The Zombie Combat Manual (36 page)

—Sam, Sandpoint, ID

One trait is universal among all seasoned, successful warriors. It is not strength, aggressiveness, or body count. All expert combatants have the ability to accurately assess the moment at which withdrawal from the field of battle is necessary. Experienced fighters know that evasion is not synonymous with cowardice, dishonor, or “cutting and running.” It is also a required element of fighting the undead, just as important as weapons training and physical fitness. Detractors who believe that running from the living dead “only means you’ll die tired” have not experienced the fatigue of eliminating an entire throng of walking corpses, only to face several dozen more behind them.

Just as there are combat strategies appropriate for the various combat ranges, there are specific strategies you can use in evasive maneuvering to improve your degree of success.

Do the Math

Earlier in this manual we provided specific research data to compute a walking corpse’s average pace. This data set will be critical to your calculations when determining how much time you have at your disposal once you have evaded an undead adversary. For example, imagine encountering a ghoul and deciding to evade rather than engage your opponent. You jog five miles at a pace of ten minutes per mile before deciding to stop and rest. How much time do you have before your adversary reaches you?

At a pace of 23 minutes per mile, a zombie requires 115 minutes to cover five miles. Subtracting the 50 minutes necessary for you to cover the same distance, you have approximately 65 minutes before that same ghoul reaches your position. Remember this simple calculation:

If you have difficulty calculating the figures quickly, carrying a portable calculator in your supply gear is advised in order to do these computations in the field.
Caution:
This formula only establishes the time remaining from your last zombie encounter. It does not account for other ghouls who may also be in your immediate vicinity, closer to your position than your previous adversary. Thus, your calculations will determine the maximum time available before you meet the same opponent again, with the understanding that
other zombies may stumble upon your location sooner
.

Use the Terrain

A positive aspect of evading a somewhat mindless adversary is the fact that you can use a variety of terrain imperfections to your advantage. Hills, barriers, and obstacles, both natural and artificial, will slow down your opponent’s progress considerably. If at all possible, traverse paths that are impeded by ditches, potholes, or destroyed walkways. A zombie does not have the physical or mental judgement to leap across dangerous ledges and will blindly step off the end of a precipice in pursuit of a victim without a moment’s hesitation.

Train for Distance

One important conditioning regimen you should implement in preparation for a zombie outbreak is to develop your endurance level for long-distance excursions. The need to initiate this type of training during peacetime is critical; once an outbreak occurs, you lose the opportunity to head to your local park or jogging track. Although running can be a difficult exercise for many, light jogging or speedwalking is within most people’s capability. Speed is not the ultimate goal; distance is. At peak performance levels, you should be able to cover at least 13.1 miles, a distance equal to a half marathon, at a moment’s notice. Based on our formula, it would take a standard undead specimen slightly more than five hours to cover the same distance. At a pace of twelve minutes per mile, this would provide you roughly two and a half hours’ advance start—not a great deal of time if you need to rest, resupply, and continue onward until you meet your adversary again.

Tend Your Soles

What may sound like a trivial concern of caring for your feet is in fact critical to your ability to successfully evade the living dead. Those who have participated in long-distance marches or charity walks can attest to the potential for podiatric damage caused by extensive pounding of feet on pavement. Many individuals have succumbed to their undead pursuers not because they lacked the physical endurance to continue, but because of the acute pain resulting from miles of nonstop trekking. Corns, sores, and blisters caused by ill-fitting shoes can severely impact your maneuverability. It is not uncommon for the skin from the bottoms of both feet to slough off entirely after a refugee trudges dozens of miles to reach a secure area.

There are many remedies, both medically based and homegrown, for insulating the feet during long-distance expeditions. Vaseline, duct tape, moleskin, and tincture of benzoin are all solutions that work to varying degrees. Individual experimentation can help determine the most effective solution for your particular pace. None of these remedies, however, is a substitute for comfortable, properly fitting footwear and building up your feet’s tolerance by disciplined training. Evading the undead can be an exhausting war of attrition, against an enemy that will not attrite.

COMBAT REPORT:

MARTIN RANDESH

Ultramarathoner, Big Bear Park, Colorado

Martin Randesh greets me in typical athlete’s fashion—covered in sweat. He’s reluctantly agreed to speak with me for this interview, having just concluded his “short” afternoon group training run of fifteen miles. This brings him to a total of thirty-five miles already completed before lunch, twenty-five miles from the total he will run before he lies down to rest for the evening. Although a staggering count for even an advanced long-distance runner, this is the average number of miles that many in his training class cover on a daily basis. We sit in a fenced gazebo while the rest of his group slowly arrives behind him to begin their cool down and stretching exercises.

MR
: I still have no clue why you want to talk to me. From what I’ve heard about the folks you’re interviewing, I’m not one of those types.

ZCM: Which types?

MR:
I’m not one of those macho zombie fighters you seem to be interested in.

ZCM: You have a compelling view on dealing with the threat.
MR:
Yeah, running from them, there’s a real page turner.

Look, I’ll talk about it if you want, but I’m not going to jazz it up for you. It is what it is.

ZCM: That’s fine.

MR: I’ll be honest and tell you what I tell my students—I think we’re all better off now. If there’s anything to be said for what’s happened, it’s that it got people off their asses. It was so easy for people to say “Just run. Run in the other direction. Hell, just walk, they’ll never catch you.” All you need is a second-grader’s math skills to figure out that wasn’t going to work for most people in this country. Before the outbreaks, do you know the number of minutes Joe American walked, not ran, during an entire week?

ZCM: How many?

MR:
Twenty. Twenty goddamn minutes a week. Now, let’s say that Joe is able to cover one and a half miles in those twenty minutes, which is being pretty damn generous, since most people can only cover a mile in that time. That means he’s clocking about thirteen-minute miles, about ten minutes faster than your average zombie. So, if you’ve got dead on your tail and start walking for say ten miles, you’ve bought yourself a hundred minutes. That’s an hour and forty minutes to eat, sleep, crap, hunt, gather, before that same ghoul is on your ass again and you have to go another ten miles to buy yourself another hundred minutes. You see what I’m getting at? Mr. Barcalounger who used to walk a mile and a half a
week
now has to trot sixty miles a day to get six measly hours without being harassed by dripping corpses. And that’s not taking into account other zombies he may run into along the way. Needless to say, the people I know who survived the dead weren’t the ones sprawled on the couch watching
America Can Samba
.

Even myself, before the outbreaks, I was just a regular nine-to-five stiff getting in a three-mile run a couple of times a week if I was lucky. Then there was the state of emergency, the evacuations, the sealing off of the cities by the National Guard. Suddenly I found myself on a stretch of Interstate 25 with a bunch of other refugees. There was a lot of talk about transportation in those early days: “I’ve got an SUV, I’ve got a Harley, I’m riding my tricked-out fixie.” Yeah, all those types were in our group, hoofin’ it just like everyone else. The fossil-fuelers aren’t even worth talking about—if you were dumb enough to think you’d have enough gas to make it anywhere safe, even with one of those hybrid jobs, you probably didn’t make it past the first week.

So there we were, a handful of us trudging along this expanse of highway. We were told that a functioning rescue station was only five miles away. Five miles came and went, and the only change was the size of our group. We passed three, maybe four so-called “safe havens” that were completely abandoned. At one point, this group of cyclists zipped by us, screaming for us to get out of the way. They were totally decked out in their spandex outfits, too. I had no idea what they were doing. We caught up with them a few miles afterward, walking their bikes after they hit a pool of shattered glass from a seven-car pileup. I guess those tights don’t leave much room for a patch kit.

We were on the interstate for about fifteen miles when the whining started. People were tired, people were hungry. This one jerk-off yuppie even suggested taking all the food and dividing it equally. And wouldn’t you know it, he didn’t bring any of his own. Typical. I had to listen to everyone yammer on for another thirty miles until we arrived at what we thought was going to be the final stop, the outpost we were all sure was still going to be operational in Cheyenne. It was operational all right, just not by anyone living. That’s when everyone started running. And running. For almost three hundred miles, we ran. People started dropping off quick. We would try to stop and rest when we could, with someone standing watch. It worked for the most part, until some idiot fell asleep on his shift. That cut our group down by another two thirds. I tell you, I really didn’t think I was going to make it, but it just goes to show that when you dig down deep, everyone’s capable of amazing things.

ZCM:
Was your family with you?

MR:
Nah . . . I tried to reach my ex, but she’s the one who wanted sole custody and milked me dry in the settlement. She didn’t need me before the outbreaks, so I assumed she didn’t need me after. I also realized that if they were with me on that stretch of blacktop, none of us would have probably made it; I had to take care of myself first, you know, before worrying about everyone else. That sounds cold, doesn’t it? Yeah, well, it’s that attitude that’s kept me breathing until now. Do you think a pre-outbreak Martin would have been able to knock out twenty miles before breakfast? Not on your life. That’s what I’m saying—all of this, all that’s happened, it was all part of a larger purpose.

ZCM:
A larger purpose?

MR:
Do you remember all the crazy biological shit that was going on before the dead started walking? Not many people think about this stuff, but I do. Mad cow. Avian flu. Rodent flu. Sky-high autism rates. Huge increases in miscarriages. You don’t think that was Nature telling us she was pissed off? I’m telling you, all those “natural disasters” were hints to try to get us to get our act together, and we flipped it off. We were always top dog, and no one was going to tell us to stop screwing, and stop crapping where we screwed. We dodged a bunch of her bullets, but good old Mother Earth wasn’t going to let us dodge this one. She couldn’t whittle our numbers down fast enough to keep us from constantly dumping on her, so she’d have our own dead do it for her.