Below you will find a The Plum Island Horror short story written by David Spangler. Please note that this is a work of fiction and not an example of gameplay. Enjoy! -Rachel

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is the fourth and final excerpt from David Spangler’s explosive exposé, Beware the Shade: Where Horrors Hide in the Daylight, currently under a government restraining order forbidding its publication for containing “material damaging to national security.” We are litigating this action and fully expect victory and vindication under the free speech provisions of our Constitution. In the meantime, enough eyewitness accounts of the events of October 25-27 have surfaced to justify our publishing the following excerpts from Mr. Spangler’s book. They add to the rising chorus demanding a full and transparent investigation of the unimaginable and unmitigated disasters that befell the unsuspecting citizens of Plum Island and the town of Greenport. 

There are now in the public domain many images and videos of the tragically and gruesomely mutated employees of the Pearl Island Research Laboratory destroying property and killing people. The seeming aimlessness and savagery of these events support the assumption that these are mindless zombies and that what we experienced on Plum Island was the beginning of a real zombie apocalypse. Nothing could be further from the truth. As I and other analysts have repeatedly said, these Murders of Horrors are not zombies. They are something else, something much, much worse that is masked by the outer appearances. 

Dr. Jeremy Addison-Blythe, the noted British biologist and cryptozoologist, has advanced the hypothesis that the Horrors are actually the emergence of a new form of life, spawned in the maelstrom of chemicals, radiation, and living flesh formed in the wreckage of the P.I.R.L. Although evidence is still being gathered and studied to determine the truth of this hypothesis, my personal experiences and those of others during those three October days of hell on Pearl Island, lead me to believe he’s correct. 

During the early hours of the morning of October 25th, the first Murders of Horrors that appeared out of the noxious mists that surrounded what had been the Pearl did seem mindless and shambling. They surged south blindly, killing and absorbing whatever lay before them, such as the wholly unprepared SWAT team with their commander, Arnold Stallone. But over the next forty-eight hours, those of us trying to stop them witnessed them growing in awareness and intelligence. Their actions became more coordinated and deliberate. Murders of Horrors sought each other out in order to increase in size. This mass made them even more destructive and invincible, but it also slowed them down. So, some smaller Murders deliberately avoided contact with—and absorption into—the larger groups in order to preserve their speed. They acted like scouts moving ahead of the main force. They were easier to stop and destroy, but even in death, they seemed to send information back to the larger Murders some blocks behind them. 

In short, it was as if a coordinating intelligence was waking up, becoming more self-conscious as the hours progressed. In fact, Dr. Addison-Blythe has postulated that a telepathic group mind was rapidly evolving within the Horrors that made them all, whatever and wherever they were, essentially a single organism. In a short-wave broadcast that some of us heard the morning of October 27, the British scientist said, “Should that organism escape the island and reach the mainland, and if it continues to evolve, who knows how intelligent, how powerful, how capable it will become as hours turn into days and days into weeks? We could be facing humanity’s ultimate nemesis, the doom that will end our species!” 

There was another problem as well, one not as visible as the Murders of Horrors. This was contamination. The chemical cloud over the remains of the Pearl was toxic, and it was gradually spreading over the island. It was dispersing as it did so, but nevertheless, toxic material was spreading through the very air we all were breathing. Even more perilous, though it took time for us to realize it, the Horrors themselves were generating viral-like particles that could infect a host and, over time, turn him or her into a mutating Horror as well. As these things contaminated the air and the land around us, it made our situation ever more urgent, lessening the time we had to come up with a solution. 

There is a conspiracy theory that will not die that the federal government was planning a nuclear strike against the island. Certainly, an atomic explosion would most likely have incinerated all the Horrors, much as Cliff “Hanger” Buckman had been roasted in the fire that destroyed Kuhn’s Coffee and Roastery. But it would have incinerated all the uninfected and normal residents of the island as well. It’s horrific to think that any President would authorize the killing of thousands of American citizens, especially those who had voted for him, but if the danger to the nation and to humanity were great enough, then the pressure to do so could be irresistible. 

There is no evidence this was ever a contingency, but the conspiracy theory lingers on, fed in part by the rumor that an aide working in the White House during this crisis overheard the Secretary of Defense say to the President, “Pluck the plum to save the tree!” But this is a very slim branch on which to hang the assertion that a nuclear strike was, in fact, being planned. 

All this was unknown to us on the island at the time, of course. As the first day progressed and night fell, we were just trying to survive and make sense of what was happening. Because communication was so spotty, many people in the south of the island had no idea what was happening north of them or of the doom heading their way. 

One group, though, did realize what was happening and, fortunately, sprang into action. These were the PIGS: the Pearl Island Gamers’ Society. 

In retrospect, this isn’t as surprising as it sounds. After all, these were men and women whose hobby was playing wargames or role-playing games in which they delved into dungeons to face monsters of all kinds. They were used to strategizing in the face of enemies. They were used to thinking like heroes. When true crisis arrived at their doorstep, they knew what to do, and they responded. 

PIGS was centered at Moe’s Game Shop, located in a shopping complex near where the Great South Bay Bridge connects to the island, its only land-link to the mainland. It’s a good size establishment, divided into three parts: a store that sold board games, role-playing games, and all kinds of gaming accessories at the front, a large gaming area filled with tables and chairs at the rear, and along one side, a small café that sold beverages, sandwiches, pizzas, and various other snacks. It was a complete one-stop shop for the community of gamers that lived on the island and also for visiting gamers from the mainland who would come across the bridge. Both the store and the island were famous up and down the Atlantic coast for hosting an annual three-day game conference every summer. Called the PIGOUT, it regularly brought hundreds of gamers to Plum Island, and their welcome dollars into the island’s economy. All of which made Tad Chensen, the owner of Moe’s Game Shop (he never would disclose who “Moe” was) and the founder of the PIGS, famous within the island business community. As there were a number of retired military personnel on the island (Chensen himself had been in the Army), PIGS became a natural club for them to join. 

Chensen was also famous as a game designer with many beloved games to his credit, including the classic wargame, War Command. His skill and reputation drew many other well-known designers to the PIGOUT, making it the gaming place to be every summer. 

After the death of the mutant Cliff “Hanger” Buckman, I was at sixes and sevens where to go next. Ellie May headed south to find her boyfriend who worked at Pop’s Donuts. This store, famous for its legendary and diverse selection of donuts, was conveniently (and humorously) located next door to the 1st Police Precinct, from which the unfortunate Constable Friday had come. I knew she’d be safe there, at least as safe as anyone at that moment. When I thought of where I should go and what I should do, Tad Chensen and the PIGS popped into my mind. As a gamer and member of the PIGS myself, I had spent many happy hours at Moe’s Gaming Store. Probably the desire to recapture the feeling of those hours, as much as anything, prompted me to make that my next stop. 

It was not far away. I was about two blocks away from the Pomegranate Mall where my office was located, and Moe’s was three long blocks to the east of that. It took me only twenty minutes to reach the PIGS headquarters, where I was happy to see Tad, his wife, Kay, and a small group of gamers, most of whom I recognized, collecting together. Apparently, like me, they had all come to a place where they felt at home. I also saw Herm “The Herminator,” and Gene “The Wolverine,” two famous game designers who had been visiting when the storm struck and had been stranded on the island. 

“Spangler!” said Tad, gripping my shoulder. “You made it! But you look like hell! What happened? We’re hearing all kinds of weird rumors from north of here.” Everyone gathered around to hear what I had to say. 

“They’re all true,” I said. Then I recounted everything that had happened to me. 

“Wow,” Tad exclaimed. “You have been through hell! But what are those things you saw?” 

“Mutants,” came a voice I wasn’t that familiar with. Turning, I saw it was Herm Fiddleman, pressing forward. “I’ve heard rumors of the experiments they’ve been running up at the Pearl. I’ve even been researching them, in case there was a game idea there. It sounds like Nancy upended the cart and set something loose they hadn’t expected.” 

“Makes sense to me,” said Kay, Tad’s wife and business partner, herself a noted role-playing gamer, famous in fantasy circles for her Ranger, Tinacia. “I’ve had my suspicions for some time. But what can we do?” 

“We can fight,” said Tad. “We can protect the island and stop these Horrors from reaching Greenport.” There were murmurs and shouts of assent from the crowd. “Quick,” he said, his organizational mind taking over, “give me a map of the island…and everyone, contact all the PIGS you can. We need to have an emergency PIGOUT right here, right now!” 

In under an hour, we had the equivalent of a military headquarters setting up in Moe’s Game Store, benefitting from the years of military experience many of us had. A group of us were clustered around a Plum Island map, making strategic plans. Some were in the café making sandwiches. Some were gathering other supplies, like med kits and bandages. Many, being ex-military, had brought weapons, mostly pistols and rifles, but one fellow sported a long Scottish claymore. All in all, about thirty gamers had shown up, one man even coming in the red shirt of a Star Trek security officer, which, given the circumstances, didn’t seem to me like the best choice of clothes to be wearing. 

Plum Island, as I’ve said before, is divided by the Plum River, the Little Plum river, and a series of small foothills, way too small to be considered mountains but steep and rugged enough to act as natural boundaries. The effect of this terrain is to divide the island into six corridors running north to south. We all knew that these would channel the advance of the Horrors, as cross-island movement, even for us, would be difficult. The strategy, then, was to send six teams out to create defenses in each of the six “corridors.” Those of us with guns would harass the Murders from a safe distance, trying to at least slow them down, if not eliminate them. Others would try to find and rally other defenders to our cause, while also evacuating civilians who might not just be killed but actually add to the strength of our enemy. The youngest of the gamers, teenagers and even younger, would use their bikes and skateboards to go south, spreading the alarm. They were our “Paul Reveres,” warning as many as we could reach that “the Horrors are coming.” 

Six commanders were appointed: Tad, Herm, Gene, myself, and two other ex-military types. Each of us took a team of men and women out to defend one of the corridors of the island. We ran, we walked, we fought, we harassed, we built barricades (all the downed trees and abandoned cars in the roads and streets were a huge asset here), we did everything we could think of for the next two days, until the afternoon of the 27th. We were joined by allies, many of whom we had to instruct in the rudiments of tactics and defense. Being gamers, though, we were used to teaching complex rules to newcomers, and people caught on quickly. We also sent many others south to Greenport and to Coast Guard boats that could evacuate them. But only a few could be saved that way. Most we sent east to the Great South Bay Bridge, where they could walk off to the mainland, though initially they had to wait while repairs were underway. 

Many of us died. More were wounded. Some were infected; those we had to confine until medical help could be given them. But we slowed the Horrors down and, in some cases, totally eliminated the Murder we were attacking. Successes and failures seemed to me to blend together in one unending blur of running, fighting, weeping, cursing, and screaming. At one point, I thought I saw a figure in a red shirt going down before an onslaught of Horrors, who were themselves cut down moments later by bursts of fire power. 

As the hours went by, we noticed that the Horrors were becoming more tactical. They were beginning to seek out and use cover when we used our guns from a distance. They developed pincer tactics to envelop and surround some of our barricaded defenses, rather than the frontal assaults that had been costing them. They were learning, and they were improving. Even more, they seemed to be shifting direction. More and more seemed to be coming down the eastern “corridors,” with only enough attacking down the rest of the island to keep our forces spread thin. 

At this point, the six “corridor commanders” had come together to evaluate the situation. It was Herm who realized what they were doing. “They’re concentrating towards the Bridge. They’re wanting to break through to the mainland!” When he said it, it was obvious, and frightening. It meant that the Horrors were figuring things out. They—or something controlling them—was thinking strategically. We remembered what Addison-Blythe had said. If he was right, humanity itself was in danger should the Horrors cross the bridge. 

Tad, Kay, Herm, Gene, and I decided to go back to the game store, which was near to the Bridge. That area was shaping up to be a climatic battle for control of the island and, who knew, perhaps for the mainland, the USA, and humanity at large as well. We needed to be there to organize and inspire the defenses. 

And that was how I was present at what came to be known as the Battle of the Bridge but which we, as PIGS, always knew as the Battle of Moe’s Game Store. The word had gone out through Tad’s network, and gamers from all over the island who were able had assembled for the greatest, and possibly the last, PIGOUT. One of these gamers was Colonel Jess Parmenter, the senior officer of the local National Guard. She had been cut off from her soldiers by the storm, loss of communication, and the damage to the bridge, but she had finally gotten through to her headquarters. Help, she said, was on the way, as National Guard troops under the leadership of Sgt. Forrest O’Rourke were helping with bridge repairs and prepared to join us as quickly as they could. This news gave us a thrill of hope that perhaps all might not be lost and that the PIGS had a chance. 

The battle itself lasted on and off for hours as elements of the main mass of Horrors probed and feinted and attacked here and there, testing our defenses, which were meager enough. It was, for me, another clear sign of an active intelligence at work against us. These were no mindless zombies but something else entirely. 

I was exhausted by this point. We all were. Much of what took place during the final battle is just a haze in my mind. But some images stand out. 

I remember seeing the Herminator and the Wolverine each standing on the roof of two opposite buildings, throwing Molotov cocktails down on the swarming, seething mass of Horrors on the streets below and between them. 

I remember shooting at screaming Horrors assaulting a barricade of gaming tables set up at the entrance and front window of Moe’s Gaming Store where I was making my possibly last stand. When my ammunition ran out, I started throwing game boxes at them. I remember hefting a copy of the fantasy game Gloomyhaven and hurling it at a Horror. It crushed it where it stood. 

I remember Sgt. O’Rourke and the National Guard suddenly charging across the Bridge, the cavalry arriving at the last moment when all hope seemed spent. 

But most of all I remember Tad and Kay Chensen, standing back-to-back in the middle of the street that led to the Bridge toll booths, each holding a gas-powered chainsaw, hacking and slashing at the Horrors swarming around them, blood and gore, flesh and bone, gristle and sinew flying into the air above them, dozens of Horrors piling up dead at their feet. He looked like Conan the Barbarian, his shirt ripped off, his chest bare and bloody, hewing a path of death before him. She looked every bit the Ranger, an empty quiver on her back (her arrows long since spent), her hair whipping about as she struck with her chainsaw to her left and right. 

They were a god and goddess of slaughter, and they singlehandedly held back that hoard, giving citizens time to flee down the bridge and the National Guard time to make it across. They held their place until a sudden surge of Horrors overwhelmed them, and they disappeared beneath it. No one ever saw them again. Flame-throwing tanks from the Guard incinerated the entire mass, taking them with it. 

Today a memorial stands on that spot, celebrating the courage of gamers. It shows a man and a woman, back-to-back, each holding a chain saw. They are illuminated by golden lights from below. An engraved plaque, much to the puzzlement of non-gamers, says simply “+1” 

A few days later, some of us met at what was left of Moe’s Game Store. The damaged gaming tables had been returned to the back of the room and set upright, as if ready for gaming night. But many gamer’s seat was empty, containing only a wreath. We passed around drinks, we toasted fallen comrades, and we began to sing. The words just came, slowly at first, then quickly as each man and woman there added a verse. It came to be known as the Ballad of the PIGS, celebrating the greatest PIGOUT of all, the Battle of Moe’s Game Store. 

Life is slowly getting back to normal. Herm the Herminator is designing a game based on the Plum Island Horrors and our three days of hell. Gene the Wolverine is trying to finish his epic board game on the American Presidency, The White House; those in the know are sure it will appear one day. As for the gaming community, well, these days, at gaming cons and in gaming stores across the land, you may well see many gamers wearing an “I’m a PIG too!” button. Then you will hear the Ballad of the PIGS being sung. New verses keep being added, many unsuitable for family fare or young gamers’ ears. But everywhere the refrain is the same, sung to the clapping of hands, the thumping of chests, the stamping of feet, and the banging of fists in rhythm on whatever solid surface is present: 

When monsters rise 

And Horrors come, 

The game’s afoot 

And must be won! 

Let others scream 

And run like mice. 

We gamers stand— 

And roll the dice! 

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Previous Articles from David Spangler:

The Plum Island Horror: First Encounters

The Plum Island Horror: The Peril of P.I.R.L

The Plum Island Horror: Roasted