Revenant: The Premiere Zombie Magazine

We are very pleased to announce a new serial zombie fiction story from writer Jenna Pitman.'Haven: The 9th Ring' makes it's debut at Revenant on December 15, 2007 and story installments will be run succesively each month.

By Jenna Pitman

Part I

What was I doing? Ah, now there is a question! Not a good one, mind you, but a question none the less. What was I doing when the dead came back? A little obscure, a rather… undefined question if you ask me. And I guess you did. What was I doing the moment they rose from their graves? What was I doing at the exact second they found me? Or did you mean what had I been doing with my life?

Oh well, guess it doesn’t matter that much. I can’t really answer the first question, no one knows when the first dead fucker clawed their way out of the earth or sat up on the coroner’s table. But the other two are much easier. I was at my home, a relatively secure facility, probably arguing with my dead-beat brother over the phone or nursing an unhealthy piece of machinery back to purring.

I don’t remember much, what good are memories like those when you’ve led a life like mine? But there are a few left, banal and dulled by time. I can share them if you’d really like…

It started with my dogs. I had two, big dogs, junk yard dogs. You never saw a shop like mine, the vehicles and mining machinery piled high along chain link fences, without at least a pair. It was the middle of the day but they both went nuts, growling and screaming, not really even barking. They sounded like the hounds of Hell; Cerberus and his three heads or Fenrir and Garmr straining for their gods… I’d never heard that sound from them before. But I’ve heard it many times since.

Then the groans began, those unearthly groans. There hadn’t been much media coverage up my way at that point, living in the middle of nowhere will do that to you, but I must have heard something and it stuck. I didn’t run out, I peered out the garage door with caution, my rifle already in hand. Three of them, eyes sightless but stumbling ever onward, ignoring the warning cries of Jaxx and Stella. One had a hatchet wedged between neck and shoulder, I remember that clearly, thinking how odd it was. All three wore blood and grime like badges of honor. I didn’t hesitate, not even a moment. I looked past them, directly behind the heads that hung stiffly at unnatural angles, and squeezed my trigger.

Crack, crack, crack!

I shot to kill. Headshots, all of them. I didn’t know how lucky I had been, no one really knew that it was only the head that did them in at that point. I was just thinking that the murderous dogs, “No Trespassing” signs, and razor-wire tipped fences eight feet tall were fair enough warning.

We left after that; me, Jaxx, and Stella. The dogs both sat in the front of the truck with me, as solemn and serious as I was. The three of us were a team. We were going to keep each other alive, to Hell with the rest!

It seemed Hell had raised itself to greet us instead. It must have shut its doors while none of us were looking.

I often ask myself why I left. That was the most uncharacteristic thing I think I’ve ever done, hauling ass out of that veritable compound. Maybe I was panicking with the rest of them. Sometimes I think that’s what it was, more and more often these days. When I’m feeling more realistic I tell myself it makes perfect sense. I was never a survivalist and I was never cared enough to prepare for the apocalypse. Sure, I lived behind fences but they were fences meant to keep scavengers and scrappers and angry motorists at bay. They weren’t fences built to withstand countless Roamers beating their decaying bodies against the links just trying to get in. And I didn’t have any food, enough to last a couple of days maybe, two weeks if I’d eaten the dog food. If I’d waited that long I don’t know what the world would have been like. As it was I feel as though my escape was narrow enough.

I learned a lot over the next year or so. I tried to make it on my own. That’s hard. It’s real hard. Even with the dogs keeping watch you can never really let down your guard. You’re always on edge with no one else to watch your back. Even I couldn’t handle it and I’d spent well over half of my life alone as it was.

So I tried to make it with people. I learned very quickly what to watch for. There were always one or two people in whatever group I joined up with ready to hand us all over to the Walkers, maybe not literally, but every time, without fail, someone was ready to set up a death trap for all of you. Often times it was altruism, but I saw plenty of insanity and self-interest in my time as well. Sometimes even curiosity. You know, even six years after the fact I still don’t know where they came from. And to be honest? I’m ok with that. When you’re running for your life who has time to sit and ponder the origins of your death’s harbinger? No one who survived.

I can’t tell you how happy I was when I found Haven. I was one of the first. We were three days out of our latest hole up; a big old house, probably an old railroad hotel. Some crazy fucker decided that his wife was outside knocking. His sister wouldn’t let the rest of us do him in. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he opened the back door and let them all in. For me, at least, it wasn’t. I took my two dogs plus the three more I’d collected and bolted, shooting anything that walked upright. I was so tired when I found the fire pit… I’m not sure I could have made it another round if it hadn’t been for Haven.

Haven was only one hastily erected wall at that point. There were only four other people working there, and two more dogs. Without a second thought I jumped in to lend a hand. Our furry sentinels worked to keep us posted should one of the Roamers stumble upon us. By the end of the day we had four serviceable walls. We sat around the fire feeling pretty good about ourselves, joking and talking, getting to know one another.

If we had known how it would turn out I don’t think we ever would have done it.

PART II

Those walls we built the first day stood for a week and a half. It was a relatively easy week, all things considered. We were out in the middle of nowhere. There was little reason for many Roamers to be out that way at that point. Of course we did see them. People ran to the mountains when the outbreak began. People who didn’t know the mountains, people who didn’t have what it took.

It’s a funny trait about people, when the chips are down and disaster looms large they always run to the wilderness as if somehow the lack of a population will save them. It won’t. If it’s not the Walkers then it’s the elements, the people, or even, yes, nature. Nature is not your Maltese puppy with the soft fur and big brown eyes or the goldfish in the bowl on your counter. No, nature is your Siamese kitten tearing the wings off a sparrow. Nature is the raccoon and heron swooping down to snack on the captive koi in your back yard. Nature is the grizzly snatching up a starving, spawning salmon when the fish is on the last leg of his exhaustive journey. Nature is the cougar crushing your body, launching itself from nowhere as you’re fleeing a group of Roamers.

That is the mercy people fled to as the cities became death traps and technology left us alone in the dark.

Our little group was reinforced as the months passed by. Slowly, slowly the numbers began to climb. We began a wider circle, with better materials and better knowledge brought to us by the new comers. This one could actually hold, could actually stand against a serious onslaught of Roamers beating themselves against the slats. At one point someone decided it would be best to sleep out of the grasping reach of Roamers and set up a platform in one of the trees. Soon we all had, it was such a great idea. The sky line of Haven was dotted with interconnected structures on platforms, built into the treetops.

When it was suggested that we begin making more rings around Haven no one protested. I don’t think we had any plans for them originally; it was simply a way to keep busy in the beginning. It turned out perfectly though, we needed the space when Haven grew. We needed a place to keep the dogs, a place to do repairs. We needed a place to grow and harvest food and a place to make weapons. Most importantly, however, was the fact that every ring added more separation from us and them, one last place to hold them at bay, away from us. Of course should they get in it was that much more between us and freedom. But we were all tired of running and we were ready to bet our lives that this protection would last.

And at first the break-ins weren’t uncommon, even there. We always had to have someone awake, watching for them and ready to raise alarm. We all lived in constant terror that one of them would get in. Every of us had lived through the experience dozens of times. You find a place to rest and just when you start to feel safe they break through. It was starting to become unthinkable that it would ever cease to be the pattern of our new lives. But every time that one of them slipped by us we got a little better, a little more efficient. We started to trust our fellow survivors more, less deaths, less emergency, more precision. Then they started to get in less. Once the eighth wall was erected they didn’t get in at all. Not until… well… later.

Gradually the outbreak seemed less horrific, it began to fade to the edge of our conscious and started to be just another fact of life. Sure it was a particularly bad one, not something we should ever forget completely, but while we were tucked inside the walls of Haven, high above the forest floor, we found it safe to fill our minds with less important things. Like wondering if our new friends would appreciate this red blanket we stole from an abandoned farm house or if Fredrick really likes Betty in that way. I guess that means that life began to shift back to normal, or as normal as it could be.

We would send teams out to gut homesteads, cabins, houses, mines, ranger stations, ranches, anything we could find. Sometimes the crews wouldn’t come back. Most of the time it was just one or two members who never returned, but it was so common for teams to find another cache of survivors that it would almost make up for the losses. We really did need the supplies those ventures provided and if a couple people had to die to get them it was just something we would have to learn to live with.

At least most of us felt that way. There had always been people who thought we should wall it up and never leave. Part of me had always felt like that too but since I was going through an uncharacteristically altruistic period, I chose to repair the vehicles and weapons to send more and more small gangs into the wilderness. Reality and logic dictated that it was the only option. We would have starved if it hadn’t been for these forays but there was still a part of you that screamed it was a foolish plan, it would kill us all. I just learned to tune it out.

Every night was a party. In the middle of the inner ring we would light a bonfire, even on the hottest summer months. Almost everyone could come; night shifts were unofficially scheduled to begin in the middle of it so anyone could get a chance to touch bases with almost everyone else inside Haven. It was a good time, a chance to kick back and connect. I never used to miss the bonfires; they were the most important part of the day.

Then last year something went wrong. I don’t know what happened and, truth be told, neither does anyone else. They got in, somehow. They got as far as the third ring before we managed to contain them. A lot of us died. There was nothing we could do to stop it and by the time we figured out where the breech was it was almost too late.

It’s a horrible feeling when your sanctuary is compromised. But not nearly as horrible as what was to come.

PART III

We used to burn anyone who died. It seemed the right thing to do since we didn’t want them around anymore and no one wants to ever be one of Them. It was the perfect way to say goodbye to a friend. We don’t do that anymore though. Not since They got in. We say that it will be alright, that this is what they would have wanted and that the risk is just too high. Never mind that there’s a fire in the first ring every night, never mind that the fourth ring had been built specifically for the purpose of cremation. No, we just say that the danger of the fire spreading is too great, it scares the animals too much. So now we just toss the bodies over the ninth fence.

I’m losing you though, I can see that. I’ll start over.

We turned on ourselves that night when They got in. They were stumbling around among us and we didn’t even care. Everyone was so fucking frightened but the fear quickly became anger. Anger was an easier emotion to deal with I think. There was so much to be furious about and it was so much easier to blame someone else than to finally admit that the world isn’t really ours anymore. There’s no such thing as a safe place. They are everywhere and They are us. Those soulless, foul things that haunt our every waking moment will be with us until there isn’t a single person left with a conscious thought in their skull. It’s not fair and it’s impossible to accept. So we passed the blame to someone easier to hurt. Ourselves.

Honestly? I don’t even know what set it all off; I was completely hopped up on adrenaline, smashing and shooting. I couldn’t even tell you when it ceased to be a Roamer’s head in my crosshairs and became a Thinker’s instead. It makes me so sick to realize that I was a part of that mob. That I did it just as much as any of them. I remember grabbing my rifle and standing up. I remember thinking that if I got to the furthest ring I could to try to hold back as many of them as possible so someone else could repair the breeches. Then I heard a voice shrieking that it was all someone’s fault.

I know why. It was all that stupid stuff. All that evil crap that makes us human; jealous, petty, competitive, scheming, lying, self-serving, backbiting bullshit. The things that made me keep to myself back Before, when I lived on my own. Before They came back. All those things I’d ignored, the cliques, the gossip, the scorn, the hierarchies, and snobbery. “She slept with him even though she knows he loves me!” “I’m the prettiest, aren’t I?” “How dare he get a promotion over me, I deserve it so much more!” “How can anyone possibly think that he’s the best? He fails in so many ways. Why doesn’t anyone care about what I do?” “I want so badly to fit in, maybe if I do this everyone will like me even I won’t like myself.” “Everyone else is doing it, it must be ok then.” All of that. You know what I’m talking about. We all have it, that animal part of us that takes over from time to time and makes us behave in such a disgustingly primal manner.

We started out ok, everyone pitching in like we should. Then stones began to fly. At first they were meant only for the Walkers but someone hit a Thinker. Then it all fell apart. Chaos erupted as the screams filled the air. Everyone was fighting everyone else. There would be pockets of people killing one another, then a Walker would come along and take a bite out of one of them and it would break up as they remembered what it was they were supposed to be doing. After the Roamer went down though they would turn back to each other. It was like we’d forgotten everything that had sent us out here in the first place. Like we had forgotten the camaraderie that had built this place, that had brought us together. Actually it wasn’t “like” we’d forgotten it at all. We had forgotten it. Completely.

The bonfire in the first ring was lit. It had been smoldering this whole time but we had neglected it and it had been starting to die. I guess someone thought it would be a good idea to bring it back to life. When we saw the leaping flames that was when the witch-hunt truly began. Our biggest scapegoats were selected, they were bound, hogtied really, and tossed in. We didn’t gag them or anything, just threw them in the fire. We kept it going as long as necessary, hurtling the insults and accusations into the flames the whole time. You couldn’t stop us. If you tried you were branded an accomplice and shared the fate. It only happened once. We all decided it was best not to question the mob’s ruling after that. It was their fault They got in. We kept saying that, forcing ourselves to believe it was true.

It smelled terrible. There had always been incense and perfume of some kind for our funeral pyres. There was none of that now. The stench of burning flesh was overwhelming but it wasn’t enough to drive us away. And the sounds… I still wake up hearing those sounds ringing in my ears. I can hardly thing about it. The worst part about it all is that I helped. I was one of those crazed maniacs who wrapped them up so they couldn’t move. I was one of the people who helped throw them to their death, who kept them there as they screamed in terror and agony. Me. I did that.
Those who managed to avoid the madness, the ones who really saved us from the Walkers, were shocked by what they found. As the sun rose I think the rest of us were too. I know that tempers run hot especially in close corners but this was a something more than that. We all said that it was all done for justice, it was only thing we could have done. If we hadn’t it would just happen again. That IS what we still tell each other if someone brings it up.

After that a group began to demand we elect leaders. People who would promise to protect us. Someone who would organize all of the labor in Haven, to keep things fair. Someone who would take responsibility for anything that went wrong. Not all of us thought this was a good idea but there weren’t really enough people who actively thought it was a bad plan so elections were held and a sort of mayor was selected. I know it was a pretty contentious race but I didn’t even vote. I’m too confused to care about any of that. I don’t really feel like I have much of a right to say anything about what is best for the community after that night. I try to keep those opinions to myself though. You never know what others will assume about such thinking.

The ninth wall went up shortly after that night. I guess that was a good thing. It has no doors and it contains a ring full of peat gravel, tin cans, and other pitfalls. Things to slow Them down and let us know if They’re coming. This is where I spend my days. I’m here alone save for one other woman who values conversations as little as I do and the pack of dogs we bring along to keep us safe. It’s the only place that feels right to me anymore. The only place that feels like home.
I still sleep in the first ring, I have to, everyone does. They say it’s best that way. I hate it.

Every night I dream that it will happen again. Not so much that They will get in, that is something I’ve started to accept as an unavoidable fact. No, I worry about what we will do next time.

PART IV

When I originally got here I began to reach out for the first time in my life. I found myself in meaningful relationships with other human beings. I actually cared about them and the silly details of everyday life. Then they got in and I pulled back. Suddenly I was an outsider again, watching everyone else live their lives through a filter of detachment and ambivalence. I no longer felt the need to share gossip over a watery cup of coffee.

As the year progressed those feelings intensified. Our suspicions of one another were strong enough as it was. That election did nothing but open the rift even further. Three different people ran for the privilege of being called Haven’s leader. It only lasted for about two weeks but the scars that remained were permanent.

That would be why I’m out here. Here, in the sun, in the rain, in the snow and in the fog. Every day I am out in the ninth ring. The final blockade that stands between us and the forest had no doors, no gates, no way out aside from going over or digging under. Neither of which were pastimes Roamers are particularly good at. That being said I should probably also mention that the other eight walls of Haven were made with solid slats of wood, with harvested metal, and with concrete. They’re actual barricades that someone could easily picture holding up against a mob or a stampede of mountain goats.

This last fence is not as sturdy. While it is seven feet high it was really just slapped together at the last moment with whatever scraps we had in storage. Bits of chain link, aluminum siding, barbed wire, plywood, anything that would work was latticed together and pronounced sufficient.

We’ve filled the 35 yards that span the ground between 8 and 9 with peat gravel and littered it with old pop and gas cans, pitfalls, bells, foil, whatever makes noise to alert us that they might have broken through. The nightly vigils posted on 8 continued but during the day? I’m Haven’s first defense.

Well, myself, another woman named Kathy and about thirty dogs. We spend all day digging holes, spreading the rocks evenly, checking to see there are no breaks in last ring. It is mind numbing work but that was exactly what I was looking for. I think it’s what Kathy was looking for too.

The dogs love it. They’re all the “extras” from the kennels in the third ring. I don’t know how many people used to be cat people Before but I can assure that now every Haven resident is a born again dog person.

I’m sure you know that Walkers kill everything they come in contact with. From elephants to insects everything they bite or whatever gets in the way of their blood dies. Naturally everything flees when they’re nearby. It’s something you can use to your advantage; when the birds fall silent and the insects disappear you know they’re close. Dogs are different though. If they’re alone, they’ll also bolt but if that dog is with one of us they actually stay and stand against them. Don’t know what it is. Maybe man’s best friend realizes that their evolutionary meal ticket is coming perilously close to loosing their place on the food chain or maybe we’ve just succeeded in breeding help so complete they don’t even think to leave us to our fate when they have the opportunity.

Whatever it is, our canine counterparts are one of the biggest reasons Haven ever came to be. They make the perfect guards, they have senses so extreme and sensitive we can’t even begin to imagine it. Dogs don’t change and that’s a threat that any human companion carries. No matter what you do or what is going on you always have to keep in mind that if anything goes wrong you could be staring at one of Them instead of a friend to watch your back.

Most of us brought dogs with us when we fled or at least collected a couple on our trip up here. There are dogs everywhere. I think everyone has one, sometimes two, dogs that are constantly at their sides. But there are more dogs here than people. Before the ninth ring was erected handlers used to take them out hunting and tracking. Now, since no one is permitted to leave, Kathy and I bring them out here.

You’d think we’d be on edge out here, so close to them behind such a shoddy excuse for a safety net but I don’t think we are. Personally I dread going back to my bunk. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’d rather take my chances with Walkers than spend time with my own species… I’m not sure it’s something I want to dwell on.

I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I’m not sure what else there is.

PART V

“Do you think things have been strange lately?”
We don’t usually talk when we’re out here. Well actually Kathy and I simply don’t talk in general. It was different that day. I’m not sure I can put my finger on exactly what it was, but Kathy was right. Something had been off recently and it was like no one wanted to admit that there was anything going on. The problem was I don’t think any of us knew what it was. These months have been tense but as far as I know none of us have done anything. We’ve all been a little too scared to.

“When did you go the bonfire last?” Kathy finally asked after I had stewed sufficiently over her last question and failed to comment.
“I don’t know,” I answered softly, “It’s been a long time. It feels like a lot of things have changed. It’s just not as fun as it used to be.”
She nodded and turned back to her shovel. Normally I’m not the curious type but it felt like there was something she was keeping to herself, something of importance. So I stopped working and stared at her. To her credit Kathy is a very stubborn woman. She ignored my gaze until I finally broke down and asked what this was all about.

“I think people are starting to disappear,” she said in a matter of fact tone of voice. Like it was something that happened every day, like we didn’t live inside an enclosed community with no way in or out. Like it was something we should have expected to happen.
I really didn’t have anything to say, just gaped at her stupidly. She continued to pay no attention to me, pulling more rocks from one location and dumping them unceremoniously at another then smoothing it down with the tip of her boot.
When I did find my voice it was far from profound, “What?”
Now she stopped, looking me straight in the eye, her face hard and serious, “I said, I think people are starting to disappear. They’re just not here anymore.”
“Where do you think they’re going?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged and turned away again. Obviously I was missing something.
“Well,” I struggled to find the right way to ask this, “What makes you say that?”
She snorted, “There are less people here than there were a month ago.”

At that point I lost my patience. I signaled to a group of dogs and walked away, full of confusion and frustration. If she wanted to play that game I would have nothing to do with it. If it were so important she could stand to be more up front with me, not treat me like some sort of lumbering buffoon.
Her words didn’t leave me so easily though. As I thought about it I realized that I had been seeing less people around. I’d just assumed that, like me, so many had decided it was safer to avoid the majority of the population rather than face what had happened. The explanation was reasonable enough but what if she was right? What if people were actually disappearing? You couldn’t just walk away from Haven and have no one notice. There hadn’t been many funerals lately either. I had managed to keep track of those.

“I’ve been lonely a lot lately,” she said when our work brought us back together. She acted like nothing had happened, “I’ve popped over to the fire pit a couple of times. There are never many people there, not that I expected there to be, but even less than you would think. I’ve listened to the conversations and it’s almost like they’re forgetting each other. I mean they all remember who is alive but I saw some people down there who are almost always attached to a roommate or love. I just sort of figured there must have been a falling out or something but when I would ask about it they would just look at me like I was crazy. I got a little nosey and started to poke around. So far there are ten whole people missing. People, who survived that night, people who supposedly haven’t died, people that everyone connected to them seems to have forgotten. Maybe I’m just going nuts and that’s why I remember.”

The fact was that I was starting to wonder if Kathy was crazy. I mean we’d been here a long time, surrounded by the same surroundings and the same people. I’d noticed a lot of us starting to crack. She sounded so earnest though, she honestly believed what she was saying. If I believed it too would it somehow make her saner? But I couldn’t stop asking myself what it would mean if she was actually on to something.
“So do you have any idea what’s going on?”

She shook her head, “All I know is that the only people who still attend the fires were the ones who voted. There are three different cliques, all divided along party lines, but they’re all there. The rest of us who don’t care just don’t bother showing up, at least not regularly.
“So you think it has to do with that?”
“I don’t know. I really have no idea. Do you believe me?”

Somehow, as she spoke, it began to make more and more sense. I’m not really sure what it was but I do know that whatever else, it was starting to become clear. Somehow my brain gripped onto the fragments of conversations I’d heard over the past few months, the things I’d seen peripherally but hadn’t cared about at the time. In my mind these incidents began to swirl together, forming theories and assumptions that all fit the pattern, no, not theories. This was what had happened. Suddenly I knew and the realization made me sick.
“We have to stop them,” I declared.
Kathy smiled, “Yeah, we do.”