Transcribed from Brien's digirecorder

I have taken to talking into this digital recorder at all hours. There’s no one around here to talk to, and I feel less crazy if I speak into this mic than if I just mutter to myself. That being said, I don’t know if anyone will be around to transcribe this.

This sucks.

Okay. Time to get organized.

This is Brien dictating on February 27, time unknown, maybe late morning. And it’s the fifth day of the plague.

Things I am out of. Freeze dried lasagna. Batteries. Water bottles. Plastic bags to defecate in. I just watched the last syringe of my medicine (“Keep refrigerated. Do not freeze”) turn an alarming greyish color, so I think I have taken my last injection of that stuff. Also out of cat food. Not for me, for the cat. Yin has been a real trooper through this whole thing. Low on drinking water, MREs and pistol ammunition.

I am not sure how I made it this far. This apartment isn’t very secure, certainly. Maybe because I have always been the quiet neighbor. And evading the plague victims, it is easier in some ways than evading a rational human opponent. The plague victims don’t seem curious about the pile of plastic bags forming beneath my window, three stories down. Or the liquefying body of one of their own down the hall. It would be the world’s simplest ballistics exercise to track the path of the bullet that killed (?) him back to my door. But no, they seem to be very incurious.

Most of my neighbors fled. Or died. Or both. I decided to take a strategy from Ragnar Benson’s book “Urban Survival” and hold in place for a while. A few days ago I decided to explore plan B, which was to drive to my folks' place in the country. The streets were clear for a moment. I got to my car and turned the ignition and it would not even turn over. That got me worried. On top of the plague, has there been a nuclear war? Did an Electro-Magnetic Pulse take out my starter? I was bashing my forehead on the steering wheel when I noticed. I had just left the lights on.

This being downtown, there are a heck of a lot of plague victims walking around. Not many in the street right now. Mornings there are fewer of them about. They appear in ones or twos, and then dozens.

Well it is time for plan C. I remember back in the good old days when there was light and heat and water out of a faucet, and no danger of being set upon and devoured by a neighbor or someone who used to, say, cut your hair or make your coffee… I remember a game night over at Adam’s. And one of the games, I kid you not, oh unknown future transcriptionist of these words, was “Last Night on Earth.” It was a fun little bleakly humorous game about surviving a zombie uprising. Pick the building where you want to get weapons and make a stand against the pawns of the Zombie player. Discussion on the side turned to where, in real life, if such an event came to pass, HA HA, you would want to hole up.

And they said something about the zoo.

Journal Entry #4

My thoughts meander a bit today as I think about how different, and yet oddly similar, my life is to the days before zoopocolypse. I live in a zoo now. There would have been a day in the past that this would have seemed like the most amazing idea. I guess I just wish the circumstances were different. Tom, Cory, and Ian are all here with me. I have my persistently amazing dog with me. And some good company. Shortly after arriving here, found her way to the zoo. Then Jared, and now Brien. That makes seven. I miss some of our other friends. I miss regular contact with family members. I miss coffee shops, thai food, and being able to walk around the city without being on alert the whole time. It's exhausting to always be switched on.

Code Boris

We call it a Code Boris, named after one of our four polar bears. Their exhibit is recessed into the ground from the keepers' perspective, with a broad window and viewing area below ground for visitors. The first time a Code Boris happened, it was entirely accidental. I was kneeling above the bears' exhibit, examining the hot wire and wondering whether we could turn it off to save energy without suffering any unfortunate consequences, for instance, loose polar bears. Distracted by the thought, I rose from my knees and took a step backward into the tall grass, to better envision the perimeter minus the hot wire.

My foot made something go squish.

I skillfully gasped and began to choke on my own spittle. Meanwhile, the previously obscured prostrate zombie, whose forearm I had just stepped on, snatched a hold of my shoe and I fell forward with my torso hanging over the edge of the polar bear exhibit. I could see the oldest of our four bears, Boris, flopped on a smooth rock, lazily observing this interaction. I grabbed my two-way radio from my belt, kicking wildly and managed to blurt deliriously, “Boris!” before my radio clattered down onto the ground next to Boris. He eyed me in an unconcerned manner, and sat up.

What saved me that day can be attributed only to what must be the happiest coincidence ever to grace the polar bear exhibit. Just as my distress call squawked over their radios, Adam and Ian, for no particular reason, were strolling past the arctic fox den, immediately adjacent to the bears.

Having heard my own voice repeated on their radios, I knew someone was close enough to hear me scream. “Open the door!” was all I could muster before my wrestling match with the zombie predictably rolled us both right over the edge and into the polar bear exhibit. Fortunately I landed on the zombie. All at once I tore free of the vice-grip hold and charged toward the keeper door, glancing behind to see the bear who was surely barreling down on me by now.

But he wasn't.

Boris had launched himself from his rock, but stopped abruptly when he saw me bolting across the exhibit. I do not flatter myself that Boris recognized me and decided to let me live. More likely, the sight of me on the same side of the barrier as he was puzzled him so thoroughly that it bought me time to reach the door.

Adam and Ian reacted perfectly. Upon hearing my distress call, Adam ran up the grassy slope to the hill where I had been attacked, while Ian burst into the keeper area behind the bears' dens. Adam radioed, “Now!” and Ian slid the door open just as I came within three feet of the door.

Safely behind the keeper door, I turned back around, half expecting to see Boris plowing through after me. But Ian had swiftly slammed the door, and regardless, Boris was busy. Eating the zombie.

Once I assured myself that my heart had not exploded and all of my limbs were intact, the three of us watched Boris is amazement. An idea was born.

A Code Boris works like this: if any survivor sees a zombie or carrier on zoo grounds, we radio “Code Boris” to signal everyone to their stations. I'm the bait. This means that I lead the intruder toward the grassy bluff above the polar bear exhibit, toeing the line between getting caught by the zombie and getting too far away, thereby discouraging the chase. If things get too hairy, one of our three snipers, Adam, Tom or Cory, strategically posted alongside the pathway, can intervene. When all goes well, I lead the unfortunate sack of zooplankton to the edge of the exhibit and just before I'm caught, I ensure that both of us plummet into the exhibit. Ian meets me at the door and the bears get a new chew toy.

Sure, it seems dangerous, but we've rehearsed and perfected the operation. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels a surge of adrenaline when “Code Boris! Repeat: Code Boris!” squawks over my radio. Let's just call it “enrichment.” Plus, we're really saving on polar bear food.

Separation Anxiety

I've put it off long enough. I know I need to explain what happened to Jared. When news of the first victim in Washington state broke, we gathered our supplies, packed our vehicles and prepared a shelter on the roof of our apartment complex. We planned to wait out the mass hysteria, separate to meet our families and then bring them all to the Point Defiance Zoo. Jared's parents live in a little farming city called Quincy on the east side of the state, so he had much farther to travel. He left me on the roof after three days with a promise to meet me at the zoo.

Hindsight is a bitch.

We should have gone together. Amidst the chaos, trying to coordinate a rendezvous and journey to Tacoma, the plan seemed efficient and even reasonable. On the fourth day I embarked alone, accompanied only by a brick of anxiety in my gut, increasingly losing faith in our arrangement. But despite my reservations, I followed the plan, knowing that if I didn't, the chances of finding Jared again would be essentially zero.

At best a trip to Quincy was a reckless undertaking and at worst, a death sentence. He told me he knew he would make it there and back to Tacoma with his parents just a day after me. He told me he knew I would be strong enough to get to the zoo alone. When someone you love says something with such passionate confidence, you believe it. You would be your whole tenuous, zombie-infested life on it.

And he never arrived.

Animal Resources

The Kids' Zone animals at the zoo provide us with a number of useful and sustainable items. The ducks and chickens lay eggs for us to eat, while the Madagascar hissing cockroaches and giant African millipedes are breeding well enough that we can feed them out to many of the other animals. Mmm, cockroaches. I also am trying to persuade the goats to breed so we will have some milk goats as well as some meat goats. Currently we are all chock full of Omega 3 fatty acids because the Rocky Shores 90,000 pound capacity freezer is full of fish for the otters, seals and polar bears. That's a lot of herring.

Adam's pit bull, Arraya, skillfully keeps rats away, but I managed to trap one yesterday and I set up an enclosure for him in the feeder animal breeding area next to the millipedes. If I can catch another few, we should be able to maintain a population of rodents to keep feeding out to the birds of prey and the reptiles once we've run out of the frozen ones in our commissary.

To adequately feed all of the herbivores, we've planted crops in the landscaping. We're looking forward to carrots, squash, beans, onions and lettuce. Of course there will be timothy hay and alfalfa for the elephants, anoa, muskoxen and reindeer, too. Part of the Point Defiance Zoo's appeal as a refuge lies in its enormous warehouse of a commissary. The stores of dry goods, frozen foods and produce can support us until all of our sustainable projects are fully operational.

An unexpected boon of claiming the zoo for our new community is the cafe. Not only do we have the soups, coffee, french fries, hamburger buns and and hash-browns from the cafe freezer, but we have access to the fryer, ovens, espresso machine, and an array of seasonings.

Waking up at 5am, listening to the gibbons' trilling duet, and starting the day in good company over good coffee, I am more convinced each day that we chose the right place for sanctuary.

Journal Entry #2

Journal Entry #2

The internet, television shows, annoying spam emails, social media...They are all still here. Electricity is still active here. Well it's the zoo. I think Suzanne mentioned that it has back up to ensure that the animals can be taken care of. But on our few trips out in to Tacoma we found that energy abounds. It's weird and even creepier than if it were all off. So many of those movies and shows I watched about the end of times depicted this waterless, black, technology void. Instead, it's lush and green. Plant life seems to have been waiting for the day for humans to drop in numbers. Maybe zombie flesh is good fertilizer because it's like a jungle out there. Vegetation eagerly reclaimed areas where humans were no longer treading. And stores are still lit up. Music still plays in grocery store aisles. Websites still work. I can still watch my favorite kid's cartoons online. Or rewatch the last season of all my favorite television shows. When I'm bored and desperate for hope I check my phone in hopes that someday a notification will show up letting me know that people are out there. Instead, I see Facebook with no posts. Like an epitaph of all of its users. Emails from spam bots. But no real contact. News sites are still showing the same crap they were when the last of their employees stopped updating. Many of them now just reel please for help or share information about what little we knew about the zombies at that time. Others switched off and left notes to loved ones with addresses to meet up. The more resilient sites posted addresses for government noted safe zones or protection camps. Protection camps. That is a story all it's own.

-Adam

The Ark

Despite humanity's near-extinction, the fauna around Tacoma, Washington doesn't seem to have suffered much. Point Defiance park still provides shelter to racoons, deer, fox, plenty of avian species and an occasional coyote. Scientists discovered the zooplankton that causes this catastrophic disease are restricted to human hosts. Lucky us.

Most of the zoo animals made it through the days of rioting and pillaging following the outbreak, and now my days are spent caring for them. Fortunately, as an employee of the Point Defiance Zoo, I know where the keys to the enclosures are, where the supplies are kept and a good deal about animal husbandry. So absurdly, here in this distopia where only five humans survived, we have two elephants, four polar bears, four tigers, two camels, a herd of reindeer, a troop of lemurs, a pack of wolves, a flock of penguins, and the list goes on...

Sometimes I sit on the sand in the meerkat exhibit, watching the little rascals scurrying in and out of tunnels. I tell them they are lucky to have their family alive, healthy and close enough to curl up next to in the dark. None of their friends, neighbors or acquaintances began to lose control of their muscles, erupted in glistening pustules or hung themselves to avoid a worse fate. The meerkats carry on, oblivious.

The animals know there have been changes, though. They at least know that all familiar keepers are gone, replaced by this one small and frazzled woman. I spend my free hours studying the volumes from the zoo library, learning all I can about caring for the animals who weren't my charges before this disaster.

I used to be a trainer for the animals who performed in the shows, so I like to bring a friend when I study. A parrot, an iguana, a porcupine or a hawk might pour over the books with me, each commiserating in his own way. When the zoo was operational, of course I would never have taken a lynx into the library while I read about the diets of exotic hoof-stock, or allowed a tortoise to march authoritatively beneath the conference room table during a meeting.

But I threw those rules out when it seemed all of humanity needed to begin again. I find comfort in the animals' undisturbed rhythms, the puffins preening and nesting, the harbor seals diving and drifting. Now most mornings I rest my head on the stubbly side of a dozing tapir and stare up at a tree where two little apes sit together, their lanky arms entwined, and hope that my mate, wherever he is, is safe.

Approved Safety Protocols

Personal Safety Referendum Passed:

Survivors must carry at all times:

Two-way radio

Firearm/weapon of choice

Liquid sanitizer and disinfectant (see Appendix A for usage protocol)

Appendix A: Cleaning Agents:

Chlorahexadine* (1:1 ratio with H20)

Zeppadine* (1:5 ratio with H20)
Bleach* (do not dilute)
Hepastat* (1:10 ratio with H20)
Disintigrator* (1:100 ratio with H20)
Bar soap
Hand sanitizer
Lysol

Detergent

*agents approved for decontamination purposes

Decontamination Protocol:

If a survivor comes into contact with fluid from a contaminated being, follow these steps: 

1.  Pour an approved cleaning agent (see above) directly onto the site. Allow agent to stand for at least ten minutes. If it burns—too bad.
   Rinse thoroughly with water.
2. Repeat steps 1 and 2
3. Report the incident to the Executive Director.

Individuals coming into contact with contagions will be monitored in Animal Quarantine for at least 48 hours. Follow all quarantine protocols until all suspicion of infection has passed.

If the quarantined individual displays symptoms of disease:

     1.  Call emergency meeting of the Congress of Survivors
     2.  Present medical records as evidence of contamination
     3.  One member of the Congress shall be elected to euthanize the infected individual.

Resource Management

Items to Inventory:

Dry goods (packaged animal foods, canned goods)

Produce in commissary fridge

Meat in commissary freezer

Fish and meat in Rocky Shores freezer

Weapons and ammunition

Energy: Batteries, fuel, solar panels etc.

Cleaning supplies
Medical Supplies

Journal Entry #1

Journal Entry #1

I remember the conversation well. Like all too many dinners I've had with friends, the general conversation meandered its way through video games, current life events, and ended up with zombies. Suzanne, Cory and I were conversing over Mexican food when the topic came up. We rambled through ideas about who would do what, and where would go, and how we'd respond. You never think it will happen. How many "what if" conversations have I had in my life? Why did this one have to be the one that overcame the odds? Zombies. Ugh. Even as a kid they terrified me. But that unintentionally useful conversation saved our lives.

-Adam

Meeting Agenda

First Congress of the Last Survivors

 

In Attendance:

Adam: Executive Director

Cory: Resource Management

Tom: Medic

Ian: Tech Support

Suzanne: Zookeeper

Everyone: Zombie Patrol

(Arrayah: Watch Dog)

Priority Actions:

Blockade roads leading to the zoo; secure all perimeter fences, gates, turn-styles

Clear zoo grounds of ….human debris

Inventory

Shooting instruction for Suzanne and Ian

Fuel and food ration calculation
Animal population assessment

Write emergency protocol, decontamination protocol