A few months back your ZSC command sent out a call to all authors and artists requesting stories, art work, and articles The Yellow Brigade has answered the call. When Carol contacted me with her article, I knew right away with the topic of cadaver dogs that her article would be made of win.
Cadaver Dog Training on the Rise as Zombie Apocalypse Threatens
Guest Post by ZSC Member, Carol Ward – Yellow Brigade
We’ve all seen the heart wrenching photos and footage of rescue and recovery canines hard at work after a natural or a man made disaster. These incredibly disciplined and highly trained animals are the eyes and ears, the sight and scent, of the dedicated men and women who work with them. In time of need they are put to the test and are able to identify distant moans, very slight movements, and minute odors in the air. Rescue canines, like their bloodhound relatives, are bred for a very specific purpose – find life. Cadaver dogs, on the other hand, have a wonderful knack for sniffing out the walking dead.
These days we cannot be prepared enough in the event of a zombie apocalypse. We have our go bags by the door, we target shoot once a week, we even park furthest from the store front for the added exercise. Why do we feel the need to face this possible, nay, probable, disaster alone as a race of humans? Animals in general, and dogs specifically, are able to sense when something is not quite right with humans. Much like reacting to sudden shifts in air pressure when Mother Nature is planning her wrath, dogs are highly sensitive to erratic behavior and down right disgusting smells in humans.
Although some would attribute the increase in cadaver dog training as a direct result to the increase in natural disasters, others are not so sure. The expectant zombie apocalypse weighs heavy on the minds of many animal enthusiasts. Animal shelters are welcoming the influx of canine adoptions – mutts are known for their even temperament and ease of learning. There’s something to be said about Sean Patrick Flanery choosing a highly trained canine as his weapon of choice. This human for one thinks he’s using his brains – something we all hope he retains control of for a long, long time to come.
If you’re considering your options for companionship in the uncertain days ahead, look no further than your local animal shelter. I for one will welcome the mile head start I plan to reap from my own dogs – be we downwind or not.
A HUGE THANK YOU to Carol for her insightful article. *CROSSBOW SALUTE*
All submissions will be carefully reviewed and responded to, and revisions may be requested.
And this is where I get to rattle off all of the small print stuff like: submitting your work to the Zombie Survival CrewTM provides tacit consent for the Zombie Survival CrewTM to publish and promote your work as a part of the Zombie Survival CrewTM site. No payment will be given to any person for their submission and no payment will be accepted by the Zombie Survival CrewTM to publish any individual’s work. The Zombie Survival CrewTM will not be held liable for any copyright infringements should the work submitted not be the express original work of the submitter, but the infringement will be born by the submitter. By submitting your work to the Zombie Survival CrewTM you agree that you are the owner of the copyright to the material. And if for any reason you have lied to us about the copyright ownership, the Zombie Survival CrewTM reserves the right to send a horde of zombies to your doorstep to give you your just desserts.
The Chicago Comicon was a bit more than your commander-in-chief expected. Sure we in Zombie Survival Crew command pre-planned for massive crowds, sore feet, lost voices, and puffy bags under our eyes. We even had a strategic operation parameters in place for the zombies we knew would attend.
What I wasn’t prepared for was a battle to the near death with two of my co-Commanders, Blue Brigade leader Norman Reedus and Light Blue Brigade head Anthony Guajardo.
It all started early Saturday morning when I and Yellow Brigade commander Jinxie G noticed a significantly more obvious presence of walkers at the event than we had seen on Friday. We were bombarded at the temporary ZSC command post by groups of people eager to discover any survival tips they could use immediately. Quite a few people said they were ready to fight; a few even had weapons with them.
I calmly explained there was unlikely to be any actual battle inside the convention hall and most people seemed to accept that a bunch of walkers at a Con wasn’t too much of an immediate risk.
That all worked fine until the Zombie Crawl began. Pandemonium erupted as dozens of zombies converged near ZSC command. Their moans were so severe they almost drowned out the screams of everyone else. I tried in vain to explain to panicky humans that the zombies were under careful watch of the convention organizers. I rushed into the crowd of zombies to try and calm everyone down – and that’s when it happened.
I was bit.
Within seconds I found myself under assault from fellow Zombie Survival Crew commanders. Blue Brigade commander Norman Reedus grabbed me in a chokehold – taking care to cover his mouth and not breathe in any germs I might be spreading or inadvertently get hit on the mouth by flying blood specks.
I croaked that the bite had been from a panicked human and NOT a zombie. Norman let me go but stayed right behind me. For a moment I found the thought of his continuing concern to be really sweet, until I spotted Light Blue Brigade commander Anthony Guajardo coming at me with a katana!
I turned to yell at Norman but he was gone. I learned later he had sprinted off to make sure other ZSC commanders were out of harm’s way.
Anthony was already swinging by the time I turned back around. As the blade approached my neck I shouted “I’m not infected!!!” It was just enough to get Anthony to pull the blade to a stop, though he did not actually let his guard down until about three hours later. Instead he followed me around with the darned katana. And believe me, the guys over at Dragonsong Forge who made that beautiful piece of weaponry are going to hear it from me personally very soon.
After I calmed down enough not to want to seriously hurt my fellow commanders, I decided this little experience holds some valuable lessons:
Panic is the enemy and ZSC members should avoid entering a mob even if those they care about are inside it. You’re better served prowling the edges and picking off walkers, or hightailing it out of the area.
Stick to the plan. ZSC members have their own individual survival plans, and the official ZSC escape planning we’re revealing shortly on the site to help guide them. Yes the unexpected will crop up and you’ll have to deal with it best you can, but having a plan in place can save your life.
Sometimes a pause can save a life. If Norman and Anthony had not given me those few seconds to explain, well, I wouldn’t be writing right now. I’m not 100% sure I’d recommend it in the heat of battle, but I sure am grateful.
Help when you can but be cognizant of the risks. The ZSC firmly believes we fight together or die alone. Working together also means defending one another, and that could someday cost you your life.
There, I said it. This was not my opinion a couple weeks ago. As a matter of fact, I’d been looking forward to laughing at the Ringling Bros. clowns while waiting to meet with my informant within the circus family. My continued survival requires information. But, seeing as the UGA tracked my travels from Dallas and back in May, I’ve been forced to find outside contacts to bring me information from across the country.
This exposure to new, potentially unreliable sources is what got me in a heap of trouble. And on my birthday of all days!
My contact, an unnamed performer who has been missing since that day, sent me a ticket to the circus along with instructions on where to meet him afterwards. He’d found something while traveling through Colorado he swore was essential for the ZSC to know. However, this something was so sensitive he didn’t trust the phone or Internet to pass it along. His messages, coded of course, made me wary, but I agreed to meet with him face-to-face for the first time. Yeah, yeah… meeting a strange man you’ve only ever talked to via email, not my brightest moment. He’d only ever given me good information, though. I had to take a calculated risk.
Half way through the show I realized that my contact wasn’t performing. No one matching the description he’d emailed made an appearance in any of the three rings on the convention center floor.
By the end of the show, I wanted nothing more than to figure out why he wasn’t out there. I’d adopted him as part of my team and I don’t leave team members behind. So, despite the warning in the back of my head, I made my way to the meet spot. The massive crowd masked my movement and, I hoped, confused anyone trailing me.
It was a trap. The meeting location, tucked between two semi trucks, had been compromised. Instead of my contact, a group of clowns milled around. Some carried lengths of rope. One toyed with a knife, flipping it in the air over and over. When I went to back away from where I’d been spying, someone caught me from behind. They had the element of surprise and far superior numbers. There was no way I’d fight. Not if I wanted to live.
See? Sometimes your commander uses her brain.
They tied me up and shoved me inside one of the trailers hiding us from public view. If you’ve never been locked inside a trailer, it is really dark. Sure, there’s plenty of space and air, but that doesn’t mean a dang thing when you’re bound. Nor does all that air help when the darkness is dense. I may as well have been in a coffin. And that was the point. My captors were trying to rattle me. It only worked for a moment before I kicked myself for being weak.
The next day the circus rolled out of town… with me tagging along. Wasn’t like I had much of a choice. No one came into the trailer aside from those who’d captured me. One of them rode with me to the next city. Occasionally he would try to interrogate me and I feigned deafness from the sound of asphalt racing by under the truck’s tires. From the gist of the conversation, they thought I was responsible for my informant’s disappearance.
Things went from bad to worse when we got to the next city.
Since subtle attempts at interrogation didn’t work, my captors got really inventive with their techniques. Won’t go into what all happened, you all saw the damage in my PSA. But know this: I. Did. Not. Break. The secrets I’ve collected for the ZSC are safe. All I told them was the truth; I don’t know where their comrade went off to. If he is dead, he died with the information he’d gathered for me. The guilt of knowing this eats at me, even now after being dumped in the middle of the desert and forced to find my way back home. If he is alive and set me up to be kidnapped, may the gods help him…
Don’t worry about me. Just need to lick my wounds, then I’m back in action.
I knew I was taking a risk by flying a commercial airline to rendezvous with our fearless leader, Juliette, in Philadelphia. It was a risk which had to be taken, though. The UGA has been trying to get a bead on me for months, and I felt exposed as I drove up to the airport. Fortunately, there were enough people around that they didn’t attempt an outright snatch in broad daylight. And yes, I knew where the danger lay… the security checkpoint.
Why would the Purple Brigade Commander travel via commercial air when I have a working flux capacitor at my disposal, you ask? Well, the answer lies in keeping the flux capacitor under wraps until it is absolutely necessary. The UGA doubts that I have a working model, and I want to play to those doubts. If they had any idea of some of the modifications I’ve made… well, let’s just say I might become numero uno on their list of commanders to abduct–along with my gadget.
The sweat beaded my brow as I approached the license checkpoint. I arrived at the airport via a circuitous route, and was fairly certain I was not followed, but the security officer would alert the UGA immediately upon checking my identity, I was sure of that. After detaining me so bin stands could be moved from one place to the next, she waved me on to the security checkpoint. I took off my shoes, and placed them with my keys in one bin, and put all of my electronics in another bin. The tension mounted as the bins slid toward the scanner. An agent approached me from behind and said my bins could be consolidated, which she did. I quickly double checked to ensure nothing was planted among my possessions. Phew!!! I continued toward the scanner.
Once my articles were on the conveyor belt, I stepped through the people scanner and an alarm went off. I stepped back, my heart slightly accelerating. I KNEW I didn’t have any metal on my person and suspected foul play. But when I stepped back through the x-ray, I came through clean. Then it was a matter for waiting for my bin to come through. And that’s when they nearly had me.
<-- I have had one of those on my keychain. A pink plastic stick. Yes, I know it’s a kubaton which is potentially a weapon, but it’s pink and plastic for pete’s sake–how can anyone take it seriously?? But here’s where the genius of the UGA comes into play…I was right to suspect the agent who “assisted” me with the bins, and here’s why. Apparently, as long as airport security catches what they consider to be a contraband item prior to exiting the scanner, and you freely surrender the item, then no harm–no foul. BUT if it makes it all the way through the scanner and someone identifies that you have it after the fact, and you didn’t surrender it prior to going through the security check point, then you get a little trip to see the judge… in other words, you’re under arrest.
Fortunately for me, I was alert (I’m always preaching constant vigilance… and it pays off) and took note of everything that was happening, so that security, when they realized I would make them laughingstocks in front of the judge, decided that even though I did not surrender the mighty kubaton (and no I can’t say it without laughing) prior to going through the security checkpoint, that I was free to go. Why did they let me off? If they attempted to prosecute me, they would have had to explain how they not only missed stopping me 3 times, but also, I knew that at least 3 of their agents were unable to identify the kubaton as a weapon.
By the way, my electric toothbrush would be a much better weapon than a pink plastic stick… it has a sharp metal tip which is strong, vibrates at an extreme rate and would easily go through someone’s temple or throat. #justsayin Anyway, the first failure… the agent who scanned my license noticed the kubaton when I placed it in the bin and radioed to another agent to have him stop me. He failed to reach me prior to going through the security check point. Next failure, although I’m sure this agent was a UGA agent masquerading as airport security… the agent who moved my keys with the kubaton attached not only failed to note that it was a weapon, but definitely didn’t stop me. It was in her best interest that I be detained long enough to miss my flight. Oh and the UGA tampered with our fearless leader’s car as well, so she had difficulty in reaching our rendezvous point. The third failure? The agent scanning the items thought that the kubaton was a pencil, and let it go through unquestioned, but was sure my inhaler (from my recent bout with bronchitis) was a lethal weapon… until they looked. And then there was the discussion about whether the kubaton attached to my keys was “real” or not. Although the guard responsible for detaining me, took himself and the situation extremely seriously and accused me of knowing it was a weapon. Yes, I carry it for self-defense…and have never used it.
The kicker? I flew last month on business (non-ZSC business) and no one questioned the fact that I had a pink plastic stick on my keychain.
You know all of the ZSC Commanders have duct tape for a reason, right? You’ve seen them talk about it on Twitter, and it’s on their lists for their Go Bag essentials. Well, the duct tape is generally used to keep our fearless leader Juliette Terzieff in line because let me tell you, that woman is crazy sometimes!
All kidding aside, I’m here today to inform you of something I recently discovered. You see, I’ve been going through the files when I’m on duty in the Command Center to make sure I know exactly who these people are that I’m working with now. You can call it snooping if you’d like, but a guy’s gotta know what he’s dealing with around here.
I recently found this beauty:
That’s a picture of Juliette in a burqa, taken in Pakistan in 2004. She’s the one on the left.
Due to said picture, I’m inclined to suspect our fearless leader, folks. She says the outfit was necessary at the time for work, but I think she’s a lot more than meets the eye, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.
*looks at RC Murphy* What do you mean Jinxie G speaks Arabic? Hmm . . . I wonder how many other languages she speaks. And why did she keep it a secret from me? After all, I’m her first lieutenant… a commander should never keep secrets from her right hand man.
And speaking of secrets… *steals another look at RC Murphy* …I wonder how many other things commander Murphy knows that she’s not telling. Since she’s the command’s secret keeper, I’ll bet it’s a lot. I’m going to have to try to get close to her and see whether I can get her to spill. Maybe I can get her first lieutenant, Rocco, to help me out. I’m going to need the information she has.
Anyway, as you can see from this video, the one where our fearless leader *snorts* thinks I tried to run her over, that is definitely NOT the case. I pulled it off her phone when she wasn’t looking. Anthony Michael Hall helped me out with that one. Thanks, man.
Oh, she can claim I tried to run her over all she wants, but I think it’s pretty apparent that I was just having fun there.
And speaking of Anthony Michael Hall, I really need to find out what makes his commander tick. How does the Oracle know all that she does? I think she might hold the key to the entire operation. That alone makes me suspicious, but Anthony Michael trusts her, and he’s pretty savvy, so I’ll just keep a watchful eye for now.
In a nutshell, I am beginning to suspect quite a few things around here, but not to worry; I’ll get to the bottom of it all and keep you, dear crew members, informed.
And if I have to take over to get this place running correctly, you can bet I will.
Eureka! I’ve done it, I’ve figured out where Ground Zero for the Zombiepocalypse will happen… and you won’t believe it when you find out.
Mother’s Day found your fearless commander braving the hordes in Disneyland for a bit of fun, excitement, and communing with like-minded souls during the Bat’s Day in the Fun Park event. It was also a covert scouting mission. See, I hoped with the security measures Disneyland takes that it would be the perfect place to use as a Safe Haven. There’s plenty of food on-hand to keep a small group of survivors fed for a pretty long time. Bathrooms galore. Plus enough space to keep the group from feeling trapped in an impossible situation.
But as I surveyed the crowds that chill Sunday evening, my plans vanished in a cloud of smoke.
First I encountered a gentleman wearing a shirt that said, “Have you seen my zombie?” Admittedly, the shirt got a laugh. (And I made him stop so I could take a picture to add to the scouting report… okay, maybe it was for my own personal amusement.) The blatant show of support for the undead made this commander slightly uneasy. Not only that, but I’d blown my cover by snapping the picture. Thankfully I didn’t spot any UGA agents creeping around. That doesn’t mean they weren’t there, though.
As the evening progressed, I began to notice something strange about the people around me. It wasn’t that I found myself surrounded by a couple hundred Goths, oh no, not at all. The “normal” folks had taken on strange behaviors and movements. Children screamed louder than usual and rammed their tiny bodies into their parent’s legs. Adults in the park seemed listless, short-tempered, and walked in jerky steps. Everyone devoured greasy snack foods by the fist full, their appetites insatiable. Language skills seemed to be forgotten almost entirely at some point, replaced by a series of angry snarls and muttering. The happy-go-lucky patrons in the park were changing into something, something too horrific to truly comprehend. Unfortunately as a commander with the ZSC, I felt obligated to watch and document the rapid decline in human behavior.
By 9:00 pm the crowds inside Disneyland began to gather together in large packs. The largest, with approximately 1500 bodies crammed together, stood in Main Street USA staring blankly at Sleeping Beauty’s castle as the colored lights changed. They were transfixed and it reminded me of the “sky flowers” from Land of the Dead, something so simple that distracted the zombies so completely.
That’s when it dawned on me. The “magic” within the Magic Kingdom isn’t derived from fairies, happiness, and dreams brought to life. Oh no. Disneyland utilizes necromancy to turn perfectly healthy, joyful people into an army of zombies to do their bidding. I gotta give it to them, the idea is brilliant.
Brilliant and scary as all get-out.
My plans to use the park as a Safe Haven were dashed. The fences I hoped to utilize in order to ensure the survival of the human race took on a more menacing implication. Would they hold and keep the newly made zombies locked inside or would Anaheim fall victim to the first wave of attack? I can’t be certain.
After making my ghastly discovery, I used every ounce of skill in my arsenal to escape Disneyland undetected. The effects of long-term exposure to powerful magic made my thought processes slow. I staggered down the street towards the secure spot where I’d left my car. For a few tense moments it felt as though I’d fall on the next person I saw and rip their throat out. Luckily no one passed by and when I reached the car some of the more adverse effects of the magic began to fade.
Consider this your only warning, ZSC faithful. If you insist on visiting, pack accordingly. Charms to ward off evil should keep you safe. Just to be sure, bring along a vial of salt as well. One can never be too safe when it comes to dark magics.
As a safety precaution, I’d advise steering clear of any and all theme parks after the first zombie sightings have been reported. It is in my humble opinion that these places are indeed ground zero for the Zombiepocalypse. Who’d have known!?
Saturday morning found ZSC Command members gathered round the resort’s Starbucks in search of coffee cups big enough to hold the amount of caffeine we all needed before the Con doors flew open.
And when the doors opened – it sparked a 10-hour onslaught of zombies, demons, bloody priests and people with chainsaws where their hands should have been.
The Walking Dead and Boondock Saints casts were in front of us, Night of the Living Dead to our right, with Bruce Campbell, Ted Raimi and Anthony Michael Hall behind us.
Rocco came over to work the Zombie Survival Crew table and lend some extra Command support. Rocco’s move brought Blue Brigade Commander Norman over for a bit. Norman jumped right in and completed a few ZSC Command missions, and got so enthusiastic about it we had to physically stop him at one point.
The Command support of his two Boondock Saints cohorts drew Sean’s attention as well – though it later became apparent Sean has a different take on what ZSC Command structure should ultimately look like. It’s a disconnect I thought we had settled out after the Albuquerque Comicon – but he and I are trying to work it out. Or rather, I’m running from, hoping Sean won’t go jujitsu on me!
Norman, Greg Nicotero, Jon, Steve, Anthony and the rest of The Walking Dead took off mid-afternoon for their panel which many fans later picked as one of the highlights of the weekend. Nicotero thrilled the fans with information about effects and the magic he and his team work on The Walking Dead zombies.
While the gang was gone Lisa and I took the opportunity to scarf down the chicken ZSC loyalist Leigh-Anne procured for lunch, and found ourselves embroiled in impromptu Command strategy sessions with Anthony Michael Hall, Ted Raimi and Michael Kenworthy.
Within an hour all three gentlemen convinced me they were valuable assets to ZSC Command – and I enthusiastically issued rank assignments on the spot.
As the sun began to set, the Con wound down and the after events ramped up. Leigh-Anne volunteered to act as scout and went ahead to scope the VIP party crowd for potential UGA attackers. She immediately felt the eyes of surveillance upon her, but communicated the belief it was safe for Command to enter – as long as we were careful to avoid predator drone attacks.
Norman, Sean, Rocco and Anthony held their own, and ultimately it was Leigh-Anne – our brave volunteer – who suffered the first real loss of the evening when a UGA agent managed to procure her room key. As volunteer keeper of the Communication network she would be repeatedly targeted throughout the evening. We have yet to discern the “why” behind these assaults but can only assume it is an attempt by the UGA to remove Command’s support systems.
We bobbed, weaved and shimmied – and unlike the previous night it was because of the rockin’ music at the poolside party. We even managed to eat at a relatively decent hour. I just wish I could report we actually went to bed at a decent hour. Oh, don’t worry. We all paid the price…
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Sunday
My alarm might as well have had laryngitis for all the good its squeaking did in terms of waking up the living dead (me) that occupied my room Sunday morning. A text message on the other hand seems to have miraculous regenerative powers. Just sayin’.
The call to Anthony and Lisa – to see if they were still among the living – turned into an exchange of moans and groans any zombie would envy. Pretty sure none of us understood what any of the others were saying.
I didn’t quite realize how bad things were until I turned on the light in the bathroom. And I’ll be honest. I screamed. Puffy swollen eyes. Blotchy skin. A general green tone to the skin. For a few heart-pounding moments I feared the UGA had somehow unleashed another assault and infected me. But no. I was thinking, so I couldn’t be a zombie. I think, therefore I am, right?
Phew. Disaster avoided.
Sort of.
Sunday was a blur of monster assaults and UGA probes that seemed to be occurring within a live-action role play of a Marx Brothers routine.
As I attempted to decode an early morning email from Anthony Michael Hall, and Lisa helped Anthony try out a coffin, Leigh-Anne volunteered for a desert mission under extreme conditions. I couldn’t quite believe she still had enough left in the tank to take on a mission of mercy to resupply ZSC command – but she did, and reported back with biscuit sandwiches and coffee.
It was around this time that I ended up with Anthony Michael Hall’s bank card. The scenario that led me to be guarding the card reminded me of an old Danny Kaye movie scene from The Court Jester where he’s trying to remember this tongue-twister: The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true… What? Oh forget it, don’t ask.
On a mission to get something from the ZSC Command vehicle, I opened loading docks doors only to find myself nearly tackled by one Jon Bernthal, who had apparently managed to get stuck outside under the burning Florida sun for some time. Jon did better than Norman, Rocco and I when we all ended up in the Sahara ourselves a little while later.
When Michael Kenworthy decided to don his new ZSC Command tshirt, he changed mid-room without thinking it through – and ended up with people throwing dollars at him. To say he blushed when he realized his mistake would be the understatement of the decade.
Steve played a quick game of ball with The Walking Dead cast mates Chandler Riggs, Adrian Kali Turner and Addy Miller that involved a ninja strike from Norman before he had to take off for his next mission.
As a result of events at Spooky Empire, Zombie Survival Crew, we now have a new standard operating procedure for all future Cons. ZSC cadres are requested to check in with Command as early as possible to set parameters for Command protection and integrity for the duration of the event.
Let me tell you why….
It was apparent pretty early on that Spooky Empire May-Hem was going to live up to its name.
My eventually successful attempt to retrieve Light Blue Brigade Commander Anthony Guajardo and his mother Lisa from the airport involved about 35 minutes of driving around in circles – which, I have to say is vastly less exhausting than running around in circles, but still kind of crazy. Shortly after we got to the resort, Lisa crashed in my room. Within minutes? Anthony crashed. Shortly thereafter yours truly was dreaming about sugar plum fairies.
When we awoke – now hopelessly late for set up and early meetings – we immediately discussed the possibility that the Unnamed Government Agency had somehow infiltrated the event and put us all out for reasons we probably wouldn’t want to guess.
Set up involved a crazy mad dash into the celebrity signing room where we would spend the weekend recruiting new members as personalities from The Walking Dead, Boondock Saints, Night of the Living Dead and Evil Dead thrilled the fans.
.
ZSC loyalist @buttrscotchboom (a.k.a. Leigh-Anne) showed up shortly after the event opened and adopted a defensive position to assist Command. And she got there just in time – as I was soon to fall victim to a gruesome attack by Bill Hinzman, better known as Zombie #1 from George Romero’s masterpiece Night of the Living Dead. I did manage to escape with an assist from Leigh-Anne and Lisa only to discover that Anthony was passed out on the ZSC table. We revived him – debriefed around the assault that left him incapacitated – and proceeded to scour the room for potential UGA moles.
By the time Norman arrived on the scene we were in full defensive deployment mode. We – with our allies from the Dixon’s Vixens – informed Blue Brigade Commander of the multiple attempted attacks just as a predator drone strike took aim at Norman. He was able to escape but inadvertently left Rocco in the line of fire. We bobbed. We weaved. We even retreated at one point to try and regroup. The UGA was relentless. I left Rocco and Anthony with armed guards Leigh-Anne and Lisa and ventured – at 3 a.m. – to find us some food to keep up our strength.
The food resupply was just what we needed to help us strategize – we crafted code words, evac plans and communications to aid us in predator evasion and keeping Command intact for the weekend.
With that, we were ready to face the hordes. Or so we thought ….
As I was sitting in the Phoenix bus terminal during my trip to Dallas Comic Con, I began to realize something was… off.
My trip began right on the heels of the CDC releasing their Zombie Apocalypse survival guide on their blog. Little did I know exactly how influential this thing would be. Every single TV I passed from my home base to Dallas covered the CDC’s guide. People on the bus, once they saw my zombie-centric handbag, began grilling me about it. And after I told them about the ZSC? Forget about it. I spent nearly 2 days solid neck deep in zombie talk.
About 12 hours into the trip, I began to observe my traveling companions. It was a huge risk exposing myself as a commander with the Zombie Survival Crew in a situation where I could not escape anyone that turned on me. There were some folks that made me wish I had my sword on the bus. They shuffled around with no apparent destination. Their eyes were glassy, blank. No one home in there. And, ugh, they reeked. I’ve been lucky enough to never catch a whiff of the unholy B.O. of a walker, but I’m sure this had to be it.
So there I was, sitting in a bus terminal waiting while the bus gassed up… surrounded by potential zombies.
The thought forced me to take in our surroundings. How secure is a bus terminal? About as secure as a cereal box. There are more doors and windows in a typical station than solid walls. Survivors would eat up all their wood resources covering access points, leaving nothing to burn on cold nights or to cook with. On top of that, they layout itself is far too open. If a firefight were to break out, I’d have a deli counter or one of three concrete pillars to hide behind. Food supplies are laughable. Sure, most stations have a restaurant, but its all frozen food stuffs. Once the power goes out, that food will not last long. Nor will it tide over the size of crowd that could be trapped inside.
And gods forbid if the Zombiepocalypse should happen while we’re on the road. We’d become a veritable moveable feast! There is no storage for food. Space on a bus is non-existent, almost laughable. Sure, the bus can outrun a horde of zombies looking for a midnight snack, but eventually it’d run out of gas. A Greyhound bus isn’t exactly Dead Reckoning (Land of the Dead 2005). Once it is out of gas, the one secure element is gone and zombies have a huge can of human sardines to dig into.
Sleep deprivation is a huge problem associated with traveling by bus. At one point I was so out of it I swear I saw a demon crawl out of a box strapped on the back of a semi-truck and into the cab to attack the driver. A hallucination like that, even in someone like myself that is highly trained to handle the unknown, is really dangerous. The lack of sleep also made me really chatty.
Wait a minute…
It wasn’t until after I’d missed one night of sleep that people started to get awfully chatty with me on the bus. Some of the passengers got on at my home base. Those were the very same to begin questioning me about why I was on a mission to Dallas, TX. The connection never made sense until now. My travel itinerary was compromised, information had to of been given to our enemies.
I’m going to say it was a sixth sense that led me to break ZSC Command protocol and answer the cell phone when the “BLOCKED” call came through.
“Is this the head of the company?” a gruff voice asked.
I almost hung up. But I’m no chicken. Yeah, yeah I am the head of the “company” so gotta keep it together.
It was the Texas Policemen and Sheriff’s Association.
He instructed me to pull off the side of the road.
“But I’m in Baton Rouge traffic and it says ‘shoulder closed’,” I told him. “This is totally illegal, dude, if a Louisiana cop shows up you’d better back me.”
He laughed long and hard, and I couldn’t stop chills from racing up my back and down my arms as I pulled the truck off to the side of the road. Considering it was about 94 degrees in the shade, that was saying something… but it’s not every day I get pulled over by a law enforcement official from a state away.
The Texas sheriff assured me if one of his Louisiana counterparts showed up I was to put the two of them on the phone and he would take care of it. “We need to talk now,” he told me.
As it turns out… the Association was looking for partners, and the ZSC has been chosen. I can’t divulge any details yet for strategic reasons. We’re due to have another conversation as soon as I stop shaking long enough to hold a phone again and I hope I can fill you all in.
A few months back your ZSC command sent out a call to all authors and artists requesting stories, art work, and articles The Yellow Brigade has answered the call. When Carol contacted me with her article, I knew right away with the topic of cadaver dogs that her article would be made of win.
Although some would attribute the increase in cadaver dog training as a direct result to the increase in natural disasters, others are not so sure. The expectant zombie apocalypse weighs heavy on the minds of many animal enthusiasts. Animal shelters are welcoming the influx of canine adoptions – mutts are known for their even temperament and ease of learning. There’s something to be said about Sean Patrick Flanery choosing a highly trained canine as his weapon of choice. This human for one thinks he’s using his brains – something we all hope he retains control of for a long, long time to come. 
I. Hate. Clowns.
