloke in the armor plate, at least what was left of him. His headless body was seated on the grass. Three ghouls were squatting around him, pulling flesh out from around his steel collar like he was an open tin of baked beans.

—Derek, Highbrook Reenactment Society,
Sussex, UK

LONG-RANGE WEAPONS

Long-range armaments vary anywhere from four to eight feet in length and are used to engage undead assailants at distances of at least five feet between opponents. Though long-range weapons afford you the greatest level of safety during zombie combat, they can also be among the most difficult weapons to master. Depending on the weapon, these arms may also be difficult to acquire for the everyday civilian.

Weapons used at this distance fall into one of two categories: obstructive or destructive.

Obstructive Weapons

The category of obstructive weapons is defined by the concept that it would be exceedingly difficult to deliver a ghoul-stopping blow with the weapon given its weight, length, and physical structure. As such, obstructive weapons are meant largely to delay the incoming onslaught of a walking corpse. The most primal of weapons in the obstructive category, and the foundation for many other long-range weapons, is the simple fighting staff.