White Flag of the Dead

Charlie's Guide

2012-02-12T09:41:00.000-08:00

I've been asked why I use tomahawks. When the so called "experts" have said that crowbars and other things make better weapons, why would I use such an old weapon?
First of all, keep in mind most of those "experts" are dead. When the end finally came, all those people who secretly hoped for a zombie apocalypse finally got their wish, and all their rhetoric was good for exactly squat. Second, anyone who claims their way is best or their preps are better than anyone else's is a half wit. Everyone's circumstances are different, and no one's advice is a good thing for all. Go with whats good for you and use some simple common sense. If you haven't got any common sense, no advice will save you.
Back to the 'hawks. Why do I use them? They give me reach, they have both a cutting edge and a hammer side (both good for cracking skulls), they can hook things, and if you practice, you can throw them with good effect.
I think I've finally won the debate with John, but he'll never admit it. He loves his mini pickaxe too much.

Charlie out.

Tommy's Tips

2012-01-27T15:44:00.000-08:00

One thing people seem to never appreciate is rope. Even if it's just ten or twelve feet in length, being able to tie a gate shut or a door is sometimes a life saver. You can use it like a trap, tripping zombies for easier kills, or you can use it to tie up your stuff. You can also use it to lose some weight on a climb, then haul your stuff up afterwards. The best kind I've found is the stuff they use for rappelling. It's strong, lightweight, and you can carry a lot without sacrificing too much space. If you're creative, you can use it to trap and contain animals. Finally, you can use it to rig a hammock if you would rather not sleep on the ground in zombie territory.
Lesson? Make sure everything you carry has more than one use.

Chance for questions

2012-01-10T17:41:00.000-08:00

At The Zombie Inn, this was posted so I figured I'd pass it along.
Grace Guerra 6:45pm Jan 10
I'd like to get readers to participate in author interviews... Can you guys get your fans to submit questions, they'd like authors in general or a specific author to answer? I'll then collect them all and set up interviews. Have them email me at grace@book-junkies-library.com, I'll credit the questions to them (have them include name and city/state).

*Update*

Book Five is well under way, had some issues with time, but they are done and I'm rocking

White Flag of the Dead - Prologue

2011-12-18T08:38:00.000-08:00

Found this the other day, it was the first chapter I had ever written of the White Flag Series. It was taken out of the first published book, but it will be familiar to anyone who bought the original, self-published work
Enjoy!

Chapter 1

“Zombie.”

“What?”

“Zombie.”

“Where?”

“Southwest corner.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. It’s right there by the side of the creek.”

“Son of a bitch, I was right out there! Why do these things always wait until I am farthest away from them to make their appearance?”

“Dammed inconsiderate if you ask me.”

“Always are. All right, I’m going. Keep me posted as to its movements; I’m heading to the back doors through the band room.”

“Will do. You want a noisemaker?” A noisemaker was an egg timer lobbed out into the grass, timed to go off just before we attacked. It kept the zombie’s focus off-center, which made for an easier kill.

“No thanks, I’m just going straight in.”

“Stay alive, brother.”

“Yup.” I shucked my bag and picked up my rifle. It was a relic from the Second World War, an old Enfield No.1 Mk.4. The spike bayonet on the end likely didn’t see much use in the battles of old, but these days, it’s a decent close quarters killer. In all honesty, I’d rather have this old gun than any of the high-tech AR’s out there. Sure they could shoot a lot more a lot faster, but I doubt any of them have the range of my Enfield, the bayonet, or the clubbing capabilities.

I headed down the stairs, pulling on my gloves and balaclava, adjusting my radio earpiece to keep in touch with Tommy, my lookout. He was on the roof of the building doing constant sweeps of the area. I’d put my goggles on before I headed outside.

As I walked the hall to the back doors, I couldn’t help but notice the signs of battle as we fought to secure this building. The undead wanted in, we wanted them out, and a whole two days of serious disagreements about possession ensued. In the end though, we won, losing twenty-seven of our own to the other side. We killed over nine hundred of them, many of the fights in vicious hand to hand combat. But as the man once said, we will not go quietly into that dark night. Dark stains marked the walls and floors, water being too precious of a commodity to waste cleaning up right now. Black marks where we burned the splatter from the zombies, not taking any chances with infection. One hundred-five of us survived. One hundred and five maybe being the last ones on earth. Doubt it, but we haven’t had any contact with anyone else for months since the Upheaval. I had some theories about the lands in the Rockies and north of the border, but I didn’t have the time right now to go exploring.

The Upheaval. That’s what we called the dead coming back to life. Wasn’t anything magical or biblical about it. Just a little virus with a very strong will to survive. The Enillo virus, named after its discoverer and first victim. Dr. Roberto Enillo was a brilliant researcher, by all accounts, and some said he was on the brink of a vaccine for several of our Third-World killers. Trouble was, vaccines only prevent 98% of the viruses, letting the strong survive. Well, survive they did, and the little bastards had the nerve to mutate into a super-virus which, in a serious bid for self-preservation and spreading, managed to bring the infected back to life. Dr. Enillo was working in a small country in the center of Africa, when the virus came calling. He and the world would have been fine except he wasn’t able to take the correct number of precautions being out of equipment as he was. An unhealed cut on his hand allowed the virus access, he got infected, then spread the virus all over the world.

No one could have predicted what happened next. Dr. Enillo was infected, yet didn’t know it. The little virus had an incubation period of one week, which allowed for rapid deployment when you consider how interconnected our societies had become. A person who was infected could board a plane, land in another country, infect someone there through casual contact, get in their car, drive to another locale, and spread it further before they even knew they were sick. The virus, upon infection, completely saturates all bodily fluids, so an infected person is literally a walking disease center, and not even knows it. A sneeze could infect across a room if someone got it on an open cut.. It wasn’t airborne, but it tried its best. This saturation was fast, within 2-4 hours. After 72 hours, a person begins to feel ill at ease and starts coughing and losing bodily fluids through vomiting and diarrhea, profuse sweating and salivating. We figured out too late this was the virus attempting to spread itself out to new hosts. After 96 hours, a person would fall into a comatose state and die. At this point, things got interesting in the host. The virus, saturating the blood barrier that surrounds the brain, takes over the brain and stimulates the recently dead neurons with new oxygen transmitted by the virus itself. The virus takes over the functions of the body, and the infected person revives, being dead only for a few minutes with one thought: survival of the virus. In order to survive, and spread the host needs new hosts. We don’t know why they need to eat, since being dead, food is useless. But, the hunger is all consuming with these creatures and, as we discovered, they attack without mercy, remorse, or regret. Lately, the virus seems to have mutated again, causing death within hours of infection and reanimation quickly thereafter.

I walked out to the band room doors, and checked my gear. Hard-won knowledge required me to be absolutely sure of my gear. Rifle was ready, clothes were secure and not loose, balaclava fit correctly and goggles were tight. I checked my earpiece and touched base with my spotter.

“Tommy, you there?”

“Right above you ,brother.”

“What’s the location of our friend?”

“Forty yards out, near the edge of the parking lot.”

Silently I cursed. Right near the creek and our water supply. I was going to have to be creative.

“Heading out. Keep me posted for other friends.”

“Roger.” We weren’t going to talk long to save on batteries.

Tommy was a good friend these days, and always volunteered for lookout duty. We had assigned duties in the community, and he always took the lookout post. I figured he liked the solitary nature of the work. Didn’t hurt it was the safest place, too. I didn’t begrudge him the solitude. He had lost his family to the disease, and some alone time away from the families we had rescued probably saved his sanity.

I opened the door and looked out to the left. No other zombies were there so I moved along the building, quickly stepping away from the door and any possible Z’s on the other side of the door, not realizing I had bumped my radio and managed to switch it off. We lost a few to that doorway tactic before we wised up. Z’s were pretty stupid for the most part, their virus-infected brains wiping out most of their usefulness save basic motor functions. If they did not see prey, they tended to wander in slow circles. If they bumped into something, sometimes they would stop there until they were distracted. So sometimes a Z would be up against the side of a building, just standing there like they had been punished by their parents.

Of course, once they located prey, all bets were off. They homed in mostly by sound, smell, and sight (if they had eyes), and they were focused little suckers. Until their prey could no longer be seen or heard or smelled, they stayed on the hunt.

I moved out and quickly located my target. She was a medium-sized woman, probably late twenties, judging by what was left of her clothes. Her right arm looked pretty torn up, like she had fought off an attacker. Infection probably killed her, and judging by the blood down her front, she had fed on the living upon re-awakening.

Her eyes were closed and she was moving slowly, the shambling walk the dead had. Unstoppable and inexorable, the dead marched forever until they were killed again or their feet wore off. I knew her eyes were closed so she could hear prey, something else we learned about them. They close their eyes when they are not locked in pursuit, and open them when they start the chase. If you were silent, they could be dispatched without ever knowing you were there, although their hearing was amazing. It was unsettling to sneak up on a zombie only to have it turn around at the last second and lunge at you. You needed to change tactics quick, fast, and in a hurry.

I circled to the right, closing the distance quickly. I figured to deliver a spike to the back of her head before she even knew I was there. The sun was beginning to set, and nothing brought out the imagination than darkness with ghouls about. I crossed the parking lot and picked up a rock, figuring to throw the stone ahead of her and keeping her focused while I killed her.

When I was within twenty feet, I paused, checking my environment. The ghoul that kills you is the one you didn’t see. Tommy hadn’t called in so I figured I was clear. I tossed the stone and readied my rifle.

The Z jumped slightly at the sound, and I could almost see her eyes snapping open with the thought of prey. She took a larger step forward and I matched my steps to hers as I came up behind her. I was facing the school and away from the creek when I caught movement on the roof. Tommy was waving his arms and trying to attract attention. I figured he was doing this to keep her attention on him and not me. I stepped up and thrust my spike, spearing the former woman in the back of the head, near the top of the spine. We discovered that destroying the brain killed them for good, this was a hard lesson learned for the military, and led to more than one base being overrun because they couldn’t figure out how to kill them soon enough.

I removed my spike from her corpse, and used a small, unsoiled section of her shirt to clean her brain goo from it. I noticed Tommy was still waving. I waved back and noticed he was getting more frantic. I noticed my radio was off, turned it on, and was rewarded with him yelling in my ear.

“Get out of there! Move you dumbass! Run! Run!”

I spun around and saw nothing. “What are you talking about? It’s clear.” I started to cross the parking lot and move toward the door.

“There’s a group of about twenty about to come around the corner of the building!”

That changed the equation. My eloquent response consisted of a single word. Figuring that I would never make it in time, I decided to try the old method of hiding and hope to hell they don’t notice me. I ran back to the tall grass and lay down, training my rifle to approximately where they would be coming around the corner. Tommy was still on the roof, watching their progress. He didn’t have a weapon, as we decided that if you’re on the roof, shooting was a waste of time and if the building was overrun , you could just jump off and land on your head. It was better than being on the menu.

I hunkered down as the first rounded the corner. They were looking for entrance, something I had watched them do while I was on the roof. Seemed like some of them retained some of their former memories, like how to open doors and climb stairs, and this had led to more than one “safe” area being overrun. Their greatest strength was swarming, and attacking en masse. One on one, the average guy was a match for any Z. But with three or five or fifty trying to tear you apart, things got bloody in a hurry. The good news is they weren’t fast or intelligent. Bad news is they were walking infection farms. One bite, one bit of zombie goo on an open cut or in your eye, and you were gone. It was theorized that the virus kept the heart pumping to keep the body moving, but who really wanted to perform an autopsy on a dead guy trying to eat you?

I kept my gun on the group as it approached the door. They stopped and one of them pounded on the door and then tried the handle. When it didn’t work, they started to shuffle off towards the next entrance, which was a barricaded door about thirty yards to the south. That stopping and waiting behavior was new, I hadn’t seen that before. I was just about in the clear to make a run for it when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Another Z was about to fall down into the ditch and if it hit the water, it was going to make noise. Shit, crap, and dung. Tommy was still on the roof and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. The Z’s made it to the other door and were pounding on it. I hoped that would mask the noise of the other one behind me.

Of course, the best of hopes never make it to reality. Just as the ditch Z fell face-first into the water, the pounding stopped at the door. Twenty heads snapped around and as one, they opened their mouths and, moaning, started for the creek. They would pass within ten feet of me and there was no way they were going to miss me. If I lay still, they would still get me, as their sense of smell would alert them to prey nearby. Another hard lesson learned: their sense of smell had increased in order to find prey. Not as good as dogs or anything, but certainly better than living humans. We could smell them, of course, since they smelled like rotten anything, but they seemed to have one up on us. It was another theory that they could distinguish between dead and living flesh. They never attacked each other, so this seemed plausible.

I figured I had two options. I could shoot the Z’s in front of me, hoping for head shots on all of them before they got close, or I could make a run for it and hope to hell I made it to the door and someone let me in before the rest came a-chomping.

I chose option C. I popped up like a jack in the box and ran the fifty yards to the water ditch. The group turned as one and shuffled a little faster. Prey was near, the hunger was all-consuming. I ran to the edge of the ditch just as the now-soaking zombie, a fat man without a shirt and a huge open gash across his chest groped for a handhold. Little wonder how he died. I stepped up to him and just as he opened his mouth to try and take a bite, I shoved the spike into the top of his head. He wiggled a bit, then lay still. I pulled on the spike, but the guy’s head was like a suction cup and didn’t want to let go. I could hear the grass rustling behind me as the other group came closer to the attack, their moans becoming a grim chorus. I snuck a look and saw they were about twenty yards and closing. I pulled on the spike but it was really stuck. Must have hit the bone somewhere in the neck. The zombies were about fifteen yards now and were staring to raise their hands, twisted into grasping claws.

I cursed aloud and gave the old gun one final yank and ripped the spike out of the fat man’s skull. The leader of the group was about five yards now and closing fast. They began their moaning again, a sound any survivor hears with dread. Death approaches, and its call is a moan from the grave. I spun on my heel, snapped my rifle to my shoulder and lined up his head. The Enfield boomed loudly and the Z’s head exploded as the .303 round punched through it and nailed a taller guy behind him in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground, and tripping two others into a writhing mass of legs and arms.

I didn’t stop to admire my handiwork. Turning back to the ditch I scrambled down the side, jumped the water and climbed back up the other side. I turned back to the group as the first to reach the ditch were rolling down the side into the water. I lined up the still standing ones in the front and fired three aimed shots. Three zombies went down, and caused eight more to get tangled and fall. I lined up two more head shots and ended the miserable existence of a housewife whose ear was torn off, and a very old-looking man, who managed to operate without his left arm. The ones in the ditch were getting to their feet and starting to climb up my side. I dropped three more then turned my attention to the ones getting very near. When the first one came up I spiked it in the head, sending it tumbling down and knocking another off its feet. I shot another on the other side in the eye, leaving 9 more to deal with. I had one shot left in my magazine, then I needed to reload. Firing at a teenage girl whose throat was torn out, I dropped her and did a fast reload with my second magazine. That left me eleven shots, which should be enough for the rest.

Two were climbing out of the ditch and I shot one, then clubbed another back into the ditch. I killed the remaining three on the other side of the ditch, then waited for the rest to come to me.

I walked back about ten yards and that kept me out of sight of the zombies in the ditch. When their heads came up they would pause to look around, and that was when I would nail them. I got kind of a sick laugh when the old lady’s wig popped off after her head exploded. If another Z came up wearing it I would probably miss my next shot.

No one did, more’s the pity, and the group was dispatched with extreme prejudice. I collected my thoughts and heard a “Nice shooting” in my ear. Tommy had seen the whole thing and was impressed. I pulled a rag out of my pack and using some water upstream, washed off my Enfield. “Thanks,” I said. “Did any of the newbie’s watch?”

“No idea, but I’m sure some watched after hearing the shots.”

“Good. Let today’s lesson be about not panicking and using terrain to your advantage.”

“School’s out, professor. Now get your ass back in here ‘cause that shooting will have every Z in a mile’s radius coming hunting, and sunset is in twenty minutes.”

“I hear that. Post on the bulletin that cleanup is tomorrow and water collection is on the northeast side until this is cleared.”

“Done.”

I dropped my rifle’s magazine and saw that I had about four rounds left. Not enough for any lengthy engagements, and I could see movement in between the houses on the far side of the baseball fields. A moan could be heard from behind the tree line. Time to go. I jogged back to the band room door and knocked the code. The door popped open and I jumped inside. I was immediately was doused in some chemical spray and I quickly undid my vest, boots, shirt and pants. My balaclava was carefully removed, and my gloves removed as well. Everything went to be cleaned, except my rifle. That I kept to clean myself. I stood there in my boxers and grinned at the group that had assembled. Tommy came down and smacked me in the back.

“Next time, asshole, don’t turn your radio off.”

I smiled back, “But then I wouldn’t have any fun.”

Several eyebrows in the room shot up. Mostly the newbie’s, who hadn’t fully adjusted to the personalities of our little community. But they will learn. They usually do. Or they die. Things were very simple these days.

“Are you going back out there?” a voice called from the back of the room.

I located the speaker and locked eyes with him. “Not on your life. Feel free, if you want to; Tommy will set you up with gear.” I recognized the man, a smallish specimen who complained about everything, and found every excuse necessary not to work. He contributed very little to the community, and more than once I wondered why I had bothered to save him when I was out hunting supplies two weeks ago. Frank Stearns was his name and useless was his game.

“No thanks. I can’t face them yet.” Frank replied.

“No one can face them in the dark.” I said. “They are master killers at night.” I moved closer to him, never breaking eye contact. “No matter where you run, they will find you, by smell, sound, or feel, they will find you.”

Frank broke eye contact and looked down. “Just wondering.”

“Yeah.” I looked around the group. “Double watch tonight, kids go to bed early. Everyone is armed. The noise I made out there will bring more tonight, and tomorrow will be a busy day with cleanup and eradication.” I looked at Frank. “Everyone works. No exceptions.”

His head snapped up and he glared at me. I returned his stare and waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

I turned my back to him and walked away, going to my room. I needed to see my boy, and put on some clothes. I went down the hallway, and turned to the small classroom off the main hall. I chose this room because it was on the first floor, and if things got bad, I could get out easier than they could get in. Plus, if something was going down, I would be better placed to deal with it. Not that I was Mr. Bad Ass, but I had managed to survive this long, and that takes something. Opening the door, I found home.

Jacob, my 10-month old son, was in his high chair being fed by his sitter, a fourteen year old girl I had found on one of my forays. Her name was Kristen, and she had been hiding in her bathroom for three days. She had seen her mother turn on her father, and then heard her parents tear apart her two brothers. I brought her back, and she hadn’t spoken for three weeks. But after she got over her shock, she bounced back pretty quickly. Kristen watched Jacob for me when I had to go out, and he loved her company.

“Hey Kristen,” I said. “Hey big boy!” I said to Jacob, earning an applesauce-filled smile from him. “How’s everybody?”

Kristen glanced at me, noting I was largely undressed. “He’s a good boy. Little fussy about his green beans. Work out there tonight? I heard the shots.”

“Yeah, some trouble by the creek.” I put some cargo pants on. “Lot of work to do tomorrow.”

Kristen grunted as Jacob tried to spray baby food at her. “Great. When do I get to forage with you?”

I looked at her. Her faced had hardened and she seemed distant with most adults, although she opened up and was great with Jacob. He loved her, and was all smiles when she was around. I worried, though, that she had a lot of anger to work through. I couldn’t ask her to risk her life, but I didn’t think that was going to be an issue. I had seen her practicing, and she seemed ready.

“Maybe next time.” I said.

“Really?” she asked, looking up from her feeding.

“You need to test yourself. I understand that.” I went over to my weapons locker and belted on my sidearm. She noticed the gun.

“Armed tonight.?” Kristen asked.

“Everyone is, including you.” I replied, pulling out a second gun and holster. I handed her a Glock 9mm. Fishing around I found two additional magazines and loaded them for her. Kristen took the gun and looked at me. “You’re ready,” I told her. “I’ve seen you handle a gun and seen you shoot.” That was common practice here. Everyone was taught to use two weapons, a gun and a secondary weapon, be it a knife or some other favored object. It didn’t really matter, it just had to be lethal. Mine was a knife. We had a couple of ex-military gents who had taken over training of our newcomers. Everyone was trained, even the kids.

Kristen put on the Kydex paddle holster for the Glock and adjusted it for fit. She then ejected the magazine from the Glock, found it full, and reinserted it. She pulled the slide back and chambered a round. I handed her another round to put in the magazine later, and she holstered the weapon. Jacob just watched with little enthusiasm.

Kristen looked at me. “Thank you,’ she said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll earn it.” I said, reaching down to pick up Jacob. Never failed. Every time I had an encounter with the zombies, I needed to hold my son to regain my hope for the world. Jacob smiled at me and grabbed at my shirt, pulling down my collar.

Kristen packed up to leave. “By the way, you’re running low on fruit for Jacob,” she said.

“Thanks, I’ll add to the list for the next trip out.”

“Would that be the one I am going on?” she asked.

“That’s the one. Get your brain ready.” I said.

“Will do. Bye’ Jakey!” Kristen said to Jacob, kissing his little cheek. He smiled at her then buried his head in my shoulder, doing his shy routine. Kristen left the room and went back to her room, which she shared with three other girls. They ranged in age from 10 to 16, and they relied on each other for support and comfort, all of them having horrific stories to tell. I rotated them on babysitting, and since Jake was so easy to care for, they all liked doing it. I didn’t think for one minute about the awesome responsibility I just handed Kristen by giving her a gun. She was more responsible than most adults I had known, and I trusted her with my world, meaning Jacob. The world was a different place now, and the old rules didn’t necessarily apply. You adapted or got eaten, that was the way it was.

I closed the door and checked my carbine hanging on the wall by the door. It was my M1 Carbine, in my opinion probably the best close quarters gun out there. If the Z’s ever got in, I could likely drop most of them before my ammo ran out. A sling with four loaded 30-round clips hung next to it. That gun saved my ass not too long ago.

Jacob and I played for a while, the sun setting and the room going dark. I lit a hurricane lamp, and the soft light gave me some more time with Jake before I bathed him and put him to bed. I spoke to him about all the things I did while I was gone. I figured it was wrong to hold anything back, because this was the world he might inherit. I know he didn’t understand a word, but he was just happy to have his daddy back. I looked around our room and as usual, my mind drifted back to when it all started five months ago.

Back when I was making a living, and the dead weren’t.

Epilogue - United States of the Dead

You can't save them all.

If there was ever a hard lesson to learn from the Upheaval, that one was the worst. So many times we had to stand by and watch helplessly as some group of survivors let their defenses lapse and the dead came in. We did not want to just let it happen, and on more than one occasion cooler heads than mine had to prevail upon me to not go charging to the rescue.
Believe me, there is nothing worse than letting a massacre happen, but if you realize that the only thing you will contribute to the slaughter is another corpse, you will find that you can live with the decision much easier.
I remember once coming up to a house that had at least twenty ghouls in it. They had trapped a person in the bathroom, and were relentlessly pounding on the door, trying to get in. I could have charged the mob, taken out a few. But I would have been quickly overwhelmed and killed. In the end, I just had to move on.
Those are the ghosts that visit in the quiet times. They stay just out of sight, but you know they are there. I tend to ask forgiveness and let it go.

You can't save them all.

But if you save one, and learn your lessons well, then you can save another, and another. Pretty soon, you're saving enough.

JT

Tommy's Tips

2011-03-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

When the world went upside down, one of the things we noticed very quickly was how much we began to rely on our senses again. Before the Upheaval, we could pretty much get through our days without too much trouble, focusing solely on what was in front of us, and not paying too much attention to the peripherals. But when survival meant paying attention to the details, it became interesting to see how much we realized we could use our senses to save our lives.

One of the things I noticed right away when the world ended was how quiet it was. It seemed like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to scream. You could hear things a long way away, and it was to the zombies advantage, sadly. I remember walking down a path and I thought my footsteps were too loud, even though chances were no one could hear them further than three feet away!

Once we got used to them, we realized how valuable they are and how much we can use them to save ourselves.

The one advantage we have over the zombies is eyesight. They can't see really well, mostly because the fluid in their eyeballs is clouding up with decaying matter, but they can find you by smell and sound, no worries there. But if a zombie is far enough away and you don't move suddenly or make noise, they might not know you're there. I've snuck up on a lot of zombies.

Use your hearing. Don't listen for the sounds of things that are supposed to be there, listen for what shouldn't. Dragging sounds have no place in a forest, nor do they belong in a store.

Use your nose. I've noticed once the crap filtered itself out of the air, my sense of smell has been getting better over time. Zombies smell, but not as bad as you might think. Sort out the smells that belong where you are and identify the ones that don't fit.

Trust your instincts. What people call their intuition is the subconscious mind sorting out the signals coming in through the senses and telling you exactly what is on the other side of that creepy door. Pay attention.

Later, TC.

Book Update

2011-03-21T11:13:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that White Flag of the Dead: Book II is getting ready to print and should be available within the next few weeks.
Also, the first book in the series is now available on Kindle for a one month promotional price of $0.99!

Best thing can buy for under a buck!

Joe

Charlie's Guide

2011-03-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

According to the old nursery rhyme, sticks and stones will break your bones. While I can't make any serious claims about rocks, I can say with some authority that one of the most overlooked items in a zombie kit is a stick.
Now don't get stupid on me and start telling that I'm crazy thinking a little branch will be effective against zombies. I'm not talking about that kind of stick.
When I say stick, I'm talking more along the lines of a staff or walking stick. Something about four to five feet in length and made out of some kind of hardwood. It doesn't have to be fancy, just functional. Before the fecal matter hit the rotating air mover, there was a company that made serious walking sticks. These things were made out of aircraft aluminum, had a compass on the top, and the end unscrewed to reveal a nasty six inch blade. One of those bad boys would be handy in the new world, let me tell you.
Anyhow, if have a functional, serviceable stick, you'll find it is a very useful item when dealing with the undead.
For example, you can use the stick to safely push the Z down, to be terminated in a more permanent fashion. Or you can use the stick to lever the ghoul out of the way or over a guard rail. You can throw the stick at their legs to trip them up, or you can shove the end in their mouths, rendering them impotent while you figure out what to do with them.
Duncan travels with an oak staff, and he likes to trip them up with it before he kills them. If he's with Tommy, Duncan will trip up a zombie, then hold it down while Tommy kills it. It's a pretty effective method.
Bottom line, a stick like what I'm talking about will have a lot of uses, so don't count them out until you try them.

Charlie out.

Tommy's Tips

2011-03-17T17:06:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about gear for a minute. Specifically, your pack of supplies. It doesn't matter if you use a backpack, a duffle bag, or a garbage bag. Whatever works for you and you can carry comfortably without compromising your ability to engage an enemy.
First, let's talk about consumables. You'll need a source of protein, and jerked beef is a good source. Another good source, believe it or not, is canned cat food. Sure, it tastes like crap, but is high in nutritional value. Granola is good to have; it lasts a while, and homemade stuff is hit or miss as far as taste. Dried vegetables are useful and don't weigh much. Whatever you choose, calculate how much you would eat in a day, then supply yourself for three days.
Water is vital, and you'll need to try to keep at least three liters with you. Keep in mind that water is heavy, and more will be hard on your overall pack weight.
If you can find them, the little packets of powdered nutrition drinks are very useful and beneficial.
Non-consumables should include some form of knife, a blade of at least four inches, but no longer then eight inches. Some kind of cord is necessary, preferably twenty feet or more.. Matches are vital, and candles are very helpful as well. Road flares are useful, but they are one hit wonder. A compass is vital, as is a flashlight. Batteries are essential unless you can find one flashlights that work without the batteries.
Other items will be up to you, but if you use this as a base, you'll be in a good place to survive should you need to.

Later, TC

Charlie's Guide

2011-03-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

One of the things I've noticed with a few zombie hunters is the over-reliance on their upper body moves to take out the threat. Granted, being strong up top has its advantages, but you can't forget that your strongest muscles are your legs. Rebecca and Sarah have a great move that manages to knock down the Z's without serious threat to themselves.
Sarah will wait for a zombie to come close enough, and she will typically kick the silly thing in the chest, knocking it back and off it's feet, making it a much easier kill. Rebecca will generally do the same thing, and I have to admit it has its merits. If you kick it in the chest, it's head might snap down, but it won't have the reach to get your foot. You have to be careful, though, because if you kick it in the stomach, it can fold over on your foot, and then you are royally screwed.
If the zombie is particularly tall, and there will be a few of them, a jump kick works just as well. Just watch your landing because it royally sucks to land on your ass after you have just executed a perfect zombie take-down kick.
Round house kicks work pretty good, but they work best against the shoulder. You goal is to knock them down, and avoid the teeth and hands.
When push comes to shove, sweep the knees. They will fall back and you can jump on them to finish them off.

Charlie out.

Note from John

2011-03-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

Charlie told me he and the crew were doing this and asked if I wanted to toss in a word or three. I couldn't think of anything else to do at the moment, since Jake decided to take a nap.
When I look back on everything that has happened in the last few years, parts of me are still in disbelief. I have had people come up to me and remind me of things I've done, things I actually have no recollection of. I guess after a while, things became kind of a blur. But I managed to get through it, save Jake, marry Sarah, find a new home, and start the country back on the right track. I guess it could be worse.
Why did I do it? Technically, I didn't. I had help from a lot of people, people I trust with my life. They kept me moving, kept me from losing it.
I fight for the simple reason I can. I'm good enough to survive, and that's what keeps me going.

It's what I do.

JT

Tommy's Tips

2011-03-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

Here's a scenario. You're moving well down a road when you begin to see the beginnings of a small town or community. Before you get bent out of shape, there are more of these than cities, thank God. You can see several people moving around, some are by cars, others are stepping into buildings. What do you do?
Your first response may be somewhat canine in nature. "People! Oh, boy! People!" If you had a tail it would be wagging.
However, a more rational part of your brain might be saying, "Hang on. Let's take a look before we get all crazy for conversation."
Why should you care or worry? Well, what if this group just killed everyone in the town and is now looting their stuff?
Unfortunately, there are people out there who have discovered the lack of enforced laws means survival of the strongest or most ruthless. What this means for you is you have to make sure of the intentions of your possible friends before you run out with your hand in the air. Check to see what they are doing, is it something normal people would be doing? Are quite a few of them carrying a bit too much from one place to another? Does there seem to be people who are standing watch for some reason? If they lived there, what are they afraid of?
The point being is running into situations without knowing what you might be getting into is a sure way to come to some grief. Once upon a time we used to teach children to cross railroad tracks by "Stop, Look, and Listen." The same rules apply for any situation you are unfamiliar with.

Later.

T.C.

Charlie's Guide

2011-03-12T15:47:00.000-08:00

Edged weapons made a big comeback in the Upheaval. No joke about it. I saw a number of people who were sporting machetes, billhooks, tree trimmers, and pruners.

Trouble is, edged weapons are most effective against an adversary that feels pain, someone who can be put out of commission with a large, devastating cut.

Zombies don't work that way. You cut the bastard's arm off, and he's reaching for you with the other one. Cut his leg in half, and he's still crawling to get you. Sure, you could get both arms and legs off if you're really good, but the odds of that happening aren't realistic enough to try.

2010-10-19T10:04:00.000-07:00

I have decided to add new features to this Blog, dedicated to the Characters in White Flag of the Dead. There will be, in no particular order: Tommy's Tips, Duncan's Diary, and Charlie's Guide to Survival and Zombie Hand to Hand Combat. The tomahawk cookbook was a non-starter.

Caliber Debate

2010-10-18T11:13:00.000-07:00

One of the things I have been asked in the past is why my main character seems to prefer the .40 S&W caliber over a 9mm or a .45ACP. My usual answer is "That's what he had on hand when the dead rose." which seems to satisfy the majority of the askers. But there are those who want to take the discussion a little further. I have heard things like "Doesn't S&W stand for Short and Weak?" While I don't really know about that in particular, I will say that anyone who has said that seems to disappear when I suggest they allow themselves to be shot with one.
I have nothing against the 9mm or the 45ACP, both do the job they are intended for and will take out a zombie as needed. The downside for a .45 is the capacity of the magazines. The upside for a 9mm is higher capacity. For me, the .40 seems to fill the hole in between and still gets the job done.
After all, when you're surrounded by the dead, you should be grateful you have a gun (of any caliber) and not a stick.