World War Z_ An Oral History of the Zombie War ( PDFDrive )

beam.
The air was toxic with sewage, chemicals, rotting flesh…the gas masks were a joke, most of the
filters had long expired. We wore anything we could find, old military models, or firefighting hoods
that covered your entire head, made you sweat like a pig, made you deaf as well as blind. You
never knew where you were, staring through that misty visor, hearing the muffled voices of your
squad mates, the crackle of your radioman.
We had to use hardwired sets, you see, because airwave transmissions were too unreliable. We
used old telephone wire, copper, not fiber optic. We would just rip it off the conduits and keep
massive rolls with us to extend our range. It was the only way to keep in contact, and, most of the
time, the only way to keep from becoming lost.
It was so easy to become lost. All the maps were prewar and didn’t take into account the
modifications the survivors had made, all the interconnecting tunnels and alcoves, the holes in the
floor that would suddenly open up in front of you. You would lose your way, at least once a day,
sometimes more, and then have to trace your way back down the communications wire, check your
location on the map, and try to figure out what had gone wrong. Sometimes it was only a few
minutes, sometimes hours, or even days.
When another squad was being attacked, you would hear their cries over the radio or echoing
through the tunnels. The acoustics were evil; they taunted you. Screams and moans came from
every direction. You never knew where they were coming from. At least with the radio, you could
try, maybe, to get a fix on your comrades’ position. If they weren’t panicked, if they knew where
they were, if you knew where you were…
The running: you dash through the passageways, bash your head on the ceiling, crawl on your
hands and knees, praying to the Virgin with all your might for them to hold for just a little longer.
You get to their position, find it is the wrong one, an empty chamber, and the screams for help are
still a long way off.
And when you arrive, maybe to find nothing but bones and blood. Maybe you are lucky to find
the zombies still there, a chance for vengeance…if it has taken a long time to reach them, that
vengeance must now include your reanimated friends. Close combat. Close like so…
[He leans across the table, pressing his face inches away from mine.]
No standard equipment; whatever one believed would suit him. There were no firearms, you
understand. The air, the gas, it was too flammable. The fire from a gun…
[He makes the sound of an explosion.]
We had the Beretta-Grechio, the Italian air carbine. It was a wartime model of a child’s carbon
dioxide pellet gun. You got maybe five shots, six or seven if it was pressed right up to their heads.
Good weapon, but always not enough of them. And you had to be careful! If you missed, if the ball