Longtime contributor Jon Axell, on his experiences with the Night Zero team

This week, a special guest blog post by a longtime friend of Night Zero, mister Jon Axell.

I’ve been a part of Night Zero since day zero. I can even remember the first day that the project had officially begun (day zero), and I still had the nerve to ask why it was not going to be named “Day Zero.” And if the pilot issue is, in fact, canon, then I am the first casualty of Night Zero to appear on the page. So that hour I spent lying face-up in the rain while the blood ran into my eyes made me famous, I hope.

Needless to say, I’ve been involved in the project as much as anybody, if you’re counting consecutive months of at least some involvement. But I’ve probably donated fewer hours than anyone who has appeared as more than just a scratcher. You see, I am afraid of commitment. I’m surrounded by suspiciously hard-working friends who have devoted a great deal of their time and capital to this endeavor, and I was thrilled to see it take form as a full-fledged production at ComiCon Seattle, and the record-breaking Fremont Zombie Walk.

I don’t think people realize why this graphic novel series looks so much better than the one written by your friend with the corpse fetish. But I know why. It’s because these guys put in twice as much effort as they need to in order to ensure they don’t end up like something drawn up by expert programmers whose hobbies include “perversion.” Every action the franchise takes is put forth because these guys want to take their dream there. Their creative drive is all that can and does sustain them. They’re their own little New City within our working, thriving society, pushing hard to spread their work, as well as Night Zero’s message of “drink alcohol or you’ll become a destructive force that kills everyone around you.” I could never do it.

Anyways, I had been dipping in and out of the world of Night Zero as a scratcher or a corpse, walking in on weekly staff meetings, and digging what needed to be Dugg for a long time until my girlfriend (a very pretty scratcher and friend of the franchise) took on the role as a lead heroine in a vignette piece. Forest and Anthony were then kind enough to give me the role of “her boyfriend” over many handsome rivals, who I assume went home crying, or reported to scratcher call and devoured my guts alongside Sara. Because, let’s face it, there’s no chance of a happy ending in the world of “Night Zero.” From what I’ve read and what I’ve done, every life spent in the fictional post-apocalyptic Seattle is either a life that finds itself devoured by scratchers or devoured by survivors. The only choices they have are which, and when. Ironically, that’s what gives a future to this project: the struggles of hope and anti-heroism have countless narratives to be told, and I think this frightening canvas is the way to do it.

For the “Flynnette” (so-called because it was short, and written by a guy named Flynn), I sacrificed a few weekend hours and my beard to tell the story that went on to be known as “untitled vignette.” We shot on the UW campus on a spring weekend, so the place seemed apocalyptically empty. The rain helped stave off hackey sackers and frizbee-loving quad-goers, so we had the slick brick pathways and grass all to ourselves. And as the sugary blood of our scratchers and victims pooled in puddles, I thought about the benefit of being on the Night Zero set: I am being trained for the zombie apocalypse. When I’ve been used as a scratcher – and covered in that fake blood the crew makes that could easily be re-sold under the brand name “Bees Love It!” – I’ve been coached on how to think as a scratcher, how to hunt as a scratcher, how to die as a scratcher. As a survivor, I’ve seen characters around me slip and fall, or not plan multiple escape routes. I’ve endured the heat and endured the cold, all while these guys pour hours and hours into production meetings and photoshopping sessions. And I’ve come out of it with this conclusion: the crew of Night Zero is from the future, sent back to prepare us for what’s to come. Why else would they do this? What besides the drive to ensure our species’ survival would lead them down this road? Pleasure? Creative vision? This isn’t “Penny Arcade.” This is much more real.

What I’m saying is this: give it a try. Put aside raking this weekend and come out and eat somebody. If you don’t like it, don’t ever come back. I promise you will look awesome no matter what, and you’ll probably gain a slight advantage over your oafish roommates for when the zombie apocalypse does happen, and everyone else you know gets eaten.