A recounting of my strangest DayZ moments thus far.
Its day 7, I decide to take a kip on the outskirts of Polana on a bed of fir needles, their sharp abrasions on my skin during the night barely registering on my consciousness beyond some absent scratching and muttered cursing. Warm beds and blankets are the distant fantasy of another world.
Time passes, I awake and immediately notice something is wrong, very wrong. A rhythmic roar fills my ears that is distinctly out of place in what should be the rural countryside of Polana. I rise to my knees and my hand sinks into the soft ground; I stare disbelievingly at the sand that trickles through my fingers while absently wiping away more sand that had encrusted the side of my face where I had drooled in my sleep. The roar I had been unable to reconcile suddenly becomes clear, it is the pounding of surf on a beach...I am somewhere...else. In a panic I immediately scan my surroundings, it is dark, but the silhouettes of buildings rise out of the gloom, indicating I am nearby a town of some sort. A second wave of panic hits me as I rummage through my gear to see if anything was missing. The thought of losing any of the hard fought things of my kit makes my mouth go bone dry and my heart thuds heavily in my chest. Fortunately, everything is where I had left it when I fell asleep outside Polana. Grasping the stock of my winchester, my panic subsides and confusion returns.
With no idea how I had arrived and no plan, I hesitantly take steps toward some nearby trees to get a further bearing on my surroundings. Suddenly, the earth around starts to kick up and the thud of lethal pieces of hot lead breaks through the roaring of the surf. Panic sets in a third time in as many minutes. I dash toward a tree, but just before I make the tenuous cover of the ground by the tree trunk, I am hit and pain explodes through my consciousness. Stumbling and nearly blind from pain and blood loss, I veer towards a shrub and quickly apply a bandage before I bleed to death, not knowing if the next second will bring death and silence.
With the bandage hastily applied and bullets still landing around me I suddenly realise that there is no sound of gunshots, just bullet hits. My unknown would-be muderer must be a sniper off in the distance, too far to hear or even see muzzle flash.
I have no chance to survive.
Panic morphs quickly into anger. I shouldn't be here, I should be wandering though the ailes of the sports section of the S*MART in Polana, maybe eyeing off a Remingtion to take home with me back to the next bed of fir needles. Reaching into my pocket, I regard the mysterious, forbidden device that I had sworn never to use. Only, the thought that I shouldn't be here kept returning and my earlier promises were suddenly empty and hollow. As I press the small black button on the device, I am hit again by the sniper and the world falls away (logged out), my blood pools on the ground by the nameless beach and its camping bastard murderer.
The world returns. I have inexplicably shifted again in defiance of what should be possible. This time the sunlight is harsh on my back and my mouth is caked and parched from blood-loss. I make my way to another nearby town, Balota. While more in need of food, the spoils of the nearby airfield are too tempting to pass up. Just as I make my way into the control tower after seeming hours of careful navigation around the mindless inhabitants, my perception is ripped yet again, I blink and between one moment and the next, the stair case in front of me disappears and I am plunged into the icy waters of the ocean with no coast in sight, surrounded by strangers all struggling to stay afloat.
"What the f*#k?" I think to myself. I start laughing at the confusion on the faces of the strangers around me and their exclamations of shock. Amusement turns to anger, when I realise all my kit is gone expect for my toolbelt. Gradually the strangers disappear into the abyss. I close my eyes and join them...
...and awake by a third town, Solinchy this time. How can I keep up? Still passing out from bloodloss and now in a much more dire situation without any kit. I make my way to the houses with looting on my mind. Flashes of lighting from an approaching storm tear at my vision and the booms of thunder oppress me into huddling submission.
However, before the storm hits, the now familiar dislocation occurs yet again and I find wrenched to another nameless location, the flashes of lightning replaced by the glare of headlights shining in my face and the thunder replaced by laughter echoing from the surrounding shadows. Two nameless survivors taunt me and I attempt to reply, only to find I have no voice (broken mike). Reaching for a pen and paper I rapidly write to them, "lol, wtf?" My nameless abductors offer me a choice, take the car, or a nearby helicopter.
Why would they offer me vehicles? I pause to wonder before I sprint to the helicopter, never having flown before and knowing that I could pass out any second, throwing all caution to the wind. Clambering into the pilot's seat I start the engine, get the rotors up to speed and take off, leaving the pair of magical nutters (hackers) on the ground. Laughing, with the roar of the helicopter engine and rotors filling my ears, I fly along the coast following a road and think to myself, huh, flying is pretty easy. I start to recognise landmarks, I zoom over Kamenka and Balota airfield and on to Cherno. I buzz the place for a while and flares and fires start to light up the landscape as other survivors acknowledge my presence.
Then, the inevitable happens, as I fly over the docks, my ever present low blood catches up with me. I pass out at the controls while in a steep left bank, the aircraft becomes a hurtling ball of uncontrollable steel, plunging sideways into the ground in a magnificent ball of firey death.
Zombies shuffle past the wreckage, and my body, indifferently. Day 7 draws to a close, there will be no Day 8.