The ZOMBIE Survival Guide Complete Protection from the Living Dead

1888 A.D., HAYWARD, WASHINGTON

This passage describes the appearance of North America ’s first professional zombie hunter. The incident began when a fur trapper named Gabriel Allens stumbled into town with a deep gash on his arm. “Allens spoke of a soul who wandered like a man possessed, his skin as gray as stone, his eyes fixed in a lifeless stare. When Allens approached the wretch, he let out a hideous moan and bit the trapper on his right forearm.” This passage comes from the journal of Jonathan Wilkes, the town doctor who treated Allens after his attack. Little is known about how the infestation spread from this first victim to the other members of the town. Fragments of data suggest the next victim was Dr. Wilkes, followed by three men who attempted to restrain him. Six days after the initial attack, Hayward was a town under siege. Many hid themselves in private homes or the town church while the zombies relentlessly attacked their barricades. Although firearms were plentiful, no one recognized the need for a head shot. Food, water, and ammunition were rapidly consumed. No one expected to hold longer than another six days.

At dawn on the seventh day, a Lakota man named Elija Black arrived. On horseback, with a U.S. Army cavalry saber, he decapitated twelve ghouls within the first twenty minutes. Black then used a charred stick to draw a circle around the town’s water tower before climbing to the top. Between yells, an old army bugle, and his tethered horse for bait, he managed to attract every walking dead in town toward his position. Each one that entered the circle received a head shot from his Winchester repeater. In this careful, disciplined manner, Black eliminated the entire horde, fifty-nine zombies, in six hours. By the time the survivors realized what had happened, their savior was gone. Later accounts have pieced together the background of Elija Black. As a fifteen-year-old boy, he and his grandfather had been hunting when they came upon the Knudhansen Party massacre. At least one member had been infected earlier and, once turned, had attacked the rest of the group. Black and his grandfather destroyed the other zombies with tomahawk strikes to the head, decapitation, and fire. One of the “survivors,” a thirty-year-old woman, explained how the infestation spread and how over half of the now-reanimated party had wandered into the wilderness. She then confessed that her wounds and those of the others were an incurable curse. Unanimously, they begged for death.

After this mass mercy killing, the old Lakota revealed to his grandson that he had hidden a bite wound suffered during the battle. Elija Black’s last kill of the day would be his own grandfather. From then on, he devoted his life to hunting down the remaining zombies of the Knudhansen Party. With each encounter, he grew in knowledge and experience. Although never reaching Piedmont, he had dispatched nine of the town’s zombies that had wandered into the wilderness. By the time of Hayward, Black had become, in all probability, the world’s leading field scholar, tracker, and executioner of the undead. Little is known of the remainder of his life or how it eventually ended. In 1939, his biography was published both in book form and a series of articles that appeared in English newspapers. As neither version has survived, it is impossible to know exactly how many battles Black fought. A dedicated search is under way to track down lost copies of his book.

1893 A.D., FORT LOUIS PHILIPPE, FRENCH NORTH AFRICA

The diary of a junior officer in the French Foreign Legion relates one of the most serious outbreaks in history:

Three hours after dawn he came, a lone Arab on foot, on the brink of death from sun and thirst… After a day’s rest, with treatment and water, he related the story of a plague which turned its victims into cannibalistic horrors… Before our expedition to the village could be mounted, lookouts on the south wall spotted what appeared to be a herd of animals on the horizon… Through my glasses, I could see they were not beasts but men, their flesh absent of color, their clothes worn and tattered. As the wind shifted, it brought to us, first a withering groan, then not long afterward, the stench of human decay… We guessed these poor wretches to be on the heels of our survivor. How they managed to traverse such a distance without food nor water, we could not say… Calls and warnings produced no response… Bursts from our cannon did nothing to scatter them… Long-range rifle shots seemed to have no effect!… Corporal Strom was immediately dispatched on horseback to Bir-El-Ksaib while we shut the gates and prepared for an attack.

The attack turned into the longest recorded undead siege. The legionnaires were unable to grasp the fact their attackers were dead, wasting their ammunition on shots to the torso. Accidental head shots were not enough to convince them of this successful tactic. Corporal Strom, the man sent for help, was never heard from again. It is assumed that he met his fate from hostile Arabs or the desert itself. His comrades inside the fort remained besieged for three years! Fortunately, a supply caravan had just arrived. Water was already available from the well that prompted the building of the fort. Pack animals and horses were eventually slaughtered and rationed as a last-ditch effort. All this time, the undead army, well over five hundred, continued to surround the walls. The diary reports that, over time, many were brought down by homemade explosives, improvised Molotov cocktails, and even large stones hurled over the parapet. It was not enough, however, to break the siege. Incessant moaning drove several men insane and led two of them to commit suicide. Several attempts were made to leap over the wall and run for safety. All who tried were surrounded and mauled. An attempted mutiny further thinned their ranks, bringing the total number of survivors to only twenty-seven. At this time, the unit’s commanding officer decided to try one more desperate plan:

All men were equipped with a full supply of water and what little food remained. All ladders and staircases leading up to the parapets were destroyed… We assembled on the south wall and began to call to our tormentors, gathering almost all right at our gates. Colonel Drax, with the courage of a man possessed, was lowered into the parade ground, where he lifted the bolt himself. Suddenly, the stinking multitude swarmed into our fortress. The colonel made sure he provided them with enough bait, leading the wretches across the parade ground, through the barracks and mess hall, across the infirmary… he was hoisted to safety just in time, a severed, rotting hand clasped tightly to his boot. We continued to call to the creatures, booing and hissing, jumping about like wild monkeys, only now we were calling to those creatures within our own fort!… Dorset and O’Toole were lowered to the north wall… they sprinted to the gate and pulled it shut!… The creatures inside, in their mindless rage, did not think to simply pull them open again! Pushing as they did against the inward opening gates, they only succeeded in trapping themselves further!

The legionnaires then dropped to the desert floor, dispatched the few zombies outside the walls in vicious hand-to-hand combat, then marched over 240 miles to the nearest oasis, at Bir Ounane. Army records do not tell of this siege. No explanation is given why, when regular dispatches stopped arriving from Fort Louis Philippe, no investigative forces were sent. The only official nod to anyone involved in the incident is the court-martial and imprisonment of Colonel Drax. Transcripts of his trial, including the charges, remain sealed. Rumors of the outbreak continued to populate the Legion, the Army, and French society for decades. Many fictional accounts were written about “the Devil’s Siege.” Despite their denial of the incident, the French Foreign Legion never sent another expedition to Fort Louis Philippe.