(Contextual note: Recent updates to DayZ have changed and/or included a lot of new elements, such as rudimentary melee combat, removing pistols from spawn, and the love-it-or-hate-it new way for zombies to spot you using their line of sight)
Whatever confidence I may have had since my last entry has all but erased: Chernarus is a brutal and savage land, and the undead continue to make life a living hell. Repeated attempts at scouting supplies have left me empty-handed, finding only discarded food cans that other survivors have left in their wake. Even my precious M4 had to be ditched due to the lack of ammo and space.
I strucked north, hopeful in whatever supplies I may find, and where gun shots aren’t as common or as dangerous as in the abandoned coastal towns. The walkers appear to have become smarter with each passing day; now they can spot me from several meters away if I’m too careless. One particularly handsome fellow, stylish in his brown sweater vest and golf cap, almost got the best of me as I ran into a nearby forest. With no clips in my Makarov, I knew I couldn’t take him down easily…until I remembered a hatchet I found the other day. If it’s sharp enough to chop wood, I thought, it should be sharp enough to cut through decaying flesh.
The first mighty swing only grazed my attacker, barely leaving a gash above his stomach. He took this opportunity to scratch at my arm with his bony fingers. I pushed him back with the hilt of my hatchet. With him off-balanced, I steadied myself to deliver the final blow to his neck. It isn’t nearly as elegant, or as clean, as killing them with a bullet, but it will have to do for now.
After using my last bandage, I knew I had to delve even deeper into the wilderness to have any semblance of safety. Canned beans have now become a luxury for those of us “lucky” enough to still be alive, so I had to resort to hunting. My first victim: A lonely lamb grazing in its pasture. I gave it a swift and merciful death with my axe before gutting it and cleaning the meat with a hunting knife. My newly acquired matches would serve useful in preparing a fire to cook my ample supply of food.
I wasn’t too concerned about the smoke emanating from the fire; I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. Fuck the other survivors. If they wanted to come kill me, they’d have to answer to my axe first.
I felt a strange sense of peacefulness as I lied down next to the warmth of the fire. I almost forgot what it felt like to live a life without the constant danger of death breathing down my neck. Then the rains came, quickly vanquishing my fire, and my delusions of grandeur, in the process.
From what I hear, the north is full of promises. Large swaths of towns and old buildings, just waiting for me to loot. But I’m sure I’m not the only one with this idea.