The DayZ Novel Read online



  Survivors and Bandits

  A DayZ Novel

  Cherno Journo

  www.chernojourno.com

  Copyright 2013 Cherno Journo

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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  This is a 32,000 word sample of Survivors and Bandits a DayZ Novel giving you the entire first act to read.

  The completed book is 95,000 words and if you like what you’ve read so far and want to see how it ends you can pick up a copy at

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  CHAPTER 1 – The Sinking Ship

  Captain Nestorenko looked out over the coastline of Chernarus through his binoculars. It was all quiet and as expected there were no lights on anywhere. He knew this coast well - somewhere in that foreboding dark there should be two lighthouses providing beacons of safety to passing ships. Instead all he saw was a long endless blackness that was only broken by the outlines of trees, silhouetted by a backdrop of flickering stars.

  The ship’s First Officer Shutov was worried at being so close to the shore “Captain, this is foolhardy. We can no longer trust the GPS to ensure our position is safe”

  Nestorenko nodded – Shutov was right – it was risky to traverse this area without the aid of lighthouses. But Nestorenko did because he had to see the coast for himself – he had to see if the reports about Chernarus were true. Now that he was here he realized it was a pointless endeavor.

  The reports started coming in two months ago, garbled and panicked transmissions on the civilian frequencies. They spoke of ordinary citizens who suddenly turned into seemingly mindless creatures, they were called the 'infected', but the disease was never named. Mothers would turn on their own children, tearing them to shreds without hesitation, consumed by a ravenous desire to feed on the flesh of the living. The deeply religious called it Armageddon - the beginning of the end - when the dead would walk the earth.

  Only the Captain should have received the reports but on such a small ship, word got around fast. At first there were jokes - no one believed that the living dead could really exist. Then the reports became more pressing, the stories so fantastic they had to be true. The Russian army had been sent in. They’d secured key locations and airports with the United States providing military help. Even in this post-Cold-War Russia it seemed fantastical that the Americans would send their troops in.

  Then the troops were attacked by the infected. Unlike a traditional fighting force, the infected could not be reasoned with. They had no moral qualms, no supply lines to disrupt, their attacks were relentless and continuous until the troops were overrun. Over time, every established point was lost. The last reports were desperate and pleading 'Whatever you do, don’t come to Chernarus.' That was a month ago. No further radio transmissions had been received since.

  Regardless of the warnings, he still changed course for Chernarus, a flagrant misuse of his command. He brought with him a merchant ship that had forty souls on board and should have been returning to port. Chernarus was the land of the Captain's youth - he grew up just outside a small town called Zelenogorsk. He worked the docks of Elektrozavodsk until he was old enough to work on a ship. His parents were still here on their small farm. He had to come back, like visiting a terminally ill relative for the last time before they passed. He had to see Chernarus one last time.

  “Shutov you’re right. There's nothing here,” said the Captain as he looked out over the coastline.

  “Then let us be away from this coast. It was a foolish venture to come here,” replied Shutov.

  “And where would you have us go now?” challenged the Captain, “we've had no further radio transmission, haven't seen or heard any other ships, the world has been dead for a month. Which port will be different from Chernarus?”

  “Then we stay at sea. Our provisions are good, although fuel is running low. We could last another month before needing to go ashore.”

  “But you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later we need to face what's out there.”

  “Then I vote for later,” replied Shutov.

  The ship suddenly juddered and they heard the unmistakable sound of steel tearing, that pierced the otherwise silent night. Bedlam erupted as the ship groaned in pain. From the bow, a crewman pointed to the tear as the ship began to list.

  “We've hit some rocks under the water, the tear is too great,” called out the crewman.

  “Captain?” Shutov asked as he watched the bewildered Captain try to stand upright while the boat leaned over, “Captain, we must abandon ship!” Shutov’s words sounded less like pleading and rather like barking an order.

  Nestorenko looked over at his second in command, his face expressed how defeated he felt. What was waiting on the shore for him, for the entire crew, was certain death. Almost imperceptibly he nodded, and Shutov fired into action.

  Over the ship’s PA system he addressed the crew. “Abandon ship. This is not a drill. The ship is sinking fast, take the survival patrol packs and swim to shore. Disregard the boats we are close to shore…” too close he wanted to say, “so swimming is possible. We are sinking fast. Every man to shore.”

  He looked out the bridge at the panicking crew jumping over the side. The smart ones waited, getting their bearings, finding a landmark to swim towards. The weak just jumped in and hoped for the best.

  The bridge emptied out quickly until only Shutov and Nestorenko remained. He looked over at the Captain who was at the ship’s safe, unlocking it. What important papers could he need now? Shutov pondered.

  “Captain, shall we sweep the ship before departing?”

  The Captain didn’t respond and instead removed a M1911 pistol from the safe. Shutov was surprised that the Captain was thinking of weapons as he watched him load a magazine into the gun. Yes, we would need control on the beaches and a weapon would be handy, he mused, impressed by the Captain’s foresight.

  “What have I done?” asked the Captain.

  “Sir?” replied Shutov, bemused.

  “Are the men off the ship?”

  “We need to check to be certain, but it appears so.”

  “And they are swimming to the shore, to the infected coastline of Chernarus.”

  “Yes sir, that is where you brought us.”

  “So I ask you again - what have I done?”

  “Sir I'm confused, we need to check the ship and swim to shore.”

  The Captain snapped back the pistol loading a bullet into the chamber. He raised the gun and pointed it at Shutov.

  “Stop kissing my God damn arse and answer the question. What have I done?”

  “You fucked up! You brought us here to this God forsaken place and most likely killed us all,” Shutov yelled back, unable to control his rage.

  The Captain was taken aback by Shutov's outburst.

  “Thank you Shutov for being honest this one time,” said the Captain.

  Shutov was momentarily confused until the Captain put the pistol to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. In the small room the gunshot and its accompanying echo was deafening. As the ringing faded from his ears, Shutov looked over the dead Captain. He had been weak, his weakness brought them too close to shore
and his weakness had him check-out early. He didn’t feel pity for the Captain but instead his mind became clear – he knew with the Captain gone he must lead the men once they reached the shore. He must command them.

  These weren’t disciplined men, sure some were ex-military, but they were also merchant seamen. Most were running away from lives that didn’t want them. To lead this rabble he would need to control them. And to control them he would need a gun, that gun. He pried the M1911 from the dead Captain’s hand and wiped off a small smear of blood onto the dead Captain’s shirt. He looked in the safe and took out a second magazine, pocketing it.

  At the bridge’s exit he took one look back at the Captain, his brain matter slowly oozing down the wall beside his limp body. “Coward,” he uttered and walked out. Captain Nestorenko would be the first victim from the MV Rocket, a mocking name for such a slow and lumbering work ship. He may have been the first of the crew to die but certainly he wouldn’t be the last.

  Shutov looked down the ship’s corridors, there could be more people inside. Technically he was now the Captain and therefore it was his responsibility to sweep the ship. Under maritime law he could be prosecuted for failing to do so... he spat onto the ship. What law? Only the law of the jungle matters now, he thought as he jumped into the cold black sea. Being First Officer, Shutov had seen all the reports, heard the radio transmissions first hand. He understood that he was swimming towards a future fraught with danger, facing an enemy unimaginable.