Dear reader:

Please note that I do not own the concept of WWZ, nor any of the characters. This story is not intended to generate revenue, it was simply for my enjoyment to write and hopefully, for your enjoyment to read. That said, I present my little tale...

Prelude

Mr. President, I know that some members of your cabinet feel that the time you granted me to interview the subject of this report was time wasted. It is my belief that reading the transcript will prove that this time was both well spent and worth the other loss we sustained. Before I continue with this report, perhaps some background will be useful for future readers, who may not be familiar with the circumstances which led up to this issue.

During the Great Panic, when the U.S. Government retreated west of the Rocky Mountains, the majority of our population found itself stranded in what became known as the Grey Zone. In numerous areas, people banded together and attempted to survive the undead onslaught. One of the largest such enclaves, in area rather than population, was the Black Hills Region of South Dakota and Wyoming. Unlike most isolated areas which managed to survive the infestation, the Black Hills region wanted nothing to do with the U.S. Government, even going so far as to declare independence shortly before we initiated our offensive. The resulting campaign to pacify the Black Hills was brutal, bloody and ultimately costly for our efforts to retake our nation.

The losses we sustained and the damage we inflicted led me to question how a region as loyal and patriotic as the Black Hills could turn against our nation. The trials held for the captured members of the Black Hills Defense Force provided few answers, as the courts and tribunals were more interested in demonstrating swift and public retribution against those who would turn their backs upon their country than finding out just why they did so. Still, since many of the world's regions remain isolated by the undead hordes still infesting our planet, I was determined to find out why this battle took place, so that I could help avoid similar tragic incidents. It was only after the tribunal declared the death sentence that I obtained permission to interview the highest-ranking fighter to be captured alive. In return for his honest answers, the courts agreed to execute him quickly and privately, avoiding a public spectacle.

I am withholding the interviewee's name, as he has proven to be a highly controversial figure in the aftermath of the Black Hills revolt. As I do not wish to create a martyr, or bring public retribution upon his family, I shall refer to him as "Mr. M". Before the Great Panic, Mr. M had lived a quiet, productive life in Rapid City. At some time before this, he had served a single enlistment in one of the armed forces. As a leader in the Black Hills Defense Force, he gained a reputation for reliability and competence, rather that bravado and flair. His forces succeeded in holding off the undead hordes while sustaining minimal casualties. The commanders who found themselves fighting his forces during the conquest of the Black Hills report that while he was an unimaginative leader, he was competent and determined. It was with this background knowledge that I interviewed Mr. M. The following pages hold the transcripts of our interviews. Please learn from them whatever you can…

Chapter One, Abandoned.

Despite the fact that my Marine guards assured me that Mr. M has been a model prisoner, I confess to some nervousness as they lead me into the stark room. The only furnishings are a single table with chairs on opposite sides. Before I can take a seat, a door on a wall opposite the one I entered opens to admit two more guards with Mr. M. The guards don't even bother shackling the prisoner, allowing me a few moments to study him. The only way that I can describe him is…average. Despite the remaining rebels' insistence that he is a hero and the prosecutor's efforts to portray him as a villain, he presents a very unremarkable appearance. His only distinguishing characteristic is his missing right arm.

"Disappointing, isn't it," Mr. M remarks, as the guards exit.

"I don't understand."

"According to the prosecutor, I'm a bigger threat to mankind than Adolf Hitler and Swine Flu combined. Instead, I look like some guy you'd see picking up birdseed at the local hardware store…at least a few years ago. I get the same look from everyone, the first time they see me." He offers a bitter chuckle, "You'd think someone who, and I quote, turned upon his nation as it attempted to pull the human race from the depths of despair, would look a little more evil, don't you?"

"I take it you disagree with the prosecutor's charges?"

"And the court's findings," he agrees. "Of course, that doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Please be seated."

[Mr. M takes his chair.]

"Do you understand the scope and purpose of this interview?"

"You want to understand why I became a traitor," he replies. "You want to understand why I, and those who stood with me, decided to walk away from the U.S. government."

"Correct, and do you know why I'm trying to determine this?"

"I guess you want to make sure you don't screw up again," he shrugs. "Of course, does that mean you want to know how to be more careful with your propaganda…or actually change your actions?"

"That isn't for you to question. We have a deal, are you going to honor it?"

"Of course I will. What do you want to know?"

"Let's start at the beginning, the great panic. The Black Hills region survived the panic in better shape than most places. Why was this?"

"Pure dumb luck."

"Elaborate," I instruct, after he makes no indication that he intends to give me a further explanation.

"Fine," he grumbles. "I guess you could say that three things helped us to weather the storm better than most. The first was our population. Most of the Black Hills communities were small enough that the residents knew each other…at least casually. This meant that we knew each others daily routines, so when our neighbors started to get infected, we realized that something was wrong with them and checked on them. We were also small enough that the government's cover stories didn't quite ring true." He chuckles and shakes his head, "we aren't the smartest people in the world but we're not that clueless. When you notice your neighbor hasn't left his house for a couple days, you go over to check on him. When you look in the window while you're walking up to his door and notice a body, you call the police. When the police show up with some suit tagging along, you take note of it. When they go in and you hear gunshots, you remember it. When more suits interview everyone in the neighborhood and give you some story about an epidemic, after you heard the shots, you know the suits are feeding you a bunch of crap. When you notice more cops, and more suits, entering more houses, you start to talk with your neighbors, friends and relatives."

"So the small population was the key?"

"We had a small population, but not too small. We weren't so small that we were overwhelmed when Zack showed up. I guess you could say that we were small enough to know something bad was happening before it was too late, and big enough to do something about it."

"That's the first advantage. What's the second?"

"A fairly large percentage of us were armed. I'm not saying that we were a bunch of Hollywood stereotyped survivalists; we weren't. A fairly large segment of the population hunted, indulged in occasional target shooting, or had done so at some time in the past. Because of this, a lot of us owned firearms, even if they were stored in a basement or attic and hadn't been fired in over a decade. A former marksman can become a current marksman much faster than someone who has never handled a firearm can. Don't get me wrong, we weren't a bunch of Rambo wannabes just looking for an excuse to start shooting. In reality, we were a bunch of people whose fathers, uncles and brothers had taught to handle firearms safely and effectively. Additionally, a fairly large percentage of the male population was a veteran of one of the armed services. It's a lot easier to organize a bunch of former soldiers into a paramilitary force than a bunch of folks who have never served in uniform. A lot of us were out of shape and had left military discipline behind, but it didn't take us long to snap back into shape when we needed to. When we finally realized what Zack was all about, it didn't take long for us to form armed bands, who were actually more dangerous to Zack than to each other."

"Okay, familiarity and ownership with weapons. What's the third factor?"

"Most residents lived a simple life, which made us just a little better equipped to handle the aftermath than most areas. I've read some of the reports from areas that were overrun and later rescued and I believe the findings…that for every person Zack killed, at least fifty people died of starvation, dehydration, disease, exposure…you name it. Zack was bad enough but when he broke down our society, we found out that we weren't prepared to live outside of a society."

"And you were prepared?"

"I'm not saying we were prepared…I'm saying that we weren't as unprepared as a lot of other areas happened to be. Put it this way, a plumber who plants a garden in his back yard every summer, goes fishing every once in a while and maintains his own house is a lot better prepared for that kind of breakdown than an investment banker who lives in a high-rise condo, hires professionals to fix his possessions and whose idea of a good time is visiting an art exhibit. Most of the residents were blue collar sorts, which meant that even those who didn't have a job that gave them useful survival skills still had to do a lot of their own upkeep…which was valuable experience in and of itself. Even those of us with a white-collar job worked directly with the blue-collar bunch. We managed the workers…we didn't manage someone who managed someone who managed the workers. This meant that most of us were prepared to handle the tools and do the work that needed to be done when the electricity went off and the grocery trucks stopped running."

"The proper population size, familiarity with and ownership of firearms, and basic skills. Do you think that's what allowed the Black Hills region to survive more or less intact?"

"There was more to it, but those were the big reasons."

"In that case, why don't you describe the great panic and the events that led up to it?"

"It's a pretty long story."

"We have a pretty long time."

"Okay, where do you want me to start?"

"At the point that you understood the gist of the outbreak."

Mr. M squirms in his seat for a short time, with his eyes closed in deep thought. "Okay," he finally says. "There are both advantages and disadvantages to living in flyover country. The disadvantages are that when it comes time for distribution, we're pretty much at the end of the list. The population is small, so it doesn't make economic sense to…say, play a concert in Rapid City as opposed to Denver. This extends to government action, as well. Both South Dakota and Wyoming only had three electoral votes, so it didn't make much political sense to make sure that…for example, Lead, Deadwood and Newcastle receive prompt shipments of the latest flu vaccine. All of that miracle vaccine, Phalanx (he chuckles bitterly when stating the name) went to the population centers. What sane politician would distribute the life-saving medicine around the Black Hills, when the residents of New York, Chicago, Los Angles and Miami…as well as their votes and dollars, needed the reassurance?"

"Of course, that same delay can become an advantage," he continues. "Bad movies flop before they get to the local theater, one-hit wonder entertainers burn out before booking the nearest showground, quack medicine usually gets exposed before any of the locals start to depend on it and legitimate doctors usually get a grip on various diseases before they reach the backwater locations. In a way, the Solanum virus ran the same course as HIV."

"How was that?"

"I'm old enough to remember the earliest days of the AIDS scare. Back then, nobody knew what it was or how it spread, only that it was a death sentence. Nationwide, blood banks were in crises; not because donors were worried about contracting it but because they were saving their blood for friends and family, in case one of them needed an emergency donation. Nobody trusted the blood supply. By the time the first case of AIDS was confirmed in South Dakota, the CDC had figured out that it was spread by bodily fluids and that certain lifestyles placed one at greater risk to get it. By the time we in the Black Hills had to face it, we had a pretty good idea about how to face it. The same thing happened with Zack. By the time the first zombies showed up in the Black Hills, we knew that African Rabies was neither African nor Rabies, we knew that there was no cure and we knew that there was no vaccine. Furthermore, we knew that our own government had known that the vaccine was useless against the real problem, but had lied to try to keep us under control."

"So you didn't have a panic?" I asked, both because I was curious and I wanted to head off a possible anti-government rant.

"The Hell we didn't," he snorts. "We just didn't have as big of a panic as most other places did. Part of that came from being in the center of the country, we saw the news and knew that all hell was breaking loose in pretty much every direction, so there was no place to run to. When that happens, you might as well hunker down and try to deal with whatever comes your way."

"But you still had a panic."

"I was getting to that! We had refugees in the area, following Interstate 90 and just running away from the outbreaks. The funny thing about the Black Hills, we were sort of a meeting point; the folks running away from the cities around the Great Lakes and the folks running away from the cities on the West Coast met in the Black Hills. Now, the refugees were scared, not dumb, so once they saw more refugees ahead of them, running the other way; they realized that no place was safe and decided to stop running. The governor called out the guard and they did their level best to set up camps for everyone, but life was pretty primitive for anyone caught on the road. Of course, there were a few infected folks in with the rest."

"And that set off the panic?"

"Keep in mind that our local authorities were overwhelmed by all the people and that the folks in the camps were pretty shook up, as well. Every time someone saw some stranger with a bruise or cut, they reported an infection. The authorities couldn't investigate all the reports, so it was inevitable that some actual cases got missed, especially when the infected parties, and their friends and families, tried to keep it hidden. When Zack appeared in the crowded camps, he found plenty of prey."

"So the camps became slaughterhouses?"

"Not by a long shot! Whenever Zack got to his feet, everyone around him heard his moan and ran like hell. The few guardsmen available were usually able to move in and take him down before he could get anybody…but not always. I can't really blame the folks who decided it would be safer in the towns and stampeded out of the camps to get there. I can't blame them, but it made things rougher for everyone."

"Why was that?"

"It set us against each other. There were more infected folks with those who charged into our towns and when they got back to their feet, they attacked everyone, locals and refugees. We blamed the refugees for this, saying they had brought the plague into our towns. On the other hand, the refugees blamed us for putting them in squalid, dangerous camps. Both sides had good points and remember just how scared everyone was. There had been some…violent incidents…on both sides. Tensions just continued to rise. I can still remember the night before it all broke loose. Three or four Zacks had risen in a camp outside Blackhawk. The refugees broke loose, got into Rapid City and refused to return to the camp. The next morning, the police, guard and a local 'vigilance committee' were about to try to force them back. It was a very dark time."

"That was the panic?"

"No, that was the last straw that set us up for the panic. There we were, a bunch of angry refugees and a bunch of angry locals, standing each other down. We were already tossing bricks and rocks and we all knew that it was just a prelude to the main event. Right when it was all about to go down, it happened."

"It?"

"The Battle of Yonkers," he shakes his head and offers bitter smile. "I have to hand it to the cop, private citizen, or whoever decided to televise it. If that battle had gone down the way it was supposed to, it just might have stopped the brawl." Mr. M fidgets a little more, collecting his thoughts. "You see, the main brawl was about to go down near a video billboard. Somebody fed one of the networks' broadcasts onto it. Sure enough, the whole crowd started staring at the growing hoard of Zacks approaching the Army's lines. We forgot about the brawl; heck, we even cheered when all the heavy fire started shredding through the walking dead. Even when Zack kept coming, we knew we couldn't lose. The Army would stop Zack cold, or maybe fall back to another line and let him have it again. When our boys broke…we…"

"Well?" I prompt, when it becomes clear that he won't continue without direction.

"It all hit the fan," he tells me, looking me right in the eye. "Suddenly, we weren't Americans anymore; we were a bunch of terrified locals and refugees who knew doomsday was all around us and there was no way to stop it. Some of the locals and refugees tore into each other but most of us just flat out ran. Some thought that the best idea was to stay put and try to fort up. Some thought the best idea was to run west, since the worst was in the east. Some thought it would be a good idea to run east, to where the military must be getting ready for another round."

"Which were you?"

"I wanted to stay," he answers. "But you have to know, for the next couple of days, it didn't really matter. All of us started looting and stealing, grabbing what we thought we'd need for whatever we were going to do. I wasn't any better, I ran home and grabbed my wheelbarrow, can you believe it? I grabbed my wheelbarrow, ran to the nearest store and filled up on canned food. I was lucky that the police or the guard didn't shoot me…they shot a few folks…but they were so overwhelmed by everything that…like I said, it was a dark time."

"Was there violence?"

"Yes, but not as much as you'd think. Like I said before, most of the communities were small…Rapid City was the largest town and it had a pre-panic population of less than 70,000. That meant that once you got back to your neighborhood, your neighbors knew you and you were safe. The real violence took place when we fought over whatever was left in the stores and whenever a couple of idiots decided to start preying on others. Neighborhood watches…armed neighborhood watches, appeared pretty fast."

"How long did this burst of lawlessness last?"

"Three days…but it seemed like a lot longer. The local city governments knew that they didn't have the manpower to rein it in, so they waited us out. After three days, everyone who wanted to run for it had left and everyone who wanted to fort up had grabbed everything they thought they could use. That's when our local officials took action."

"A crackdown?"

"Not at all, they did something a lot smarter. They realized that state and national governments were about to collapse and that they would be on their own. Even during the panic, the city officials were talking with each other. When things calmed down, they ordered everybody back to work."

"I'm serious," he continues, seeing my incredulous expression. "It didn't matter if you worked at a fast food place, a quarry, a lumberyard or a retail store. It didn't even matter if the place had been looted or torn down. On the fourth day after Yonkers, everyone went back to work or risked getting arrested."

"What did this accomplish?"

"At the time, I didn't think it would accomplish anything but it did several things. They sent assessors around to find out just who was still around, what skills they had and what resources were available. It was easier for the assessors to visit the businesses than individual homes.

"What about your families? If there were zombies about, weren't you afraid to leave them home alone?"

"Of course," he shrugs. "But the phones were still working, so I called all the employees and invited everyone to bring their dependents in with them. We didn't have any work to do those first few days, so we spent our time converting a section of our warehouse into a fairly comfortable waiting room. After that, we set up a sturdy, chain link fence so the kids would have a place to play outside."

"Outside? You let kids play outside with zombies loose?"

"You have to remember that we weren't facing hordes yet," he counters. "And Zack isn't like a thinking predator. A mountain lion or a coyote will wait until the kids are unattended before attacking. Zack doesn't think; he just lumbers after his prey. On the few occasions when one got near our playground, it charged but it couldn't get through the fence. The adults had plenty of time to get the kids inside before grabbing a firearm and doing the appropriate thing. After the first couple of zombies tried to break in, we realized that we didn't even need the firearms."

"You just let them stand at the fence?"

"No, we just didn't waste ammunition," he smiles. "I've seen your military's lobotomizer and I've read about some pole-arm over in Asia, the Shaolin Spade. These are supposed to be the greatest weapons in the world for fighting Zack. Well, I have my own entry to that contest, the combination of a chain link fence and a simple pitchfork. What's best is that after Zack's down, you have something to move him to the grave without even touching him."

"It was that easy?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it? Of course, these were the early days but it worked. It wasn't long before playgrounds, enclosed by chain link fences and attended by a single adult, sprang up everywhere."

"What else did the local governments do, after the panic?"

They went through what was left of the camps and found out just what skills everyone there happened to have. After a few days, they moved the refugees out of the camps and into abandoned homes in the towns. They also had the refugees show up at businesses that could use their skills."

"Wasn't there resentment?" I ask, "after all, they were taking the locals' homes and jobs."

"A fairly large percentage of our population had already run off to the west," he answers. "Even with the refugees that stayed, or were stranded with us, we still only had about half of our pre-panic population. Okay, there was a little resentment but we realized that it was better to have somebody living in and maintaining those abandoned homes. Besides, there was a lot of work to do."

"Work?" I ask. "Didn't the economy collapse?"

"Not exactly. You see, the local governments spent the chaos time putting a framework emergency plan together. We were now being paid in work credits, rather than currency. It wasn't an easy transition but we managed to do it. More than anything else, we needed something to do…something that told us we were getting ready to face what had to be coming our way. Being put to work gave us something we all needed…the idea that we were accomplishing something."

"What could you do?"

"For one thing, we collected and cataloged all of the assets we had. Much like you did west of the Rockies, we went around and figured out what we had and gathered it so it wouldn't get looted. We also identified the vital businesses and employees."

"I thought that the Black Hills economy was mostly based upon tourism and agriculture."

"Mostly, but not exclusively," Mr. M informs me. "We had a large cement plant and several ammunition factories. In addition, we had a couple of technical schools and an engineering college with a small, but functional, chemical manufacturing plant. One of the first things we did was identify these vital facilities and make sure they were converted to operate on natural gas, the only fuel source we had in abundance. The next step was to use our limited supply of automotive parts to convert as many vehicles as possible to operate on natural gas." Mr. M offers an embarrassed grin, "I've never been a good mechanic, so I can't tell you much about that."

"What were you doing at this time?"

"I wound up leading a small group that visited outlying farms and ranches. We would make sure the farmers and ranchers knew what was happening and offer them sanctuary in the nearest city. Most of them came along, even though a lot of them wanted a day or two to settle their affairs. We recorded the ones who needed some time and the ones that decided to stay put."

"Stay put? Didn't they understand what was about to happen?"

"Of course," Mr. M shrugs. "But they thought they'd be safer away from the population centers."

"And you let them stay?"

"We weren't about to tell anybody what they could or couldn't do. We had never been through a zombie infestation before, so for all we knew the isolated farms would be safer than a city. Anyway, we recorded all the resources found on all of the farms and ranches and moved on. About this time, we were encountering the occasional zombie. Most of them were wandering along the roads but a few were stumbling through the fields and forests. The local farmers and ranchers were taking care of most of them."

"Local farmers and ranchers were eliminating the same infestation that routed the Army?"

"Of course not! This wasn't an oncoming horde like Yonkers, it was a handful of Zacks; former refugees and a few locals that had been infected."

"But still, peaceful farmers and ranchers were able to hold their own against the enemy that was overrunning the major cities?"

"Didn't you hear what I said earlier? We had a small population, so it wasn't hordes of undead swarming over the fields. Besides that, these country folk benefited from the carnage in the cities. Back when Zack was running roughshod over New York and Dallas, nobody really understood what he was. That was Zack's only real advantage, the surprise factor. By the time Zack showed up in western South Dakota, we had learned from the millions of deaths in the urban areas. We knew we had to go for the head.

"Still," I point out. "The undead overran urban areas, whose residents were hardened by rough city life. You're talking about…"

"Yokels?" He interrupts. "Bumpkins? Hillbillies? Don't be shy; I've heard almost all of 'em. You're buying into the Hollywood version of the rural population; hard working but slow witted. Well, have you ever thought about what a rancher goes through?"

"I don't understand."

"Okay, I'll explain. A rancher has to work his butt off to keep his stock alive. He's there at the birth…or at least shortly after it. While his animals are growing, he has to feed them and protect them from the weather, predators and disease. He never gets a break; at any time any of his livestock need him, he has to be there to do anything it takes to keep them healthy and growing. Most farmers keep some livestock, so they go through the same thing."

"I still don't understand."

"After going through all of this; after putting in time and effort that's closer to raising a child than doing a job, he has to let his animals go. He has to sell them to make his living and he knows they aren't going to become pets somewhere, they're going to be killed, slaughtered and turned into food. So, Mister Educated, Sophisticated, Urban Man, what do you think happens when someone like that; someone who spends his life pouring his effort and emotion into something that he's going to have to kill, comes face to face with what used to be his neighbors?"

"He does what he needs to do," I reply.

"And he's able to live with himself after he does it," Mr. M agrees. "Hollywood seemed to think that Farmer Bob and Rancher Bill were idiots, because they didn't drive sports cars, wear the latest fashions or carry smart phones. The fact of the matter is that both of them were so focused on substance that they didn't have time for style. When society broke down, substance proved to be a lot more valuable. Still, there weren't very many farmers and ranchers out there. Later, when Zack started swarming, these folks either retreated to the cities or were overrun.

"When did that happen?"

"After a couple of weeks," Mr. M fidgets some more, looking very uncomfortable. "A couple of other things happened between the panic and the first swarms."

"Such as…" I prompt.

"First of all, the Air Force evacuated the local Air Force Base. They tried to keep it a secret but too many of us worked on the base and too many of them lived in our towns. We knew that the big transport planes landing and leaving were carrying the service personnel and their dependents away. I think that's when it really set in that our national government was bugging out and leaving us on our own."

"What else?"

"The Feds also nationalized a couple of the local guard units and evacuated them, as well. This one didn't go as well."

"Why not?"

"There wasn't any plan to evacuate their families, and most of the guardsmen didn't want to leave them behind. Not only that, but the guardsmen were locals and a lot of them wanted to stay and face whatever came with the rest of us. Still, orders were orders, so most of them formed up the vehicle convoy and headed off west. We were mad as hell, since we considered the guard to be a local asset, but we didn't have much time to whine about it. A day or two after the guard left, the Feds sent a radio message, telling us that they had spotted a swarm moving in from the east."

"Your first challenge?"

"In more ways than one," he agrees, after squirming a little more. "We didn't just have to worry about stray zombies, we had to organize ourselves and get ready for an actual swarm. Fortunately, it turned out to be a fairly small swarm and we had plenty of warning. We grabbed every vehicle we could fuel and rolled out. Of course, it took us a day or two to organize ourselves, so we ran into the leading edge around the town of Wall. It didn't go very well."

"Describe what went wrong."

"Pretty much what went wrong at the Battle of Yonkers, but on a smaller scale. Our sharpshooters took care of the leading ghouls without much trouble, but Zack just kept coming and coming! By the time the dense swarm reached us, we had built a barricade of dead Zacks across the interstate, but the increased group just walked around it and kept coming on. After a couple of hours, we were running low on ammunition and the ghouls started to show up on our flanks. We nearly had a panic before a commander…and I won't say his name in case he's still alive…managed to get us under control. He got us together and had us fall back, to the Cheyenne River."

"What did that accomplish?"

"It bought him the time he needed to come to grips with the way we were going to have to fight. It took Zack the better part of a day to follow us from what was left of Wall and reach the river. By that time, we had built two fences, one on each side of the Cheyenne, and had received additional ammunition from Rapid City. He sent roving patrols to the north and south, to make sure we wouldn't be outflanked, and divided the rest of us into two battalions. The first battalion set up on the east side of the river and was the first to take on Zack. This time, it went much better."

"Describe how this went differently."

"First of all, our commander ordered us…I was in the first battalion…to let Zack come in a lot closer. Back at Wall, we cut loose from way too far out and wasted a lot of ammunition. He also kept tighter control of us. When we fought at Wall, the guys with shotguns ran forward and actually got in the way of the riflemen. Now, only a handful of us had shotguns and they were only to use them if Zack popped up really close, where we weren't expecting him to be. Of course, the smartest thing our commander did was divide us up."

"What did this accomplish?"

"It kept us from wearing ourselves out. The second battalion was able to rest up while we held Zack off on the east bank. Anyway, Zack came stumbling on down the interstate and we let him come in a lot closer before opening up. At the shorter ranges, we were more accurate and our ammunition held out much longer. We kept up the firing for over four hours before the swarm threatened to get around and over our fence. The commander had us form up and march across the interstate bridge, leading Zack into the second battalion's kill zone. Of course, Zack always follows the most direct path to warm bodies, so most of the horde followed us onto the bridge."

"I take it that the second battalion was able to finish off the hoard?"

"Without much trouble," Mr. M nods. "We had both worn it down and drawn it into closer quarters on the east bank. When Zack finally breached the fence, he was all clustered together on the bridge. While we were fighting, the second battalion piled hay onto the bridge. Half an hour after we retreated across, almost all that was left of the hoard was backed up on it. That's when we ignited the hay and burned off most of the remaining swarm. After that, it was just a matter of finishing off the few that were in the river, before burying the ones who hadn't been caught in the fire. It was afternoon before we could leave the battle site and return to Rapid City. That's when we caught some bad news."

"What bad news was that?"

"What was left of the National Guard convoy had returned. They reported that Zack was swarming the roads to the west, so there was no escape to the safe zone. We were now on our own, an island of life in a sea of Zacks."

At this time, the guards arrived and told me that the day's interview time had expired. They led Mr. M back into the prison while I returned to my room to review my notes for the next day's interview.