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121 A.D., FANUM COCIDI, CALEDONIA (SCOTLAND)
Although the source of the outbreak is unknown, its events are well-documented. The local barbarian chieftains, believing the undead to be simply insane, sent more than 3,000 warriors to “end this mad uprising.” The result: More than 600 warriors were devoured, the rest wounded and eventually transformed into walking dead. A Roman merchant named Sextus Sempronios Tubero, who was traveling through this province at the time, witnessed the battle. Although not realizing that the walking dead were just that, Tubero was observant enough to notice that only the decapitated zombies ceased to be a threat. Barely escaping with his life, Tubero reported his findings to Marcus Lucius Terentius, commander of the nearest military garrison in Roman Brita
Ramifications from this outbreak were both immediately and historically important. Emperor Hadrian ordered all information regarding the outbreak to be compiled in one comprehensive work. This manual not only detailed a zombie’s behavioral pattern and instructions on efficient methods of disposal, it recommended overwhelming numerical force “to deal with the inevitable panic of the general populace.” A copy of this document, known simply as “Army Order XXXVII,” was distributed to every legion throughout the empire. For this reason, outbreaks in areas under Roman rule never reached critical numbers again and were therefore never reported in detail. It is also believed that this first outbreak prompted the building of “Hadrian’s Wall,” a structure that effectively isolated Northern Caledonia from the rest of the island. This is a textbook Class 3 outbreak, and easily the largest on record.
140–41 A.D., THAMUGADI, NUMIDIA (ALGERIA)
Six small outbreaks among desert nomads were recorded by Lucius Valerius Strabo, Roman governor of the province. All outbreaks were crushed by two cohorts from the III Augusta Legionary base. Total zombies dispatched: 134. Roman casualties: 5. Other than the official report, a private journal entry by an army engineer records a significant discovery:
A local family remained imprisoned in their home for at least twelve days while the savage creatures scratched and clawed fruitlessly at their bolted doors and windows. After we dispatched the filth and rescued the family, their ma
This is the first known recognition of psychological damage caused by a zombie attack. All six incidents, given their chronological proximity, make a credible case for one or more ghouls from earlier attacks “surviving” long enough to reinfect a population.
156 A.D., CASTRA REGINA, GERMANIA (SOUTHERN GERMANY)
An attack by seventeen zombies left a prominent cleric infected. The Roman commander, recognizing the signs of a newly turned zombie, ordered his troops to destroy the former holy man. Local citizens became enraged, and a riot ensued. Total zombies dispatched: 10, including the holy man. Roman casualties: 17, all from the riot. Civilians killed by Roman crackdown: 198.
177 A.D., NAMELESS SETTLEMENT NEAR TOLOSA, AQUITANIA (SW FRANCE)
A personal letter, written by a traveling merchant to his brother in Capua, describes the assailant:
He came from the wood, a man stinking of rot. His gray skin bore many wounds, from which flowed no blood. Upon seeing the screaming child, his body seemed to shake with excitement. His head turned in her direction; his mouth opened in a howling moan. . . . Darius, the old legionary veteran, approached . . . pushing the terrified mother aside, he grabbed the child with one arm, and brought his gladius around with the other. The creature’s head fell to its feet, and rolled downhill before the rest of his body followed. . . . Darius insisted they wear leather coverings as they pitched the body into the fire . . . the head, still moving in a disgusting bite, was fed to the flames.
This passage should be taken as the typical Roman attitude toward the living dead: no fear, no superstition, just another problem requiring a practical solution. This was the last record of an attack during the Roman Empire. Subsequent outbreaks were neither combated with such efficiency nor recorded with such clarity.
700 A.D., FRISIA (NORTHERN HOLLAND)
Although this event appears to have taken place on or about 700 A.D., physical evidence comes in the form of a painting recently discovered in the vaults of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. Analyses of the materials themselves fix the date listed above. The picture itself shows a collection of knights in full armor, attacking a mob of ragged men with gray flesh, arrows and other wounds covering their bodies, and blood dripping from their mouths. As the two forces clash in the center of the frame, the knights bring their swords down to decapitate their enemies. Three “zombies” are seen in the lower right-hand corner, crouching over the body of a fallen knight. Some of his armor has been pulled off, one limb ripped from his body. The zombies feed on the exposed flesh. As the painting itself is unsigned, no one has yet to determine where this work came from or how it ended up in the museum.
850 A.D., UNKNOWN PROVINCE IN SAXONY (NORTHERN GERMANY)
Bearnt Kuntzel, a friar on his pilgrimage to Rome, recorded this incident in his personal diary. One zombie wandered out of the Black Forest to bite and infect a local farmer. The victim reanimated several hours after his demise and turned on his own family. From there, the outbreak spread to the entire village. Those who survived fled into the lord’s castle, not realizing that some among them had been bitten. As the outbreak spread even farther, neighboring villagers descended in a mob toward the infested zone. Local clergy believed that the undead had been infected by the spirit of the devil and that holy water and incantations would banish the evil spirits. This “holy quest” ended in a massacre, with the entire congregation either devoured or turned to living dead themselves.
In desperation, neighboring lords and knights united to “purify the devil’s spawn with fire.” This ramshackle force burned every village and every zombie within a fifty-mile radius. Not even uninfected humans survived the slaughter. The original lord’s castle, inhabited by people who had shut themselves in with the undead, had by then been transformed into a prison of more than 200 ghouls. Because the inhabitants had barred the gates and raised the drawbridge before succumbing, the knights could not enter the castle to purify it. As a result, the fortress was declared “haunted.” For over a decade afterward, peasants passing nearby could hear the moans of the zombies still within. According to Kuntzel’s figures, 573 zombies were counted and more than 900 humans were devoured. In his writings, Kuntzel also tells of massive reprisals against a nearby Jewish village, their lack of “faith” blamed for the outbreak. Kuntzel’s work survived in the Vatican archives until its accidental discovery in 1973.