tired"Get those walls up! Cathy, I want to see that chicken wire hugging those planks, don't argue with me, just get it done." Stacy Mason rushed to help a group of neighborhood teens who staggered under the weight of the planks they'd "liberated" from an undisclosed location. At this point, she didn't care where the building materials came from; she cared only that they were going to reinforce the neighborhood fences and doors and road checkpoints. As long as what was inside their makeshift walls was going to make those walls stronger, they could start tearing down houses and she honestly wouldn't give a fuck.
Berkeley, being a university town in Northern California, had two major problems: not enough guns, and too many idiots who thought they could fight off zombies with medieval weapons they'd stolen from the history department. It also had two major advantages: most of the roads were already half-blocked to prevent campus traffic from disturbing the residents, and most of those residents were slightly insane by any normal societal measurement.
The nice lesbian collective down the block had contributed eighty feet of chicken wire left over from an urban farming project they'd managed the year before. The roboticist who lived across the street was an avid Burner, and had been happy to contribute the fire-breathing whale he'd constructed for the previous year's Burning Man. Not the most immediately useful contribution in the world, but it was sufficiently heavy to make an excellent road block...and Stacy had to admit that having a fire-breathing road block certainly gave the neighborhood character.
"Louise! If you're going to break the glass, break it clean—we don't want anyone getting cut!" They really, really didn't want anyone being cut. The transmission mechanisms for the zombie virus were still being charted, but fluid exchange was definitely on the list, and anything getting into an open wound seemed like a bad idea. "We gave you a hammer for a reason! Now smash things!"
The distant shrieks of children brought her head whipping around, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Then the shrieks mellowed into laughter, and she relaxed—not entirely, but enough. "Damn dogs," she muttered, a smile tugging at her lips. "Exciting the children and stopping my heart."
"Mrs. Mason? I can't figure out how to make the staple gun work." The plaintive cry came from a young woman who had been Phillip's babysitter several times over the summer. She was standing next to a sheet of plywood with a staple gun in her hand, shaking it helplessly. It wasn't spewing staples at the moment; a small mercy, since the last thing they needed was for everyone to get hit by friendly fire.
Stacy shook off her brief fugue, starting toward the girl. "That's because you're holding it wrong, Marie. Now please, point the staple gun away from your body..."
The comfortable chaos of a neighborhood protecting itself against the dangerous outside continued, with everyone doing the best that they could to shore up their defenses and walls. They'd lost people on supply runs and rescue trips, but so far, everyone who'd stayed on the block had been fine. They were clinging to that, as the power got intermittent and the supply runs got less fruitful. Help was coming. Help had to be coming. And when help arrived, it would find them ready, healthy, and waiting to be saved.
Stacy Mason might be living through the zombie apocalypse, but by God, the important word there was "living." She was going to make it through, and so was everyone she cared about. There was just no other way that this could end.
***
If you are receiving this broadcast, you are within the range of the UC Berkeley radio station. Please follow these directions to reach a safe location. You will be expected to surrender all weapons and disrobe for physical examination upon arrival. We have food. We have water. We have shelter...
When will you Rise?
May 25 2011, 13:45:59 UTC 6 years ago
The second time was to this line:Of course, Stacy's follow-up doesn't reassure much...Maybe I was over reacting to it, but staple guns aren't the hard to work and it's pretty obvious which is the business end to me so my brain immediately jumped to the early stages of viral amplification. And she's Phillip's occasional babysitter. At least I hope my brain just jumped and that was all.
The first point in the story where I jumped was the dogs playing with the kids. We know they're big and I don't think anyone has realized that the virus can jump to mammals yet.
Nothing like a good short story to get your pulse moving in the morning.
May 25 2011, 16:34:06 UTC 6 years ago
* I don't think they knew enough at that point to realize having trouble with thinking and motor skills would be indicative of amplification
* I think the teenager was just so scared she couldn't think herself.
And yeah, I don't think anyone's realized yet the virus hops species.
Love the icon, btw.
May 25 2011, 17:06:40 UTC 6 years ago
Agreed, I don't think anyone not directly involved in dealing with the undead is going to have any clue about the stages of infection yet. Loss of congnitive control and such. I just have the benefit of reading the FEED and having a good grounding in the world that's elvolving around them. Everything is mass confusion and ignorance abounds but I wouldn't call that a reason to dimiss amplification.
The teenager being so scared she's not thinking straight is an excellent reason to dismiss amplification. :)
Thank you for the compliments! I built the icon a while ago from an info graphic that had been going around. :)
May 25 2011, 18:25:42 UTC 6 years ago
I have the feeling it was well after the dust settled from the Rising that people started really studying and finding out that there are signs.