A Bible For the Zombie Apocalypse

Chapter 9: Purpose

It's been 428 days since I was separated from my unit. I know this because every time the sun goes down I make a mark in my flesh to commemorate another day without them. I was unit leader. I would have given my life for each and every one of my team members. But the plague stole the soldier's platform for heroism! No lie--I would have happily died for them! But I never got the chance to dive in and take a bullet, or throw my body over a grenade to keep my brothers alive.

Guns don't work against a virus. Nothing we learned in all our military training would make a difference in fighting the plague. I watched helplessly as my brothers were all taken down. Every one of them succumbed to the disease. And when they reanimated, I put them down myself, for the health and safety of the others. It was down to just two of us when Rodriguez got sick. By then we both knew what was coming. He begged me not to let him live again as a plague victim--as a zombie. I kept my promise when he died. I put a bullet through his head. Then I waited for the disease to take me.

It never did.

By training I was a weapons specialist. As long days went by with no sign I'd caught the disease, I began to wonder what I should do with the time I had left--with the life I had left. Back then I was sure I would eventually face the virus myself. And at that point, I would certainly die. But what was I going to do to pass the time while I waited around for the infection to take hold of me?

I had too much time to think. I was completely alone, without any purpose or mission to guide me. Sure, I could put down zombies, but why bother? They were sick. They couldn't help it. Logistically, there were way too many of them. Worst of all: every infected I put down brought flashes of my own men to mind--men I loved.

Men I had killed.

Then one day a saying from a Staff Sergeant I'd trained under came to mind. "When you don't know what to do, do what you know how to do."

That's when I started thinking like a soldier again. Yes, I was alone, trapped behind enemy lines. I was never going to get back to my unit. But I could fight for what was left of humanity. I could honor the memory of my men by carrying on the job we all lived for.

How would I take the fight to the enemy? The same way I did before the apocalypse happened: as a weapons specialist. I began building a base of operations. At that point, I didn't have a specific operation in mind. I just started collecting and organizing weapons and ordinance, doing the job I'd been trained to do, a job I'd practiced all over the world.