Bad Tidings

[Israel]

Sanremo, Italy

Sergio Renzi played with his glass of aged wine, staring thoughtfully at the waterfront. After a moment, he cautiously looks back at me, and puts down his drink.

I joined the Marina Militare at the age of eighteen, rather than go to college. It wasn't patriotism or anything of that sort, I just didn't see the point in getting into crippling debt so that I could spend much of my life at a job I hated.

Of course, I went into the Academy and became an officer. By the age of twenty-two, I had reached the rank of Ship-of-the-line Lieutenant, and I was transferred to a patrol vessel, the Vega. Duties were mainly patrolling safe waters for the off-chance of any existential threat.

[chuckles]

I never imagined just how badly we were going to have it. I mean... refugees? OK, it wasn't like it wasn't a problem before the Rabies. They did come, after all. Sudan, Iraq, whatnot... they were all hellholes, and at the time we weren't.

So they came anyway they could: freighters, sailboats, even those inflatable rafts. They were desperate, their only purpose at the time to get to the promised land foretold by the people they gave their life savings to. And when the outbreak spread beyond China, to Brazil and South Africa and Kyrgyzstan, they really needed to get somewhere safe.

[He finishes his drink.]

You know, there's one story that... I'm not really proud of. But here goes, huh? It was a few weeks before the Panic "officially" begun. There was this one ship, not particularly impressive but none of them were, flying Ethiopian colors. It was obvious that this was a refugee ship. I won't go into the details, though.

Now, our orders were strict: under no circumstances were any of them to reach Italian soil. I thought about the Israeli quarantine, the rumors during shore leave, and it all begun to look more and more real. In all honesty, I was a bit scared. It seemed that what we were dealing with was new, and worst of all uncontrollable.

So, in account of this uncertainty, I didn't hesitate to suggest to the captain that we go straight to warning shots. Only one officer opposed me, and even then not with much force. We were all wary of what was on-board. So we went to battle stations.

We fired a few shells, but we made sure it was at a safe distance. But after the smoke cleared, we saw them still coming. We fired another set, but they still didn't heed. We shouted over a megaphone, "Turn around! Turn around!" but they didn't listen. Maybe they didn't speak Italian, maybe they did... if it was the latter, I wouldn't blame them.

That's when we fired on them. It took them less than an hour to sink, which considering the state of it was impressive. During that time, a couple dozen managed to get onto lifeboats. Others just tried to swim for it. We fired in their direction, and they seemed to get the message. But that's when it begun.

It was the first time I actually saw a Z-head. The fucker reanimated in the water, and climbed to the deck. Cold, unblinking eyes, a stench that could make you vomit internally... and a moan that just does horrible things to you. I shot him in the chest, but as soon as I realized that didn't work I went for the head, several times.

We managed to hold them off, and soon as we felt that we were victorious we returned to port. We were all quarantined and examined, and after I was cleared I was debriefed by a man from the Carabinieri. He was completely unmoved by my story, and instructed me not to repeat it to any unauthorized personnel.

I spent much of the war in Sardinia, writing reports on maritime strategies and watching live satellite footage. It was boring, but I'm grateful cause I know how bad it was in the mainland. I'm just... bewildered by how unprepared we were, despite all of the signs being there.

You mentioned that you wrote reports? [he chuckles]

I'm assuming you are referring to that essay I wrote on piracy. I don't know how the higher-ups got hold of it, most of the time they shelved my reports. And it didn't make much of a difference, but at the time they liked it so they made me First Lieutenant.

And they sent you to Honolulu?

That's right. Only as a naval attache, of course, but it was an "honor," in their words, to be there nonetheless. It wasn't anything like I imagined, since we were on a carrier, but to travel anywhere by that point was a luxury. Especially air travel. I never thought I'd step inside a Gulfstream before the war.

[chuckles]

I was in the room when your President gave his speech on going on the offensive-the human spirit and all that. I've got to say, I was inspired, though that wasn't the case with the Ambassador. On the floor, he repeated our country's position in a... virulent fashion. He almost swore that he was going to vote "No" when the time came.

In our room, there was a bit of a deliberation. Eventually, things got heated between the Ambassador and one of his aids, Luigi, to an operatic point. That's when the "Intelligence" switch in my brain flickered. "I didn't join the Navy to abet in cowardice." everyone turned in my direction, and my eyes widened in realization of what I'd done.

"Have you got something to say, Lieutenant?" he asked. I gulped, but straightened myself. "Well, sir... suffice it to say, we can't hold out until Zack is too bored to attack us. We have to do something! If we want Italy to still be recognized as a country, and the Republic as a functioning government, we're going to have to prove that. But that's just my opinion."

I was sure I was going to be demoted, at the very least. Maybe they'd show leniency and transfer me to a smaller desk, rather than send me to the front lines. But no such reprimand took place. And it wasn't probably a consequence of my intervention, but the Ambassador abstained during the vote. So perhaps, I did make a mark during the war. And yet, didn't we all?

 

[HongCanucker]

Is this looking at Europe and possibly other parts of the world in WWZ? Because if so, consider me subscribed; I think there's a lack of coverage in that area and I want to see how you deal with it.

 

[Israel]

Katzrin, Golan Heights, Israel

Daniel Martel butted what remained of his Cuban cigarette in an ashtray. He got up and walked around the terrace for a moment, before placing his pack of tobacco back in a drawer.

I was at the Prince Sultan Air Base, having been transferred there three months earlier from the one at Al Udeid in Qatar. It was a couple weeks before Yonkers, and the great retreat westward. By that time, more than a quarter of our personnel have been recalled, and it was no question that we were going to withdraw.

Someone got the word out to the locals, or maybe they figured it out themselves which, mind you, wasn't too hard to do. So we had a little riot on our hands, but it wasn't like everyone was there for the same reason. Some were like, "Get out infidels! This is Allah's wrath!" others, although less of them, "Cowards! Where do you think you're going!"

The local National Guard wasn't too helpful, considering they had other things to deal with. But we managed, and after five times they got the message. But Central Command didn't give a shit, and they told us to hurry up with the packing. Now, I was only a USAF lieutenant colonel, but from what I heard the Fifth Fleet already made their way out of the Arabian Sea, the sailors from NSA Bahrain already back home.

OK, so this was the logical action right? We were fighting, or more so losing, a war at home, so we needed all the help we could get! But to some of us, this was a humiliation, pure and simple: if we can't keep control of our bases abroad, then we are officially no more a power than one pensioner with a handgun. I can't say I haven't felt like that from time to time.

[sighs.]

When we were finished, there were only half a dozen of us left. We were supposed to just make sure that we did the job right, than an evac chopper would pick us up. Outside the gates, there were some refugees looking inside, wondering if they could go in and hide from the swarms. While Central Command didn't want us to leave the doors open, I guess they thought we'd be coming back!

[chuckles.]

But, um, we agreed that we'd unlock it right before we left. I guess it was courtesy. We were abandoning them, in a way, so we might as well give them some way to help themselves. I wondered why they didn't just break inside or climb the walls or something, but they didn't. I guess human nature isn't all we think it is.

I was the last one to go on-board. The pilot frowned at how slowly we climbed inside, at least how he saw it. And I guess in the confusion of it all, this could've happened, you know? Some mechanic didn't pay attention, some gauge or other broke... you know, I don't know what actually happened with it.

But, in short... we crashed. Everyone was calm, though, save for the co-pilot who snapped all of a sudden. I'm... I'm not sure how come I survived, but I did. It's all kind of a blank, that part. Anyway, um... after a few minutes I managed to get up. There was a wreckage, of course, fire and all that. I didn't have time to admire it, so I just grabbed a Beretta that wasn't destroyed and made my way toward the main road.

And you made your way to Riyadh?

After a while. Road 65 was full of refugees, many of them Z-heads who reanimated. So I had to avoid it, and even if it was any safer it was too crowded. I walked down an old, disused trail and had to savor my bullets. Fortunately, the only guy I met during my travel was a Jordanian trying to meet up with his family on the coast. I wished him luck.

When I got to one of the checkpoints, I was told to go back until they found out my exact rank. They brought in a Humvee and I was brought to the Defense Ministry building, where they gave me a choice: stay here and help them with the war effort, or try to make it to to the last American plane on a mountain bike. You can see which option I chose.

Can you tell me about the oil wells? [he sighs.]

The problem was the refugees. At first, they were only from the neighboring countries, and out of them weren't just Arabs: there were the migrant workers, from the Philippines and Indonesia and Eritrea. The next waves saw some Indians and Kazakhs in the mix. But eventually, we were seeing them come from Moldova and Chile and France and even Canada! The point is, the more diverse the population, the bigger chance of infection.

Well, weren't a good number of neighbors infected?

Of course! But at least in appearance, the first wavers were running from the Z-heads, while the more recent refugees had the Rabies completely in the batch. It might sound stupid, but it made sense to some people. As a matter of fact, I was in the Cabinet room when they made the decision.

We decided to escalate the Ukrainian tactic. The Air National Guard dropped some clusters filled with whatever chemical weapons they had in store. And while we did expect a large number of them to reanimate, we didn't expect the situation to be that bad. I mean, estimates were that sixty nine percent of them became Zacks! Can you believe it?

So eventually, we saw that whatever forces we could gather couldn't halt the new swarms. They were worse than whatever we had at home. I don't know how the Israelis managed to sustain the quarantine... the point is, we knew that unless even more drastic measures were taken, we would be overrun. So that's when I wrote a report and handed it up the ladder.

I doubt that I was the first to come up with the idea, but I guess no one wanted to say it. The King was a bit upset at the proposition, but he knew he had no choice. He gave the authorization, and we carried out the airstrikes. The oil fields burned.

But it failed.

Well, yes... but it was better than total inaction. If there's anything we learned from this war, it's that you have to do something, no matter how slim the chance that it might result in any change.

[chuckles.]

I guess we'd never thought that futility was worthwhile.

 

[Israel]

Stanley, Falkland Islands

[Carlos Mortem never thought he'd retire here, but as an Argentine he was quite proud of this symbolic victory. He took a beer out of his cooler, and opened it with a conveniently placed corkscrew.

My brother fought the Brits here, as part of the Tenth Mechanized Infantry. He was captured, of course, and released after a peace was established with the new government. But he always liked to show off his battle scar, which was what prompted me to join the Gendarmería.

I was already a sergeant, and my unit was reassigned to the Triple Frontier. Man, I tell you, that place was a hellhole. You'd think that petty thievery in Buenos Aires or Mendoza was bad, you should have gone to Puerto Iguazú. Now, that was a really fucked up place.

Whatever there was to smuggle, it was there and it was in bulk: you wanted cocaine, go to Ciudad del Este in the Paraguayan sector. You wanted guns, go to Foz do Iguaçu in the Brazilian sector. You wanted people... well, you could get people from anywhere, couldn't you?

People smuggling: that was the clincher, wasn't it? And the organ trade, too. That was how the Rabies spread the most. Direct, physical infection. Either one guy would reanimate and bite you, or a doctor would slip in an infected kidney or liver. So it didn't take long for an epidemic to appear, but the higher-ups decided to put the lid on it. Because after all, peace of mind brought order, and whoever brought order would get the votes.

I remember this one time, we were on duty. It was already ten thirty, and we were pretty eager to return to the barracks when this truck appeared. Brazilian plates, and the driver spoke in a Portuguese accent though he looked more like a Pardo. He said he was bringing a shipment from Curitiba, and not for one bit did I believe him.

We begun to hear tapping from the cargo. He said that it was just pets in their cages: bunnies and puppies and whatnot. He pleaded that he had to get the shipment in by midnight or else he won't get his commission. And let me tell you, it wasn't that hot but he was sweating buckets.

So, he took out a roll of pesos, and told me that I should treat myself to something nice and let him be on his way. This was not unusual, of course. I'd estimate that by that point, a quarter of policemen and border guards in the Frontier were on the payroll of some trafficker or carteler.

Did you accept?

Well, yes... but as I said, it wasn't unusual. Besides, even if this one guy was a bum, he was obviously doing someone else's dirty work. If I caused trouble, people would notice, and they'd get me back for it hard. Do you know what they do to people who won't cooperate?

[He shudders.]

So we let him through. But before he went out of sight, I could still hear the tapping from inside. And between the roar of the engine and the tires screeching against the pavement, I swear that I heard a moan. I shuddered, and tried to pass it off as a girl drugged up, but by now I know what it really was.

[He sips from his beer.]

So, anyway, during the Panic we retreated from the Frontier, and later the coast as well. The government relocated to Salta, in the Andes. Eventually, I was reassigned there. Now, the valley part of the city was full of refugees from Chile, so there were plenty of Z-heads there. So the Cabinet stayed in the elevated parts, safe and sound.

Can you tell me about the Ortiz Protocol?

Our version of what they did in South Africa... the Something-Something Plan. Yes, but it was more like two birds with one stone: we needed to get rid of the refugees crowding the de-facto capital, and distract the living dead. So what better way was there than just moving the foreigners into the designated zones?

[Sips again from beer.]

I partook in the "cleanup." to my surprise, it went rather smoothly. The poor fuckers thought they were just being transferred to a safer place, when all they were was bait. So for the most part, they didn't make any trouble. Of course, there were a few who weren't so stupid, and holed up until we smoked them out. Many of them just tried to bribe us, or just carried a forged Argentine passport.

But it worked, and that's all that matters. Some say that our plan was especially immoral, because we were using refugees rather than just the people already there. I see it as practical and necessary, because after all it led to victory. Call me naive, but I prefer the punch line.

 

[Gog (♀)]

Very intriguing, one area where WWZ was espcially bad in was Africa outside of SA and other parts of Latin America. Will you change anything or keep to cannon?

 

[Israel]

Irkutsk, Holy Russian Empire

Mikuláš Radičová insisted he pay for lunch, and eventually I relented. The priest ate his fishcake rather slowly, appreciating it's every aspect. After he refreshed himself with crystal water, he put down his fork.

I was raised religious, yes. At least, as much as possible under Communist rule. My father was actually among the demonstrators who surrounded the tanks when they entered Prague. He always told me, "There is no Czech or Slovak: only man and God."

I never thought I'd leave Vlkolínec. Very old village, but it was my home nonetheless. It was a very traditional place, so I was respected to some degree. Cordiality was always maintained, the church would always be filled. I had everything I would have wanted there.

But it wasn't enough?

No, it was. I just felt that there was more I could do. No man is perfect, and no man can ever be fully complete. Well, maybe one man.

[He chuckles.]

So I went to Bratislava and told the bishop what I wanted. He concurred, and gladly assigned me to a missionary task-force headed for Cameroon. We "set up shop" at one of the camps in Gbiti. The people there were fleeing the civil war in CAR. I didn't care for the local politics, I just wanted to make sure every one of those poor souls were cared for.

It didn't take long for the infection to hit us. By some thick irony, it was the presence of armed militias that helped us contain it. You know, I always wondered why those UN observers didn't do anything to bring order to the camp. It must have been laziness, but I'm sure that they are using that as an excuse.

Eventually, there were too many outbreaks, and well, they needed their resources elsewhere so... they left. Didn't leave us with anything. I'm serious: they completely abandoned us. And as I said, they were good with excuses. But the fact of the matter is, they let us to the wolves without a second thought.

The local militias didn't really end their infighting. In their own words, they were only "not shooting at each other right now." but there was that, and they did help to stall some of the, um... Z-heads. But even that didn't last.

But the swarms, well, they only got bigger than bigger! I was surprised that the camp was so safe! I mean, I heard reports that others just blew up from the inside... but eventually, we were cut off. We weren't even sure that a government still functioned in Yaoundé... or anywhere, as a matter of fact.

There was this one man, Christopher. He was also a refugee, but acted as a leader in a way. He spoke with a certain elegance that reminded me of Alexander Dubček himself. He told us how to handle a gun, how to plant a crop, and even invented a new hand-to-hand combat method specifically designed for the living dead. It didn't catch, really, but it was quite effective.

Did he make it?

Yes, but I don't know where he is now. When we finally reestablished communication with the rest of the world, he decided he wanted to visit the Archdiocese of Armagh, where we built a refuge. He said that he wanted to help rebuild the world, to make a larger difference, you know... Catholic bullshit.

[He chuckles.]

I remember when one night, there was a girl, Mary, and she wasn't feeling well. Her mother was on patrol, and her father had his leg amputated a few months earlier, and was still getting used to his disability. So I offered to go get them some water.

At the stream, I encountered one of them. I could tell he was not human, despite the darkness. The odor was enough. I carried a handgun, of course. By that point it was out of the question not to. But ammunition was scarce, so I only had two bullets on me. And it was nighttime.

I removed the weapon and turned off the safety. I aimed, like during training. And I pulled the trigger. However, I only pierced the cheek, and the off-chance that it wouldn't lodge there didn't come to. And being one of the living dead, he was not deterred by my efforts.

[Sighs.]

For a moment there, I considered turning the gun on me. You could say it was due to the fact that I no longer felt faith that things would get better, that my expectations were previously too high, or any other assumption. I just... felt numb, as if all my emotions have purged themselves.

But no, I snapped out of the state and didn't miss that time. Quickly, I filled up the thermos and ran back to Mary's tent. She slowly drank, and a few days later she felt better. It was probably a fever, but our doctor was... no longer with us, so it was kind of hard to confirm.

May I ask, why did you move here?

The Church wants to expand their missionary base. Obviously, we were hurt severely by the outbreak and our newest doctrine is to restore faith: in God and in ourselves.

Honestly, I am not the most popular man here, being a Catholic. I thought that after such a catastrophe, all Christians, if not all people, could unite in the common cause of reconstruction. But I guess that will never be the case. I'll cover the bill.

[Later that day, Father Radičová was fatally shot on his way home. The police have closed the investigation, despite the insistence of his followers. Such for now, the perpetrator or perpetrators are still at large.]