There aren't a lot of survivor communities on the east coast. Too many big population centers, too many zombies moving restlessly through the area. We're in contact with two, and one of them is in New York state. Not that far from the Big Apple itself, which always surprises me. But then, most of the undead in Manhattan are stuck there. The bridges are all destroyed or blocked.
So now we know part of why the weather here is so insane. What appears to be a hurricane made landfall last night, a huge storm that filled the entire horizon as far as our allies there could see. They've felt the wind coming off the storm for days.
Our friends are holding out for now. The buildings they live in are remote and durable, but only time will tell if it will be enough. The community isn't small--four hundred people and growing--and they've got a setup that provides safety from zombie swarms and allows them to farm extensively. Because they're so close to NYC itself, they don't lack for raw materials to recycle and turn into more useful things. That little community is rugged and self-sufficient. They, like New Haven, have made tremendous leaps forward in the last few years.
They are a model for what the surviving members of the human race can do. And because of mother nature they could be wiped out tomorrow. Fate can be hateful and cruel, with a sense of humor that makes your teeth hurt.
It's probably a blessing that more communities aren't located in the eastern states. Some do exist, of course, but they're away from the coast and the usual spots where this kind of thing happens. Funny how settlers from other countries came here and chose to live in the north, in some of the most inhospitable areas of the country during winter time. When New York got those first few feet of snow many decades ago, you'd imagine the people would leave to find a warmer, safer place to live.
No. They stayed and fought it out. Built the greatest city on the planet. New Yorkers--hell, most people in that area of the country--were some of the most tenacious humans to ever walk. Pride and pure grit kept them in the place they'd chosen, and you can't ask for more than that.
Now, without the modern conveniences, things have changed. If the area is prone to tropical storms or worse, you leave. If it gets pounded by blizzards, you leave. If a huge set of population centers is nearby (with some exceptions, like our friends up that way), you leave. History was on the side of immigrants and pioneers once the initial plunge of coming to America was done. Populations were growing, technology was evolving, and every day more was being done to tame the forces that threatened.
We've got less people walking around than ever. The Fall has seen to that, as well as the idiotic drive to fight even in the face of basically infinite free land. We don't have the resources to manage the way those old-timers did. We are a species dwindling, pushed away from threats until we get backed into a corner. It's at that last moment when no other options exist that we turn and lash out. When all else is lost we fight for our lives and freedom, for the right to exist at its most basic.
That's a good thing. It was a lesson our allies in New York learned early on. They retreated from the city and the suburbs to isolated places. They scraped by and planned, worked their fingers to the bone to prepare a place for themselves. Months of effort and sacrifice gave them the rewards they sought: a community built entirely by them. Carved out by sheer willpower and at the cost of lives and leaving thousands of dead zombies in their wake.
We're in that corner, now. Not because our resources are running dry or we've lost everything, but because we have too much to lose now to take risks. Like a mother defending her child, New Haven can't take any more chances. There's only one way to keep people safe.
Tomorrow you'll understand.