Well, Dear Readers, it is with great sadness and great joy that I write you today. Since the last post, the very worst thing possible could have happened. Allow me to explain the details first.
Yesterday was, as most of you know, October 31st, or Halloween. Now, in the U.S. the least likely place to visit on Halloween is a cemetery. In fact, one might say that one of the few things people avoid most in the U.S. (besides black cats and strangers) is graveyards. Well, not here in the Philippines. So, as Matt, Roman and I piled into one of the monastic vehicles, we were told that we’d be celebrating with one of Roman’s Filipina friends and her family, on this, what would have been her father’s 100th birthday. See, dear readers, one of the great cultural differences is the celebration of the dead here in the Philippines. In the U.S. a family may visit the cemetery of their loved ones from time to time, but never would they celebrate at the site of the grave. Maybe they’d leave flowers, sometimes little notes or pictures of their loved ones, but never a barbecue. Families start going to the family plots and gravesites of their loved ones on the 30th, lighting candles and saying prayers. Then over the next two days (the 31st and 1st) most families will keep vigil over the sites. So, from midday on October 31st they’ll start barbecuing at the sight, will often times have priests give mass at the gravesite for the fallen loved ones, will burn candles and effigies, and will sleep out at the cemetery. Yes, there are droves of people that sleep overnight at the cemeteries.
So there we were with the family, about 35 total people in a shrubbier surrounding the family plot, a priest giving mass, praying, and celebrating. See, All Saints Day (and All Souls Day, for that matter) is a day of celebration. Families go to the cemeteries to celebrate life-theirs, and the lives of their lost loved ones. They go to remember, to show reverence, to pay homage. It’s a very intimate and spiritual experience. Then throw in a suckled pig, roast beef, and lamb chops, and you’ve got a real party!
Well, things were going fantastically and we were having a really incredible time, until just after lunch. Father Roman and I decided to wander around the plots for a while, just to see what else was around. There were families with screen tents and folding tables set up, actual tents set up, giant umbrellas and coolers and folding chairs-basically everything you’d take on a picnic or a day at the beach. There were even street vendors and booths set up, with places like KFC, Yellow Cab Pizza, and Burger King selling food all over the cemetery. Ridiculous, yes, but you know what, it was a time of celebration, so it wasn’t…that…irreverent…right?
Well everything was going incredibly swell, Roman and I were off walking around (Matt was still back at the plot), when literally out of nowhere a man came up to Roman and attacked him. We couldn’t believe it! Roman didn’t have a camera on him, he didn’t even have any money, but the man just starting assaulting him. Roman tried to push him away, and once the shock of it actually set in I came to the aid of Father Roman. We pushed him off of Roman, but he tried coming at us again. He didn’t have a weapon, for some reason he was just trying to hurt Roman. Finally, I managed to just push him to the ground and Roman and I took off at a very brisk pace, looking for one of the hundreds of security guards around the cemetery, hoping they’d help us. We kept up a face pace, but then all of a sudden Roman asked to stop. I obliged (I mean, he’s old and had just been attacked), but once we stopped he said he felt sick, that his neck was in horrible pain. I took a look at his neck (assuming maybe he’d been scratched), only to find out that it was worse. Roman had been bitten in the neck, bitten quite deep.
Naturally I started administering first aid. I administered direct pressure, had him lie down, and started looking around for a police officer or doctor. I was searching and searching, but still trying to hold pressure, when Roman began to speak, though speaking quite softly. He started saying that he had lived a great life, that he was happy about it. He said a few other things-some I heard and some I didn’t. And then he was gone. He had slipped off. I couldn’t believe it. Just minutes ago we had been joking about…who knows what now…but then in a matter of minutes he was lying on the ground, gone from us. Or so we thought.
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| Imagine yelling and screaming |
I got up to walk back to Matt, to the family. I was still in shock. I was inconsolable. I…well I didn’t know what to do. I just stood on the corner, trying to catch my breath, trying to come to terms with having just lost my friend, when I began to realize that there was chaos and panic all around me. People were running and screaming, the very cops I was looking for were yelling at the crowd, raising their guns and pointing into the crowds. But not pointing at crowds of people. I looked back to where Father Roman was lying- only Father Roman wasn’t lying down anymore. My worst fears had been realized.
How had I never prepared for this scenario? After all the research and studying and planning. After watching as many movies, after reading both of the handbooks on it. I suppose I had never figured I would have been in a cemetery, surrounded by tens of thousands of people when the zombie apocalypse actually began. It was the worst possible situation to find myself in- a giant, unfortified flat area, tens of thousands of people creating mass chaos, and the dead literally rising from their graves. In a matter of minutes the cemetery was coming back to life. So I did what I do best, what I had always planned to do. I put my survival plan into action-albeit altered due to the location, but into action nonetheless. I ran to the nearest mausoleum, one that was smaller (less bodies inside), and made my way inside. I took a quick count of my resources, only to find that all I had on me was some small bills, the clothes on my back, and my camera bag. But, thanks to the recommendation of one of the monks, I had just recently purchased a 9mm with 4 extra clips, which I had been storing in my camera bag while in the monastery. So, I now had a weapon, the mausoleum was clear of bodies already, so I began barricading it off. It had an exquisite iron fence- one that locked in place quite easily, and with that I had a shelter-for the time being. I just stood there, watching as bodies continued to crawl back out of the ground, as the tops of giant marble and granite coffins began to get pushed away.
I let a half hour pass, hoping that some of the chaos would be pulled away from my current stronghold, though I wouldn’t quite call it a stronghold, and I wouldn’t say the chaos had left. There were just so many people buried in the cemetery, which, I suppose makes sense being as it was the National Cemetery. But, in that time I had made some profound, and critical assessments. First off, these were not Rage zombies, or in layman’s terms, they could not run. This was substantial, because it meant that outrunning them was a possibility. Second, the longer they had seemed to have been decaying, the slower they were and the less powerful they were. Still, they were zombies, and there must have been a hundred thousand coming out of graves with tens of thousands of potential victims around the cemetery and 14 million around the city. All I could think about was getting back to the monastery, getting back to a place that I knew I could defend, assuming it was still defensible.
First things first, I’d need a vehicle. I tried to look around and see if any were preferable, but most had either been broken into already or would be poor travel vehicles. Then I saw it- the backhoe that dug the graves. Though it didn’t have much for protection, it was large enough that it would plow through anything in its way, whether it be walls, cars, or the undead. It was a pretty good distance away, but I think with my 9mm I could run over there without much trouble. So I took one last look outside the iron gate, opened it up, and took off at a run toward the backhoe. All around me people were yelling, but the yells of the humans were drowned out by the ever-present moans of the undead. I made it over to the backhoe, and in the process managed to preserve most of my first clip, most of it. Thanks to my experience at camp as a Junior Assistant to the Ranger, I had a bit of backhoe experience already. I hopped up into the cab, turned it on, and took off.
I made my way through the labyrinth of roads, graves, vehicles, and people, looking for a way out, avoiding as many of the undead as possible. As I drove around, I began to see hoards of the undead swarming around the mausoleums, where I assumed survivors were holding out, hoping for some miracle to save them. I felt bad for them, hoped that someone amongst them had read some kind of survival guide, had some kind of training to help them. I said a few quick prayers for their souls, but kept on. I tried to put them out of my mind, tried to keep seeking the exit, but it was difficult for me to just write them off, but just couldn’t do it. So, I turned around and headed back toward the mausoleum the undead had all begun surrounding. I figured that there must be survivors holed up in there. With a sweeping motion of the hydraulic arm I cleared a path in front of the door, bowling the undead over like pins, with a second motion I tore a hole right into the mausoleum’s front door, and dropped the bucked down right in front of the hole. I yelled to the people inside to jump into the bucket, I’d take them to safety. All told, I had 12 people in the bucket, with the bucket raised as high as it’d go above the ground. Now, with 12 other sets of eyes, we began looking for an exit. It seemed like I’d been driving for days, but when I looked down at my watch I realized that this all had only begun an hour ago, that it was still only 2 in the afternoon.
Finally, we found an exit, although it was crowded with vehicles, with people trying to escape the hoards, with news vans and their crews covering as much of the catastrophe as possible, yet still trying to avoid becoming one of the undead. I realized that there would be no way we’d be able to get through the gates. But, never fear, dear readers, because I just found a weaker looking part of the wall, raised the hydraulic arm, and plowed a new exit from the cemetery. The streets outside weren’t much better, off, but with the power of the backhoe we managed to roll over the smaller cars and with the arm push others out of the way. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for the 12 in the bucket, but the sheer fact that they were being saved, or at least were above the reach of the undead, must have been somewhat relieving. It was a 1 ½ hour drive with traffic from the cemetery back to the monastery, but with chaos, panic, and anarchy spreading amok, who knew how long it’d take.
We continued on, trying to find open spaces on the roads, hoping to make it to one of the freeways, hoping they weren’t congested yet. We found mild success, but progress was still slow. There were few pockets of survivors on the freeway; at that point, the undead hadn’t completely taken over the streets. The biggest issue was getting around, over, or through the cars that people had left on the roads or had stalled in the process of escaping.
Well, we started having a bit of a bigger problem- the sun was starting to set. It was still around 5:30, so there was plenty of time left to get to the monastery, and as far as I could tell, I was only about 40 minutes away, barring minimal issues. It seemed, though, that the road was starting open up, and the people in the bucket had begun complaining about the ride, that they couldn’t take the ride anymore. So, we began looking for an alternative mode of transportation. We continued driving, continued plowing a way, and then saw a construction site that was apparently closed down for the holiday. So, we pulled off the freeway, drove off to the site, and set up a quick perimeter. I couldn’t give up the backhoe, and thankfully one of the people in the bucket had driven a dump truck before. While the dump truck was a great find, the best find at the site was the crate full of dynamite.
Now that we had the full effect of the backhoe in play, it only took an hour and a half to get back to Mendiola. The street was, naturally, closed off, the gates in place, the barricades and barbed wire ready for what may come. But, we had to get into the monastery, I had to get back. I had no idea if Matt had made it out, but we always talked about how we would both try and make it back to the monastery, that we’d set up a stronghold there. I wondered if he had taken off running, if maybe his cross country experience in high school and college had paid off. I wondered if he had his .38 pistol with him. I kept thinking about Father Roman, wondering if he was still roaming about, whether he was still undead or just dead by now. How had it all come to this? How had this all started?
With the power of the backhoe I pushed right through the iron gates, turned the corner, and was at the front entrance of the college. The gates, too, were closed. We yelled to the guards, told us to let us in, but they only yelled back to go away. I told them that I was with the monastery, but they fired a warning shot back at me. So, I raised the arm of the backhoe and razed the gate to the ground, plowing straight through the wrought iron mess on the ground, the dump truck right behind me. Now I had a new issue, though, which was re-securing the gates. I jumped down from the backhoe, and finally the guards recognized me. I told everyone else to head as far into the monastic compound as possible, while I got out the crate of dynamite and began getting to work. There was now a 15-foot wide hole in the outer defenses of the wall, with who knows how long until the undead would arrive.
So, I did the only thing that seemed reasonable. I placed dynamite around the foundations of the building of the College of Law, the towering building that overlooked the now-worthless gate, and tied the fuses to one long fuse. I backed away, looked at the guards, and asked if they had a cigarette. One of the guards pulled out a pack of Mild Sevens, passed them around, and gave me a lit. I took a long, deep inhale, felt the smoke enter my lungs, felt the stinging in my throat, and said, “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” With the lighter I ignited the fuse, turned, and took off to get as far away from the blast as possible. As I ran, I felt time slow down, I felt as though I were running in slow motion. I flicked the cigarette off, looked back one last time before the blast, and jumped behind a campus bus that was parked in the adjacent lot.
No one could have expected the blast that ensued, could have prepared for the rubble and debris and the shock wave that came with that much dynamite, with that large of a building. But, when all was said and done, the explosion happened, and the building collapsed. We rushed forward, me with my 9mm in hand, down to the last clip after all the driving and fighting and surviving. But, the explosion had done the trick, and some. The hole in the outer wall had been completely filled by the rubble and debris, and in the process had reinforced the remaining parts of the standing iron gates. No one would be getting in now. Those gates were indestructible. Now my only hope was that Matt had made it in before I had. Again, false hopes.
We made for the inner walls of the monastery, began pulling the barricades shut, began closing and locking all the iron gates around it. They weren’t much, but at least they were something. I led the survivors into the monastery, and got them into the upper levels. I began looking around for the monastic community, wondering where they were, wondering if they had fled or were in hiding or…or where they went. I yelled for them, I yelled for Matt, but with no reply. Then, a door creaked open, and inside was the rest of the community.
Eleven. There were only eleven monks left. The rest had gone out, some to fight, some to help the dying. The only ones left were those too young to go, those too sick to go, or those too old to go. And so, with the eleven remaining monks, the twelve survivors from the monastery, and the three security guards, I began setting about the master fortification plan. We barricaded all stairways, all doorways. We collected all non-perishable goods from the pantry and kitchen. We collected all firearms from the guard station, and all potential weapons around the rest of the compound. Still, no Matt.
Two days had passed. Still, no Matt. I was beginning to lose hope, beginning to move on. Then, on the third morning since the outbreak, we heard a lot of shooting and a loud explosion outside. I raced up to the bell tower, looked down onto the street, and saw Matt racing through the abandoned cars and shops. He had blood streaking down his face, was covered in dirt and blood. But, he had made it back. Again, we had planned for this scenario, we had planned for an outsider in need of rescue. So, I tied the rope to a sack of rocks, looped the rope around one of the posts in the bell banner, and threw down the rope. I fired a shot at Matt, trying to get his attention. He looked up at me, aimed his AK47 at me in return, but then lowered it.
Instead of a bullet, I got a large, battered smile from him. I winked at him, beckoned down to the rope, and got the rocks ready to toss down. He ran up to the rope, but not before depositing a few more bullets into the brain of a few undead chasing him, put his foot into the loop at the bottom and grabbed the handhold further up. I threw down the rocks, and using an ancient, and crude pulley system, Matt was rocketed up to the bell tower. As he got up to the top I reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him in. Ironically, as he made it to the top the rocks reached the ground, but not before crushing a zombie on the way down. We cleaned him up, fed him a bit, and heard his story, which can be found here:
He had called in an elite fighting force, the Protectors of Eternal Death, who came to our full aid within a matter of days. We held out for two weeks, with enough food and water to last another 4 months. Thankfully, after those two weeks, a U.S.-led NATO force entered Manila, regained the city, and stopped the spread of the virus. After a two week vigil in the monastery, we were relieved, and began cleaning up after the destruction and chaos. To our surprise the monks all returned safely. It turns out they’d just been on vacation in the southern islands of the Philippines, all of which had remained untouched by the undead.
So, after all this, on Tuesday November 2nd we went SCUBA diving, my first time. Hope all is well, dear readers!
