Diary of the Silverthorne Militia (Patreon)

Monday, May 14, 2020

Arthur was the last of my friends to die, but his wife, Susie, remains. Seven of us left Westcliffe yesterday but only two survived. I don’t know how I made it, considering everyone thought I’d be the first to go. For the first time in my life, Lady Luck held me in her arms and helped me through a mess not of my own creation. Maybe it’s because I was in a good position to survive the first wave of the outbreak. Working at KLZR radio gave me access to news as soon as it hit Reuters and the Associated Press. When I read those early reports, something clicked in my brain — this was not like any other event in human history. We’ve had outbreaks before, but nothing like the Zeta virus.

As soon as I read the briefings, I left work early, drove straight to All the Range Mountaineering and spent my whole paycheck on gear. After that, I went home, gathered some clothes and food, put on my lucky four leaf clover gold chain, and told Arthur I was heading out of town. He grilled me on my reasons until I finally broke. If he hadn’t argued with me for an hour, I may have been able to leave before it was too late. That’s all past history now.

When CNN finally aired that first report, Arthur believed me. Did he apologize for calling me an idiot? Of course not. By now he was phoning all of his friends and making a plan to flee the area. As I tried to leave the house, he grabbed my knapsack and told me to wait for Chip. This was his best friend and my worst enemy. I avoided this guy since high school. From ninth grade to graduation he made my life a nightmare. At prom, for example , he glued my hands together behind my back, pulled my tuxedo pants down, and pushed me on the dance floor. The worst is when he tied me to the flagpole right before graduation ceremony. He tied the rope so tightly, I couldn’t get the knots out. My legs went numb so I couldn’t walk in the procession. Anyway, I argued with Arthur for a few minutes, but he said his friends were my best chance of surviving. No matter how hard I disagreed, he wouldn’t hear of it. Jump ahead twenty minutes, and Chip pulls up in a stolen van. He played it off like it wasn’t stolen, but he worked at an auto detailer, and the van was spray-painted with the logo for a band called Sleeping Guitars. Robbing a van was the least of our criminal acts for the next twenty-four hours.

We drove out of town and picked up their friends and girlfriends throughout the Wet Mountain Valley. I had brought the most food and gear, though Susie had a mind to bring canned food and bottled water. Chip brought his shotgun and told us it was the only thing he’d need. What a moron.

We drove for two hours, stopped at an ice cream shop, where Arthur and Chip robbed a family of all of their food and camping gear. We were back on the road in ten minutes. We made it out of the Valley just before Colorado National Guard set up roadblocks to quarantine Westcliffe.

We started west on I-70 two meet up with people that Arthur knew in a town called Silverthorne. It was almost three hours north of us, but it ended up taking all night to get there. Every stop we made along the way meant death for someone in our group. Chip got bit by an infected girl in a gas station bathroom. Just before we arrived in Breckenridge, Arthur got shot at a gas station due to an argument over a cheeseburger. Arthur was in the wrong. He got shot, and the other guy got the burger.

Luckily for me and Susie, we knew Arthur’s friend who we were to meet in Silverthorne. She reached him through a text message, and we met him at a small roadside campsite with a bunch of other soldier-like survivors. It was like we were coming to an interview. They checked out all of our gear, asked us a bunch of questions, and made us sign some forms. Susie and I were both so tired, we just agreed with whatever they said. They brought us to a much larger camp that they had taken over from FEMA. They put me into a males only tent with twenty other guys, and Susie went to a female tent. At least I got a full night’s sleep.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

A storm blew in the next day, blanketing the entire camp with rain. By the afternoon, we were all walking in mud. The food was better than expected as a few of the guys who cooked were in the Marines only weeks ago and were used to preparing meals for dozens of people. This was my first look at the efficiency of the Silverthorne Militia. Everyone had their role, armed guards stood post over the entire camp, and a chain of command was instituted from a main council all the way down to privates. For now I was the lowest of the low and considered a civilian. I could already tell my rights had been revoked at the gate, and it felt like an internment camp I had read about in college history class.

After breakfast, everyone seemed to ignore me, but by lunch I had made it onto Benton’s list. He made Chip seem like my best friend. Before I even knew what was happening, Benton grabbed me by my ear and led me out of the tent to a line of workers. Though my name is Bert, he nicknamed me Squirt, I guess because I’m so small (I’m 5’5” and weigh 120 pounds). He made me clean toilets for hours, and as soon as I was finished with the outside PortaJohn’s, he took the biggest dump I’ve ever seen in the last one with me standing right outside. He made me clean it all over again, and I swear he missed the bowl on purpose.

When I made it back to the mess tent, I was given half rations for being late. I explained that I had worked all afternoon and worked extra time after Benton’s dump. For talking back, I lost my meal! Susie shared some of her pasta and bread with me, so at least I didn’t go to bed on an empty stomach.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

I woke up to the sounds of shouting, and one of the nicer men sharing my tent was pulled out of bed by privates and dragged somewhere in camp. I haven’t seen him since. Something told me not to even ask about him.

Because I was up early, I went to the mess tent and got breakfast. It was cold cereal and watered down orange juice, but at least I got to eat in relative peace. After breakfast, I was on cleanup duty until Benton told me to gear up at the front of the camp and be ready to move out. I had no idea what to expect. When they told me to wear National Guard fatigues and handed me an assault rifle, I almost threw up. Not only had I never held a weapon before, I had a fear of firearms. When I was seven, I found my uncle in the attic of my house. He had shot himself with my father’s handgun. Ever since that day, I despised any type of gun and being in their presence makes me nauseous. When I tried to describe my aversion to weapons, Benton smacked me in the face in front of everyone. He told me I needed to toughen up if I would ever survive the outbreak. Somehow this resulted in me licking his boot to prove what a man I was. His logic made no sense to me, but after my tongue went across the top of his boot and my unit got done laughing, we left camp and marched onto the highway.

Thankfully it was a short trip. We went by a series of houses in an off-road community. Infected were few, but our unit killed them. Somehow I grew the courage to fire my weapon and actually got a headshot. It was the first time I had ever fired a gun in my life. While I was throwing up on the side of a barn, Natalie claimed she had killed the zombie. Once again I should’ve kept my mouth shut. When I told everyone that I had made the shot, Benton threw me on the ground and held me there as everyone took turns kicking me in the butt. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected, but it was downright humiliating. The only one that hurt was Natalie, because her foot went low. She laughed before her foot landed, so I’m convinced she did it on purpose.

We continued through the development and found a community hall with maybe two dozen survivors, a mix of men, women, and children. Their leader was an older man, Stephen, the deacon of the nearby Baptist Church. Natalie suggested they all come to our FEMA camp, but Stephen wasn’t interested. Benton grabbed him by the throat, and all of us drew guns. He was told he had two days to make it to our camp, or they would all be considered enemies of the Silverthorn Militia. I was in the back of the community hall and slipped out side to throw up. Thank God no one saw me.

I struggled to keep up on the march home. It was just in time for dinner, but Benton took away my rations again. Susie was nowhere to be found. Apparently she had already been promoted to lieutenant. Since she had been a waitress since high school, I’m not sure how she qualified for that position. Later, I saw her walking through camp with Wyatt, one of the nicer leaders of the militia. Susie was arm in arm with him, and I could tell she had gotten over Arthur real quick. When I said hi to her, she walked past me without a word.

So hungry, I traded my lucky four leaf clover necklace for a pop tart and a can of Mountain Dew. When I laid down to sleep, I covered my head in my pillow and cried.

Thursday May 17, 2012

I woke up early again when a new guy came into my tent. There was only seven of us now, and he took the bunk right next to me. He had shockingly white hair for a younger man and barely spoke to any of us for at least the first hour. He sat on his bed and stared through the plastic window with so much intensity, I thought his eyes would bore holes through the thin walls.

Heading to breakfast, I asked if he wished to join us, but he just shook his head no. None of the usual militia were in the mess hall that morning. They had gone out on another recruiting mission. I had powdered eggs with a slice of American cheese, two strips of bacon, and a cup of coffee. My hands shook as I ate, and I licked the plate clean. Just as I finished, Susie sat next to me and slipped two pieces of toast under the table into my lap. She said, “sorry about yesterday.” That was the last ever spoke to her.

I hid the pieces of toast in my jacket and went back to my tent. That strange guy with the white hair was there. Maybe he had eaten the night before, but I doubt it. His face was drawn, and he had bruised hands. I offered him a piece of toast, and he actually ate it in two bites. He told me his name was Finn, and he had no plans to be here for long.

The recruiting group for the militia came back in the afternoon, and the Council held a mandatory meeting. Susie stood on the stage and now wore the jacket of a captain. A man named the General introduced Gloria, one of the councilmembers who told us that we had to increase our outreach to find able-bodied people to sustain our way of life. She called on all of us to work hard in whatever jobs we were given. No one was coming to save us, and the government had fallen. I felt like crying, but I held back my tears.

After the meeting, Benton put me in another unit with two men and a woman, none of whom I knew. We were only given backpacks and a bagged lunch. They marched us just outside of camp and led us to an open field. We were told not to come back to camp. I am not sure why I was turned away. Moments later, the biggest guy of our group hit me and took my food and backpack. I’m now alone in a field somewhere outside of Silverthorne, Colorado and have no idea where to go or how to survive. My only hope is to find other survivors who would be willing to take me into their group. Are there any good people left in the world?