Pre-story disclaimer: I have not actually played DayZ; 90% of what I know came from watching gameplay videos on YouTube. The other 10% from a visit to dayzmod.com
Outside-in: A DayZ Short Story
by: Paul M. King (2144 words)
Chernarus.
The name popped up in the news a few weeks ago because of an epidemic
or some kind of disaster - a lot people thought it had to be
something nuclear, mainly because the name of the country sounded a
lot like ‘Chernobyl.’ The level of international concern was
about the same as one of those African countries that are constantly
in grip of a severe famine or civil war - We feel bad that something
terrible is happening, but there’s not a lot anybody is going to do
to help a poor country with no oil and little potential as a tourist
destination. It didn’t help that hardly anyone could find the place
on a map; I knew it was somewhere along Russia’s eastern shore - on
the Sea of something-or-other - but that’s about it; more than most
people could tell you, I’d wager.
Eventually, the news moved on to other more interesting stories -
another politician got caught cheating, a celebrity couple was
splitting up, it was really hot today - and we forgot about
Chernarus.
A couple of weeks passed; the only news I can recall from that
distant corner of the world was about some military exercises the
Russian navy was conducting that raised eyebrows in some of the Asian
countries, but nothing came of it. I had other things on my mind; I
was finally made full-time at the firm where I’d been doing my best
to scrape by on 30-hour work weeks for nearly a year. Have you ever
contemplated a memory, only to realize that you don’t really
remember doing whatever you were doing when your brain absorbed the
information - like it just sort of took root in your mind by itself?
The human brain is funny that way.
Anyway, to help make ends meet as a part-timer, I took on a number of
freelance projects. The last project I would need to take as a
freelancer was for a non-profit organization with international ties.
The request was for an online database with both an internal and
external interface to track the need for humanitarian aid in
third-world countries, places that this organization would then try
to raise funds for aid and medical mission work.
At the risk of making a sweeping generalization, working for
non-profits is usually a pain. They tend to have very limited
resources, but require a high level of functionality combined with an
equally high-level of abstraction in their online applications. But,
a paycheck is a paycheck and the landlord doesn’t care where the
money comes from, just that he gets his share of it by the end of the
month.
To my surprise, the client was very easy to work with, they even
loved the first design revision I submitted - that hardly ever
happens. I continued to develop the site, all the while providing
daily updates to the client, just to make sure that yes, they really
are happy with the way things are progressing and, no, they don’t
feel the need to make a “little change” to the underlying data
structure. In fact, there was only one change I was asked to make
before the site could go live; a single entry had to be purged from
the database: Chernarus.
Normally, I wouldn’t give such a request a second thought, but it
occurred to me that I hadn’t heard, read or seen anything about
Chernarus since it was mentioned in the news a couple of months
prior. I googled Chernarus for any recent mentions and came up empty;
not a single mention of the country in news articles, blog posts,
wikis, or social media that was less than year old.
On a whim, I did a quick search for recent mentions of Russia in the
news. Since Chernarus used to be a part of the Soviet Union, I
figured there might be some mention of the missing country. The only
remotely interesting article I could find involved an American who
had gone missing while traveling in the Ural mountains. Just another
sad story.
Another couple of days and the project was finally completed; I got
paid and treated myself to a night out with my friends to celebrate.
On this particular night, we decided to catch a late movie, so it was
nearly two in the morning when I arrived home. I hate to admit it,
but I’m not as young as I used to be, I can’t pull all-nighters
like I did in college just ten years ago (man, has it really been
that long?). So I probably looked like some kind of brain-dead zombie
staggering through the front door to the unexpected guest sitting in
my living room.
It was clear he had been expecting me. He didn’t jump up in
surprise or act in any way like I had caught him doing something
suspicious. That’s not to say that he was completely at ease; he
wore a fearful, hunted look about him - but I wasn’t the one making
him nervous.
“Hey man, long time no see.”
There was an awkward moment of silence as my weary, startled mind
struggled to put a name to the face.
“Pete? Is that you?” Pete and I had grown up on the same street,
we graduated together, then went our separate ways in life. Last I
heard - my mother was friends with his mother on Facebook - he was in
the CIA.
He nodded, “You look good, life treating you well?”
“Yeah, I guess. You look …” How do you tell someone you haven’t
seen in over a decade they look terrible?
Pete picked up on my hesitation. “I’ve been better.”
“What’s going on? Why are you in my apartment?”
“I need a place to lie low for the night,” he said, “Don’t
worry, I’ll be gone by the time you wake up.”
“Are you in trouble? Is someone after you?” I asked.
“That’s the problem, I’m not sure,” he sighed, “And if I
was sure, it would be too late.” I can only imagine my expression
as he said this.
“What do you know about Chernarus?” he asked.
“It was in the news a while back, people were sick or something.
And now it’s like it no longer exists.”
Pete nodded, “There’s a reason for that. The country has been
quarantined - completely cut off from the rest of the world.”
“The epidemic?”
“Maybe? I didn’t have enough clearance to dig that up, but I do
know something heavy is going on in that country and no one is
allowed in or out.”
Pieces of memory began to fit together, “the Russian navy - those
weren’t military exercises?”
He shook his head, “A blockade. And the US is providing drones to
patrol the mountains that separate the two.”
I had a sinking feeling about the answer to my next question. “That
wouldn’t include the Urals, would it?”
“You heard about the missing American?”
“Just that he was last seen in the Ural mountains.”
“He was an independent filmmaker, looking to make a documentary
about Chernarus.”
“And he was killed?”
Pete shrugged, “All I know is that my team was assigned to go look
for him. Before we even leave the states, word comes down from the
top that the case is closed and ‘Here’s your next assignment.’
That’s when I started digging.”
“I get the feeling you dug too deep.”
Pete leaned in, his voice low, “People are being sent to Chernarus.
Just … bundled up, dropped off and left there.”
“Why?”
“If I knew that, I could blow the whole thing wide open.” he
slumped back in the chair, “Right now I’ve got little more
credibility than your run-of-the-mill conspiracy nutjob. Assuming I
could get to the media, I’d just be spun as an unfit agent with
PTSD or some other nonsense.”
“Truth is often stranger than fiction,” I offered, “But to
totally cut off an entire country? How can they expect to keep it
up?”
“Look at Area 51,” he countered, “No one denies it exists, they
just don’t talk about it. And if any of the crazy ideas about what
goes on there are accurate, who’s going to know? How do you tell
the truth apart from the rest of it?”
By this point, my brain felt like mush. “I’ve got to get some
sleep. The couch pulls out and there are blankets in the linen
closet.” I got up from where I was sitting and started towards the
bedroom, “Assuming this isn’t some crazy dream I’m having,
we’ll figure things out tomorrow.”
Pete chuckled, some combination of bitter mirth and weariness, then
said, “Good night.”
The next morning, I awoke to an empty house.
The next day, I returned home from work to find someone waiting for
me in the driveway. The man flashed a badge - CIA - and asked to
speak with me. Despite my uncertainty at the prior night’s
encounter, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t given any thought to
this scenario during the day. With all the calm nonchalance as I
could muster, I invited the man inside and offered him a drink.
I sat where Peter had been waiting for me the night before while the
agent sat on the couch and asked me questions about the boy who had
grown up down the street from me; if I had managed to stay in contact
with him, and if he might have tried to contact me recently.
Finally, the questions stopped and he stood to leave. I noticed that
the throw pillow he had been leaning against was upside down, so that
the zipper was showing.
“Sorry,” I said, as I flipped it over, “it’s an OCD thing -
it really bugs me when people leave couch cushions upside down.”
A strange expression clouded his features for the briefest moment
before he shook my hand, thanked me for my time and left.
After seeing him off, I collapsed on the couch with a huge sigh of
relief. I had done a pretty good job of keeping it together; I drew
comfort in the fact that, even if they suspected that Pete had
contacted me - I had done nothing wrong, he was the one they were
after.
It was getting late and, since I normally grab dinner right after
work, I was starving. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I drove
through the nearest fast food joint and made my way back home.
Shortly after eating, I performed one last email check for the day
and decided to turn in for the night. It’s probably telling of my
caffeine consumption that I can knock back a regular-sized soda and
go right to sleep - of course, being up most of the night before
probably contributed. In just a couple of minutes, I was dead to the
world.
My dreams that night were really weird; I experienced sounds and
sensations, but couldn’t actually ‘see’ anything - like
dreaming with a blindfold over my mind’s eye. It reminded me of the
time I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and they put me under.
At different points, I felt like I was being carried or riding in a
vehicle. The voices I heard were often hushed or muffled; there were
a variety of accents and I think - at least once or twice - I heard
someone speaking Russian. Not knowing a single bit of the language,
it was hard to be sure.
Have you ever woken up in stages - like, your mind wakes up before
your body? You’re lying there, thinking thoughts and being aware of
the fact that you are awake, but you can’t move at all? Sleep
paralysis, it’s called.
As I lay there, waiting for my body to get with the program, I
realized that something was very wrong - I was not laying in my bed
at home. I felt a fine, gritty texture against my face and hands and
a cool breeze stirring above me; I heard the sound of waves and
seagulls a short distance away. I was wearing clothes, but not the
shorts and sleeveless t-shirt I usually wear to bed; the outfit I
wore was unfamiliar to me. Finally, after a minute or two - which
each of which felt like an hour - I realized I could move again.
I jerked myself upright to confirm my fears: I was sitting on a rural
beach. Despite the lack of a single recognizable natural feature or
landmark by which to orient myself, I knew with cold certainty where
I was. Getting to my feet and stretching my aching muscles, I
attempted to stop the nagging thought that kept repeating itself in
the back of my head by finally giving voice to it,
“Welcome to Chernarus.”
