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wh1skey_

This is my DayZ.

By wh1skey_, in New Player Discussion

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wh1skey_    111

wh1skey_
Posted (edited)

Logged into the WaZteland to find myself fresh on the coast in the dark of night - a new beginning.

On the southern shore, I made a quick trek through Elektro from the west side outskirts of the city. Not much luck, until I found a jerry can. Perfect. Emptied the gasoline and hoped to stay alive long enough to put it to use. A baseball bat and a kitchen knife upped my confidence a bit as I wasn't completely defenseless now. A bottle of alcoholic tincture and then a nearby bottle of disinfectant spray are worth more than a million dollars now, in the past I would've never even given this stuff a second look if I found it. Next, a red school backpack settled my nerves a bit more as daylight broke. The hospital was the first thing on my mind.

Nearly empty, a sole epinephrine injector was a goldmine. I knew exactly what my plan was. Straight into downtown, to the Evac tent in the center got me zilch, nothing. The police station around the corner was next on the list. Sneaking up along the front wall, I heard movement. Before I could formulate what would be my best option, a survivor comes around the opposite corner into the street to the front of the station. I slung my baseball bat onto my back to emphasize friendly intentions as we flanked each other between the columns of the front of the building.

He pulls his sledgehammer out and advances at me. I retreat... "Yeah you better run motherfucker", he says after taking a swing at me. I don't have time to look back, and I zig-zag through the city as much as I could, trying to maintain distance. Infected take notice as I make my path as complicated as I can, over fences, around corners, doubling-back to try to confuse my attacker, if he's still there.

I finally stop after going up to the second floor of a nearby machine shop and have no exit except back down the way I came. I'm holed up, infected closing in, and listening for the distinct sound of my attacker approaching. He never arrives. I fend off a few infected with my bat and venture outside, cautious and nervous that the man could be laying in wait for me to retrace my steps back to the police station.

I make a few passes in the nearby neighborhood between the apartments looking for the water well to hopefully fill my jerry can. I know it's here. Where is it? I sneak through each yard - I can't find it. My memory can't be that bad, can it? I give up looking, and take a wide flank around the west side of downtown to the guard shack at the back of town - picked bone clean. I'm starting to get weak from being so thirsty, the pear that I found in my pocket from the shore is long gone. Time for the last-ditch effort.

I slam the epi-pen into my thigh and take off north through the empty field as fast as I can past the apartment building and towards Topolka Dam - its this or nothing. My hydration levels depleting dangerously low and my health starting to deteriorate, if I have any luck ill be able to survive just enough to get to the murky lake just before the hunting camp. I make it just as my stamina finally gives out and the epinephrine wears off. I know the water is stagnant, and highly-likely contaminated with disease, but I drink anyways. Keeping my head on a swivel, I start to fill up the jerry can even though I've disinfected it, the water inside is still not good. But its this or nothing. I head to the campgrounds just as the water from the small pond metabolizes through my body and it finally starts to set in. Cholera. I knew the risk of getting sick. The medical building in the campground is empty. Someone's been here recently... I grab a hunting knife and a knight's helm from a couple of other cabins, but that's not gonna help me much. The vomiting starts, and I know that this is the beginning of the end.

I make it north through the woods and cautiously approach the military checkpoint tents blocking the road. No movement besides a couple of wandering infected. The first tent yields nothing but wasted time. The second tent is more of the same, except for a black field backpack taken from a lone infected soldier that fell after a few quick bashes to the head with the trusty bat.

I decide against heading North to Staroye, there's no way I'll survive at the military encampment with no firearms and cholera taking its toll on my health. I take the road West and decide to follow along the river in the ditch, at least I'll be able to keep drinking if I'm just going to puke it up every so often, and hopefully, sustain my health just enough to make it to wherever is next. A lone small shed in the woods is a gamechanger - a pristine BK-133 pump-action shotgun just sitting there, like a gift from the Chernarussian gods. I instantly don't regret not dropping the 5 loose slugs I picked up off a workbench back in Elektro. I load them up and rack the slide.

Another slow 50 yards trying to keep hidden between the trees while taking stops to drink out of the jerry can, and I notice a figure - kneeling in the middle of the stream looking down at the water with a bright blue motorcycle helmet on, a shovel, and a single-shot rifle slung over his shoulders.

Fuck.

I stay still up against a tree as he gets up and almost heads directly towards me, my heart races. He gets about to my 2 o'clock and doesn't seem to notice me as he jogs. I call out. "Hey, are you okay? You healthy?" He stops. Looks. Finally, I move towards him and we greet each other. He's the same as me, but he's new to Chernarus. We discuss the recent events of the newest addition to the land and how the outbreak of cholera into the water is affecting the surviving population. I share my jerry can as we come to the conclusion we both came from Elektro and the best route is to continue west and hopefully make it to Moglievka, then just southwest to the closest hunting campground with a medical building and a well, as the path to it has the river stream the whole length of it and will at least keep us alive as cholera seems to stack and get worse the longer we leave it untreated.

We make it to a tiny unknown little village of a couple of derelict houses prior to Moglievka and search them. A raincoat for me in the first house, a jar of strawberry jam in the house across the street for him. He offers to go half on it with me, as we meet up together at the last house both going inside. Not much in the bedrooms, and as he looks into the last room, I notice an IJ-70 Makarov .380 caliber pistol laying on the table next to the tv in the den outside the room. I quickly go to snatch it as he comes back out and he doesn't notice, I tense up thinking he may say something inquiring about what I just sneaked into my pockets. I'm pretty sure I've got a magazine with 4 rounds laying somewhere in my backpack that I picked up earlier, but I don't dare pull out the gun to load it and rack the slide. It's my little secret, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

As we start to make our way down the road he pops open the jam and eats his half, preparing to hand off the rest to me. He vomits painfully into the dirt road. His vitals are terrifyingly low, and I delegate that he take the rest of the food - he obviously needs it more than me - I'm still at about 50% hunger and thirst. After eating the rest of the jam, he limps to a nearby shed to check it out, and then I remember...morphine injector! I had hidden it away back from Topolka Dam just in case of an emergency, and this was as good as ever. I drop it on the ground and ask if he sees it. Nope. "How about in my hand, now do you see it?" Nope. Argh, the dreaded invisi-glitch of doom. Ugh, just our luck.

Wait. I've got an idea.

I crouch near him and inject the morphine straight into his thigh. Bam, it's working! He's no longer limping, and the pain has been numbed just enough that we go back to the river to get more water to last us for the long trek ahead. It's not bringing back his health, but it might let him stay alive just long enough to get some water back in his stomach.

As soon as we get to the stream, he goes to kneel and drink, and he falls. Laying on his back staring straight up into the sky.

Is he dead? Or did he just go uncon?

Damn it. I cant resuscitate him...he's gone. You've got to be kidding me. I sigh and feel despair as I check through his belongings and pockets and take a few items - an empty water bottle, a few 7.62x39 rounds of ammo, nothing exciting. I leave him in the stream and continue up the hill hoping to make it to town as my health and vitals start to dip lower.

WAIT.

No, I can't.

I don't want to.

But I need to.

It's the only way I'll survive.

Just the thought of it makes my head get heavy.

I stray back to the river slowly and look down at the lifeless body of my former traveling companion. I don't have a choice, I won't make it that far on what little food I have left, especially if I vomit again from the cholera. I kneel down next to his body in the water, and take his own steak knife out of his pocket and ask for forgiveness to whoever it may concern. I slice into his body and separated the meat from bone, guts and fat, running the river stream a crimson red as the rest of his gear soaks beside his clothes. I drop the knife and I look at my own hands covered in his blood and flashbacks of just a short hour ago the moment we met. I washed my hands over and over in the cold water of the stream until not a speck of red could be seen, it was something I never thought I'd become.

I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I tried as hard as I could to not think about anything. Complete silence in my head as I traveled alone now, continuing the path while I slowly munched on the guts and entrails of the man who I had just met and never even learned his name.

This is My Story.

This is My DayZ.

 

Edited by wh1skey_
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