Ode to my Project Zomboid Character, Mine Kraft

I guess it was inevitable. Before you hop back into your character's world, the game always informs you "This is How You Died". I was attached to this one though. Mine Kraft was a firefighter. She woke up at her personal residence at Riverside one morning. Things outside had gotten worse. She grabbed a few essentials and shoved them into her pockets before opening a kitchen window and running towards the river.

Immediately she caught the attention of a couple undead. Quick on her feet, she had not yet developed a concern for conserving energy. Stealth would be perfected later. Now it was about staking out a new place to hold up. Running alongside the river, practically hugging it, she made her way past a uselessly elaborate gazebo. It served as a gateway to a sort of concrete park. Her feet upon a smooth surface of grays and light-browns, she messily ran past more of the undead.

Clear past the concrete now, she hopped a fence and past some trees which preceded a cul-de-sac, typical and open. At this moment she worked up the courage to start fighting. Without any sort of weapon, she could only push them down, and bash their heads in with her foot until they finally stopped moving. At the opening of the cul-de-sac there were a row of houses staring at her from the opposite side of the street. She chose the one to her left. It sat unassumingly. It was a typical one story, single bedroom layout.

Mine Kraft didn't have much. A hammer. A hand-torch. Even so, she was efficient. After a just a few weeks of clearing and exploring the surrounding area, she had all but one of the house's windows boarded from the inside. The bathroom window became the sole entry way into the house. She plugged away at developing her carpentry skills, completely dismantling a few dozen yards of a nearby fence. A fence which stood taller than her. After clearing the area of some zeds, she tore down a few walls of a neighboring restaurant nestled within a shopping center which was not even a quarter mile away.

Mine erected a wooden wall the end of the driveway, running a perpendicular line from the side of her house, to the white picket fence which defined the neighbor's property line. One day a helicopter passed by. This invited half a dozen of the undead to Mine's property. She dispelled them in a focused manner, being careful to not take on more than two at a time. Just before the utilities were cut, Mine built three large rain-catchers out of some wood planks and garbage bags. These sat in the backyard of a residence three houses down. This location was chosen for its shiny red barbecue grill which had been left behind.

Mine wasn't without her fumbles. She had close calls. Too many close calls to have realistically survived for a month and a half. She was a warrior and that was clear. One harrowing afternoon saw her hop from the second story of an office building after a mini hoard of zeds began to climb the stairs, and overwhelm her on the petite outside patio. When she jumped she practically landed on her feet.

She was fond of molotov cocktails. It may have been the easy way out, and perhaps a bit ironic for a former-firefighter. Even so, she often dispelled dozens of zeds this way, exhausting herself as she ran circles around them until they were unrecognizable crisps lying on the ground. Her misadventures as a pyromaniac one day led the the burning of an entire strip mall, and a sizable bank. That night she had a brief, hardy chuckle before she fell asleep. It felt good to smile for a moment.

Mine was on the lookout for one specific magazine. It was called "how to use generators"... or perhaps "generator operation for beginners", she didn't know the exact title, but swore she'd seen it on the shelf of a gas station somewhere in town. It was likely hiding in somebody's mail box.

Was it a pursuit of luxury? Surely not. It was late August, and the weather would be shifting soon enough. At this point Mine was perhaps a bit too confident. Her sense of security was well earned, but surely known to her, and perhaps placed out of mind for just a moment, was the fact that it would only take one careless mistake.

One day she chose to run north. There was no real plan, just to hit a few mail boxes, and maybe sleep in a freshly cleared house. Mostly she had just hoped to see something new. Her jog started on the familiar residential road. She recalled the small broccoli plants, healthy and green, which had recently sprouted beside the water catchers and barbecue. "Not bad for a first attempt" she thought. 

She soon happened upon a wide open field. No crops, any real utility abandoned for the sake of the roaming undead which both dotted the scenery as outliers, and huddled together like cattle.

Two, four, then six noticed Mine, humanity's last bastion gliding through the grass. A large hoard began to follow. Weaving her way through, and somewhat amused at the great numbers she had amassed in no time at all, she happened upon a tall chain link fence which defined the outer edges of some abandoned car dealership, or junk yard, or both.

There were even more zeds within the perimeter of the fence. Mine didn't stick around, deciding to hop the north-side of the perimeter. Now finally clearing the full length of the field, she discovered an abandoned blue car, sitting alone on a two-lane interstate. It was in rough shape, crumpled, with doors that wouldn't budge. She moved a bit to her left, passed the nose of the vehicle, and just a hair further north. Moderately exhausted, she sat down.

She didn't hear it approaching, a single soft footstep from behind had her working to push herself up from the the ground, but halfway through this endeavor she was bitten on her right forearm. She didn't put the zed down. She just ran. Her time was up, and she knew it. "I want to be by the water" she thought at first, fighting the flood of sadness and regret... and the fear. Oh my god the fear.

She thought she's pass over right there on the riverside, but it hurt too much, and after some red wine and a nap, she wanted to go home. Back home she washed herself, her clothes, and all those dirty bandages. She read a few chapters of a book, maybe something sci-fi, and went back to bed.

---

I've not seen Mine Kraft turn. I can't really bare to. She's currently sitting by the water, waiting for me to finish her story... I think she'll stay bandaged, bathed, and prideful until the very end. I only hope that she found some joy in-between the frantic bursts of her final chapter.

I will boot up again to properly see her out.

Thank you Mine. Thank you for sharing your story with me.