Chapter 21

  The next morning, I threw myself into a grueling 14-hour day of zombie smashing. Smash, smash, smash. Bash, bash, bash. The rhythmic pounding of the Brain Basher echoed in my ears as I extended the pole to a full 15 feet, giving me just enough reach to keep up with the growing horde. I managed to meet my quota of around 250 kills, but the added length came at a cost. The Brain Basher was no longer in top shape, its once-straight shaft now bent and twisted from repeated use. I contemplated dismantling it to straighten the bends or perhaps using more tubing to construct a new version, but I knew that if I made it any longer, accuracy would suffer. Besides, every missed swing increased the risk of a zombie grabbing hold of the pole—a mistake I had narrowly escaped more than once.

  The next day started off promising, but a brief lapse in attention led to disaster. A zombie managed to grab the pole and yank it out of my hands, sending it crashing to the ground below. Frustrated, I trudged back to the shop to build another one, this time using the longest pieces of pipe I had left, extending my reach to nearly 18 feet.

  What followed were days of frustration and exhaustion. Each morning, I began with renewed hope, only for the reality of my situation to quickly set in. The zombies were growing more adept at dodging my strikes, and their numbers seemed endless. My new Brain Basher, while promising at first, proved to be unwieldy and difficult to control. By mid-morning of the first day, another zombie had grabbed it, yanking it from my grasp and leaving me with no choice but to start over.

  The second day brought more of the same. Despite adjusting my technique, the extended reach hindered more than it helped. Each swing strained my arms and shoulders, and the added length made it nearly impossible to recover the pole in time. Once again, a zombie pulled it down, and I returned to the shop, using what little pipe I had left to build yet another Brain Basher.

  By the third day, my patience was wearing thin. The constant rebuilding of the Brain Basher was taking its toll, and the zombies seemed to sense my growing desperation. Their numbers hadn't decreased significantly, and each failed attempt only deepened my frustration. I tried to extend the weapon even further, hoping to stay out of their reach, but the added length made it even harder to control. My strikes became less accurate, and more often than not, I missed my targets completely. The zombies grabbed the pole yet again, forcing me to start over.

  The fourth day was the worst. Exhaustion had set in, both physically and mentally. My muscles ached, my hands were blistered, and my spirit was nearly broken. I struggled to lift the unwieldy pole, and when I did manage to swing it, the zombies easily dodged my attacks. It wasn't long before another zombie grabbed the pole, pulling it from my hands once more. I sat on the edge of the roof, staring out at the endless sea of undead, feeling utterly defeated.

  With each failure, my supply of piping dwindled. I knew I couldn't keep this up indefinitely. As the sun set, I realized I needed a new plan. The constant failures were taking a toll on my morale, and I knew that something had to change if I was going to survive this nightmare. I even considered going down to the ground as an experiment, but the thought of becoming zombie food held me back. There had to be a better way, and I was determined to find it.

  The next day, I decided to try something different. I wanted to reach out and touch those zombies from a greater distance than my improvised pike or flail allowed. But for that, I needed more ammunition for my pocket shot, a slingshot-like contraption. I knew there were plenty of breaker boxes and electrical components around that might serve as makeshift ammo. If I could break them down using a pipe wrench or a hammer into small, shootable pieces, I might have a chance.

  I grabbed one of the breaker boxes off the shelf, brought it to the floor in front of the workbench, and smashed it to bits. After some effort, I managed to get small enough chunks of hard plastic that would fit into the pocket shot. There were also larger pieces of steel with sharp edges, but I figured those would cut the rubber, so I decided against using any metal bits, concentrating solely on the plastic shards.

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  As I climbed the stairs, I readied one of my makeshift shots. Spotting a woman who had turned zombie about 15 feet away, I let it fly. The shot zinged past her, hitting a zombie next to her in the shoulder instead. The irregular shapes of the plastic chunks made the pocket shot wildly inaccurate. Although there were hundreds of zombies in front of me, only a direct headshot would bring them down, and that only if they were incredibly close.

  After exhausting all the ammunition I had made from the plastic chunks of one breaker box, it became clear that this was a no-go. I needed a better-ranged weapon. My thoughts turned to a crossbow, but I would need bolts. As a long-time YouTube creator, I had watched countless how-to videos and creative bushcraft tutorials. One idea, inspired by medieval siege weapons, came to mind: building a ballista. This could be my chance to create something truly formidable, a weapon capable of delivering precise, powerful shots over a greater distance.

  Unlike a bow and arrow, a ballista's power mechanism relied not on a string but on coiled ropes to generate force. As I rummaged through the boxes beneath the workbench, I found a few packages of sturdy ropes. These would be perfect for creating the tension needed for my ballista. The vision of constructing this formidable weapon became clearer in my mind.

  First, I needed to create the tension mechanism. I looped the ropes into three-foot sections, ensuring they were uniform in length. These loops would be the heart of the ballista, coiled tightly to store the energy required for launching projectiles. To house these coils, I had to build a structural box, or frame, to hold the tension in place.

  Using the legs from an old worktable and some short pieces of pipe I found scattered around, I started constructing the frame. The table legs, made of sturdy wood, would form the rectangular structure needed to securely hold the rope bundles. I measured and cut the legs to the right size, then assembled them into a robust frame. The frame needed to withstand immense tension, so I reinforced the joints with metal brackets and screws scavenged from various electrical panels.

  Once the frame was ready, I turned my attention to the rope bundles. I coiled the three-foot loops together, forming two tight bundles. These would serve as the main power source of the ballista. The frame had slots to anchor the rope bundles securely on either side, using short pieces of pipe as axles. Threading the pipes through the rope bundles, I made sure they were firmly anchored within the frame.

  Next, I needed to create pull arms to wind and tighten the ropes. I fashioned these from some sturdy metal rods I found in the substation, likely parts of old equipment. I attached these pull arms to the pipes extending from each rope bundle. The arms needed to protrude enough to provide leverage when winding the ropes, so I secured them tightly with bolts and washers.

  With the basic structure in place, it was time to tighten the ropes. I wound the pull arms, feeling the tension build in the coiled ropes. The energy stored in these ropes would be crucial for propelling the projectiles with significant force.

  For the launch mechanism, I needed a strong cord to transfer the stored energy from the ropes to the projectile. I found a length of heavy-duty electrical cable with insulation, which would serve perfectly as the firing cord. I attached it to the end of the pull arms.

  The next step was to construct the launch rail. Using additional smooth wooden planks, I built a straight rail along the length of the frame. This rail would guide the projectiles when fired. I made sure the rail was smooth and free of obstructions to allow for a clean launch.

  With everything assembled, I took a step back to admire my work. The ballista stood ready, a medieval siege weapon built from the remnants of an electrical substation. It was time to test it against the horde of zombies outside.

  I placed a makeshift projectile—a sharpened metal rod—onto the launch rail. Pulling back the firing cord, I drew the pull arms back, increasing the tension in the ropes. Taking a deep breath, I released the cord. The projectile shot forward with incredible force, piercing the air and embedding itself in a zombie’s head with a sickening thud.

  Encouraged by this success, I quickly reloaded and fired again, each shot finding its mark with increasing precision. The ballista proved to be a formidable weapon, delivering powerful blows that brought down zombies with ruthless efficiency.

  As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape, I stood ready, my makeshift ballista loaded and aimed at the approaching zombies. The circuit breakers I had scavenged for ammunition had proven to be effective, but I knew my supply was limited. With about 300 fewer zombies now standing, I felt a small victory, but the battle was far from over