Date: 2014-08-04 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror; Post Apocalyptic; Fiction; Apocalyptic; Dystopia
Description: A full year of blood and tears has passed for Adrian Ring. As the dead remain hateful, the living are more desperate than ever: winter approaches and supplies are dwindling. Meanwhile, the conflict with the monsters at the Factory is reaching a boiling point. But Adrian won't have to fight alone. Kevin and Michelle, his unwitting compatriots in the scheme to save the world, are following signs and portents to make their way to a hero they don't yet know. To meet them, Adrian will have to weather treachery, starvation, violent attacks… and perhaps worst of all, the temptation of an easy way out

ADRIAN’S UNDEAD DIARY

Chris Philbrook

Book Seven

THE TRINITY

Adrian’s Undead Diary: The Trinity
Copyright © 2012 Christopher Philbrook

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America

First Publishing Date September, 2011

All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

For the people who pushed me, from kindergarten to college, at home and far away. We are either crushed by the challenges that come to us in life, or we rise above them, and show them who's boss. I certainly hope I remain the shot caller in my life. This book goes out to the people who made sure I was tested in my life, as well as to all the readers who have been tested in their lives right alongside me.

-Chris

Also by Chris Philbrook:

Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

Coming Soon:

Book Three: The Echoes of Sin

Reemergence

Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

Adrian’s Undead Diary

Book One: Dark Recollections

Book Two: Alone No More

Book Three: Midnight

Book Four: The Failed Coward

Book Five: Wrath

Book Six: In the Arms of Family

Book Seven: The Trinity

Coming Soon:

Book Eight: Cassie

Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

At Least He’s Not On Fire:

A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

A.L.P.A. map

Auburn Lake Vicinity map

SEPTEMBER 2011

September 2nd

September 5th

September 8th

September 10th

September 13th

September 15th

September 16th

White Blood Cell

September 19th

September 21st

September 23rd

September 24th

The Factory

September 27th

September 28th

OCTOBER 2011

October 1st

October 4th

October 7th

October 9th

October 11th

October 14th

October 16th

October 19th

October 21st

October 23rd

Dreams of a Dying Man

October 26th

October 28th

October 31st

NOVEMBER 2011

November 3rd

November 6th

November 8th

November 10th

November 13th

November 16th

The Road To Bastion

November 19th

November 20th

November 22nd

November 25th

November 27th

November 28th

DECEMBER 2011

December 1st

December 3rd

December 5th

December 7th

December 10th

December 15th

December 16th

December 18th

A Stranger Among Us

December 19th

December 22nd

About the Author

Additional Online Content

AUD Merchandise

Free Short Fiction by Chris Philbrook

September 2011

September 2nd

If I didn’t want to murder someone before, I sure as shit do now.

Motherfuckers are pissing me off. I don’t need this right now, and I don’t want to do this, but guess what asshats, you mess with the bull, you get fucked by me.

I realize that is NOT how that saying goes Mr. Journal. Don’t bother fucking correcting me. I’ll kick your ass too. I’m spoiling for a fight now.

We encountered the Outsiders today, and as you might expect, it ended like every other encounter has with them. With gunfire. We did see several more of them than we ever had though, which means they probably aren’t really intentionally doing guerilla ops on us. I think that sniper attack the other day was them just leaving a trigger happy rearguard behind to see what we might do.

Oh man I’m angry. We took two wounded earlier today. Thankfully the wounds are more or less superficial, but the fact that we are taking fire from these assholes yet fucking again infuriates me. Chad was out on our gasoline run earlier today with me when we were attacked. Chad took a small caliber round to the forearm, through and through, and Amanda got a ricochet off the pavement into the shin. I’m really worried about her wound the more I think about it. The pancaked bullet hit the bone, and cracked it, and that’s a huge risk for infection. Doc Lindsey is really worried that she might be in deep shit in a day or two. So I take back the superficial comment. Maybe that wound is more serious. It seems like it could get more serious.

Mike gave us a clear report from MGR saying everything was fine as far as he and the crew could see. The huge storm we got miraculously didn’t destroy our comms tower on the top, which is awesome. What a motherfucker that would’ve been had that fallen off the damn roof. Mike and I are now seriously thinking of new ways to shore that thing down. When winter hits, it might get blown off for real.

Different problem for a different day.

We rolled out earlier today to hit the same gas station we’ve been slowly draining for the past few months. We’ve got a good system there, we know how to block the perimeter there fairly well, and it’s the one we feel is best to empty first. We rolled out in a very large group, almost the size of the warehouse team, in the event we ran into the Outsiders. We had two humvees, the HRT, the deuce and a half, and the plow. Ten warm armed bodies in the vehicles, spread evenly.

The gas station is in the open, and the tanks are on the side, far away from our approach. I was in the lead with the HRT when I pulled into the parking lot, and saw the new vehicles parked around the rear of the building. I saw folks walking about carrying weapons, and I knew instantly we’d interrupted them doing what we wanted to do. They were taking our fuel. I was only in their vision perhaps two seconds before they opened fire on me. I saw at least three people shoulder weapons in our direction.

I radioed out contact ahead, leaned down to avoid the fire coming at the windshield, told Amanda to hold onto her ovaries, and I drove straight into their biggest truck, which was a straight body panel truck that looked like the kind that was used to transport propane canisters back in the day. It had barrels of fuel in the back, and my hope was I’d puncture a barrel, and scare the fuck out them.

The impact felt surprisingly weak, and with the power of the HRT and the ram blade on the front I rolled their fucking truck completely on its side. Barrels went fucking everywhere in the parking lot. At the time I didn’t see it, but I’d managed to crush and kill two of the Outsiders with that maneuver.

Go me.

Then they lit me up. Martin’s up-armor job on the HRT held strong though, and despite the deafening pings and thuds of incoming rounds against it, we were safe. It sounds like folks throwing gravel on the side of your car, if you’re curious. Just a lot louder. Amanda was shitting a brick, screaming bloody fucking murder, but we were safe. Safe being a very relative term. I threw the HRT into reverse, looked through the mirror, and backed away again to clear avenues of fire for the people in the vehicles behind us.

The remainder of the team got out of their vehicles and started to engage with extreme prejudice. Withering, punishing fire Mr. Journal. The noise was god awful, and so welcome. Like an orchestra filled with row after row of high-caliber kick ass. Amanda and I got out of the vehicle, and immediately she went down with her wound. I don’t think she got a single round off before getting hit. She crawled behind one of the tires of the HRT, went prone, and started to fire slowly with her bolt action. I think she hit one person before they ran. Talk about a tough bitch. I always thought Angela was the sister with the penis in that family, but frankly, I think both of them are packing heat. I actually think both of them have bigger dicks than I do. Shameful realization.

Chad was in the rear, and he took his wound fairly early too. I mean I say early, but in reality from the time we got out of the vehicles, and started firing to the time they got in theirs, and got the fuck out it was maybe ten seconds. Maybe twenty seconds tops start to finish. They left in two small vans, both of which looked to be diesels. I don’t know where these pricks keep finding working diesels, but they can kiss my ass. I wish I had all the diesels they had. I wish I had half the diesels they had.

We dealt with our wounded as Martin and Blake checked their fuel barrels. Two had cracked open when the truck tipped over, and we elected to put some space between us, and the hundred gallons of spilled gas. They hadn’t taken any diesel from the station yet, which tells me they’re using gas for something like we are. Generators, etc. Not vehicles obviously. Of the 14 barrels in the back of their straight body truck, four were full, we lost two of those, and the other ten were empty. The good news is that we now have ten more barrels to store fuel in.

The bad news, is within fifteen minutes of the Outsiders leaving, we were dealing with encroaching undead from all sides. Fortunately the head count of the dead was reasonable, but it was constant for the two hours we were on site at the gas station. I guess fairly prolonged deafening gunfire draws a crowd. It didn't help our situation that we had two minor wounded.

Whodathunkit?

Fucking zombies. At least none were on fire. Despite a few of them getting close to the spilled barrels of gas and nearly walking through it. Dickheads.

Okay so after setting up a perimeter, shooting all the asshole dead folks that came through, and filling all the fucking barrels and vehicles with fuel, we had spent four solid hours there. I was so worried we were going to be attacked by the Outsiders again, but that didn’t happen thankfully. I guess if we were attacked it wouldn’t have mattered much. We were already engaging hostiles, had they come close, we would’ve just lit them up.

I was really worried about potshots from snipers. Everyone moved with their head low the entire time, and paranoid as balls that someone’s brainpan was just gonna pop like a melon at any moment. It could happen. Easy as pie, or cake, or whatever delectable dessert you’re craving.

It’s kind of scary stuff moving around in an environment where you’re afraid of being shot at any moment. Seriously. It’s been a long time since we were under fire like this. Since I was. Iraq. Scary.

The dead don’t shoot at us, so simply being vigilant, and covering your bases with simple defenses is enough of a precaution to stay safe. Here, today, it wasn’t. Body armor can only protect you so much, and if whoever has their eye behind that scope is a good enough shot, you’re losing your face to a high caliber round. And you know the shit part?

There is nothing you can do about it. Either you die, or you don’t. The real worry is the person standing next to you. I know if some asshole with a .308 puts one through my skull I won’t know the difference. That’ll be it. Signed, sealed and delivered, I’m in the afterlife, giving some other asshole bad dreams in a White Room.

I am much more worried about Chad, Angela, Amanda, Blake, Abby, Hector, Martin, and the slew of people who put their lives on the line for me, and our group, day after die. I don’t want them to die, and I certainly don’t want to watch it happen like that. All I can think about is Officer McGreevy, and how his heard evaporated from that kid's shot.

And the Outsiders I’m sure feel the same way, which is why I am taking the fight to them in a day or two. I haven’t worked out the details just yet, but Mike and I, and maybe another person are going to start recon’ing the far side of town where they’re coming from. Lots of foot movement on our parts, fire and displace action. I want to take one shot, blow a fucking skull apart, and then disappear. Mike and I are both excellent shots, and McGreevy’s rifle is BEGGING to be put to work. I still haven’t given it to Danny as it is his father’s rifle, and I think this will be a fine farewell for me.

Mike is ready to eat lead and shit bullets on these motherfuckers too. Hell we all are. Blood for blood, and this will teach them a lesson. I realize that sounds bloodthirsty on my part, but we can’t keep doing this. They are endangering my people, and the safety and longevity of the folks that live here on campus. Here at ALPA, or Bastion, or whatever the fuck you want to call this place.

Home.

That’ll work.

Details will become available on that operation as I develop them. I can tell you this though: I’m not coming home without making my presence known to those pricks. I will show them what it means to be fucking deterred. I can be awfully damn persuasive behind the scope a rifle. Diplomacy Adrian Ring style.

Having said all that.

Campus is in much better shape today than it was the other day. We were able to use the backhoe a lot more than I thought we were going to be able to once the standing water left behind from the storm came down. The earth was really soft, and the dirt was spread out quite a ways due to the length of the washouts, so I was convinced it was a shovel only mission. However, both Blake and Martin are pretty damn talented with the backhoe, and they were able to scrape up and repack at least… I dunno, 60% of the dirt from the washouts. That easily cut us from two weeks of work to maybe just a day or two more after the past few days of work.

We have started to replant some shrubs and grass seed we scrounged for on the berm to cut down on the chance of washouts in the future. If we get heavy rain, or even snowmelt in a future spring season, we’ll be right back where we are now. We need drainage otherwise, which is certainly a fucking project that we can get on. A few rock filled channels every ten feet or so I’d bet would alleviate a lot of our moisture problems.

I had a buddy in the Air Force who worked in engineering. Specifically he worked in a unit that did runway construction. He said they only needed three things to build a runway, anywhere in the world: drainage, drainage, and drainage.

This is no runway, but I’m going with his theory. It seems really applicable given our recent issues with water. A few shovels, a handful of kids, and an enormous supply of small stones, and I’d bet we can get those culverts and channels put in. Kids love playing in dirt, and there are rocks everywhere on campus. Problem solved.

Clearing the roads to get down here took a good part of yesterday as well as this morning. Lots of downed trees and tree branches. The washout situation was pretty impressive as well. The shoulders of most of the downhill areas are fucking gone, and if we don’t put some time and effort into packing something into those areas, we will most definitely start losing the edges of the pavement on Auburn Lake Road. Sadly, we are now the DOT, and DPW for the surrounding countryside.

Oh yeah, Ollie went to Westfield today with Melissa, Alex and George to check on his dad. I guess the farmhouse took a good asswhipping from the rain and wind, but they’re all good. The crops were damaged some, and according to Ollie, Lenny said we lost around 10% of the entire yield. That’s definitely shitty, but it could be much worse.

Oh ha, humorous note of the day: because we still have no barn to speak of, during the storm we wound up moving the cows and the chickens into the cafeteria. The floor in there is a goddamn wreck now. Ollie was losing his mind when the bad weather really came in, and we HAD to put the cows in there before he straight up had an aneurysm. I think that vein in his forehead was throbbing like a pornstar’s dick. It was impressive.

None of the cows were hurt or lost as a result, nor were any of the chickens. We can reliably get eggs, chicken meat, beef, and milk for the foreseeable future. Thank you Ollie for your farm boy genius. Highly appreciated.

They got back a couple hours ago, and I’m happy to report all is well with Lenny and crew.

MGR is good. Few busted windows from the wind and debris, but all in all, no worries. Mike said they are good to go, and to not worry about them. I’m a little concerned when I steal Mike for my recon and sniper action, but hey, we’ll manage.

Caleb is much better. I’m half debating taking him out, but he’s got some serious healing of the emotional variety to do. I need to give him three or four more days before he’s in a good space mentally. He needs to spend time with Sophie and Adam, and be a good dad, and a good husband. I don’t need him as a good Marine just yet. I have other resources, and frankly, I’m kinda hesitant anyway. If he died, I’d feel horrible for Sophie and Adam. I got enough guilt.

I’m tired, and my anger has been spent. Mallory went to bed angry a half hour ago. I don’t think she was horny, but I think she’s starting to get irritated with my writing time. I tend to do it just as I am going to bed, and that definitely interferes with foreplay, as well as pillow talk. I try to explain to her that the writing keeps my head in line, and helps me stay organized and sane, and I think she’s either pissed at me because I’m not talking to her like I write, or she’s just pissed because I ignore her for an hour or two here and there, right at the time she wants to kiss my neck, and get my motor running.

I dunno Mr. Journal. I’m still figuring this whole life thing out.

-Adrian

September 5th

Bitch please. This is going to be fun.

We rolled out on our first recon to contact op yesterday, and it went very well. In fact, it went so well, we are planning on going out on another tomorrow. The next trip out will be for longer than a day and a half too. Exhilarating. Thrilling. Sneaky.

Mike and I went out just the two of us yesterday. Patty, Mallory, and everyone who cares about the two of us was entirely against the idea of us moving about in an unsupported pair in the wilds, but we had radios, and frankly, the two of us are far more capable on our own. Not to mention Mike sprung a fucking sweet surprise on me the night before we left.

He’s built some homemade suppressors. We have extra Beretta M9s, and with a tap and die set, and his relatively extensive armorer’s background in the Guard, he managed to thread the barrels, and with some of the metal and stuff that Martin has been accumulating the past few weeks, he’s built six poor man’s suppressors.

When he and Patty arrived on campus two nights ago, he showed me them, and I had to laugh. Seriously Mike? Homemade silencers? Suuuuure.

But they fucking work. They reduced the sound of the Beretta’s shots by at least 75%. From a loud crack down to about the level of noise smashing a 2x4 into a door might make. Loud enough that if you were paying attention you might hear it, but the undead will probably miss it.

The tradeoff appears to be range and accuracy. The rounds are sailing after about 75 feet it appears, so we’re talking about using these pistols strictly for up close dirty work. And yesterday and this morning, we did just fucking that. Good times. Mike is the man. If Patty doesn’t bear his babies for him, I gladly will. Someone has to take one for the team. I don’t think the suppressors are all that durable, or will last that long, and Mike said as he finds more of the better supplies he can use, he can upgrade or build new ones.

Oh, he also fixed the Glock that plugged on me when we hit the gas station a month or so ago. Apparently the dud round was freed up with some work, and after a wee bit of minor tender loving care the gun is now fully operational again. I am still carrying the 10mm Kimber though. It’s a small homage to Gilbert, and I still haven’t drawn and fired the bitch, and until I get that itch out of my system, it stays on my hip. Riiiight next to the new suppressed Beretta Mike made for me. Granted, carrying the extra ammo and magazines is a bitch, but when I need it, it’s there, and frankly, I can manage a few extra magazines of weight.

After all, it didn’t slow me down yesterday.

Mike picked me up here in the Prius and after laying out an extensive plan and setting up where we wanted to try and find this mythical Factory, we took off yesterday before dawn, before anyone else here was really aware we were leaving. On the outside chance our arsonist is in leagues with the Outsiders, we felt it best that we kept all but the closest to us out of the loop. Too many hands in the cookie jar of information in my opinion.

Sounds awfully communist of me. I suddenly feel VERY dictatorial. I need to revisit my control of information theory. Need to be a good leader. Need to be a good leader.

Yesterday, I focused on being a good hunter of men.

Fortunately, Mike and I are good at that game.

We took off in the Prius and headed past MGR and towards Gilbert’s warehouse where we felt the boundary of what we claimed as ours, and what they claimed as theirs. It was clear to us that in order to find them and make an impression, we had to go where we hadn’t gone before.

The interstate and beyond.

Right at the ramp where we found the van Caleb, Sophie and Becca abandoned, we parked on the shoulder of the road in an inconspicuous way. The next exit heading towards the city took you to some surface roads where we knew there were multiple small industrial parks and larger businesses. It stood to reason that the Outsiders were using a large building that was fortified in some manner. It just made sense. So naturally we headed in the direction of the more industrial portion of the city’s fringe on foot.

Mike’s older than I am, but he’s in really good shape. Like I said before, it’s the P90Z workout plan. We made excellent progress on foot and happily put the new suppressed Berettas to work. Mike and I got a good feel for our pistols on the way down to the industrial area. Random undead on foot approaching us, or just wandering about got put down. That’s pretty much when we figured out that 75 feet was the far end of our predictable accuracy. Ideally we’d like to be somewhere around 50 feet or less, which for the most part we were able to achieve while we were out.

Moving on foot has the advantage of being almost entirely silent. The undead were unable to hear us for the most part, and as long as we were using the Berettas, we were able to engage at will, with little risk of being heard and drawing any attention to us. What was noteworthy was the fairly low amount of undead. I think Mike and I had to drop maybe 15 or 20 while we were moving into the area, and maybe another 15 or 20 on the way back out. We were both expecting far more than that.

One thing that’s interesting is that my suppressor is quieter than Mike’s. When Mike shoots his gun the report is more of a crack, whereas my report is like a “thwipp” noise. Much less obvious. As a result, I did slightly more shooting than him, and noticed that at really close range, I can actually hear the slide of the gun hitting closed sometimes over the sound of the shot itself. Kind of cool. I can also hear the crack of the bullet penetrating the braincase, which is also highly satisfying.

Anyway, enough suppressor porn.

Mike and I wanted to setup a place to observe. Preferably somewhere high up, or on a hill where we could get a good view of some city streets so we could observe traffic if the Outsiders were moving about. Luckily, we found a small apartment building on a man set of streets that had three floors. Mike and I had to pry the building’s front door open with a halligan and a heavy boot, and once inside, we cleared our way up to the top floor until we got to the doors that appeared to be the ones facing where we wanted to be.

I tested the door of the first apartment, and after finding it was locked, I ripped it open with the halligan and Mike went in. He snapped off two rounds right off the bat, dropping two undead that had been locked inside for who knows how long. Instinctively I braced for the sound of Mike's gunshots, but they were mild, and I think I did an internal dance of joy. Gunfire in an enclosed space is ungodly loud normally, but with the suppressor… Hell yeah baby. Perhaps I won’t actually be deaf by 40.

I'm sorry, did you say something?

I drew my Beretta, and the two of us went room to room, making the apartment safe. In one of the rooms in the far back of the apartment we found a child’s bedroom with the door smashed in. There were claw marks all over the wood, and it appeared as if the two adults had slowly scratched and smashed their way inside their own child’s bedroom. On the floor bitten apart was an animated dead girl about 5 or 6 years of age. Her spindly legs had been chewed apart, and she was unable to walk or even really crawl anymore. Mike coughed at the stench, and snapped a quick shot off, putting her down. I can’t imagine how horrible it was for a little girl to die like that. I wonder how long she was locked in her own bedroom, with her parents beating at the door, scratching their way inside to eat her alive.

Fucked up shit.

As it turns out, it wasn’t even the right apartment. We had hit the one NOT on the corner of the street, so we had to clear the one adjacent to it. This time Mike halligan’d the door open, and I went in, pistol up. No bodies moving in the living room and kitchenette, but the smell of the dead was wafting from the hall, so I kept the weapon up. I booted the first bedroom door open and saw it was empty. The second bedroom door was also kicked in by Mike, and it was empty as well. The bathroom at the end of the hallway though was a different story.

I kicked the door in and as it went inward it smacked off a middle aged female zombie, sending it tumbling backwards into a large claw footed tub. Old apartment buildings always have cool plumbing fixtures it seems. The zombie landed head first in the tub, sending its legs up and over. I noticed immediately that there was dried blood everywhere in the tub, and on the floor, so I took a step back and tried to hold my breath from the smell while the scrambling, stilted dead body righted itself in the tub.

The left hand of the dead body was tied firmly to the faucet of the tub. That same arm had two huge gashes running from elbow to wrist, and immediately I knew it was a suicide. The woman was kind enough to tie herself to the tub first though. Thoughtful way to go I suppose.

Once the dead girl got her head in a spot where I could put my front sight on it, I snapped a 9mm round off, sending her permanently where she wanted to go when she cut her arms open. Mike and I double checked both apartments and the hallway again, and after dragging her body into the other apartment, made sure the fire escape was a viable exit, double checked all the open hallway spaces to ensure they were empty of undead, made sure all the other apartment doors were locked as well, we barricaded the door, and we settled down in our makeshift sniper hide.

It was a long and boring day, but I got to know Mike really well. Mike asked me a lot of questions about my dreams, and how I felt about them, and I was as honest as I could be. I’m weirded out by them frankly. I don’t like the fact that I appear to be a conduit to the dead. I don’t like the idea at all, but it is what it is. Mike seemed comforted by the fact that I was not entirely happy about it. I think if I had represented to him that I was stoked, or honored, he’d have thought I was an asshole, or crazy as hell. Mike and I are definitely closer today than we were before. That in and of itself is good, never mind the shooting we did late yesterday evening.

Proper sniping is about firing, and displacing fast. Smart people will figure out where the gunfire is coming from fairly quickly, suppress it or move on it, and deal with the threat. Look at what happened to their sniper the day we returned to the warehouse. Abby caught on, maneuvered on them, and shot the dude dead before he was able to do any real damage to us. Had that prick fired once or twice, moved five or six houses away and shot a couple more times, we would’ve been chasing his ass all damn day to no avail, and he would’ve put some serious hurt on us as we wandered around either looking for him, or looking for a way to get the fuck out of his range.

He should’ve done it like Mike and I did. Not that we're experts. During our downtime and conversation Mike was observing a fallback position we could get to out of the site of where we were aiming our rifles. He found us a convenience store we could hide out in about a block and a half away in one direction, and a small candy shop in the other. Either way, we had an exfil route.

Just as the light was fading we heard cars in the distance, and lo and behold, we saw one of the diesels that the Outsiders escaped in the other day coming our way slowly. Engaging them was a little hasty, but I clearly recognized the vehicle, and frankly, Mike and I were ready and able to prove our point. I was in position to fire, and Mike quickly slid over on his end table firing position so we could both fire at the same time. All in all from sighting to squeeze of the trigger it was ten seconds.

“I have the driver.”

“I have the passenger.”

“Fire on three. Fire, fire, fire.” And on the third fire, we both gently pulled the trigger. Our two rounds punched through the windshield of the van simultaneously, hitting our targets about 220 yards out, center mass. The van immediately went to its right, and plowed right into a fire hydrant. Mike and I threw the bolts on the rifles, chambering new rounds, and as the van’s slider door opened we discussed targets again.

“Leave one survivor. I have the first on exit, two tangos in the back.”

“Roger that,” Mike said back calmly.

The first target was another middle aged woman, and just as she made her torso visible I pulled off another loud round, and she tumbled backwards into the van, leaving a bright red smear of her own blood on the door she’d just opened in an attempt to escape. The fourth and final passenger in the van looked like he hit the deck, and as soon as I saw he wasn’t actively searching for targets, I told Mike we were displacing, and in under thirty seconds, he and I were out the door, and heading down the stairwell.

We ran like a motherfucker out the back exit of the building to the convenience store, and took cover quickly in an aisle after Mike popped a 9mm round off in the face of an undead customer. It was smooth as hell. I switched weapons inside the store from the Savage to the M4, with Mike simply keeping his pistol up. He’d engage first, and if I needed to put more lead downrange to support him, I’d fire second. Luckily, it didn’t come to that. We sat still, barrels aimed at entrances, and after twenty sweaty minutes we displaced again.

We were out the back of the store and through an alley as fast as a pair of alley cats, and we sprinted and jogged for twenty minutes until we had some good real estate between us and them. It was another hour or two before we got back to the Prius, and that was around dusk. We decided we should head back to the same area nearby our first firing, maybe a mile away, and then we could set up another sniper hide overnight, and hopefully we would see more movement, and get a better idea of where they were coming from.

It worked.

We drove blacked out in the Prius slowly through the surface streets after dark, skirting where the engagement was. We knew there was one survivor, and as we were pulling into the parking lot of a small business to get out of the Toyota, we saw two sets of headlights coming our way from the general direction of the city. Mike and I bailed out, and took firing positions behind a guardrail and some posts dividing the parking lot up. The two vehicles sped right by us towards the scene of our ambush, and didn’t take any notice. Mike and I conferred quickly, and decided that we’d shot enough for the moment. Three body bags sent enough of a message for one night. Plus, based on where those vehicles came from, we now have a much better idea of where to look when we go back out tomorrow.

We stayed low for an hour, and the two vehicles that came later sped by us, heading away towards the city. Once we were sure everything was okay, which was another hour, we slipped away silently in the electric car. No shots fired, no sign or trace of our movements.

We arrived back here on campus late at night, I want to say maybe 3 or 4am. I went right to sleep on one of the couches in the common room, and Mike did the same. When we awoke, we had an all hands meeting of the important folks. Everyone was pretty happy with how things panned out, but Mallory was sort of pissed that I was in danger alone. She brought that up just a bit ago in private. Guess she really does care.

One thing that was pointed out to us that is a big oversight on our part is not checking other radio channels for communication. How did the other vehicles know where to go? They had to be in communication somehow, and neither Mike nor I thought to go through the channels to see if we could pick up on their chatter. Huge mistake on our part.

Next time, we’ll keep one radio on our channel, and have one set to cycle through the channels. They have got to be talking somehow, and I’m fairly sure cell phone service is still down. Oh well, missed opportunity for good intel. I’m too tired, and happy about the success we did enjoy to be hard on myself.

I think we are taking tomorrow off, giving the Outsiders a chance to think about what just happened (allowing their paranoia to build), and then we’re going out again in similar fashion. Caleb still isn’t well enough to go with us yet, but Hector is, and he wants in something fierce. If the three of us roll back out the day after tomorrow, we can establish two places to fire/observe from if needed. Overlapping fields of fire would be nice.

I think next time we shoot them, we should think about sticking around to fire on the responders too. Let them know that when they rush out to help their pals, things aren’t safe. Hey if it worked for the Iraqi insurgents, it can work for us.

Check back in when I can Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

September 8th

I said hello to the Outsiders this morning in my special Adrian Ring way. Did I make friends, or enemies Mr. Journal? You be the judge. Keep reading.

I’m still not sure exactly where these assholes are coming from. What Mike, Hector and I did figure out yesterday was that they are coming from the northern portion of the city’s suburbs. Every time we saw them moving yesterday and this morning they were coming from a northeast trajectory, which told us that was probable.

It also tells me that they push through an area of the city that is fairly central, and that means they either drive right through undead central, or that area is actually cleared of wandering zombies. Either way you look it, they’re hardcore ballsy, or they’ve put some serious time into killing undead in or near the city. I’ve been petrified to do that for a long ass time, and these people appear to have been doing just that for some time now. Thanks.

I have sudden respect for these dickheads, and I dislike that notion. I really want to hate them. I guess we are defined by our foes to some extent, and if I can overcome these people, it’ll speak to my prowess. Perhaps my enemies are my teachers now.

Of course… we’re teaching these people a few things too.

Like I said yesterday Mike Hector and I rolled out in the Prius about two hours prior to dawn. We ran blacked out and drove straight into the area we’d set up our sniper position in on our prior recon. We didn’t drive RIGHT to the same spot, we just drove to the same 5 or 6 block area. We didn’t want to drive into a counter ambush. Once we were in that area of the town/city, we pushed forward in the direction the Outsider assistance came in, and found ourselves a nice alley to park the Prius in. We managed to tuck it inside an alcove so it wasn’t visible to anyone driving by.

The undead presence was slightly heavier than our first trip out, but with not two but three suppressed pistols, we were able to make quick work. Keeping moving, and dropping anything in sight kept us safe. We searched for about a two block radius looking for a place to hide up in before we settled on a building on a couple of fairly main streets. It was centered in a block on a main thoroughfare, and faced a street going away from it. Kind of like the top of a T intersection I guess. The building was retail on the first level, and had two floors of offices and apartments above it.

On the first floor at street level there was an insurance agent’s office, and Hector established himself inside there, deep in the back with a sniper hide that looked out and down the length of one of the main streets. If anything came straight at the front of the building Hector had a clear line of fire straight at it.

Mike and I kicked the door to the stairs leading upward in, and did a combat clear just as dawn was dying off, and the morning sun was taking over fully. The inner stairwell to the building heading up to the offices was devoid of anything living or undead, and when we got to the top floor, we actually chose the correct fucking door this time. It helped that the door was already opened. Kicked open in fact. All of the doors inside the building were the same. It had been ransacked.

I don’t know if it was the Outsiders that did it, but the building had already gotten the once over by someone. Nothing of use was left behind which was the bad news, but the good news was that the undead inside had already been dealt with a long frigging time ago. There were a small number of desiccated, rotten, moldy skeletons on the floor here and there, which meant they’d been dead for a long frigging time. So cheers to whoever cleared this building for us. From my count, they saved us about eleven rounds of ammo. Yay for the little things.

Mike and I set ourselves up in the office facing the street. It happened to be a yoga studio, and we needed to drag desks and chairs into the space to set up a comfortable shooting position. Mike and I put the desks about ten feet recessed into the space so we weren’t visible from the outside. We also set up far to the outside of the windows, so I was looking across from the right, and out the left window, and Mike the opposite. We were invisible from the street level, and with about a three or four second adjustment, we could swing ourselves to the straight facing to back up Hector’s avenue of fire.

Mike dug his radio out and set it up to scan the channels for any radio traffic, and I left mine on our channel so if we needed to talk we could. I also sent a test message out, and Dwayne back at MGR came back all crackly. We were barely in radio contact with our backup should something bad happen. A little scary. Although, I went without any backup for a very long time, and I’m still here typing in this fucking journal.

We went radio silent after that.

Long fucking day. We observed a fairly small amount of undead wandering the streets, but because we were dead silent, and out of view they didn’t bother trying to mess with us. We could’ve popped them with our rifles, but frankly it would’ve made more noise than needed, and they were too far away for us to take them out with the pistols. They un-live to try and eat us another day. Fucking dead people man. What a nuisance.

So the entire morning and afternoon we observed nothing. Fuck all. Some birds flying around, a couple of sketchy frigging dogs, the sun being warm, and the few random undead staggering to and fro, looking for someone to eat. Mike and I started to make bets on which way the undead would go when they came to the intersection at the end of our observation area, and I am happy to declare that I was correct 17 out of 25 times. I am the King of undead movement guessing. The Zombie Whisperer.

Once the sun started to fade over the horizon things got more interesting. We knew if we were going to shoot at any point in time, we needed light to do so. When the first of the vehicles appeared coming from the northeast street direction, Mike and I decided it was a little too dark for us to engage, and we would just sit tight and observe. We saw three vehicles move across our location over the span of an hour. Two were large diesel trucks, and one was a large box truck, modified to have windows/openings in the back. Square holes just hacked in the back with a saw or axe. I didn’t see any people in the back of the truck, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wonder if that is their version of a gun truck.

None of the vehicles came our way, and they all came from the same exact road to get to our area of the ‘burbs. Happily, they moved out from that location starting around… 7pm or so, and all returned to that direction around 10pm or so. Once everything went dead for an hour, Mike and I decided we all needed to relocate right then and there, and get over on the road they were coming down.

We packed up, zipped downstairs, and told Hector we were displacing immediately. He was nervous as hell to pack up and move anywhere at about eleven in the pitch black in the city, but honestly, we had the Prius nearby, and it’s not like we weren’t ready and able to dish out pain should we run into the undead.

Having said that, and been all macho and shit, I was kinda scared too. I just don’t like moving at night. The undead are too quiet, we can’t see hardly for shit, and it is just damn risky. However, you need to take risks every once in awhile, and frankly, this one felt worth it.

We moved literally at a sprint back to the car. Hector was out of his mind afraid, and I am now reasonably sure that dude is just afraid of the dark. Luckily we had a little bit of moonlight when we were moving, so we were able to see enough to not need any flashlights. We wound our way back to the Prius, and in the alley where we parked it I had to pop a single undead dragging its way down the side of a building, slowly scraping its own face off on the rough bricks. Nasty. Plain old nasty.

We piled into the car, and sat still for ten minutes to ensure we hadn’t drawn a crowd. Nothing happened, and Mike drove us in the black about six blocks over and north until we found another good parking spot. Ironically, it was in an old used car dealership. The cars were trashed something fierce. Smashed out windshields, flattened tires etc. I don’t know why anyone would do that, but if I had to guess, it was because they were assholes. We parked our ride far to the back of the lot, and in between a large Dodge truck and a used Pathfinder. For all intents and purposes, it was invisible.

The three of us set ourselves up in the dealership. The building itself was wide open. I imagine they were open for business on the morning of June 23rd when everything went down, and the salesmen just up and left when things went down. The building wasn’t that large, just a corner showroom floor with some desks inside it, and a small two bay attached garage and parts room. Nothing fancy or particularly clean. The rotten food in the small fridge in the back room still reeked. Not sure how the fuck lasted over a year, but it did.

Hector popped one undead that was roaming around in the garage with his pistol and nearly shat a giant Mexican brick when he heard how much quieter the pistol was with the suppressor on it. He literally shouted out an, “Aye carumba,” just to get a laugh out of Mike. Hector’s too damn funny man. Just a genuinely funny guy. I think he enjoys the whole, “I’m Mexican, and can be ridiculous at will,” aspect of his life with us. I mean he can literally be completely retarded around us, and we will always laugh. I like him.

Anyway, we set ourselves up in the glass windowed showroom. We tugged the desks back into the room and placed them behind a couple of used cars still sitting there. We had a good vantage point for the road, and Hector pulled security for us to ensure nothing slipped into the building behind us. We had to leave the garage doors open because that’s how we found them, and the door going into our sales floor area from there didn’t lock, and we didn’t want to barricade it should we need to move in a hurry. Ergo, Hector pulling security for us.

We rotated naps on a couch in the sales area to make sure we got rest during the night. Our plan was to exfil like a motherfucker at dark today after another full day observing, but that changed in a hurry when we wound getting into an unexpected engagement. Now we haven’t really seen these people move much during the day. Primarily, it seems to be at dusk or dawn.

About an hour after dawn another vehicle came through the road we were on, and I shit you not, pulled right into the fucking dealership lot and drove straight to the garage. We were not expecting that. It was the same diesel truck we’d seen the other day, and it had two people in it.

Mike and I exchanged looks that could’ve either passed for, “Fuck our lives,” or, “Sweet tits, we get to shoot assholes today.” All in all not too much of a problem. I leapt up and drew the Beretta, and Mike did the same. Hector was rear facing, looking out the door that headed to the garage, and when we got to where he was sitting in the back of the dealership he was pulling his chair out of the way to make space for us to come through. The glass door he was looking out of afforded us zero cover, and we all went to the side of the door to hide. I stood with the Beretta held at temple height.

We heard them coming before they pushed the door open to come in. I didn’t make out exactly what their conversation was, but as soon as that door opened, I motioned for Mike and Hector to duck, and when I saw a head appear, I squeezed the trigger. The gun popped off a single round, and I blew the first guy’s brains out all over the glass door. The round didn’t penetrate the skull thankfully, and the door was spared.

I screamed FREEZE and took a step out to threaten the second person. It was a young man, no older than 18 or 20. He froze solid when he saw the look on my face, and his shotgun clattered to the concrete of the garage. I took another step into his space and threw an elbow into his jaw. He was so rooted to the ground he didn’t even try to duck, and I hit flush, sending him straight to dreamtime. He went down hard on the hard floor, and we moved to clear the truck in case something was out there in the back.

Long story short, we stole their truck.

We formulated a plan and after getting our shit together, we sat the kid up in a chair in the sales room, and woke him up. We figured he wouldn’t run when he saw the guns pointed at him, and we were right. I will always remember how big his green eyes were. He had brown, unkempt hair. All I could think of was how respectable he’d look if Mallory gave him a haircut.

“Hi. I’m Adrian,” I said.

“Hey,” he said after coughing a few times and looking at the guns pointed in his direction. We knew he was staying put.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Barry," he said back.

“I run a settlement of survivors that I think your people have been harassing. Are you from the Factory?” I tried to keep my tone safe, and low.

He nodded in the affirmative.

“Excellent. I’m sorry about your friend there, but I couldn’t afford two folks in here. One I can deal with. If he has family, you tell them I said I was sorry about that, but you know how it goes nowadays.”

He nodded again. He looked pretty scared.

“Where is the Factory?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you. Seriously. If you find it, and attack them, they will definitely kill me,” he pleaded.

“Well if I find it, and find what I suspect is going on there, you won’t need to worry about anyone killing you. I fully expect to put a hurting on the folks there. You know your people attacked my sister and brother the other day? Told them they were going to kidnap them? Told them they had to fuck and suck dick to eat?”

“You killed Ed and Larry? Holy fuck they were assholes. You’re gonna pay dearly for that though man. They were family with the two women who run the Factory, and they’re hot as hell to find you people. They’ll hunt you like an animal once they catch wind of who you are, or where you are from.”

“I hate to say this kid, but I am not afraid. In fact, I’m excited. Because knowing they want to kill me because I protected my family just makes me feel better about burning that place to ground. Are there innocent people there? I don’t want to kill folks that don’t deserve to die. Do you deserve to die?” I asked him as I thumbed the hammer back on the Beretta.

His eyes opened wide as all hell. “Nope. I’m one of the good ones. The women are just used to running the show. They’re sisters. They’ve taken a lot of folks in, and they think women are useless, but having the women there brings in more men, and they think the men are useful. Most of the women are innocents there. Some of the men too. But dude, there are a lot of us. At least thirty.”

I thanked him in the back of my head for telling me that little factoid without pressing for it. “Where have you gotten all these diesel vehicles?”

“The Factory is down the street from a used diesel dealership. There were dozens of the damn things just sitting there. We confiscated the dealership early on last year, and we’ve been using the cars and trucks from there ever since,” Barry said.

“Okay. Here’s the way this is going to work. I’m going to let you live to bring a message to these sisters. Here’s the message: stop going west. If we see anyone from this area of the city heading west, we will shoot them on sight. One by one, bullet by bullet, every single brave cocksucker in your Factory will get put down like a rabid dog. You can have your city, all we want is our town. Pass that message along.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

“Sorry we are meeting under these circumstances Barry. But pass that message along please. I don’t want more bloodshed here. If we see no more of your people come our way, we will consider this matter resolved. But if one more set of vehicles comes in our direction with mayhem and discontent on their agenda, I will consider it an act of war on me and mine, and I guarantee you, this is one hornet’s nest you do NOT want to stir.”

I smiled like a poisonous snake, and we left Barry.

I am not kidding. If I see one more of their vehicles in my town, I will not rest until they are dealt with.

My way.

-Adrian

September 10th

I really want to sit here and type that I feel that the Outsiders won’t make another move on us, but you and I both know Mr. Journal that they will.  I’m just not that lucky.

They haven’t made any moves that we’ve seen in town yet, but that might just be them getting their ducks in a row.  The good thing about them taking time to get their ducks in a row, is that it allows us to do the same.  I like our ducks.  They kick ass.

We know how they’ll come at us.  There is only one real way to get to town from the area they seem to be coming from.  Granted there are some long, circuitous routes to take, but the distance you’d have to travel would be pretty excessive, a huge waste of fuel, and likely quite dangerous.  And you know what Mr. Journal?  These people don’t seem like brain surgeons to me.  They seem more like the “See nail, hammer nail,” kind of folks.  Linear.  Kind of dumb.  I know I am risking underestimating the enemy by saying this, but look at their track record.  Every time we cross paths with them, they go home in body bags with custom toe tags.

They also appear to be really under-armed.  I’ve seen a mess of shotguns and lever action rifles in their possession thus far, and that’s sad.  I’m guessing they used up the good guns or the ammunition for the good guns early on.  I’m not saying shotguns aren’t good, but a 4 shell capacity turkey 12 gauge is not exactly ideal for surviving the apocalypse we’re balls deep in.

Not to mention our body armor stops shotgun shells pretty effectively unless it's point-blank range.  I mean yeah, we can still get peppered with some pellets due to spread, but the brunt of most shotgun shells should be handled by the IOTV.  Famous last words.  HEEELLLLLOOOO Jinx fairy.

Fuck off, Bitch.

In an attempt to setup a preemptive strike in the event they make their way towards us again, tomorrow we are moving out and setting up an ambush site right off the interstate near Gilbert’s place.  We’re setting up a double ambush.  Well actually, one real one, and one fake one.  Remember how we found an area near Gilbert’s Warehouse that was very sketchy, and looked like someone had set up some kind of road block?  My brother and sister said it set off their “what the fuck” radar, and it forced them to go down the road the warehouse was on.  We’re setting up that fake roadblock as a real one tomorrow.

There are several accident scenes right there, as well as a few abandoned vehicles.  A handful of us are rolling out to that location, and we’re moving those vehicles in a fashion to indicate that there is a roadblock there, and it will be dangerous if someone moves through that area.  That will hopefully give them second thoughts about going down the warehouse road.  On the warehouse road we will be doing… nothing.  This is just a little red herring to give them pause, and to make them think twice about coming our way.

About a mile from that location there is a decent sized church on one side of the road, and a decent sized house on the other side of the road.  If we put someone in the church bell tower, and someone in the upstairs of the house, we will have interlocking fields of fire on the main approach to town.  If they come that far into town, they have a single purpose, and that’s to either steal our shit, or as I said to Barry, cause mayhem and discontent.  We are setting up there for a two day hitch, then rotating a new team in.  We have enough skilled shooters that if they roll in, we can simply light them up, and send them packing.  I don’t think they have anything heavy for weapons to fight back with, and honestly, if we have four to six shooters fire at the drivers all at once, they won’t have much in the way of a response anyway, unless they're smart enough to assault through our ambush. See: fire superiority.

Myself, Blake, Martin, Hector, Angela and Mallory are in the first squad to roll out.  We are setting up four people in the house, and two people in the church bell tower.  If we see anything come our way, I pull the trigger, and that’s all she wrote.

Next rotation will be led by Mike and Abby, and I think by then Caleb might be able to go out too. It’s been a long heal for him, but really he’s doing quite well now, and in another three days he could be mobile enough to set himself up as a stationary shooter.  We’ll see.  There is little sense in having him go out early if he needs the rest, and besides, having him back on campus makes me feel a little better about the level of security there.

Mike said he has an idea where we could set up a secondary ambush location, and tomorrow when we’re moving to establish the roadblock and the church/house location he’s going to scout out the secondary hide.  He also said he is going to create some roadblock action to help steer traffic into our ambush site.  Set up a few cars across the road, etc.  Hopefully, all goes well.

I am concerned about the prospects of clearing the church though.  I suspect on June 23rd quite a few people went into that place in the hopes God would rescue them.  I’m betting God didn’t do shit for them, and the place is filled with formerly religious undead.  So tomorrow might turn into a huge mess as we either empty the church of undead, or we find a different place to set up.  I don’t really want to waste a day clearing a building we aren’t likely going to use more than once or twice.

But that’d be my luck.

Things are moving along here on campus.  The wall is entirely repaired, and I have Ollie to thank for that.  He has kept things moving here despite a wife that is about the size of three watermelons.  She has got to be spitting out about eight kids when she pops.  I swear that woman cannot get any larger.  Despite looking swollen, stiff, and exhausted most of the time, Melissa’s cheer is never ending.  I can see how Ollie likes her, she’s something special.  You should see the way he looks at her.  It’s magical, really magical.

What else?  Oh yeah, the plan for a barn is now completed, and the crew has begun to amass the lumber to build it.  They’re scraping through every available house in the area to get wood, and we’re also cutting down trees and roughing as much as we can.  Martin has been leading that with Blake, and to be honest, it’s crazy how much lumber they’ve got already.

The hydro setup is almost fully operational.  We can thank Ryan and Becca for that.  They make for a good team, and as much as I hate to say it, Ryan is a good guy.  I’ll still stab him in the thigh if I find out he’s touching Becca, but that’s WAY better than killing him.  Maybe in a few more weeks I’ll be downgraded to, “Punch him in the face,” and eventually I might just be okay with him touching Becca.  Now there’s no evidence that anything is happening, but I just got that feeling.  I know my sister fairly well, and this is right up her alley.

Mallory molested me an hour before I started writing this.  I’m happy to report that leaving her alone for a night here or there has increased her sex drive.  That’s good news.  The bad news is she seems bored of it all, bored of me maybe, and there isn’t a whole lot I can do about that.  Something else slipping away from me.

We have instituted a social night here at ALPA.  We set up the big screen television from Hall E,'s common room in Hall A, and every Tuesday and Friday we put a movie on that is kid appropriate, and we try to gather for a few hours to get some positive time that doesn’t involve us busting our balls.  It’s been a week and a half so far, and I can already safely say two days a week for this won’t work. The kids are assholes, the people are too, and there’s just too much to be done.  Maybe we can just do Tuesdays.

We’ll see.  I can’t be in charge of everything.  I just don’t have enough give-a-fuck.  The tank is running low.

Alright so that’s all I can give a fuck about for the night.  We’re out early in the morning to get the roadblock set up, and the church cleared, and hopefully to get the entire observation site set up.  Lucky for us the church and the roadblock area are in the repeater range, so we’ll be in radio contact the whole time.

Oh, and happily enough, when we stole that diesel truck from Barry and his dead buddy the other day, we got the radio they used for communication.  Now we know what channel they are on, so with any luck, we’ll catch some of their radio traffic.  Oh and incidentally, it was a radio from a police cruiser.  Dash mounted.  Older model.  I bet they cannibalized an old patrol car or something.

Huzzah for us.  Fuck them.

-Adrian

September 13th

I have good news, and I have bad news.

The good news, is that the Outsiders haven’t come into town since our encounter at the small dealership.

The bad news is, that fucking church was FILLED with undead.  I mean just completely filled from pew to pew and stained glass window to stained glass window with the dead.  Overflowing. It was such a bad scene.

When we rolled out the other day to set up our blockade/fake ambush it turned into a nearly all day affair.  None of the cars there would start at all, so we had to push the vehicles manually into place to set it up.  As it turns out, it was a real bitch.  There were trucks, cars, a van, and a fair amount of debris from the accidents strewn about the road, and we orchestrated it all into a clearly intentional roadblock.  We wanted anyone who drove up on the area to SEE that it had been arranged in such a fashion.  We wanted them to take the secondary side road past Gilbert’s warehouse, making them think we’d created a choke point right off the interstate.

Oh shit I should mention that it was really heavily populated with undead that day.  I was in the HRT driving lead and I swear I hit at least thirty or forty undead on the trip over.  I’m not sure what exactly stirred them up like that, but they were out in force.  Irritating.  Plus it was a bit of a hassle to post two or three folks on watch to make sure they didn’t sneak up on us and quite literally bite us in the ass.  Fucking undead.

Anyway, the bulk of that day was lost to pushing cars around in the middle of an abandoned road, in an empty suburb of the city.  Felt like a huge waste, but really we did get a lot accomplished with just a few folks.

After that we fell back to the ambush site we wanted to prep, which was the large house, and the church with the cool bell tower.  Reminded me of the elevated shooting position at the end of Saving Private Ryan. The one that gets blown up by the German tank?  I do hope that we don’t blown up by a tank though.  That looked shitty in the film.

So we pulled up and made the decision to check the two buildings, then clear the house, which totally didn’t happen in that order.  When we did the once over on the house it was clearly empty, and when we slightly approached the church, we saw the front door flex slightly, and one of the small panes of stained glass break out.  Luckily, stained glass is really durable shit, and it held the nearly bursting church from spilling out into the street.

We knew right then and there we had to do something about the church.  Even if we wanted to move to another place to set up an ambush, after looking through the windows, we observed a minimum of sixty undead inside.  It was reckless to leave any structure filled with that many undead without doing something about it.  It was just too dangerous to ignore, and we had the simple moral imperative of dealing with a threat to the public.  Granted, the public more than like likely wouldn’t be us, but it would’ve been a dick move to leave these undead behind, just to have some family trying to make their way in the world get eaten alive because we wanted to avoid a tough clear.  Gotta do the right thing sooner or later.

We started brainstorming.  Once again the solution of, “Kill them with fire,” was brought up, but once again it was shot down.  The last thing we needed was to have a church filled with flaming undead running around.  There’s got to be a joke in that sentence somewhere.  If we had a reasonable assurance that the fucking exterior walls would hold long enough for them all to incinerate and die we’d be setting fires all fucking day, but that’s just too much of a risk to take.  Plus we really wanted to use the structure afterward, and burning it flat seemed really fucking counterintuitive.

Enter Gavin’s chainsaw suggestion.  We’ve kept chainsaws in our vehicles pretty much all the time for months now but haven't used them.  We’ve anticipated cutting holes into buildings and there’s always the threat of downed trees, or telephone poles to contend with.  Chainsaws are just awesome to have around.  I miss Gavin by the way.  Thought I’d share that while it was on my mind.  Makes me think of Abby and how much she probably misses him.

Blake and Martin were on the crew with me that day, and we formulated a few good spots to make some holes in the building.  Cutting the roughly ten inch square holes was easy.  Making sure they were at head height was also easy.  What we didn’t expect was how many holes we had to cut to keep the tactic viable.  In a small house, cutting a hole in the wall is a great idea.  At most you’re going to have what?  Five, maybe eight undead at the heavy end in a house?  You cut a hole, pop them as they come at the hole, and before long, you’ve got a cleared house to plunder.

However, when there are a few dozen undead all scrambling to get at your shit through a tiny hole in the wall, they tend to congest up, and then after they’re shot, they pile up, preventing the other undead from getting close to the gun port you’ve made.  Thus, you need to cut a new hole in the wall about ten or fifteen feet away to draw them away from the first hole, allowing you a better shot at the remaining undead still inside.  It’s a fucking chore.  Thankfully, it is reasonably safe to do.

Reasonably safe is such a misnomer nowadays.  How safe is using a chainsaw to cut holes into a building that is filled with the animated, ravenous, murderous dead?  I mean at best it’s still ridiculously fucking dangerous, but nowadays, it’s kosher.  No biggie.  Easy-peasy.

We did have that shit on lock down, which I am personally thankful for.  It did take a few hours shy of forfuckingever to get it done, and once we were sure the majority of the undead were dead inside, we still waited a half hour to see if there was any movement before kicking in the door.  I should say that the outside of the door was barred too.  Like someone who happened across the building after the fact, or left the building when everything was going south took the time to make sure the people inside couldn’t get out.

I wonder if someone locked living folks inside, or dead folks inside?  Because if it's done at one point of time, it's murder, and the other time, it's a life saving precaution, and is commendable. Something that probably kept some people up late at night I’d imagine.  No matter how you slice it, it had to have been fucked up shit to deal with.

I feel bad for them.

When we waded slowly into the church it was one of the most horrible scenes I’ve ever laid eyes on.  The sun was going down at that point, and the light came through the stained glass windows like a multi colored laser.  It was surreal.  Blake and I went in as a pair with the rest of the crew outside waiting, and keeping watch should more undead or the Outsiders arrive.  I felt very vulnerable as I stepped over all the corpses.  I don’t need to tell you how bad the place smelled.  Old, horrid gore.  Dried feces all over the place, piss stained walls.  Just horrible.  You wouldn’t think things like that would happen in a church, or any religious site, but I guess it does.  Life sucks right Mr. Journal?

We had killed all but three or four of the undead inside the church.  Blake and I dispatched them with halligans as safely as we could, and once we were sure everything was okay in the main church room (there’s got to be a better word for that.  Main church room?  Remind to me to get a thesaurus out again Mr. Journal) we proceeded upstairs and into the side rooms to put down any roamers.

Which we found five of.  Couple were locked in a closet and had died of starvation or dehydration, and the other few were just wandering halls.  The church was big, very big, and I think it was Catholic.  There were Sunday school classrooms in the basement, and I think that’s a Catholic thing right?  Dunno, not a religion guy.

Blake and I cautiously made our way to the stairwell that led to the bell tower, and made sure that was safe too.  It was a cramped spiral staircase crammed into the side of the square tower, and it was a bitch for me to get up.  I’m just too big a guy, especially when I am wearing the body armor, and carrying weapons and kit.  Blake is smaller than me, and he snaked his way up and around the winding stairs like it was nothing.  I kept getting snagged on shit left and right.

Long story short, the stairwell was clear, and Blake said the bell tower would be perfect for shooting.  He did say we would want to shore up the shooting area with sandbags or bricks, because the wood there was very thin.  We took care of that yesterday.

Because the church was untenable as a place to stay for the night we decided to clear the house across the street.  Normally we’d never clear a house that size that late at night, but the place looked empty on our exterior search, we didn’t feel comfortable wasting gas on a drive back to Bastion, and plus the trip was long enough to be fairly dangerous that late at night.  Not that driving around with Mike and Hector in a Prius is less dangerous.  Jesus I’m a terrible decision maker.  Why the fuck do these people listen to me?  It was the best decision at the time, especially seeing as how it gave us an early start the next day to work on getting the church up to spec.

Fortunately while very creepy, the house was empty.  It smelled stale and moldy though.  Big complaints from Mallory and Angela on that account.  We collectively told the two pieces of Team Vagina 2.0 to act like their namesakes, and toughen up.  Wasn’t a really popular suggestion with either woman, but it did get their mind off the smell.

We crashed the night in the house.

Yesterday we used the diesel dualie to yank all of the bodies out of the church and drag them to a small town park a mile or so away to leave them.  I didn’t want to start a pyre due to the smoke it’d send out, so for the moment, there is just a gigantic field filled with bodies.  Reminds me of a scene from a holocaust movie.  Gross.  Nasty work that.

Once we had the dead bodies out, and we’d poured two full gallons of industrial disinfectant we found in one of the closets in the church on the floor, we declared the building suitable for use as a sniper hide.  Blake and Martin grabbed a huge stack of bricks they saw in the middle of someone’s yard, and we hefted them to the top of the tower one handful at a time to reinforce the flimsy wall our shooter (me) would be behind.  Now despite what you see in the movies Mr. Journal, a regular brick wall provides pretty shitty cover.  An AK on full auto can crack a cinderblock wall apart in just seconds, and regular red bricks are less sturdy than that.  So as you can imagine, a three brick deep wall didn’t make me feel awesome about my position.  We are planning on making sandbags to bring back when we return next.  The team there now didn’t bring them, which sucks.

Once we were slightly reinforced by the bricks, we set up a second shooter’s hide in the house across the street, moved our vehicles a street or two over to be less conspicuous, and by… lunch time we had both of our places set up.  Then the boring shit began.

Lots of waiting, looking at an empty road, and waiting for the Outsiders to come down and say hi so we could shoot them.

Well, that didn’t happen.  We sat there all afternoon, evening, and night yesterday, and after rotating a few naps this morning, we headed back to send out the second crew to relieve us.   Like a bag of sharp dildos I forgot to tell them to bring sandbags, and I have the sinking feeling someone will die because I forgot to tell them that.  I’m long since overdue to get fucked sideways by that bitch ass Jinx Fairy.

I’m flexing my toe to get it ready for pushing.  I hope all is well at the church and house for the next two days.  They’ll return on the… what?  The 15th in the afternoon.  If they need help in the meantime, we will respond as a QRF.  With clear roads, and little undead to slow us down, I think we can respond to that area in... 40 minutes.  Probably 50 minutes.  Not sure exactly.

I hope it’s quiet for them. I’d like it a lot if the assholes at that fucking Factory took a hint, and started searching east, instead of west towards us.

Oh, and I asked Blake and martin if they knew about any diesel dealerships in the city, and both said they’d heard of them, buy couldn’t quite place where they were.  I’m gonna check and see if I can find a phone book around here.  I know I’ve used most of the phone books to start fires in the stoves last winter, but there’s got to be one in a house somewhere near here.  It’s been a long time since any of us were in that area, and memories left unused often fade like colors in the sun.  Hopefully something will jar the location of the dealership loose in someone’s head so we can pinpoint where they are, in the event we need to say hi in a very personal, and violent way.

Nap time.

-Adrian

September 15th

We just got back from the church. The Outsiders hit us. Well. Saying they hit us doesn’t accurately describe what happened. They came through our ambush site, we engaged, and they returned fire. I am happy to report that the firefight was largely in our favor, but I am unhappy to report that we did sustain a death.

The team that went out the other day was Mike, Abby, James, Chad, Alex, and George. James is finally fully mobile after his ankle injury, and Chad’s clean forearm wound is healing quickly so the two of them got the nod to go along. We got the call that they were about to engage this morning at maybe 5am. Everyone on our QRF was up and out the door to the vehicles within 15 minutes, and we were hauling ass to the church as fast as we could go. Our response force was myself, Angela, Martin, Blake, Hector, and Caleb. The couple extra days of healing was a huge factor for Caleb. He wasn’t able to go with the unit out to the church a couple days ago, but he was able to ride door gunner in one of the humvees today.

We arrived on scene long after the fighting had ended, and all we wound up doing was removing the bodies, and picking up the mess. Chad died.

From what Mike and Abby explained to me, Chad was in the house across the street from the church when three Outsider vehicles came down the road. Mike and Abby saw that they were rolling in force, and made the decision to start shooting. They radioed as much, and we responded. Right after the radio call went out, Abby and Mike instructed their entire team to engage the drivers, which they did admirably from the looks of things. There were three vehicles with dead drivers in the middle of the road about twenty five yards from the church and house. Two of the drivers were hit by dead nuts clean head shots, and from the story I heard, Mike and Abby were the culprits on that. Not surprising. Alex had to smash the head of the third driver in right after we arrived, as he had reanimated by then.

The passengers in the three vehicles started to return fire at the house, not the church. Two of the vehicles were Volvo diesel wagons, and there were three shooters in both of those cars. The amount of return fire was heavy according to Mike. Mike said they, “Worked those lever guns,” like pros. Our people got pinned down momentarily by their return fire, but Mike chambered another round in his rifle, and blew the head clean off the Outsider that appeared to be the one in charge.

As they say, cut off the head and body goes limp. The other Outsiders froze for a second, and that bought them enough time for the rest of our people to get back in the fight. The Outsiders started running away, and our people popped off a handful of rounds as they went. Abby said that we shot two of them in the back, but Mike said just one.

Just for the record, and I know I've said this before, but I have NO fucking problem with shooting enemies in the back. There’s a huge line of thought that says shooting a retreating enemy in the back is evil, or a coward’s way to kill the enemy, but the people who say shit like that have never had an enemy retreat, gather themselves, and return with a second more powerful attack. You learn real fucking fast that a retreating enemy is just an enemy trying to get away long enough to try and kill you again later. If they throw down arms and surrender to you that’s one thing. Running away though, that catches you a bullet. I expect the same from my enemies should I show them my back.

I lost my train of thought.

Oh, yeah. Sometime during the return fire after our first wave of shots Chad took a round right to the fucking jaw. The bullet zipped just over the window frame he was hiding behind and caught him just left of center on the jaw, right around where your canine teeth are. Or where his were. The shot was powerful enough to send him ass over tea kettle into the living room he was in, and looks like it killed him instantly. Damn near spun his whole head off like a twist cap on a beer. Poor guy. At least he went down fast, and we didn’t have to kill him after the fact.

It sucks extra too because I really think he was going out of his way to make up for the Sean bullshit. I have no way of really knowing that, but it certainly felt like he was trying to earn my trust, and make a better life with us. Sad ending to a sad story.

After the Outsiders ran off, leaving all three of their vehicles behind our people took cover and waited for us (the QRF) to arrive. There was a good chance the Outsiders could’ve mounted a fast second offensive, and it made little sense for them to expose themselves without significant backup on site.

As I said when we arrived the party was already over, and the Outsiders never came back to play with us. We cleaned up the bodies by bringing them to the park where we brought the dead from the church, and took all the vehicles the Outsiders left behind. We made sure to take Chad’s body back here for a proper burning on our pyre. It’s become our ritual.

Then we came back here. Everyone gathered all somber like for Chad’s fire setting. It was nice that no one said anything bad about him, even the folks that used to hate him back at Westfield. It speaks to the amount of work he’d done here to get back in everyone’s good graces. It also speaks to the amount of class the people here have.

We’re figuring the Outsiders are not coming back for a day or two. The dilemma now becomes this: do we hit them, and finish this? Or do we set up another ambush in a different location, and hope they come back again like a bunch of fucking morons? I think we got a little lucky today with just one dead. Maybe even a lot lucky.

Having said that, the two women who run the Factory sound a lot like the kind of assholes that aren’t gonna take this and sit down. I think they’re gonna get sneaky on me, and start doing some serious bullshit. The frontal assault hasn’t worked yet, and we have got to be hitting their numbers hard now. One more set of losses like today and they’ll be combat ineffective against not only us, but any undead incursions, and these assholes live in or near the city. I don’t care how many zombies they’ve dropped to this point, the city is still a dangerous place to be. A sensible person would cut their losses and run.

These bitches don’t seem sensible to me though.

Mike and Abby are 100% behind going out again to drop the hammer on these pricks. I still haven’t had the chance to find a goddamn phone book yet. Where is this motherfucking Factory? Is it big? Is it small? Is it in the city, or on the edges of it like I think it is?

How do we hit it and not kill the apparently large number of innocents inside? If I had to guess, the place will be fortified, and we won’t just be able to snipe at the windows to kill the bad guys. Furthermore, how the fuck do we identify the bad guys? Are they wearing a uniform? Dunce caps? Sagging jeans? Overalls and banjos?

It’s an uncrackable egg unless we hit the fucking place with everything we have, and kill everyone. I also don’t think coming at it from a diplomatic standpoint will work. It seems as if though the message I sent that Barry fella back with was poorly received. I mean they came right back at us, despite my threat.

I think we find them. I think we invest the time and effort, and put an X on the fucking map where these people lay their heads at night. Once we know where they are, then we form a plan on how to get inside, and show these people what’s up. I’m not sure exactly how we’re going to do that just yet, but I have that sinking, ugly feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach that this will get bad before it gets better. This won’t be like Westfield. I don’t think I can turn these people in on themselves. These people feel righteous to me. Consolidated. Unified.

Crazy too.

I can’t reason with crazy. I can’t convince crazy of the error of its ways. I can only hit it with a hammer until it isn’t crazy anymore.

I really don’t want to do this.

Chad, I suppose at the very least I should do this to make your death worth it. Safe journey brother. Hope you find peace and forgiveness wherever you wind up.

-Adrian

September 16th

Found 'em. I think.

I’m writing this early in the afternoon because I am headed out in an hour or two. I swung down to the houses below us on Auburn Lake today with Mallory to check for phone books. As it turns out, I really have burned all the phone books here on campus, and Google is still fucking down.

I got the address to a “diesel import” specialty dealership in a small town just north east of the city, and it was roughly in the same area as where the Outsiders were coming from. I’m betting anything it’s the right place. I can tell. Feel it in my bones and whatnot.

I’m going alone. I know that sounds dumb, but I work better on my own, and I don’t need to burden anyone with covering my stupid risk-taking ass. I also think that I will still be in radio contact that far out now that we have the repeater tower perched on the top of MGR, so in reality, I’m only a walkie transmission away from help.

Not that the hour plus it’ll take for them to get to me won’t factor in. Guess I’ll just have to do this quietly, and try to get in and out of their neighborhood without bloodshed. Or a little bit of carefully planned out bloodshed.

Not that I’ll complain if I get to bring an abrupt end to the life of a bad guy. The trick seems to be whether or not I can figure out who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are.

I’ll put an entry in when I get back. Hopefully that’s pretty soon. I’m thinking maybe the 18th or 19th. I’m planning on being gone for a few days, and I’m not bringing this laptop. Too heavy, and God forbid they got their hands on it, and read all of this. Even with a password required to log in, I don’t trust it. Plus someone needs to read this if I die.

And as I’ve said abundantly, dying is pretty easy nowadays, even for little old me.

Fuck you Jinx Fairy.

-Adrian

White Blood Cell

The shredder jammed again. Damn piece of shit.

Lancaster took a deep breath and hit the reverse button on the industrial strength, washing machine sized paper-eater. The quarter inch thick stack of paperwork regurgitated towards him with a grind, and he yanked it out. After splitting it into two halves, he fed the first portion back in, and the machine ate it with a happy whine. It ate the second part of the too-large stack greedily. Lancaster imagined the belly of the shredder filling with paper strips like it was an enormous serving of sauceless spaghetti.

But the paper wasn't sitting in a belly. The shreds were being chopped once more as it headed down a long and dark chute to the incinerator in the basement, two floors below. The Department of State left no bit of trash behind when this shredder was used. Only the most secret, most damaging things were fed to this machine.

Things Lancaster often had a hand in. That was a good part of the reason why it was in his office, just off from where his hand was.

The old man with the loosened tie and coffee stained dress shirt had a stack of manila folders stamped CONFIDENTIAL to destroy before he left the Harry S Truman building, nerve center of the DOS, and his home away from… it was his home. No use denying it. He hadn't actually gone to where he paid a mortgage in months. He kept a blanket and pillow in a cabinet drawer for when he slept on the leather couch against the wall. He knew every detail of the painting of the signing of the Treaty of Versailles that hung above the couch from staring at it at night as he tried to sleep. Calling the townhouse he had partially furnished a home would've been an insult to the relationship he had with his job. With his nation.

"Mr. Lancaster, are you leaving too?" a female voice asked him from the doorway to his office.

Lancaster knew who it was, but looked over his shoulder anyway. One of the fast-movers in the office. A young Georgetown graduate that had been earmarked by the higher ups as having potential. Lancaster liked her. She worked hard, and minded her business. Usually. "I need to shred these forms Kelsie. Have you heard anything back on the line of succession status?"

"No new news today yet, but we got confirmation the Secretary is finally home safe with his family and some friends in Utah. His security detail is with him on the ranch as well as local police. The Secret Service is flying out a private jet with a full protection team to make sure he's okay until this blows over," Kelsie said.

Blows over. Not likely. "That's good. It's important to protect the line of succession in times like this. The people need stability. I hope the Salt Lake airport is under control. Most airports are a disaster right now."

"Speaking of which, did that team get Henke out of Jerusalem?" she asked him.

"They did. They had some struggles in London though. I was made aware that they arrived at a secure airbase in England," Lancaster said as he fed his mythical paper eating monster another stack of food.

"Good. That's great. I think the President made it to a bunker," she said, half with worry, half with hope.

"That he did."

She lingered. "The Vice President?"

Lancaster didn't want to talk about the Vice President. "He was trapped at the airport after the primary in South Carolina and killed the day of. Shot by accident it would appear. Some of his team and aides made it out on Air Force Two with his body. Of course he came back to life and killed a couple more of his own on the plane. Terrible mess." Losing such an important person was awful, and despite having nothing to do with the death of the VP, he still felt like he should've been there. It would've gone differently. He was sure of it.

Kelsie covered her mouth and let out a small gasp. "We'd heard on the news he'd managed to…"

Lancaster cut her off. "Don't trust the news Kelsie. Don't trust anyone, or anything you don't see with your own eyes anymore. Some our internal 'facts' are proving to be wrong. Things are going to get worse. Much worse. CDC has no idea what's causing this, and it's spreading faster than we could've possibly predicted. Go home to your family. Take care of them. The government will survive this. Somehow."

"Can I trust you?"

Lancaster clucked his tongue. His trademark noise when he thought. "Many people have put their trust in me over the years. You'll just have to roll the dice and see. That's the beauty of trust. There's no guarantee which way it'll go on ya."

She couldn’t help but agree. "What will you do?"

The old agency man shrugged and fed his shredder again. "Finish this. Head to where I'm needed."

"You don't have any family?"

"I'm married to the Department Kelsie. To the oath I took a long time ago."

A slew of co-workers trotted past Kelsie down the hallway to the elevator to leave. They were near frantic. Worried about what was happening to the world. To their country. Right outside their office door. Kelsie saw them turn the corner and knew she had to go. The sound of sirens in the distance was unsettling.

Lancaster urged her. "Go. I'll be fine. Get a gun somewhere. And water. Lots of water. Get out of the city. It won't be safe here much longer. Isn't safe now. Police scanner is going off every five minutes with a report of another shooting or stabbing. Protests are getting larger and larger near The White House and Agriculture. All the airports are shut down so the roads are a mess. Head for the hills. Get gone."

"Yes sir. Director Lancaster, thank you. I wanted to say it's been a pleasure to work with you in the security department. I wish I'd gotten to know you better. Maybe after all this I can have you over for dinner at my place? You can meet my fiancé finally?" Kelsie asked him. She'd leaned on him since starting at the Department. She was so far from home (Ohio, was it?) and all her local college friends had moved on to greener pastures.

"That sounds great Kelsie, now go. Before it's too late," Lancaster pushed another stack of papers into the shredder and motioned for her to shoo. It might already be too late for her.

With a regretful smile the twenty-something waved, and left the old government spook. She should be happy she didn't know him any better. He wasn't a very good person all the time, and some of what he'd done for his nation should be left buried underneath six feet of earth for the rest of time.

His office phone rang. Interesting. It would appear some of the landlines are still working. Lancaster walked around his desk and saw that it was an international secured line. Probably one of his teams protecting an embassy overseas. He picked the handset up and answered.

"Lancaster here."

"Lancaster it's Kevin Whitten. You got a minute?" Whitten was the leader of the contracting team that had been assigned to Senator Henke. The Senate President Pro Tempore, fourth in line to the presidency. Whitten and his team had done the incredible, and gotten the man out of both Jerusalem, and London even after a helicopter crash.

"That's about all I got son. How's Mildenhall? Sunny?"

"When can we get out of here Director? I'd like to deliver this Senator States-side pronto, and get home. It's a fucking soup sandwich here sir. The base is on lock down due to the shit that's going on outside, and everyone inside has lost their fucking mind. Discipline is lacking, and the operational tempo since we got here has been off the chain. Birds are flying 24/7, and we're fending for ourselves. Henke is a prick sir, no offense, and he's up my ass to get him home, and I can't do shit because the base commander is saying everything is committed to the western Europe front, like we're a world at war. He keeps waving this Presidential order around like it's a get-out-of-jail-free card. I just need you to free up one plane for us. Mildenhall to Andrews. Boom. Done."

Lancaster waited. He knew the man's rant wasn't over yet.

"And another thing, are we still getting paid? I fucking hope so. If I miss a truck payment and my credit rating takes a whack I'm gonna get real angry, man. Don't get me wrong, we're doing okay here, but it ain't pretty." Kevin paused again. Lancaster could hear the man self-assessing. "Sorry. I'm pissed and I don't have anyone to bitch to."

Lancaster clucked his tongue again and grinned. He'd been in the young man's boots before, though not exactly like this. "Kevin, don’t sweat it son."

Lancaster liked Whitten. He hoped the ex-Ranger made it through this alive.

*****

Lancaster left the Truman building after everything sensitive in his office had been destroyed. The only thing critical that hadn't been set on fire or shredded was his laptop, and that piece of technology was in a Kevlar lined briefcase in his left hand. The old man made sure he took his tie and government ID off at the exit. Ties could be a problem if he was attacked, and he didn't want to advertise to a protestor he was a government employee.

Outside the glass doors were three Capitol Police cruisers and six officers , a mix of men and women. They stood their ground, protecting the building with military style AR rifles, and heavy duty SWAT style helmets and vests. This wasn't a too uncommon sight here in the nation's capital. Any lockdown was met with a similar response, and there were enough of those that the sight of a M4 or AR rifle wouldn't alarm too many of the locals. You couldn't live and work this close to The White House without these kinds of things. A thick skin was required to work in D.C. for many reasons.

Lancaster approached the tall and thin black officer nearest to him with a disarming smile. With a grunt Lancaster pushed out his beer belly and approached the closest cop. It helped when people thought he was only an old fud. "Officer, things getting any better?" he asked, rubbing his tummy like a Monday Morning Quarterback. He already knew the answer.

After scanning him for injuries, the cop disregarded Lancaster as a threat almost immediately. A feigned slouch and a beer gut did that for you. "No, not really sir. You should get to your car and head home immediately. There's a curfew for 8pm."

"I heard. How's the walk from here to the lots over near Penn. Ave.?" It was a little over 1.1 miles. Lancaster knew that number for a reason. Everything he knew, he knew for a reason.

"It's clear right now, but who knows what'll happen. We're getting lots of looting reports, and some folks near The White House are still protesting. They've got a shitload of Capitol Police over there holding down the fort but if they decide to riot, it'll be bad news."

Lancaster knew that too. "Well thank you Officer. I'm gonna head that way. My car is parked over there. I appreciate your time. Be safe."

"Good luck," the officer said. He was genuine about it.

*****

The sound of gunfire can travel quite a distance, so when Lancaster heard the first few shots coming from near The White House, he knew the protestors at the residence had stepped somehow out of line, and the police or Secret Service had done what they felt they needed to do. It might've been necessary, or overreaction. No one would wind up writing it in the history books. A shootout at the President's residence wouldn't even warrant a footnote in the end.

The first noise he heard wasn't a shot per se. It was the whoomph and hissing noise of a tear gas canister being discharged. After that, as he walked calmly down the empty streets of D.C., he heard people starting to scream in pain, and then in anger. Then he heard the crack of a gun being fired. It was a high velocity round from a rifle. An M4. He knew that for a reason too.

Then a second shot came, then a third. Somewhere after the tenth round fired he could differentiate the sounds of added pistol fire. .40 caliber Glock 22's, the sidearm of choice for the Capitol Police. Lancaster reached inside his suit coat to the small of his back and thumbed the button off his holster that held his sidearm secure. There was a good chance he'd need it shortly.

Less than thirty seconds later the first person fleeing whatever violence was ahead ran past him. It was a young man, no older than twenty five. He had a beard, and wore a white tee shirt that had "TELL US THE TRUTH" written on the front with a marker, or black shoe polish. The man's eyes were focused, and he ran like his life depended on it. From the ongoing sounds of gunfire, his life did depend on it. Lancaster noted that the man's white shirt had several spatters of dark red blood on it. More than could attributed to poor laundry habits.

The old man stopped and sat his briefcase down. He reached into the small of his back where his handgun was and pulled it out from his concealed carry holster. He carried a small gun by comparison, but he rarely needed it, and when he did, it was plenty large enough. Most of the wet work Lancaster did relied on accuracy, and not power. His gun was a Beretta 92F compact, the same basic pistol carried by those in the military, but a little smaller. A smaller grip, shorter barrel, and profiled lower, the weapon hid under his jacket, and packed enough power for him to deal with uncomfortable situations.

His specific pistol was prepared to take a suppressor, which he removed from his briefcase, and threaded onto the pistol's barrel, all the while never taking his eyes off the end of the street where people were streaming now. No one gave him a second glance as they ran for their lives the same as the bearded man who came first. A fifty plus year old man taking a knee on the sidewalk was infinitely less interesting or important than the nightmare they were leaving behind. Lancaster was grateful on a level for the panic. It allowed him to operate in the open. He'd used panic like this before to achieve objectives.

The last man and woman came running past him as he switched hands to keep his handgun inside on his thigh. He was a lefty thankfully, and that allowed him some measure of increased anonymity in the moment. He considered the extremely unlikely chance that anyone would care what he did that day, and shrugged. Old spy habits die hard.

The couple was overweight, and was huffing and puffing to put ground between them and whatever was behind them. The man's face was alarmingly red, and they were both covered in sweat. They made their way past Lancaster and started to slow, somehow feeling safer now that someone was between them and the aftermath in their wake. Lancaster chuckled and wished the best for them.

Rounding the corner a hundred yards distant was an injured man. He was staggering, limping severely on a damaged leg. It looked to Lancaster like the man's knees or thighs were shot. A foot dragged behind, clearly offering poor support and strength. He was moving along, but his progress was abysmal. Lancaster watched him carefully studying his movements, and after he and the injured man ate up twenty yards, he could tell the man wasn't actually injured.

He was dead.

It was true that the man's legs were damaged. He had several streams of blood on the upper legs of the shorts he wore that led down to his naked knee and shins. From the amount of blood one of the shots had to have been to the femoral artery. Lancaster was always surprised at how many people succumbed to arterial injuries to the leg. So many folks lost their lives to simply losing blood to minor wounds it was astounding. Applying a proper tourniquet was a life saving skill.

This dead man had suffered just that fate. Lancaster stopped when he got to a stretch of sidewalk that had no doors or windows along it. Just safe, strong bricks at his back. He squinted a bit (old age was robbing him of his eyesight, much to his chagrin) and watched the dead man's movements again.

He was slow. He staggered off balance with each step. Staying upright was a challenge to him. His arms swung back and forth out of inertia, not to maintain balance. This fact could prove to be crucial later, especially if they tried to run, or corner quickly. The dead man's eyes were wide, allowing the whole world to stream in for him to see, and they were white, entirely devoid of any color sans the black pip in the middle. His skin color was off as well. He was Caucasian, but jaundiced, yellow to the extreme but riddled with gray and drained, like a battlefield casualty left behind in a ditch that had lost all its blood.

At least that's normal about him.

Lancaster watched him for a full minute as the dead body walked straight at him with single-minded purpose. When it got to within ten yards, its mouth began to chew the air, snarling silently all the while as if it didn't know it was too far away to bite properly. Lancaster could hear the teeth snapping shut over the noise of the police sirens, and fire trucks steaming to more emergencies elsewhere. Over the fiend's shoulder Lancaster watched a police cruiser scream by, surely heading to something bad.

Lancaster also saw multiple more dead protestors, as well as two dead Capitol Police officers round the corner, theoretically following the herd of prey that had already run past. Hanging on their chests he could see the cops still had their M4 rifles. Their dead minds couldn’t fathom how to operate the guns, thankfully. Lancaster did a quick count and reached seven before turning his full attention back to the dead man now just six yards away.

Cool as the proverbial cucumber Lancaster used his small 9mm to kneecap the man. His shot hit the bulb of cartilage and bone spot on, ruining the man's leg and collapsing him to the ground with no more than the thump of uncoordinated flesh. No grunt of pain, no moan, and no exasperation or frustration of having just been shot. Lancaster watched as the dead man tried to get up, but the ruined leg wouldn't support his weight. After only a few attempts to get to his feet the dead protestor gave up on standing, and simply started to crawl at Lancaster, clawing along with his fingers and leaving a dried streak of blood on the dark city street.

"Interesting," Lancaster said scientifically. He aimed the small pistol and put a single shot straight into the chest of the dead man where his heart was, and then watched for the anticipated effect. There was none. He didn't even bleed from the wound.

It kept crawling at him, teeth still clicking away over and over. It sounded like someone clinking two coffee mugs together. While staring at him with murder in his eyes of course.

"Okay that's confirmed. Let's see if what they are all saying is true," Lancaster said to himself as he lined up another shot to the eye socket of the crawling corpse. With a 'thwip' the tiny subsonic round launched through the little black pip at the center of the eyeball and scrambled the brain inside before popping out of the back of the skull with a messy gray spray. Instantly the crawling man went face down at the edge of the curb, his clicking teeth cracking one last time against the granite. Lancaster imagined that some bits of the well-brushed white teeth fell to the drain below. A grisly thought.

Seven to go, then the drive out of the city. He calculated how many rounds he had left in the gun, in the magazines on his belt, and in his briefcase. Lancaster moseyed along down the sidewalk, and made a plan for shooting each of the dead people coming his way.

Lancaster already knew what he was going to do.

*****

Lancaster made it to his 2002 Intrepid with the rust spots and dented rear panel with minimal issue. Slow breathing, steady hands, and a plan did that for you. He loved his car. It blended in, and was entirely forgettable. A lot like him. Lancaster always said if he owned a dog he'd get a Labrador Retriever. He did have to use far too much of his personal ammunition stock to get it done, but he was able to salvage the M4 rifles off of the fallen Capitol Police officers. Being plus two military grade weapons was a fair trade off for having to shoot nearly thirty rounds out of his little pistol.

Leaving the metro D.C. area proved to be more problematic than the walk getting to his car. It seemed like every organization involved in law enforcement was attempting to set up roadblocks on every street. Lancaster wanted no trouble, and he certainly didn't want questions that would invite anyone to look in his trunk. He could always flash his credentials and get out nearly any situation, but part of the power in having such credentials was maintained by only using them sparingly. Dilution wasn't helpful.

He was turned away three times by angry, foul mouthed police before he found a roadblock that was willing to let him through. Lancaster held no ill will to the officers who impolitely asked him to turn back. They had been given orders to prevent travel in that space, and they were operating in nightmarish conditions. Their frustration must've been excessive at a bare minimum. It was a bad time for everyone. Lancaster kept the peace with a scratch on the head and an apology and moved on to try elsewhere. He even attempted to call a few DOS associates to let them know which way to head, but the network was failing him. All circuits were busy. He lamented using burners exclusively, but with his job requirements, being easily found with a stable cell phone was a liability.

He needed to get to Winchester Virginia, a destination about fifty miles distant to the west and a bit north if he drove directly. Lancaster would normally take 66 until the 267, then swap on to 7 and ride that straight through to the end. But the roadblocks moved him around in the city until he was pointed entirely in the wrong direction. When he managed to leave the city he had to head northeast on the 1, which was only good for Lancaster because he wasn't trapped in the city any longer.

Lancaster listened to the radio, and watched all around him as the residents of the area surrounding the capital lost their mind. From the view the packed highway afforded him he could see complete and utter mania in the retail world. The number of people flooding into the Home Depots, Lowes' and grocery store chains was astronomical, and the law enforcement personnel tasked with keeping order at the businesses were failing. Mile by mile Lancaster watched as the level of order and safety dipped lower and lower.

The first grocery store he passed was jam packed, but the parking lot looked safe enough. People jogged behind their carts, and everyone seemed under control. A lone black and white police SUV sat near the entrance, the officer standing calmly with a shotgun across his chest watching. With each mile logged and each minute elapsed the situations were more erratic. By the time he turned onto 495 to skirt the city and get back to his intended direction police were hands-on, weapons raised, and even that was only keeping things civil in the barest sense. Lancaster watched as people pushed each other out of the way and took carts from one another. He watched a burly cop wrestle and fight, and then handcuff a man who was trying to take things straight out of another's trunk. As he got to his feet the thief's face was busted open, and his nose twisted. Onlookers watched and cheered, bloodthirsty. It was like watching a match between gladiators.

Two hours later as Lancaster fought the traffic on 495 he watched a woman shoot a man in a Best Buy parking lot. The man had a shopping cart filled with boxes of small electronics, and the woman tried to take one of his new purchases. A scuffle ensued, and the woman produced a revolver from her purse. Two yanks of a trigger later the man went face down in the parking lot, and the panicked shooter dragged the cart to her vehicle to unload it. She might as well add armed robbery to the attempted murder charge she might be facing. Everyone nearby scattered. Lancaster slowed his vehicle and pulled out of the heavy traffic to the shoulder, stopping to watch.

A minute later the man she shot and killed had his revenge. He stood up, shuffled up behind her as she moved everything into the trunk of her car and bit her on back of the neck. The woman screamed and tried to fight him off, but he kept biting, and eventually they fell down atop the white line of her parking space, and he stopped. He left her dead body and moved towards the other people still moving. Before he reached anyone else, his murderer—also his victim—was twitching and flailing, and starting to sit up.

Interesting. They aren't eating each other like they do in the movies. Bite to kill, then move on. For twenty minutes the man and his victim stumbled around the parking lot of the electronics store as the living eluded them. Finally one of them caught an elderly man as he fumbled with his car keys, and the process repeated itself. The dead would ravage the living, biting, punching, clawing, and tearing, but once their victim was dead, they left the corpse, and moved on. They aren’t doing this to eat. They're doing this to kill. To spread their kind. They're like a virus, but this isn't being caused by a virus. So strange. So interesting.

Lancaster put his car back in drive and merged with the traffic on the highway. In the parking lot of the Best Buy someone with a shotgun let off several blasts at the zombies, but only managed to hit several bystanders. Lancaster knew those people would be dying soon too. If not in minutes then in days, when infection set in. And if Lancaster knew anything…

This whole thing was just a reddened, hot, swelling infection, sinking deeper and deeper to the heart of the world and would likely be fatal.

Lancaster considered himself to be one of the few white blood cells.

*****

The United States government maintained multiple facilities across the world that were off-the-record. They were hidden in budgets and funded by closed door committees. Many of the facilities were operated by the military, but some were CIA controlled or NSA operated. Some of the facilities stored servers with classified information, and some were labs where sensitive research took place.

Other sites were torture chambers.

In Winchester Virginia the Federal Government maintained a fallout shelter that was state of the art. It was intended as a nuclear bunker for the government employees who lived in that area. In the event of a crisis they could make the short drive to the forgettable office park it was built under, park their cars and minutes later be thirty feet underground in a guarded, nuclear, biological and chemically safe environment. It had a full command and control room capable of managing multiple branches of the military simultaneously, and could connect to several foreign nations (allies and otherwise) through direct hardwired lines. The bunker had enough food to feed a hundred men and women for five years, and could recycle air and water for the same time. That would be long enough for the government to react to a decapitation strike, or a crisis that was apocalyptic in scope. You just needed to be okay with drinking recycled urine for a few years.

The bunker had been activated at noon on June 23rd, and by dinnertime it was taking in officials and military personnel to fully staff it. By the 24th it was in full swing, accepting in approved government and civilian souls. There was a list, you see. Some had to survive to ensure the longevity of the nation. Dedicated, designated survivors. The Winchester bunker was Lancaster's destination. He'd selected it as his bunker of choice on the reasoning that he liked old westerns, loved reading about history and he thought the Winchester Model 1873 lever action rifle was as responsible for America's growth as anything else anyone could think of. Except for maybe concrete. The invention of concrete was very important to America.

The selection of the Winchester bunker was one of the few random things Lancaster allowed himself to indulge in. As a man of intense practice and preparation, for Lancaster to do anything on a whim meant sacrifice on his part, or indulgence. In this case, it was indulgence mixed with a small amount of the joy he found in being needlessly elusive. It helped him sleep on some nights knowing that with no one aware of where he'd head in the event of catastrophe no one could prepare for his arrival. You couldn't set a trap if you didn't know where your prey would be.

It was dark when he got near his destination. An evening summer fog had set in, and put the world in a dreamy, sedated state. As he drove through the fringe of Winchester in the cooling evening the disposable cell phone Lancaster had rang with a warbled bleat. He'd dropped it in the toilet a week prior and it hadn't ringed right since. He flipped the phone open and looked at the number. Kelsie?

He held it to his ear. "Kelsie? You alright?"

Silence greeted his question. Lancaster could hear noise, air moving perhaps, as if the young worker had butt dialed him, but it didn't seem like that. He felt as if she'd dropped her phone, or perhaps dialed it and sat it down to serve as witness to something. He told her to do that if she was ever nervous about a boy. Lancaster felt his blood pressure rise as he focused on any noise he could pluck out to use later.

"Director," she said suddenly. Her voice was dreamy, or drunken. It was hard to tell which.

Lancaster kept driving and kept talking. "Are you okay? Your voice sounds strange."

She took several seconds to answer him. Lancaster leaned towards drunk. "Do I? I hadn't noticed. Sorry."

"Kelsie we shouldn't be tying up a line like this. There are people who will need to get in touch with the authorities. Do you need me for something? Are you okay?"

She let out a long exhale that was half sigh, half mournful wail. Lancaster wondered if something had happened to her fiancé. "Director I had to call you. I heard from… someone important. They asked me to get in touch with you."

Lancaster was a trifle confused. "Okay, continue."

"I thought you said the Vice President died?" she asked him. She sounded more than a little angry. Betrayed. She sounded betrayed.

"He did die Kelsie. Columbia South Carolina. Shot in the airport, died on the plane after resuscitation failed." Lancaster had seen the proof-of-death photos himself. He knew several of the men on the VP's team and trusted their word. He had no doubt.

"Well he spoke to me Director. He asked me to get in touch with you."

Lancaster chuckled. She had to be drunk to say that. It was entirely out of character for her to claim something so outrageous. "Now Kelsie don’t be ridiculous. It was probably someone being an asshole and pranking you."

"No."

Lancaster let her rebuttal hang in the air. She sounded resolute.

"It was him Lancaster. I've met him before, you know that. It was him. He said some strange things, but I'm sure it was him." As she spoke her cadence switched from dreamy and confused to sober and focused. She sounded very sure she'd spoken to the second in line to the Presidency.

"Why would he call you to get a message to me? If he was alive—and Kelsie, he isn’t—one of his aides has this number."

"He said you were a person who didn't follow their dreams. He said you followed orders instead."

Lancaster couldn't find words. The Vice President and he had a conversation in the late 80s before either man reached the position they were now in and the man had said exactly that. He looked out the window at the blackened neighborhoods and tried to envision a scenario that allowed this to be true. He couldn't think of anything.

"Lancaster he asked me to say some very strange things to you. I think it's a code. He knew things that don't make sense to me. Maybe you'll understand it. He had me write some stuff down. Are you ready?"

Lancaster pulled his Intrepid to the side of the road and fished a small spiral notepad out of his briefcase. He produced a government supplied lowest bidder pen and pulled the cap. He hoped it would write. "Go ahead."

"He said you would write this down," Kelsie said.

Lancaster looked at the pen and paper as he turned the dome light on. He couldn't tell if it was a joke, or a sign of insider knowledge. "Tell me Kelsie."

"He told me to tell you that he owes you for that card game in Des Moines."

That he did. The Veep swindled him in a hand of five card stud back in the 80s. Lancaster had let it slip out of friendship, and knowing that one day he could call in a favor as a result. He wasn't sure if the Vice President did it on purpose to shore up the relationship the two shared. Lancaster laughed, "Go on."

"He also said that you needed to get into the bunker because someone on the other side would be in there."

"Other side? Did he elaborate on that? Russian? Chinese? Anything? How does he know what bunker I'm headed to?" Lancaster had hunger pains for more knowledge. More intelligence.

"No, sorry Director. I got the impression from his tone that he was talking more about good guys versus bad guys. As far as knowing what bunker…" she trailed off. Clearly she had no idea how the man knew the information.

Lancaster shrugged. "Okay, continue."

"He said very distinctly and was very precise in saying that you should NOT trust people's plans. He said someone would make a plan and it would sound very good, but it would hurt people. Three people. I don't know who the three people are, but the Vice President was very clear in saying that these three people would need your help. He also said something about islands. That islands would be important."

"Roger that, three people. Don't listen to every plan people suggest. And islands are important."

"This is the weird part Director. He said you needed to pay attention to your dreams. That you needed to fight the infection that threatened us all. He also said to say that was an order. I think that might be a code," Kelsie sounded strange as she said it, like she didn't believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth.

"Pay attention to my dreams? Huh," Lancaster said as his mind scoured the litany of code phrases and innocuous sayings he knew. The dreams reference meant nothing. "Okay. I'll pay attention to my dreams. Anything else?"

"He was weird Director. Strange like he was coming in and out of consciousness."

Like you just were? "Well if he was shot, and believe me Kelsie, every report I saw indicated he was dead, which tells me he suffered a grievous wound and somehow pulled through, he's probably on some serious meds right now. It would explain the strange speech pattern."

"I… I uh. I guess so," she said. Again, Lancaster thought she sounded disconnected. Ethereal.

"Kelsie did he call you? Email? How did you get this message from him?"

Lancaster could hear her thinking on the other side of the phone. "I don't… I don’t recall Director. I think he—I’m not sure." Lancaster heard the unmistakable sound of fear and confusion in her voice.

"Kelsie did he call you?" The sound on the other side of the phone returned to the faint buzz that reminded him of a dropped phone, but he knew she was still there, waiting to say something. "Kelsie? Can you give me the number he called you from?"

Silence again.

Lancaster pulled his small phone from his ear and looked at the pixilated screen to see if the call was still active.

The screen was black.

He hit the power button and the screen came to life, showing the poor representation of a mountain scene he'd selected as the background. He hit the menu button and thumbed through to received calls.

There was nothing there. The phone call hadn't happened. Lancaster sat the phone down in his briefcase, then the little notebook he'd scribbled the contents of the conversation in. He leaned his head back against the headrest of the car and closed his eyes, fishing for an answer to the strange event that just happened. A sudden clicking noise on the window made him jerk, and he opened his eyes with his pistol in hand.

It was daylight. A zombie—no, a dead person. It was far too early to be calling them zombies—was clawing at his window, and their blood soaked wedding ring was clinking away at the glass leaving streaks behind. They put their mouth against the window and tried to bite through the glass to get at him. Their lips pinched against their teeth and split through the flesh as if it were no more than modeling clay. Lancaster winced in sympathy.

His vehicle was in park, and the ignition off. He hadn't turned the car off. He also didn't recall parking where he was. When he took Kelsie's call he'd pulled over in a residential neighborhood, but here, now, he was parked in the parking lot of a poker room. The sign above the door read "Five Card Stud House." Over the smell of the dead person knocking at his window he could smell a strange flower that he didn't recognize. There were no flower beds nearby though. He wiped the sleep from the corner of his eyes.

Lancaster didn't recall pulling over to sleep either. He cursed the bad decision of sleeping in the open, let alone parking in the open. All of this didn't make sense. It was a puzzle missing too many pieces. He looked at the street signs around him and put together a mental map of where he was as the dead person slobbered on his window. He was only about ten minutes away from the park where the bunker was.

He looked at the notepad on top of his briefcase and saw the notes that he'd scrawled as Kelsie had spoken to him. At the bottom of the page was a single phrase he didn't recall writing. It read; "You are a white blood cell." It also wasn't in his handwriting. Lancaster turned the key on his car, bringing the engine to life and slid the shifter into drive. He left the sad, dead person by the side of the road, their teeth still gnashing away, trying to eat him.

Lancaster knew he had to get inside the bunker before they locked it shut. And he knew there was someone inside he needed to look out for. Someone who was an infection possibly. But like everything he knew, he knew these things for a reason.

September 19th

I am still alive.

And that fucking Factory will be a tough nut to crack. On many levels.

Lemme lay the shit out for you.

The Factory is in a small town just north east of the city, just like I thought. I headed out from campus late in the afternoon in our trusty electric Toyota, and drove as far as I could, as fast as I could blacked out. It was pretty damn frightening knowing that I had to pass through the same bottleneck we’d pinched them in the day before. There’s little reason to think they wouldn’t hit me the same as I hit them.

I did have the added benefit of not having to take the same exit to get to their neck of the woods though. There are at least three exits leading into the city that I could take that would put me on surface streets I could take to get to them. I didn’t have to use the same approach to get to them. I made damn sure I went a different way that night to help ensure a safer infiltration. I didn’t get hit so I’ll chalk my plan up as being successful. Huzzah and shit.

I wound up parking in a small garage attached to a tiny house in a fairly crappy neighborhood about a mile and a half away from where I thought the Factory was. Turns out it was more like two full miles, which is an alarmingly frightening distance to cover in the dark, in an area you haven’t ever been in on foot. I was nervous as balls. I think it was about… maybe 10 or 11 at night. Late as hell for me. I’m an old man now, and we rarely stay up late unless we have to.

I had an old street map from one of the glove boxes in a car in the school parking lot to help guide me, and I was easily able to get to the street where the dealership was. Barry said the dealership was nearby the Factory, so I knew once I found that, I would be close. I was right.

First off, the dealership is almost identical to the one we had our impromptu ambush in the other day when we interrogated our talkative friend Barry. I’d say the parking lot is half the size of a football field, and the dealership building itself was about a hundred feet long, with a three bay garage. It was also a pertinent fact that the bays were very large. Large enough to accommodate a semi, or large diesel truck like the box truck we saw the other day. Industrial sized garage doors.

In the lot I saw 17 vehicles, and I took notes describing each one so I could identify them later on if we saw them moving. My guess is that they have at least one capable diesel mechanic on hand using the shop, otherwise they would be having a lot more trouble getting these damn things running. What’s of note here Mr. Journal is that the entire dealership is surrounded by cars made into a wall just like how Westfield had them set up. Inside that was a hastily built chain link fence, complete with small slats of plastic inserted to make the fence opaque.

They had set their automobile wall up to have three exits. Each exit was simply a chain link fence with a pair of large 4x4 pressure treated beams across it. Clearly not intended to stop a vehicle, but designed to repel the aggression of the wandering dead. Easy pickings for a quick vehicle-borne attack.

I found the Factory about a quarter of a mile down the road. It isn’t a factory at all. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before this. Talk about a fucking senior moment.

The Factory is a strip club. It was inside an old factory building that was renovated and turned into new businesses about ten years ago when this area was renovated and revitalized.

It’s a fucking strip club.

I used to work at strip clubs, and I can remember when this place opened. It was right when I was getting out of the bouncing gig for good to work at the school. I remember Cassie and I talking about how funny it was that another strip club was opening just a half hour’s drive from the place we worked and met at. Apparently the men of this region have a strong sex drive, and a powerful need to pay money to look at naked women they can’t fuck. Ever.

I know the two sisters who ran The Factory. I met them once when they came into the place I worked at. They were in their 40s at the time, and had that “we used to be strippers” look. You know the type. Nice hair, nice face that’s starting to show signs of age, and clothes that are about a decade too trendy and tight for a woman like that to wear. Those types of women look like they are trying… just a little too hard, especially at their age.

I remember saying hello to them, and making small talk before the club opened one day when they were waiting to talk to the owner of the place. They must’ve been there visiting checking the place out right about when they were opening their place up. Scouting the competition or working out some kind of cross promotion I imagine.

My basic recollection of them today is that they were arrogant. Smart, pretty, but definitely full of themselves. Righteous. Maybe even a little bit crazy. That explains a lot when I see and deal with the rest of the people they’ve taken in at the fucking club.

Speaking of the club, I was able to observe it from both ends of the road over the course of the night of the 16th, all day and night of the 17th, plus most of yesterday before I made my way back here to campus. I went over my findings and my photos I took with the same digital camera Blake used to take pictures of The Farm back in the day. Man that seems like forever ago.

Anyway, when it was open for normal business, The Factory had naked bitches prancing around in it, so the doors are heavy duty steel, and there are no windows. None. That’s the kind of business where window shopping is generally discouraged. Generally if you’re interested in their kind of merchandise, you go right in and start spending. There were three vehicles parked out in the street in front of the main door. One was the slightly converted box truck we saw driving the other day, one was a van, and the third was a large pickup. We must be putting a huge dent in their vehicle coffers. We’ve taken what? Five or six of them so far at least. God it has to be more than that. Ten maybe.

Heh.

Here’s the bad news. They’ve put up another set of chain link outside the business complete with the plastic slats. On the outside of that they’ve arranged more vehicles blocking the way, creating a fairly substantial wall. The fence and cars are close to the sidewalk in front of the business though, and they are RIGHT on the street, so they are not set back at all. The other bit of bad news is that there is NO WAY of seeing inside the place. Zilch. We’d have to breach and clear the hard way, and we’d kill or hurt a lot of folks that didn’t need it. Very much hesitant to do anything along those lines. Seems dangerous, and a waste of life.

We need to pull them out of that building. We need something that will pull only the bad guys out. We need something to happen that will get their attention and force them to respond in such a manner that ONLY the bad people will stick their heads out of the building. If we can get that to happen, then we can deal with the hostile remnants inside with persuasion, or something quite literally along the lines of smoking them out. Shit if we have to, I’ll spray the dozen cans of pepper spray we still have inside the joint and breach that way. It isn’t tear gas, but in a pinch, it’ll do.

It worked well on The Farm, so in theory it’ll work here too. Folks don’t like being set on fire, or pepper sprayed. Generally speaking that is.

After I returned late last night Otis was happy to see me. Possibly even more so than Mallory, which is saying something because she was REALLY happy to see me. Otis was all up in my shit for an hour. It got to the point where I had to physically remove him from my chest and face and put him on the floor so I could talk to Caleb, Abby, and Mike about a plan to hit the place, or a plan about how not to hit the place.

The obvious weakness they have is the dealership where they are getting their cars. We could easily infiltrate the place at night and torch, destroy, or disable all the vehicles there to render their ability to drive largely null and void. That would either result in their leaving the Factory, allowing us to engage the hostiles in a more proactive way, or it would just make them less of a threat to us. If they can’t drive out to us here on campus, then we need not worry quite so much. It seems very much win/win-ish to us all.

We’re going to recon the place again in a day or two and get a better feel for how we can set up an ambush that’s large enough to be effective. If we can’t sneak enough guns close enough to make it worth it, then we shouldn’t bother with trying to attack them. We should just fuck with their cars and leave.

Now that obviously doesn’t address the fact that shady bullshit is going on there, and we really ought to be the better people and help the folks that are being used and abused inside that place. Seeing as how it was a den of wanton debauchery before the end of the world, I can only imagine that the sucking dick stories are remarkably accurate to what is actually going on inside now. I shudder to think what might be happening.

Oh, I should also mention that all of my time spent in that area was spent dodging far too many fucking undead for comfort. The streets weren’t filled with the dead, but it was impossible to move around in any open spaces without attracting the attention of at least one or two within a minute or less. It sucked ass. Take thirty steps, then freeze and wait to see if anything saw or heard you. I had to drag at least three or four bodies a hundred yards or more away from where I was moving to dump them in rancid old garbage dumpsters to hide them. The last thing I wanted to do was leave fresh dead bodies and spent shell casings anywhere that might be suspicious. Leave no trace.

Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it, I didn’t get to shoot any bad guys while I was out. I would’ve liked that, but the few I saw moving about weren’t a threat to me at any point, and killing them would’ve been a frivolous waste of our secret knowledge of their whereabouts.

So, the Outsiders live another few days, courtesy of the benevolence of yours truly.

We’re going to recon the area again tomorrow night for a single day with a fresh set of eyes other than just mine. It always pays to have multiple people assessing situations, and this is no different. If we can come up with additions or subtractions to the plan we’ll do it, and start the appropriate preparations.

This could really suck. Like, really suck. This place is a fortress for all intents and purposes. Heavy fence, heavy doors, no intel on the inside happenings, and no idea how heavily armed they are either. I’m venturing a guess here that they’re saving their best weapons for protecting the homestead. I can’t imagine they haven’t picked up some AR style rifles by now.

More on that front later. Quick update on my own homestead. It’s been a long time since I talked about Bastion here.

Crops are great. We visited Lenny and his farm is yielding strong for us right now. The food is great right now. Better than I have had in a year. Over a year. Our fields are great too, but not quite at the level of Lenny’s. Construction has begun on the barn for the cows and chickens for this winter. Ollie has been roughing out beams from trees with help from some of the folks, and the super structure/frame was completed late today. He’s thinking he needs another eight to ten days of work to complete it. Fortunately weather has been awesome, although the nights are starting to get really cool. Fall is almost upon us.

Not excited for our wood and gasoline consumption. I’m also kind of surprised that Blake did a fuel run yesterday without me. He’s starting to stockpile fuel here on campus which I am really not keen on. We’ve potentially got an arsonist/murderer here, and I don’t like the idea that we’re putting hundreds and hundreds of gallons of fuel within easy reach. He assures me it’s all, “Safe and sound,” and that he has a plan for keeping it that way, but I didn’t have the time to go over his master plan with him yet.

He also said that gas station we’ve been hitting regularly was finally empty, and we are now going to have to go to one of the other two to get gas. Kinda sucks, but at least we know what we have to work with. Theoretically at least. I just hope that one of the two gas stations still fucking has fuel left in it. Last thing we need is to go to the other two places and find out that neither of them have any fuel. I’d blow a gasket quite frankly.

I’d fist a nun.

So yeah. Recon tomorrow night with Mike. Once we are good to go after that we’ll start planning shit. Then I guess we’ll see what happens after that.

-Adrian

September 21st

Wow. One year of this writing bullshit.

I can’t believe I’ve stuck with it this long. I haven’t written this much in the entirety of my damn life, and to think I’ve done it all on this ratty, used laptop I got for work, after the world as I knew it shit the collective bed like an old lady on Pentalax. I think it’s amusing that the end of the world has made me so damn chatty.

Witty even.

Going back and reading the first entry I wrote a year ago, I feel like I was so naïve when I started this. When I came here to campus to escape this lunacy and survive, I had no damn idea what I was going to do. I had no idea what I was getting myself into either. I had such a shit plan, and the fact that I’ve made it this far, and managed to document so much of it along the way just amuses the fuck out of me. I was such a selfish asshole.

One whole year of writing this damn journal. Writing to you Mr. Journal. Ha, I remember when I talked about what if you were Mrs. Journal, and if that meant I was into trannies. Good times. As it turns out, you’re still a dude in my mind, and I don’t have to deal with that strange internal conflict. Yay for consistency.

Instead, here I sit debating a frontal assault on a batch of asshole survivors that have endangered the people I have taken in here. Killed one of the people I have taken in here. They’ve taken supplies we need to make life easier. They’ve shot at us, and destroyed things we could’ve used to save lives or make our life more livable.

Mike and I infiltrated their part of the world yet again yesterday to get another good look. Mike came to the same assessment I had when we finally returned early this morning. Getting inside that place without killing the innocents in the process would be more or less impossible, unless we could get the good guys or the bad guys all outside. That seemed largely like a big old pipe dream.

Mike did suggest that one course of action we could take was to simply set up a team of shooters outside the place, and wait for them to leave to go… anywhere. Once enough of them step outside to mount their vehicles, we open up with half a dozen simultaneous shots, and then get the fuck out of dodge.

Mike’s line of logic on that is that if we torch the dealership, thus wrecking their cars, they might roll out of the Factory far more on edge, and far more ready to engage us should we shoot at them. If we simply wait until they leave the building under normal circumstances, their guard will be down, and we might catch them entirely unaware.

Our resident Sergeant also shared the idea that we could still blow the cars at the dealership after we shot at them, sending them into further disarray after hitting them via sniper fire. Imagine the complete chaos we could achieve in just seconds. A handful of shots, a handful of dead and dying, and seconds after that we trash their cars somehow.

I wish we had explosives, or a few crates of Javelins, or something that we could use to blow the dealership remotely. Of course if we had all that shit, our lives would be a bit better, and our safety would be a shitload more assured. But alas we do not have dynamite, or simtex, or LAW rocket launchers, or any of the other fun doodads our military has in spades sitting in warehouses all over the world, likely left unused. Left unloved.

Sigh.

So Mike and I planned another recon mission tomorrow night, only this time it will be just Mike and Blake going out. Blake is an industrious and clever guy, and Mike and I both want to get his eyes on the subject. I’d like to send Martin too, but he isn’t as good a shot as is needed yet, and I don’t want to risk losing both Blake and Martin should they get ambushed hard, or whatever else.

Mike and Blake are heading out after about 8pm tomorrow night, and will be gone for about 24 hours to get some observation time on the far side of the Factory. With any luck they’ll find a new and interesting way to crack the nut that is the Factory.

I’m hoping.

-Adrian

September 23rd

I am a little worried. Mike and Blake haven’t returned yet, and they haven’t responded to radio calls either. They should’ve been back here by now, and it is highly unlike Mike to extend any trip like this without sending us some kind of message first.

I hope they are okay.

I’m very distracted by this. I am supposed to be doing a quick gun inventory right now to get a grip on what we have stored in the various armories across campus, but I can’t seem to get the two guys off of my mind. This is troubling me, and I really feel like something is amiss. I’m almost certain of it.

I am certain of it. I can feel it in my bones.

I grabbed Martin, Abby, and Mallory and sat down about fifteen minutes ago to discuss what the fuck we should do if Mike and Blake don’t return or contact us within a few hours. The consensus opinion is that we should go look for them. Of course they have the Prius with them, so we’d have to drive normal vehicles to get there. Of course I have a much better idea of where I can drive without alerting anyone over there where we are now, but that’s beside the point.

Lots could’ve gone wrong. What scares me is that they aren’t radioing. They didn’t respond to our radio an hour ago, and if they aren’t responding, then they got attacked by undead, killed by the Outsiders, or worse yet, captured by the Outsiders. I mean there’s a small chance the Prius died at the same time BOTH of their radios died, but let’s be honest, that’s highly fucking unlikely, even with my shit ass luck.

At some point here I need to talk to Kimberly and Patty. Neither of those women are going to want to hear that their man is missing. I’m sure they’ll blame me for whatever happens.

God I hate this shit. This is my nightmare.

I’m going to head to bed here shortly. If I don’t hear from them by morning, we’ll start packing up for a robust movement into the Outsider’s territory. I know about where they went, so tracking them should be fairly easy.

Gilbert, I could use a dream about now.

-Adrian

September 24th

Still no word.

We are assembling for a full operation into Outsider territory to try and find them, or find signs of them. I’ve got the two humvees, and the HRT going with a full team of shooters. Myself, Abby, Mallory, James, Hector, Alex and George, Amanda, and Angela. My brother Caleb is going as well. He’ll be riding shotgun with me in the HRT providing cover fire.

Mike told me roughly where he would be parking the Prius, so I’m going to start there, and see what happens. We’ll move on foot if necessary, but I’d really be in the vehicles. They’ve got some armor, and we can move out quickly if we need to.

I am seriously debating driving the HRT straight through the front of that fucking strip club later today. I’m starting to think the lives of the innocents in there are not as important as the lives of my two friends.

I hate thinking that way, but it’s how I feel right now.

Wish us luck Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

The Factory

Blake blinked once slowly in the chill September night air and took his eye off the scope of his Enfield rifle. He had just spent a solid minute and a half staring at the front door of an old strip club that had been repurposed into a fortified sanctuary and his vision was getting blurry. People had gone there to survive the end of the world. They’d gone there to stay safe from the undead that had torn the city apart over a year ago.

Blake wiped a cold rivulet of tear from his cheek as he turned to the man laying on the roof next to him, looking through the scope of a rifle just as he was. “Mike I don’t see how we can do this. The place is as tight as a sardine can," Blake said, trying to be quiet.

“Tight as a right-winger’s asshole you mean,” Mike said without moving his eye from the scope.

"You talking about your own ass?" Blake chuckled softly and took in their surroundings. The two men were prone on the roof of a large warehouse about a tenth of a mile down the street from the abandoned strip club they’d driven to reconnoiter. The club was the stronghold of a competing group of survivors they’d been calling the Outsiders. The Outsiders had stolen from their town’s supplies, and had attacked Mike and Blake’s people several times in the past month or so. A recent set of violent clashes had led Adrian, the man that led Mike and Blake’s settlement to start a series of missions deep into Outsider territory to determine how much of a threat they actually posed.

It seemed the Outsiders were terrible people. Three of the men had captured one of the Outsiders during one of their forays into the city, and the man named Barry confirmed what they’d heard from other survivors: the Outsiders had slaves in the club. It seemed like a classic case of the haves forcing the have-nots to do what they wanted. Petty despots ruling over the downtrodden in a world overrun with the walking dead. As if things weren’t shitty enough, Blake thought.

“Adrian’s idea is still pretty solid. If we torch the dealership down the way to get them to come out, there are plenty of shooting positions around here we can take a lot of shots from before we have to move. I’m just worried that they either will come out guns blazing, or they just won’t come out at all. Then what the fuck do we do?” Blake said.

“If they come out guns blazing then we duck, and wait for them to reload. At the very least, we’ve torched their rides. If they lay low and don’t come out, then we sit and wait for them to show their heads. They can’t stay in there forever. Turn it into an old fashioned siege,” Mike answered. Mike was wearing his National Guard uniform with some dark strips of cloth stitched and taped over it to make it more urban looking. Blake thought he looked silly, but Mike said it was useful.

“Maybe there’s another way we can get in. Did Adrian say he checked the back of the building at all? There might be a side or back door that’s easier to get into,” Blake offered quietly in the pale moonlight.

“I don’t think he made it to the far side of the building. I think he was content on his trip here to just watch this door and the vehicles in front. We could pack up, make a large circle, and try to get a look at the back. I tell you what though, there are no tall buildings on the other side of that nightclub. If we’re going to do this, it’s gonna be ground level, and fast as hell. In and out lickety-split.”

“It’s dark, we’re sneaky. We can do it quick and be gone before they even know we’re there.” Blake grinned.

Mike grinned back at the younger man. “Good attitude. Let’s do this and head home.”

*****

It took the men over two hours to circle the club. To ensure their own safety they’d taken a wide path that kept them far away from anywhere the people in the Factory could see. The last thing they wanted was to be spotted and get into a firefight. Both men were heavily armed, experienced combatants, and above-average to excellent shots, but two people couldn’t fight an army, and they had no idea how many people could stream out of the Factory should they alert them to their presence.

The far side of the city near the Factory building was almost eerily empty. Normally the men were accustomed to seeing one or two undead moving about in the streets periodically, but they’d seen almost none in the 24 hours they’d been in the area. Their leader Adrian had said he’d killed a few when he was in the area previously, and it stood to good reason that the Factory residents kept the area clean of the undead menace that had torn the world down, but this was still very creepy. Both men exchanged confused looks as they went from street to street making their way closer and closer to the back of the Factory.

Mike dropped to a knee near the corner of a building and slowly slid his head around the edge of the brown brick. He peered at the end of what amounted to a wide alley that terminated at the back of the Factory’s disused freight docks. Parked across the alley blocking passage was an old straight body moving truck. It might’ve been a Penske, or a U-Haul, Mike couldn’t see which in the dark. He dropped lower and looked underneath the truck at what was concealed beyond it. He smiled when he saw what the rest of the alley contained.

Row after row of wooden boxes turned into small planters. Mike quickly lost count in the darkness of the night, but he knew there were at least twenty of the boxes arranged neatly. The wooden grow containers were sequestered safely behind a sturdy chain link fence that ran from one side of the alley to the other. The steel poles were rooted directly into the concrete of the sidewalks, and the pavement of the street. The chain link strung from pole to pole was securely fastened straight to the sides of the building. There was no exit in the fence. This was an area intended to be used only for their food. It could be a perfect place to hit the Outsiders. They might not go to rescue their supply of cars, but Mike knew for damn sure they’d save their food. Food was life. Cars were not.

Mike pulled his head back and turned to face the younger man Blake. “Hey, we’re in business. They have a truck blocking the alley, and behind that is a fence, and inside that fence is a bunch of gardens. It’s their food supply.” Mike’s eyebrows hopped up and down showing his enthusiasm for the newly found target.

Blake grinned ear to ear. “Oh fuck yeah. I wonder if we can hit both places at once and get them going in both directions. Fucking dicks.”

Mike shook his head. “I don't think so. We need to make sure we can find good shooting positions on this alley first. We might be able to lure them out here, but if we can’t safely shoot them here, then there’s no reason to draw them out here.”

Blake nodded at the elder Sergeant’s wisdom. “Makes sense. You wanna do that now?”

“Yeah. Then we’re the fuck out of here and to home.”

The two men got to their feet, and walked quietly away to search for shooting positions.

*****

“What the fuck are those two up to?” Cheryl asked the short man sitting in front of the back of security monitors. Cheryl was a tall blonde woman with her hair tied in a severe looking bun. She had high arching eyebrows that were penciled in, and a nose job that made her face look sharp like a hawk's. Everything about her appearance screamed “bitch.”

The short man twitched his right hand slightly, moving a tiny joystick set in a keyboard. A monitor in the center of the bank changed view slightly, following the two men as they scurried away. “They were just looking at the gardens in the alley. I think they’re scouting us for a hit. Maybe trying to steal some food?”

“Andy why the hell would anyone want to hit us here? You think it’s those assholes we’ve been running into in the town? You think they’re ballsy enough to try us head-on here?” Cheryl asked as she leaned forward over the desk, getting close to the green tinted monitor.

Andy licked his lips and flashed a glance sideways at Cheryl’s large fake breast inches from his face. She was a bitch, but she’d sunk enough money into her body before the end of the world that she was still built to make dicks grow. Andy looked back at the screen and shrugged. “It could be. There’s no way to know unless we go ask them.”

“Now that’s a great idea. I’ll go get a handful of the boys. Good job Andy.” Cheryl stood up straight, patted Andy on the shoulder and left the strip club’s security room.

Andy stopped her by reaching out and loosely touching her wrist. “Cheryl tell them to be careful. We haven’t had much luck with those folks, and I can see on the cameras these two are heavily armed. Sniper rifles and military grade assault rifles. Machine gun stuff. They look like they can deal it out.”

Cheryl looked at Andy's hand like it was dirty, but then nodded, and left the room. She was confident her men could take care of the situation.

Andy went back to staring at the bank of screens in the small room.

*****

“Alright then. Three locations that can hold four shooters. All have good exits and cover. I think this can work. We can also roll in heavy with the HRT if need be. I say we get back home, tell Adrian and the others what we’ve got to work with, and make a plan to see if we can get inside that place to free up the folks that are being held inside. God knows what the fuck they’re making them do in there,” Mike said to Blake as the faintest blue tinge of light illuminated the edge of the horizon outside.

Blake nodded and the two men raised up to a crouch to move out of the third floor room they were in. They’d migrated slowly away from the Factory as they searched the vacant warehouse buildings. Fortunately the interior of the large industrial buildings were empty of undead, saving the ammunition the men had brought. This was their last stop, and as soon as they exited the building, they’d make their way the handful of miles back to the Toyota Prius they’d driven there. The electric car ran silent if slow, and was perfect for their infiltration.

Mike and Blake hit the bottom floor of the stairwell and the younger man slowly pushed on the plunger to open the steel door. The door creaked open slowly as Blake pointed his Beretta pistol out, searching for targets. At the end of the military issue pistol Mike had built and attached a homemade suppressor, cutting the noise the gun made dramatically. Blake was itching to use the gun but still hadn’t found a target. Blake turned to Mike and nodded and the two men slid slowly into the street to disappear into the night.

Blake moved forward and made a single mistake. He didn’t turn and fully check behind the door he’d just opened. Mike let the door close behind him, and felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull. He didn’t feel the ground come up to meet him as he crumbled down to the street unconscious.

Blake heard the strike that knocked Mike out before he heard Mike hit the ground. Blake spun just as Mike’s body fell limp on the street. He brought his 9mm around and up, looking for that target he’d wanted, and the source of whatever had made the noise behind the door. Blake saw the muzzle flash of the gun before he heard it go off. He felt the biting dagger of pain lance his side immediately. The impact spun him to his left savagely, actually allowing him to see who had shot him as he felt his legs give way. Blake fanned his trigger finger out of reflex as he went to the same pavement Mike was already out cold on. The young man felt the grit of the cold street dig into his face as he heard the man who had just shot him hit the ground just a few feet away. As Blake drifted into the blackness of sleep, tasting some of the dirt from the pavement his face was on, he looked into the cold lifeless eyes of an older man. Blake remarked to himself oddly that the man had very gray hair, and that he couldn’t feel his wound anymore.

Blake tried to reach down to where he'd been shot, but he succumbed to the darkness first.

*****

“Wake the fuck up soldier man,” a female voice said to Mike. Mike’s eyes were fused shut. His head hurt like a bastard. He felt the tightness of rope binding his hands behind him in the chair he was strapped to. Mike opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim lighting of the room he was in.

The room was square, and made of plywood. It was warm though, which told him he was inside. Possibly inside the Factory club itself. A single light bulb hung in the center of the room, a segmented chain for turning it on and off dangling beside it. Mike noticed that the bulb was one of the energy efficient ones that were all the rage before the end of the world, and that it hung from a length of orange extension cord. The ceiling of the room disappeared high above the plywood as well, telling him the room was constructed in the center of a larger interior space, possibly the club floor, or a warehouse. It was all about details. Remembering.

Mike finally returned his attention to the woman who had just spoken to him. She was tall and blonde, and sexy as hell. She had her hair pulled back, and was wearing a yellow blouse that strained to contain breasts that clearly belonged to someone who had surgically enhanced themselves. Behind the woman was an immense man, at least six foot three and three hundred pounds, wielding a machete. He stood quietly against a door that was made from even more plywood and 2x4s and had an expression designed to intimidate. Mike gauged the man quickly, and felt he was there for show. Men who meant business were easy to spot, and this man looked a tiny bit uncomfortable to be in the room at the moment.

“Hi,” Mike said flatly.

The blonde perked up as Mike made eye contact. She seemed pleased he was awake. “Hello there. Thanks for waking up. I’m sorry things went down the way they went. I had hoped we could’ve said hello in a more cordial way.” The blonde smiled.

Inside Mike felt his stomach twist. The woman’s face could not have been more insincere. She clearly was happy things had gone the way they had. Mike smiled his best back at her. “I’m sorry things went violently as well. Where is my friend?”

“He was shot, I’m sorry to say. He’s very near death though. Our medical capabilities here are somewhat limited. Perhaps you are able to provide care for him?” She asked, knowing full well Mike’s pack had combat lifesaver medical supplies in it.

Mike’s smile disappeared. “Please let me attend to him immediately. He’s a father with a little boy at home. Please.”

“Not quite yet soldier. I have a few questions first.” The woman sat down in a plush red velvet chair that she pulled in from the corner of the plywood room. As she crossed her long legs Mike quickly noted that the chair looked it belonged in a strip club. Now he was certain he was in the club.

Mike nodded in agreement. He just wanted to get to Blake before he died from whatever wounds he’d suffered. “Ask away.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Mike. What’s yours?” He said quickly.

The blonde smiled, pleased he’d answered so fast. “I’m Deborah. You can call me Deb. If you see a woman that looks just like me, she’s my sister Cheryl. Second question Mike, why were you and your friend scouting our little home here tonight?”

Tonight. That meant he'd only been out for a short amount of time. Mike responded immediately again, “We were assessing your place’s security.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because we have had run-ins with your people, and your constant aggressive nature has forced us to come here to determine if a direct attack on your place is necessary,” Mike said flatly.

Deb’s drawn-on eyebrows jumped two inches in a mixture of anger, and disbelief. “The fuck you think you are? You people can’t just come here and attack our fucking home. We built this place out of fucking nothing you prick,” she snarled at him. Deb’s eyes flared and she stood abruptly, smacking Mike across the face. Mike let his head swivel to absorb the impact.

Mike moved his head back to center, taking in the expression on the big man’s face. He was clearly uncomfortable with the smack. Mike disguised his smile as a wince. “I’m sorry Deb, but you wanted answers. I’m not gonna lie to you.”

Deb sat back down in the plush chair and crossed her legs again with a scowl. “Are you assholes going to attack us?”

Mike shrugged as best he could with his hands tied behind his back. “Dunno really. Depends on if you let us go, and if Blake dies or not. If we don’t return shortly, I can guarantee our people will be here in short order. You and your sister don’t want that Deb. If you think our firefights up to this point have been shit, wait until you see when we empty both barrels on your ass.”

Deb stood and smacked Mike again. “Shut the fuck up.” She glared at him and walked away. The large man opened the door and she stopped in the rough frame. “Jason, go ahead and take him to his friend. If he or his buddy do anything funny at all, you take his goddamn head off with that fucking machete.”

The large man nodded, trying to look as tough as he could. He pulled the door shut after Deb left, and turned to face Mike. Mike simply sat there, waiting for the huge man to say something.

Once he was certain she was out of earshot, the big man spoke. “Sorry man. I hate to see anyone in uniform take any shit like that. Her and her sister are fucking crazy. They aren’t going to do this without violence. You need to know that.”

Mike nodded silently, and spoke softly. “I know. I can see it in her eyes Jason. Jason, right? It doesn’t have to happen you know. We can do something inside right here, right now. You hand me that gun I had on my hip and this whole fiasco will be settled in five minutes with two bullets.”

Jason’s face could not have been more conflicted and he wore his struggle on his face. He thought carefully for a moment before replying, “You need to deal with your man. He’s gut shot, and needs your help. I don’t know if I can help you with the women. Things are pretty good here if you toe the line man. You could stay. Military man like you could rise right to the top here. You’d be sitting pretty for a good long while.”

“Jason if you don’t let me go, or let me get hold of my people, no one here will sitting pretty for long. My people will come for us, and there will damn little pretty about that. Take me to my friend please. Think about what I said.” Mike stood out of the chair and gave the huge man a stern look.

Jason’s face showed considerable more worry.

*****

Mike sat in another one of the plush chairs hours later, his body wracked with exhaustion, and his hands covered to the wrist in Blake’s dark red blood. Mike had been awake for the better part of 24 hours now, and he’d just spent the last hour patching a hole in Blake’s stomach the size of a can of cola. Blake had taken the better part of a shotgun blast to the stomach at nearly point blank range.

Mike wasn’t sure Blake would survive another 24 hours without a transfusion of blood, or a resupply of plasma. Mike had started an IV to get fluids back into Blake, but he couldn’t be sure it’d be enough. Blake had lost a lot of blood. Mike looked at his red hands and wondered if Blake would ever see his little boy again. Adrian Gilbert Miller. Blake had named his boy after Adrian, the man that had started the settlement they lived in, an abandoned private school they had recently taken to calling Bastion.

Mike felt like the shit never stopped piling up.

Blake was in a room in the back of the converted club that appeared to be one of the stripper’s changing rooms. It was reasonably well lit with several cots that could pass as medical beds in a CASH. Mike sat beside the cot Blake was on and watched as the young man struggled to stay alive. His breathing was hitched, and he was covered in sweat. His arms were extended at his sides like stiff wooden beams. Jason stood a few feet away, at the door to the room.

Mike decided to make a case again to get Jason’s assistance. He turned to face the large man. “Jason. You know this is wrong. You know I’m a hostage, and I have the sinking suspicion you know damn straight some of what goes on in here ain’t right either. I’ve heard some of the stories about this place. Help me make this right. Give me my radio. Give me my pistol. Help me. Help me, help you.”

Jason looked at Mike with sad eyes. He slowly looked down at the machete that hung limply in his hand. Mike caught the faint expression of frustration on Jason’s face as he took the blade in.

Mike pressed more. “Jason how many people are here? How many folks would put up a fight if something were to go down.”

Jason sat down on a cot a few beds away from Mike and sat the machete down. He looked at it like it might jump off the bed and hurt someone, namely he. “Maybe ten people. Well, twelve if you count the sisters. They’ll die before they let this place slip away. It’s more important to those crazy bitches than their frigging lives man. They’ve got a few of the guys obsessed with staying here and keeping things the way they are. It’s nuts.”

“Okay Jason, thanks. That's very helpful. Is there an easy way into this place? The front door seems very secure, and the docks looked like the best way in. Is it the best way in?” Mike asked quietly, using his best soft tone.

“Well on the ground floor sure. You just gotta cut the fence and get into the dock doors. But your best bet is the roof. There are unlocked doors up there. The problem is the cameras Andy has set up. You can’t get within three hundred feet of this place without him seeing you. That's how we saw you. You’d have to hit his security station on the second floor before anyone could make a run at this place. We’d just button up, and you’d need fucking dynamite to get inside.” Jason almost said that with pride, like he’d been part of the fortification work.

“I understand. Where is this security room? Who is Andy? Is he a bad guy?” Mike asked. This could be a big piece of whether or not Mike would be able to escape, or enable a safer assault on the building by Adrian. Mike knew he might not make a successful break, but he knew with certainty Adrian would come for him and Blake. Adrian was not the kind of man that’d abandon anyone, especially a friend.

“Andy’s a good guy. He’s King Shit of turd hill here though. He gets girls, food, a nice safe bed, and everything a guy like him never could’ve gotten before. Even with that said, I think he’d flip on the girls if you gave him a decent counter offer,” Jason said.

Mike laughed at the King Shit joke. He’d heard Adrian crack the same joke. Suddenly he wondered if the two knew each other. “Jason is there any chance you know a man named Adrian? Adrian Ring?”

Jason’s eyes lit up and he smiled. “Oh hell yes. He and I did door work together at another club a ways back. Good shit. Ex what? Army? Tough guy, real funny. Do you know him? Is he good to go? He’s still alive?”

Mike knew he had his in with Jason. “Jason he’s the leader of my group of survivors. He’s the one that you and your people have been running into all this time. He’s been trying to make peace with you folks but every time you guys open fire on him. On us. We’re just trying to get by in a fucked up world brother. But if you know him like I know him, then you fucking KNOW he’ll be here shortly when we don’t go home.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed in what Mike thought was worry. The large man’s face was mostly jaw and thick cheekbone so it was difficult to gauge the specific emotion he was feeling. Jason abruptly stood up and walked to the door, scary machete in hand.

“Hey, where are you going? You can’t just leave me like this Jason. A lot of people are going to get hurt unless you and I do something.”

Jason stopped with the door handle in his thick fist, and spoke over his shoulder without turning, “Mike, people have already gotten hurt over this. It’s just a matter of which side the most people get hurt on. I’ll be back with some food for you in a few hours. Maybe in the morning. Don’t wait up if you’re tired. Keep your boy alive.”

And Jason left the room. Mike wasn’t sure exactly what would happen next.

*****

Mike didn’t see Jason until the following morning. He only knew it was morning because the food brought to him resembled oatmeal, and Jason and the other tall blonde Cheryl wished him a “Good morning.” Mike wasn’t sure how good it was.

“So Jason tells me you are working with one of the bouncers that worked at another club eh? Seems like you’re pretty lucky if a meathead has been making your decisions all this time. What do you think the next move is for your bouncer leader?”

Mike looked at Jason with tremendous disappointment on his face. Jason looked back defiantly at Mike, almost happy that the older veteran was angry. Mike suddenly wondered why Jason would’ve gone to such lengths after hearing Adrian’s name. He wondered if the two men had some bad blood in their history.

“Well,” Mike responded, “first off, calling him a meathead doesn’t give him proper credit. He’s ex Army, and damn smart to boot. He’s also motivated, heavily armed, and has the support of a lot of people that’d jump on a land mine for him. He’s not just any man either. I can’t say that enough. He’s protected on high by powers you can’t fathom. I’m talking about biblical savior bullshit. Parting seas, stone tablets, and holy vengeance. You don’t understand what you’re getting into here. I can’t emphasize that enough.” Mike’s face was sincere and dead serious.

Cheryl looked back at Mike with the similar expression of disgust he’d seen from her sister the day prior. “Well fuck you then. You’re all crazier than we are. We’ll just get our shooters set up, and when they make their silly ass attempt at coming to rescue you, we’ll just shoot the fuck out of them the same as everyone else that has tried to get in here. And you know what dick? No one has gotten in here yet and that's not for lack of trying. We've been here the whole time, safe and sound. Let’s see your savior do what no one else has.”

“Operative word is ‘yet’ you bitch. Mark my fucking words. You are on borrowed fucking time. Let me and Blake walk right now, and this can all end without you and everyone else here bleeding out on these nice whore-stained rugs you’ve got,” Mike spat the words like acid at her. Cheryl actually took a step back when she saw the conviction on the grizzled man’s face. Jason’s eyebrows popped up slightly in amazement that anyone had gotten to the sister.

“We’ll see about that,” Cheryl said, and walked out of the changing room. Jason watched her go, and then turned to Mike, who was still sitting on the cot he’d slept on.

“How long until they hit us?” Jason asked.

“I’m surprised you’re still fucking breathing,” Mike said, and pushed the bowl of oatmeal away. He turned to tend to Blake, ignoring the large man.

“Maybe it isn’t too late to fix this,” Jason offered, sounding sincere.

Mike turned, the same look of disgust on his face. “if you’re going to do anything, do it now. The sooner we can either kill those two twats, or disable Andy’s cameras, or I can radio Adrian to give him intel on how to do this with the least amount of carnage the better off we are.”

Jason nodded and reached for the door handle. Far outside, past the thick concrete and brick that made up the Factory, the two men heard the faint popping noise that came along with gunfire. At first one or two rapid shots, then a crashing tidal wave of gunfire. In the building it was muted, but Mike knew outside it would be louder than a hundred claps of thunder.

“Jason, time is a factor. He is here, and he is clearly not here to talk,” Mike said.

Jason swallowed hard, and charged out the dressing room door, leaving it wide open. Mike slowly raised himself to his feet, and walked to the doorway, hoping to follow the huge body to whatever plan he had.

*****

Outside the firefight was raging in earnest. The two sisters had put four shooters on the roofs of the buildings surrounding the Factory. Almost a year ago they’d come up with a fairly clever system to get from one roof to another. A few blocks away was a moving company, complete with a slew of large rental box trucks. Inside the back of these trucks was a large aluminum loading ramp that slid out to help the renters load the truck. When removed, they became incredibly strong twelve foot long bridges. Two of the buildings adjacent to the Factory were reachable with the re-tasked bridges, and they used them to move about above street level constantly. When they didn’t need the bridges, they pulled them back onto the roof, and no one was the wiser.

Of course today, they desperately needed the bridges. Mike’s friends had come in force, and the gunfire came at them like angry metal rain. Accurate, angry metal rain.

“I can’t even get a shot off for Christ’s sake. Every time I poke my head anywhere near where I can shoot, one of them sends another bullet right at my fucking face!” One of the shooters hollered into a tiny walkie talkie, pleading to the others who were trying to defend the Factory from the assault.

“We’re moving from this side to yours to give you some help Fred. Just keep low and everything will be alright,” a voice responded across the air waves. Fred dutifully kept his head below the concrete lip of the building. He didn’t want to get his head blown off today.

Two of the other strip club shooters were sprinting across the roof of the building next to the Factory to lend fire support. As they reached the edge of the building they slowed to gingerly walk across the aluminum bridge one by one.

Down below the bridge in the street stood a tall, thickly muscled man wearing military issue body armor and carrying an arsenal of weapons. He had a single row of hair running down the center of his head. It was trimmed tightly, standing only a quarter inch from the tanned skin of his otherwise shaved skull. His Mohawk made him look like a savage, but the expression on his face showed his true nature. He was a cunning predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike at his prey. As the second man put his feet on the bridge the warrior quickly lifted a shotgun and squeezed off a heavy round, hitting the edge of the bridge opposite where the man stood. The bridge kicked sideways abruptly from the force of the slug’s impact, sending the man off balance. The man in the street pumped another shell into the chamber as fast as a strike of lightning and squeezed it into nearly the same spot he’d just shot, sending the bridge permanently off the edge of the building. With a scream, the man on the metal walkway plummeted two stories down to the hard pavement, where both his legs shattered on the sidewalk. He let out a guttural moan as his head rolled on the dirty gray concrete.

The man with the Mohawk racked the shotgun once more and watched the edge of the building above him, waiting for the first man who ran across to point a weapon down. After a few moments, he turned his attention back down to ruined man who just fell. He took a few cautious steps before dropping down into a crouch near the man’s slowly flailing head.

“You know it’s not the falling that gets you. It’s that sudden stop at the end. I’m Adrian. Sorry we’re meeting this way,” the man said to the fallen shooter with the two busted legs.

The man on the ground let out a laugh that could’ve passed for a dying wild animal’s moan. “Yeah me too. How bad am I?”

“Fucking horrible. Both of your legs are broken in…” he looked down at the legs kicked out in multiple directions at places they shouldn’t have been bent in, “looks like about six places. You’ll probably need surgery to walk again. Our people might be able to do that for you, if you think you can make it.”

He shook his head powerfully, sweat pouring off his face, “Ah fuck it. This hurts like a bitch, and by the time I see a doctor, I’ll wish I was dead already. Just pop me and I’ll call it a day.”

“You sure man? We can fix this I think,” Adrian asked him, still crouching at his side.

“Yeah. I’m good. Been at this too long. Time to pay the piper,” the man smiled painfully, clearly ready to be done with the agony he was in.

“Fair enough. One question if you don’t mind,” Adrian asked as he fished a small pistol with a large suppressor from the small of his back.

“Quickly please if you can. This hurts like a motherfucker.”

Adrian nodded. “How can I get inside easiest? I don’t want to kill people I don’t have to.”

“The roof. Hit the fire escape down the alley here, and head inside. Just watch out, we have three men still up there, though they’re probably about to give up. We don’t get enough pussy or food to die for those two bitches. Others do. We don’t. Oh, and everyone should be locked away. Only people moving around now are going to try and kill you.” The man made a strange face, as if he was unsure of what he’d just said. He looked at the man named Adrian and his face went strangely absent of pain and emotion. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I… I don’t get it. Good luck man.”

“Amen brother. Best of luck in the next life,” Adrian said, and as the man closed his eyes, he pressed the tip of the suppressor to the man’s temple and squeezed a round off, sending a 9mm bullet tumbling around inside his skull like a subsonic whisk, destroying the brain inside.

Adrian stood and thumbed the transmit button on the heavier duty walkie attached firmly to his shoulder. He spoke into it, “Suppress the shooters on the southeast roof. I’m heading to the roof on the north side. Watch your over fire. Try and pepper the side of the building and send your rounds short.”

A female voice responded to him, “You got it. We’re doing great here. Take your time.”

“Thanks Abby. Soon as I am inside I’ll try and get the front door open for you to breach,” Adrian responded. He picked up his shotgun and took off running for the fire escape, holstering the pistol as he went.

*****

Mike followed Jason as he ran to the back stairwell of the Factory, heading upwards. Mike didn’t know exactly where they were heading, but he had a good feeling that wherever they wound up, there would either be weapons, or a way out. Either would be acceptable for Mike. He could always come back for Blake once he and Adrian met up. Mike just hoped Adrian had a gun for him.

Round and round they went, scaling the two flights of stairs to reach the third and top floor. Jason took an abrupt turn and went down a hallway lit with candles that Mike thought were homemade. The hallway felt vaguely archaic and old in the candle light, almost like a passage in an ancient European castle. He suddenly felt like he was a knight moving towards the goal of a quest he had been tasked with.

Jason stopped at a sturdy metal door that didn’t look at all like it belonged in a castle. It was marked SECURITY and was bright red like a fire engine. Jason reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. As he fumbled to get the right key out he spoke to Mike, “Andy is in here with the security system. He will be instructing the shooters how best to attack your people. With any luck, he’ll listen to you make your case against the sisters. He’s materialistic. Not a bad guy, just really materialistic okay? If he balks, we knock him the fuck out and trash the system. Either way, it’s all good. Ready?”

Mike nodded, and Jason inserted the key and twisted it. The red door swung in, revealing a dark room filled with keyboards, electronics and small monitors in black and white, and shades of green. A small man sat centered in the room at a large counter, operating a joystick that panned the cameras around. He feverishly toggled from monitor to monitor, issuing short commands into a headset he wore.

“Andy, stop for a second,” Jason said loud enough to be heard through the headphone Andy wore.

"Jason now is not a good time," Andy said irritated.

"Andy now is the only time," Jason said.

Andy stopped talking and swung around in his office chair to face the two men. When the thin, geeky looking figure saw Mike his face went whiter, which Mike felt was impossible. The man looked as white as porcelain in the dark room. Andy swallowed hard and looked back to Jason.

“This is Mike, the man we captured the other day. He wants to talk to you. I suggest you listen.”

Andy nodded, clearly frightened.

Mike cleared his throat quickly, and spoke as concisely as he could. In the background his eyes saw Adrian climbing a fire escape. At the top of the building were three shooters waiting for him. Reinforcements had gone to the roof. If Adrian reached the top of the escape and wasn’t ready, he’d be riddled with bullets.

“Andy, the man on that fire escape is the leader of my group. He is also a very good friend of mine. If you cut the intel to your shooters, and power this shit down, when we get done here, we’ll give you a safe home, with food and shelter. You won’t have to deal with these two insane women, or kidnappings, or rape, or anything else like that. Just safety, and good people. You could be someone really important with us, but you gotta decide right now.”

Andy thought for a second and replied, “Hell no. I get pussy and decent food here. I’m not in love with this place or those women, but I am not giving up what I’ve got for a long shot. Give me one good damn reason I should switch to your side.”

“I’ll give you two. First, we have chickens and cows, so we have eggs, poultry, beef, and milk. The second reason is much easier. I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands right now if you don’t. Clock is ticking,” Mike threatened him with every ounce of malice he could muster.

Andy raised his hands in mock defense. “Whoa whoa big fella. You had me at beef. Christ. No need to be an asshole about it. Shit.” Andy spun back in the chair and hit the transmit button on his headset, “Hey guys there are people approaching from the south, move to that side immediately.”

The shooters waiting near where Adrian was about to crest the roof turned immediately, leaving his approach clear. Adrian slowed, and switched weapons quickly. Mike thought he was putting a shotgun away in favor of his M4. Mike’s face opened into a smile as he watched the friend he’d die for slide into that familiar, silent, hunter-of-men walk. Adrian’s gun barked silently twice at each man visible in the image on the monitor, and those men that had been sent in the wrong direction by Andy moments prior fell to the ground one by one, dead before they could do anything about their fate. On the screen it looked like a greater power had simply plucked their life away like a vengeful god.

As Adrian walked into the camera's view, rifle held in firing position, Mike wasn’t sure how far from the truth that thought was.

*****

Adrian walked across the roof of the building carefully, remarking at his good fortune. All three of the men he’d just shot were facing away from him. He suddenly was thankful for whatever guardian angel was looking out for him.

“Adrian, can you hear me?” Mike’s voice came across on the walkie on his shoulder suddenly. It was a voice that triggered intense relief, and quick rush of adrenaline. Mike was still alive.

“Holy shit brother. You’re alive? Where the fuck are you? Where is Blake?” Adrian dropped behind a heavy air conditioner on the roof for cover as he talked. He could see two more shooters low on the roof far from him popping off scattered rounds down at his people. He didn’t want to attract their attention just yet.

“Yeah I’m inside. I’m captured, and Blake is shot. He’s fucked up real bad Adrian. We don’t have much time, he needs blood. I’ve got two of the guys in here helping me. I’ve got their security guy on board. They have cameras everywhere, and they can see your every move. Well, they could. Now they can’t. Now we can see their every move.”

Adrian smiled. His guardian angel was one hell of a guy. “Mike I love you. To hell with Patty. I’m blowing you when I see you.”

“Fair enough. If we get out of here alive I’ll suck your dick too. It won’t be gay or anything. Just an appreciative pair of blowjobs amongst purely platonic heterosexual men.”

“Hey you two assholes know Mallory and I have a radio, right?” Patty said over the walkie. Patty was Mike’s girlfriend, and a fellow shooter on Adrian’s team. Mallory and Adrian had been sleeping together for months now as well. She was in one of the humvees currently being shot at by the two shooters Adrian was hiding from.

Both Adrian and Mike laughed to themselves. Mike spoke first, “Sorry girls, but men need to boys sometimes. Just tune it out.”

“Sure do Mike. Hey brother, tell me what you can. Steer us along. I heard the hostiles are mobile, and the civvies are locked up, is that correct?”

Mike responded after a moment. The gunfire outside was slowing down as targets became more scarce. “Yeah Adrian, my guys say that’s legit. If it’s moving, you can shoot it. Unless you see me, then don’t shoot me please.”

Adrian heard movement to his rear and spun fast. One of the shooters he’d brought down had reanimated as a zombie, and had crawled far enough to almost bite his ankle. Adrian brought the stock of his M4 down like a piston into the temple of the dead man, sending his face into the pebbles on the roof. He cracked it down a few more times fast, smashing the man’s skull open, killing him once more.

“Alright I’ve got to kill some folks, a few of them again from the looks of it. Radio us as you can. Let’s do this clean. No one dies unless they have to,” Adrian slid his M4 to his back and reached for his suppressed pistol. He looked over the top of the air conditioner unit at the two men threatening his people.

It was time to finish bringing justice to the savages.

*****

Abby listened to the sound of near silence from her crouch behind the humvee. The men shooting at her had gone quiet. The radio on her hip came alive with the sound of Adrian’s voice, “Roof is clear. Move to the doors and secure them. Smash the fences down with the HRT and push their vehicles out of the way if you can. I’ll get the doors open as fast as I can.”

Abby hopped up and barked out a series of commands to the folks gathered around her. Despite her young age of 18, and her tiny blonde frame, she exuded confidence and experience. She’d been fighting alongside Adrian for almost a year now, and he’d taught her well. Alex and George, the gay couple that had come along, jumped into one of their humvees and drove off towards the front of the Factory to follow her commands without hesitation. Amanda and Angela, pretty middle aged blonde sisters, hopped into the other humvee with Mallory and Chris, one of the men who had come with them on the mission.

Abby climbed into the Heavy Rescue Truck that had been armored with welded steel and a massive plow blade to allow for ramming. She sat down in the driver’s seat next to Caleb, Adrian’s older brother. Caleb held an M4 out the window of the truck with practiced ease. His time as a Marine was not lost.

“So far so good,” Caleb said as he scanned his side of the truck for targets.

“Shhh idiot. You’re as dumb as your brother. You’ll tip off the Jinx Fairy Adrian is so scared of.” Abby threw the massive rescue truck into gear and gave it some gas. She had some plowing to do.

*****

Adrian came down to the same red door Mike, Jason and Andy were behind. Mike let Adrian knock before he opened it. Mike knew when he told Adrian that if it moved he could shoot it Adrian would take that advice to heart.

The two men embraced warmly at the door, gripping each other tightly for a long hug. Adrian’s eyes welled up when he let go, happy to have reunited with his friend. “Remember this guy?” Mike asked as he stepped aside. Behind Mike was the substantial Jason.

Adrian let out a single, "Ha!" in disbelief. Adrian stepped inside the room and shook Jason’s hand heartily. Jason patted Adrian hard on the shoulder, and the two men shared a moment of camaraderie. Mike gauged Jason for hostility, but didn’t detect any. He wondered what was up earlier when Jason nearly turned on him after mentioning Adrian’s name. The two large men exchanged a few seconds of greeting before Adrian backed away, returning his attention to Mike.

The armored rescuer retrieved his silenced pistol from the holster on his hip again and handed it to Mike. He dug out a few spare magazines and passed those along as well. Once Mike was armed, he turned back to Jason and Andy. “You two are on our side now then eh?”

Jason nodded, and Andy replied, “At your service sir. This better be worth it.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Thank you. You’ve done the right thing here. If we kill the sisters, will this all end? Can we just be fucking done with this?”

“Yeah. You’ve already killed all but two or three of the most nut-job guards. They’ll be with the sisters guarding them in the office. There’s no exit, and they’re in there now. It’s the only area of the club with no cameras. I can’t show you what’s in there, sorry.” Andy pointed sadly at the monitors.

“That’s fine. If we can spring the captives, we can bring them back. How many other people are there? How man innocents?” Adrian inquired.

“Twenty or so. Mostly women, a few kids. Few men who were unwilling to fight you guys,” Jason answered him.

“Where are they?” Adrian asked as he handed Mike the shotgun off his back he’d used earlier. A brief bolt of doubt ran through Adrian’s mind as he wondered how the hell they’d house and feed twenty more people at Bastion.

“They are locked up in the old warehouse storeroom in the back. I can get them out into the garden where they’ll be safe for the moment. They can’t get shot there if you do any more shooting inside,” Jason offered.

“Make that happen Jay because we are going to be doing more shooting. I’m gonna open the front door. Then I believe we’ve got an appointment with those two sisters. It’s about an eviction notice.”

Mike smiled, and hefted the shotgun with a satisfied smile. He had a strong feeling he might get some payback for his time spent tied up shortly.

*****

“Deb, Cheryl! Open the door and we can talk about this. No one else needs to die today.” Adrian hollered around the corner to the double doors at the end of a hallway. The response he received was a pair of shotgun blasts in his general direction. Two ragged holes the size of dinner plates appeared in the center of both doors, giving him a small peek into the office. He could see a pair of massive wooden desks beside one another, and a slew of pictures of the two sisters on the walls. The women were naked, and hung off poles in the snapshots. Adrian thought he saw their own signatures in silver ink on the photographs. Their narcissism must have been epic.

It had been an hour since the captives in the Factory had been released into the back garden area for their safety. Adrian and Mike had fought their way through the entire building, killing three more of the sister’s guards than they had anticipated needing to. Apparently the lure of sex and realized comfort in this world was too much to walk away from. Mike had received a large cut just above his eyebrow when a pellet from yet another shotgun blast nearly pierced his eye. Mike’s eye was swollen shut below the cut.

The front door was open now, and Adrian had several of his people inside. Around the corner safely in cover were Patty and Abby, the mother daughter duo that Adrian had gone to war with several times now. Amanda, Angela, Alex and George were scattered about the outside providing cover. Caleb was at the front door with Andy, making sure no one left without getting their parking validated by his M4. Chris was in the HRT, nursing his wounded forearm, and watching over Blake. Adrian regretted bringing Chris, he was worse off than he claimed to be, but Adrian really needed the bodies to make this assault happen. At least now he was making sure Blake got the fluids he desperately needed.

“Can I kill them now?” Patty asked to no one in particular.

“One last try,” Adrian said. “Ladies, we do not want your goddamn club. We do not want your fucking food. We want you to stay the fuck away from our town and our people, and to never bother us again. Can we agree on this? Can this end without any more violence? Let's put this to bed before anyone else has to die."

“Fuck yourself meathead! You assholes brought this on yourselves! Everything is fair game now, you can’t lay claim to anything. If we take it, it’s ours. First come, first serve!”

Adrian laughed. “Hey bitches. If I can protect it, I can lay claim to it. You fucked with MY town. You fucked with MY people. You fucked with MY life. And here’s what happens when you step on my toes.” Adrian turned to the women he’d taken with him on this rescue operation. Two sisters, and a mother and a daughter were amongst their number. They were proud, tall, resilient, and good people. They were also profoundly dangerous, and very, very angry. “Ladies. Teach these cunts what happens when you treat people like shit.”

Adrian walked away from the dead end hall as the women in his life leaned around the corner and opened fire through the door. Adrian heard the gunfire die down and swell again as the women changed magazines over and over. Hundreds of rounds poured into the dead end office at the last stand of the evil sisters.

Nothing would leave that room alive.

It was sweet justice for the savages.

Adrian and his people were safe once again. For how long? Adrian didn’t know, or care at the moment. He needed to check on his dying friend in the truck outside.

September 27th

I need to come up with a witty reference that is the exact opposite of the Jinx Fairy. The best I’ve got so far is the relatively lame “guardian angel.” Why do I need to do this? Because every once in awhile I realize that someone out there is setting up big old dominos that always seem to fall at the right place, at the right time.

Like for example Mike. Mike totally and completely saved our asses, while we were trying to save his ass. It was creepily awesome.

I’m also now hoping that someone out there is looking out for Blake, because he’s hurt badly, and he’s touch and go right now. Blake took what Mike said was the majority of a shotgun blast to his stomach the other day when they got captured by the Outsiders, and he’s laid up with Doc Lindsey right now. She says she needs a lot of blood, and Caleb and I both donated a pint each earlier today for the effort. There was too much for me to do though, so I had to take off. Caleb is there now and they’re doing a direct transfusion I think. Blake has eaten up almost all of the IV bags we had on hand, and that fucking blows asshole. Not like there is an IV bag tree floating around anywhere.

So as you’ve probably figured out, we went after Mike and Blake after they didn’t come back the other day. I radioed Patty at MGR we were inbound, and after stopping there and telling her Mike might be in trouble, she got real angry, and then got her guns. It was amusing and scary at the same time. She didn’t have the power to help save Charles when he died, but she sure as shit had the power to try and save Mike.

We rolled almost the entire way there in what appeared to be a ghost town. I think we passed a grand total of 10 undead the entire way there, which seems like a conspicuously low amount. Powers-that-be pulling strings low amount. I am not complaining, to be fair. I want that to be clear. I am pleased there were no large amounts of undead. It was one less problem to deal with.

I knew where Mike and Blake were going to park the Prius. We’d discussed a few good spots, so when we got near the place, it was just a matter of checking them out. We wound up finding the vehicle at the second of the three places we’d agreed on. From there, it was just an old fashioned fuck it. We brainstormed in the street for about fifteen minutes, and made the decision that there was no way we’d be able to really track them. Our best bet was that we should move on foot to the area, scouting some of the sniper hides Mike and I had discussed. If we found any evidence from there, we could decide to move on the Factory.

Abby and I made the move out on foot to the few locations I knew Mike would go to for observation. Ideally, you wouldn’t use any place more than once, but a couple of the spots were pretty tight, and I knew he’d go back. I found a few small bits of evidence that they had been there, so I moved along to the other places, and eventually, we had run out of ideas. I felt like we’d exhausted our resources, and basically decided to just hit the Factory hard, and say fuck it. I was losing my temper, and beyond worried.

Abby was the voice of reason as I was getting really angry. She suggested that we check out the other side of the Factory for signs of their movement, and that perhaps we’d find some kind of evidence that they were over there scouting. After all, that was the final area we needed to check out before any real move on the place was made. It made sense that the two guys would hit that area.

Abby and I made a return to the vehicles, and we gathered everyone up and drove them around to the other side of the Factory on some side streets. We parked about five hundred yards from the club and started to check out surrounding buildings for signs of fresh entry. It didn’t take long before Abby found the worst kind of evidence. She found a large pool of dark, dried blood at the door of a factory. Right near the pool of blood we found a large assortment of spent casings from a nine, and they were reloads. I recognize them because they looked just like the reloads Mike had done for us. He was experimenting with making subsonics for the Berettas. Something to get the noise down further.

I knew instantly it was either Blake or Mike’s blood, and that hitting the Factory was going to happen one way or the other, right then. She and I sprinted back to the trucks, told everyone what we had seen, and once we got Patty in a fairly normal state of mind, we decided we’d start moving on the building. We had no real strategy. We were running on anger. Piss and vinegar as Gilbert might’ve said.

The basic idea was roll up, look for a way in, and use the ram blade on the HRT as the great equalizer. If we had to, I’d smash that front fucking door down.

We decided to approach the building from the side we were more familiar with, the front. Not knowing what we were dealing with from the rear, it just seemed smarter. I think we were maybe 50 yards out when we started taking fire from the rooftops. I stopped the HRT, and the other vehicles followed suit. As is usual, we dismounted from the trucks, and used them as cover as needed. I decided I’d sneak as best I could on foot to try and get close to the building to try and hit the shooters as the maneuver element.

Essentially the girls and Alex, George, Chris and Caleb were sitting ducks to draw fire while I made my way on foot to the building. I can’t recall why, but I definitely grabbed a shotgun as well as the M4, the Kimber, and the Beretta. It was the most heavily armed I’ve been in some time. It felt good. Maybe a bit like overkill, but fuck it. When in Rome, shoot the hell out of everything that moves.

As I was moving on the building it was getting fairly late in the afternoon, and things were getting dark. The weather had been kind of shitty off and on all day, and it was clearly about to get nasty soon. I felt a raindrop hit me on the head, and when I looked up, I saw a huge metal gangplank spanning between two buildings. I was assessing what to do about it when I saw a guy running across it, falling back in the general direction of the Factory. I acted on impulse immediately as soon as I saw a second guy step onto the bridge and sent a shell into the far side of the bridge thingy. The metal kicked sideways, and the dude lost his balance. I racked up a second slug and shot again, and the house of cards came tumbling down. The dude fell all the way to the pavement, and ate shit, losing both legs to about six breaks.

I waited for the asshole on the roof to shoot down at me but he never did. I think the near death experience was enough for him. I crouched down to the dude who just fell, and had a brief chat with him. He was fucked up, and I told him so. His legs were shattered, and I told him we might be able to patch him up. He declined, and I frankly I just think it was his time. I asked him how we could get in the easiest, and he said the roof. Unlocked doors on the roof I guess, and he said there was a fire escape I could climb. He also told me where the good folks were inside the building, and he said the, “Bad guys,” were the only ones moving around, and the innocent folk were all locked up. I believe it was like that to prevent them from acting up during our attack.

I went to the fire escape immediately. I got to the roof and after switching to the M4, I took down three hostiles on the roof edge. All three had their backs turned to me when I took my shots. I know I know… I shot them in the back. Starting to see a trend here? Yes, I shoot people in the back. Get the fuck over it, they were trying to kill me and my friends. I’m sure they were awful people too. The kind of assholes that cheat on their taxes and eat all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms.

Fucking dicks.

And then there was Mike. On my shoulder he came across on the radio, and I fucking knew he had something to do with the dudes I’d just shot. Mike had been captured, Blake was hurt, and Mike had managed to get two men inside to switch teams. One of which was the dude running their security, which I now know was pretty significant. They had a full camera set up in the area, and had been watching us all along that day. I later found out that’s how they saw Mike and Blake the day prior.

Mike misinformed the remaining guards/lackeys using their Walmart brand walkies, and the rest of the work on the roof became a joke. Not one of those assholes turned to look at me or shoot me the entire time I was moving around. I radioed to Abby that the road was clear to breach the front door, and I went in the rooftop entrance to clear the building.

The way down was remarkably clear. Mike kept me in the loop and steered me through the halls so I didn’t waste any time or ammunition on rooms that didn’t need to be cleared. In fact, he had the man with him radio straight to the hostiles where to be so I could shoot them easily. I almost started to feel guilty.

Almost.

I made my way to the security room pretty quickly, and met up with Mike. He had two guys with him, the security guy was a vampire named Andy. Pale as hell and nerdy. The other guy he had I recognized instantly. His name is Jason Dresser. About six four, about three fifty. No neck. Small beard, short hair. He had a machete in his hand, and I was a little afraid of him using it on me. I was relieved to see him on some levels, and a little weirded out to see him as well. You see… Jason had a thing for Cassie when she and I started dating, and it was kind of awkward when he found out we were fucking. I remember Cassie telling me he was texting her over and over pressing the issue, and trying to get in between the two of us. She shot him down pretty hard, which at the time made me feel like a frigging champion.

In fact, I think he quit and took the job here at the Factory because he couldn’t handle Cassie and I being together. I can't say for certain that's why, but if the shoe fits, right? I’m not exactly sure how this will pan out now. I don’t think he likes me. As in, I think he kind of hates me. I should probably talk to him about this. He deserves to know Cassie is dead. He was friends with her too.

After that I had Mike with me, and I was thankful I’d taken the extra weapons. I passed the 12 gauge and the Beretta off to him and the two of us made our way down to the bottom floor to find the sisters and end this fucking circus. With Jason and Andy going after the innocents locked away, we lost our eye in the sky in the security room. Mike and I ran into three more hostiles who were holding court in the main lobby of the club. I let Mike move forward to take the first shot with the Beretta. I will say the subsonic rounds he's made are quieter. Not entirely silent, but when he fired the shot that dropped the first asshole crouched at the bar, I was pleasantly surprised that my ears weren’t ringing. Of course that lasted about a tenth of a second, because I opened up on the other two with double taps from the M4. Hello chest, hello neck, meet my friend, 5.56.

The front door was opened then, and the whole crew was inside. Patty nearly killed Mike with a hug. We found Blake in one of the stripper changing rooms and got him out to the HRT on the stretcher. We got more IVs in him immediately, and I checked the wound. I remember it being nasty.

The sisters wound up locking themselves in their office with a few of their most loyal dickheads, and despite my most ardent efforts to get them to talk with us about surrendering, they decided to say nasty mean things back, and they even shot at us a couple times. After far too much time spent listening to them not listening to me, I walked the fuck away. Of course I asked the women who happened to be there to light the room up like a dropped match at a Chinese fireworks factory. They turned the office into swiss cheese. I was a little pissed after the fact that they blew over a hundred fifty rounds doing it, but you know what?

Fuck it. Peace through superior firepower. Can’t engage in proper diplomacy, you get no carrot, just stick.

That’s when things went to shit. I checked on Blake again, and he was stable, so I went out back to check in on the folks who were the “captives” we’d heard about.

There were 18 survivors. I didn’t know any of them, which was a pleasant change of pace after the Jason meeting. 12 of the 18 were female adults. Three of the remaining six were men, and the other three were kids in their early teens. One of the men was Barry. The fact that he was locked up told me a lot about how he was regarded in the club, which also told me he was far more trustworthy. I’m not gonna give him my bank account number or anything just yet, but you get my drift. He’s on the level.

We returned that night to campus to get Blake medical care. Doc Lindsey shat a brick when she saw the hole in Blake, but she got right to work on him. He needed an obscene amount of internal stitching as well as external stitching. He also desperately needed blood, and between Caleb and I, we got him a bunch. I don’t think it’ll be enough, but the good news is we’re both universal donors. Go Ring family blood. We are the shit.

Speaking of which, I just got a radio from Lindsey. She said Caleb is a dried up husk and she still needs more blood. I’m gonna go let her poke me and give some more to our dear Blake.

Mallory is with Kimberly right now over there, keeping her company as she watches Blake cling to life. It sucks that he might die. His kid really needs a father, and Blake is a good dad. I hate that my friends and family keep getting hurt like this. It breaks my heart.

I’ll write more tomorrow I think. We need to finish figuring this whole Factory thing out. 18 new mouths to feed is a lot, and there’s also the space issue to contend with.

For that matter, are those fucking people my responsibility? We liberated them, are we now responsible for putting their lives back together?

Oh yeah, we are. See: Iraq, Afghanistan, etc.

Sigh.

-Adrian

September 28th

Good news: Blake is still alive, though he’s in a coma.

Bad news: This Factory bullshit sucks my hairy, gonad slapped taint.

We left Abby, Mike and Patty behind at the Factory the other day to maintain law and order. We confiscated all the weapons and made sure that the three of them were fully capable of keeping the natives in check before leaving. We’ve also got radio contact out that far, and with no real fear that the Outsiders or anyone else can hear us, we’ve been talking pretty extensively over the radios trying to figure out what to do.

I am happy to report that for all intents and purposes, we are doing fucking nothing.

The whole crew of folks at the Factory is staying there. With the sisters and their asshole lackeys all dead, there is no real reason for them to leave there, despite our dynamic… trio telling them how awesome ALPA is. The Factory has food, a solid security system, a durable building that is easily defended, has a diesel powered generator in the basement for electrical needs, and apparently they have been able to subsist on rainwater this entire time. When cold weather hits, they’ll have snow too.

I can’t lie, the water situation over there definitely weirds me out. I don’t see how they could live that long on just rainwater. It doesn’t make any sense, they must’ve had a large supply of bottled water, or something to have kept the 50 or so folks there alive as long as they did. No idea, just saying it seems sketchy. Maybe they rationed like a motherfucker. Not sure.

Anyhoo… they want to stay put. That is largely in our interest, because as best as we can tell, they are entirely self sufficient, other than their need for freshwater, and possibly for security. I think we can trust them with guns to protect themselves, especially right after they got to see what happens when you piss us the fuck off. I don’t see how they would want to get right back into it with us. Just doesn’t make sense.

The water issue does bother me, especially now that Blake has the old water truck filled with gasoline. Surprise, surprise. I’m trying to piece together exactly what he was thinking, but it’s hard when he’s in a coma in Doc Lindsey’s clinic. Second hand knowledge from Martin and passed on pillow talk from Kimberly. He thought we weren’t going to need it for water again, so he filled the damn thing up with fuel on the last fuel run. Granted, it’s full of gasoline for us, which is righteously awesome, but if we wind up getting into the whole “giving water away” thing again like with Westfield, then we are going to need that truck back in service, or we’re going to need to find another one pretty damn fast. I don’t want to hand deliver a shit load of individual gallon jugs again. Fuck that noise.

Abby, Mike and Patty are staying at the Factory until tomorrow. We’re heading back there with a small delivery of food and water as a gesture, and to help them transition to a new life without all that pesky oppression. We also want to examine their food needs and make sure that the gardens they have growing in the back will get them through another winter. I didn’t notice it the other day, but I’m told on the flat warehouse roof they had more garden plots. What worries me is the inevitable snow that’s only a couple months away. I guess they struggled mightily last year, and I don’t want to set them up for failure if we can avoid it. I’m also thinking we might just want to bite the bullet right now, and have Ryan give them the know-how to set up their own hydroponics plant inside.

That’d increase their overall food production, and also eliminate a lot of the cold weather concerns.

Why am I worrying so much about saving the lives of people I just met? Do I care too much? Or am I just a gullible bitch?

Oh, I should also mention that Mike said that the undead in the area around the Factory have reappeared. It seems that there were maybe a hundred or so drawn in by our massive gunfire exchange, which does seem pretty likely. What does still strike me as odd was the fact that there were no undead at all in the area the day of our assault. It just seems like there should have been a lot more.

Maybe I’m just a negative Nancy.

So yeah, tomorrow we’re headed back to continue figuring all this out. I’m hoping there is a clear leader there that can take over with minimal support from us. I’m also hoping that we can get their security guy Andy on board with setting up a similar security system here at ALPA and possibly at MGR. I guess his system runs on some glorified LAN setup, which I totally dig. He’s pretty clever for a virgin vampire. That’s not fair at all. I’m sure living there he was swimming in forced vagina.

Which begs the question, should I even work with that asshole? Is he fruits of the poisonous tree or what?

Dammit. Moral dilemmas fucking everywhere. This was so much easier when I thought everyone was dead, and I was all alone. I talked about how many bullets I had, and how much food I had left, and what happened when I tried to get food from the cafeteria and a single lone zombie tried to bite me, and just bit the collar of my fleece jacket.

Oh, the simple life.

I might try and talk with Jason too while I’m there. I’d like to nip this old school awkwardness bullshit in the bud if he and I are going to get along for any length of time. He was a pretty good friend of mine before the Cassie thing developed, and if I can repair that lost relationship, he’s a great guy to have on your side. I mean, six-four and three-fifty has some clear benefits, but he’s a stand up dude generally. I’m sure he was just dragged into the bullshit there because he worked there before June 23rd, and it was a pretty decent set up to stay at if you could hold back the vomit.

Of course, I could be totally wrong about him too.

-Adrian

October 2011

October 1st

God where to begin.

So much has gone on at the Factory since I last wrote an entry. It seems like that was forever ago. Like, a week or more. Pissing me off that I can’t find the time to write more. I feel like the longer I go between journal entries, the more likely I am to miss details, or forget things. I’m getting too old for this shit.

We rolled out to the Factory in another large group ready to hit the place like a sledgehammer. If you remember Mr. Journal, we’d heard reports from Mike and Patty that the place had been surrounded yet again by a large number of the undead, and we wanted to clear them the hell out. As the reports indicated, the place was indeed surrounded. This was really creepy to see too I should add. The area of the town they are in is pretty urban and industrial, and seeing the tighter city streets packed up pretty good with the walking dead did nothing for the quality of my fucking sleep. I’ll be dreaming of those dead for a good long while.

We radioed ahead to the Factory folks we were inbound, and our people there went to the rooftops to start picking off as many of the dead as they could. While they were shooting, the entire population of the factory went up to observe us work.

We’re pretty surgical now. I swept in driving the HRT in the lead after calling for a cease fire. I mowed down two large swathes of undead, once in each direction on the street, and that gave us enough breathing room to move around on foot, and make some serious headway with halligans. With a nice overwatch team of Patty, Mike and Abby picking off the adds coming around the corners and down the street, we were able to take out well over a hundred undead in just over an hour. All in all, it was one of the safest clear situations we’ve ever had. Pretty crazy to be perfectly honest. I was expecting a much larger shit festival. I think it went so well because we had three elevated shooters. The whole situational awareness thing allowing us to remain safe and whatnot. Best of all, it allowed us to conserve ammo after the triggerfest the other day. I should’ve yelled at the girls for that. We really do need to conserve ammo.

Once everything was clear, we pushed all the bodies down the street with the HRT about two hundred yards or so, and we made plans for the Factory people to start a pyre to clean up the mess. That’s their problem though. I’ve already got enough to do.

Meetings. Lots of meetings. I introduced myself to all the folks who live there, and all of them seemed really nice, and very grateful to be alive, and fully freed of their “bondage.” I don’t know why I put that in quotes. They were pretty seriously bonded up, and it blows that they were in the situation they were in.

Mike and Patty made MAJOR headway on establishing a new, capable leadership. Andy, the tech guy was almost unanimously installed as one of the people to make decisions. The consensus, Mike and Patty included say that he’s basically brilliant. Like, cure cancer smart when it comes to electronics, and gizmos and whatnot. He’s just a bright fucking guy.

Jason was also asked to share in a portion of the leadership. He’s a very social, likeable guy, and he was involved fairly heavily in the sister’s management plans, but made sure to toe the line with the workforce, and maintain respectability. He was a good guy from what I heard the entire time, using his muscles and such to good effect to clear buildings, get gas and food etc. He didn’t do any enforcing on the people inside the Factory, which I think would’ve been a deal killer for all of us involved.

The third person voted into a leadership role was one of the dancers who worked at the club. She was pushed into the role of sex slave as I understand it, and she looked like she’d been ridden hard for a long time. I’m not talking about “veteran down on her luck stripper” ridden hard. I’m talking “lived in a cardboard box after getting raped and stabbed” ridden hard. She was introduced to me as, and I shit you not, “Lulu, the stripper with a heart of gold, who used to make really good enchiladas.” (last name not provided) Lulu is a holdover from the club’s days before the fall of mankind. She’s streetwise and smart, and has the support of the remainder of the survivors. It’s nice to see her rise to the top after dealing with what she’s dealt with. Heartwarming even.

Mike and crew did a more full assessment of the Factory as a place to live while they had time. The building has a nearly brand new diesel powered generator as well as a central heating system that is equally new. Both systems are powered by diesel/heating oil, and in the basement of the Factory they have about 1,500 gallons of diesel on hand. Down the street at the diesel dealership in one of the garages they have an additional 2,500 gallons in a small heating oil delivery truck. According to Jason and Andy, that amount of fuel will last them perhaps to March, and that’s assuming they use a minimal amount of fuel to run gadgets, and they shut down parts of the building they aren’t using. I imagine with the drastic reduction in survivors, they'll have an automatic savings.

This was the reason they were pushing into our area. They’ve exhausted all the local diesel and gasoline supplies, and they have been too concerned about pushing east and south into the city. That all makes sense. One good thing to note is that the dramatic loss of bodies at the Factory means they will consume far less electricity regularly, and they can shut the heat down to multiple areas they previously had to use. Jason and Andy credited the March out of fuel date to that. If they were still at capacity, Andy thought they’d perhaps make it to the end of January, maybe into February. And if you’ve ever lived in this neck of the woods… you know that’s a shitty time to run out of heat.

Weaponry on site is a serious concern. If you remember, I said they had a bunch of scatter guns, and lever action rifles. The majority of the gun inventory there was actually bolt action rifles. I’m slightly sickened, and also slightly amazed at how they came to be where they are in terms of weapons. In storage there they had about ten AR style police rifles, and plenty of spare magazines. Not one round of 5.56 anywhere to be found. Nor did they have any 7.62 or .308, or 9mm, or .45, or even .38 or 12 gauge. All of the core calibers and their weapons were out of use because they had long since run dry. They were using 16 and 20 gauge shotguns, and lots of rifles in more obscure calibers. Stuff like .45-70, .303, .30-30, .30-06, and the such. The kinds of guns hunters would own, and have a box or two of ammo next to.

They’d depleted their core ammunitions long ago, and they were using what they had left. I credit that to living closer to the city and needing to shoot guns a shitload more than I did. Well, we did. I live in a much smaller town, and thus have had far fewer undead to kill. The good news is we are up about 20 magazines for our rifles, and we’re now hood rich when it comes to spare parts for the ARs. I’m sure Mike will go through them and give them the eagle eye to upgrade/repair what he can.

We are also rich a SHITLOAD of handguns. Some of them need some serious tender loving care to get back to snuff, but that’s easy peasy, just elbow grease. They had 1911s, Glocks, Berettas, Sigs, Smith and Wessons, Taurus’, you name it. We have a ton of spare parts and magazines now. Mike is taking a full inventory of everything so we can assess where our needs are, and what we can do about them.

Patty made good inroads meeting people, as did Abby. I also want to share that the time the Williams girls and Mike spent together as a quasi family at the Factory did them good. It was the first stretch of time where all three were together since the Patty/Mike relationship reveal, and it seemed to me that they were slightly repaired. Abby was being much more civil to her mom, and Mike seemed genuinely more comfortable around Abby as well. I hope they did some bonding.

Anyway, Patty met a lot of people, made some friends, and shared lots of good tidbits. Well, many of the tidbits were straight up horrifying. I will say this: I am very, very glad we hit that place. The sisters were wretched women, rotten to the core. They ignored and even encouraged terrible practices all in the name of survival.

I will say this Mr. Journal: if I sacrifice my humanity to survive, kill me. I don’t want to be a monster just to prolong my life. I’d rather starve, freeze, or be eaten alive than put people through what they did. Some of the folks at the Factory will never be the same.

Vehicles! They have them. We didn’t destroy any of theirs in the hit, so they have plenty, and we are now rich an additional 10-12 diesel vehicles in various sizes. One of the men at the factory has some experience with diesel engines and all that jazz, but the shame is that one of the dudes we shot the other day was a savant when it came to mechanical work. Blake is still on his deathbed, and if he goes, we’re back to damn near square one when it comes to mechanical expertise.

On our trip we brought about a hundred gallons of water in some of the jugs and containers we had leftover from the slower Westfield days. Luckily it rained the other day, and the Factory is flush with drinking and bathing water. I’m still very concerned about their water though. I’ve said it before, clean water means hygiene, and hygiene means no sickness. The last thing we need to do is get sick.

When we left, we left the water, as well as about twenty five pounds of various veggies from our garden, as well as two gallons of milk, and two dozen eggs for them to do with as they see fit. Eventually, I’d like to get them about ten chickens so they can start their own chicken… hatchery farm thing or whatever you call it. Their own eggs and occasional chicken will go a long way towards boosting their morale.

We left them with their usable weapons, and all their ammunition for those guns. We didn’t give them any ammo for their unusable weapons, and further, we confiscated all of it in the name of inventory’s sake. I don’t think that went over well, but we did leave them with plenty of weapons and ammo to defend themselves. We also gave them one of our radios, and told them that if they needed help, we’d be there for them. Lulu seemed appeased by that notion.

Oh… I forgot to talk to Jason about the Cassie thing. We never had time to sit down one on one. Too much to do otherwise. I will say that he was pretty friendly to me while I was there, but it did feel a little awkward. Sort of like when you see a friend you haven’t seen in a really long time, and you just don’t have anything to talk to them about. You have that awkward, “So, how’s the girlfriend? Yeah? That’s great. I’m good. How about them Knicks?” kind of conversations.

All in all, I think it went well. Obviously, there is more to it than just what I wrote here, but you get the idea. The place is pretty safe, and should last against all but the most overwhelming of undead attacks. Now as for the attacks from the living… well, it didn’t do all that well. Of course we had a man on the inside, which was the defining difference, but still. I think we could’ve gotten in with minimal losses. If they had better weaponry and shooters though, we’d have been bent and left sore.

But they didn’t, and we aren’t. So nyah.

Blake is still alive, though he is still blacked out. His need for blood has abated for the moment, and he seems to have stabilized. He is breathing on his own, but he isn’t eating due to being out. We’ve got him hooked up to an IV right now, but we can’t sustain that for long. We can’t give him all of our IV bags. We simply can’t. Eventually we’ll need to pull him off of it, or… I dunno. Stick a feeding tube in him. Lindsey wants to make a run to the clinic downtown to see what she can do. We don’t want to let the man starve while he heals in a coma he could come out of.

I don’t want my friend to starve to death, and I don’t want to put him down either. I want him to heal up, stand up, and go back to being a dad to his son, and a husband to his wife. Whoa. They aren’t even married. Maybe I’m just filling in the blanks or something. Dunno. I just want him to sit up.

Otherwise things are well here. Ollie, Melissa, Martin and Julie are doing an amazing job of keeping everything moving here on campus. Everyone else is working hard on getting the barn done, which is now another week away from completion with the delays we’ve experienced. No rush really yet. When the snow comes we’ve got issues though.

I think we’ll beat the snow. Oh, and kiss my ass Fairy. I’ll shove you right down the drain with the rest of the shit.

I’m drained. We are sending a crew to the pharmacy to collect blood type tests. I remember seeing about ten of them there, and we also left a bunch at the clinic, which we are going to gather as well. If we can get some blood types documented, we’ll be far better off when it comes to donating blood for transfusions. Plus, Lindsey is going to get more info on feeding tubes and the such. Hopefully we can sustain Blake until he can fully recover from the coma.

-Adrian

October 4th

I love fresh baked bread. It’s so fucking yummy. I am a little pissed though because we are running out of flour, and we have no wheat growing to make more. Next year, that’s a huge must for us to tackle. Bread is the shit.

I have completely glossed over my carb addiction. I think it’s funny that this is the first time I’ve even thought about carbs in probably a year. When this all started I counted every calorie, every gram of fat and protein to get the most nutrition out of my shitty ass diet, but now, I don’t. I just eat what I need to eat to feel full and have energy, and everything seems to be sorting itself out.

I am in nearly the best shape of my life, and physically, I feel great. My arm is still really sore some days where I got those three gashes at the gas station, but honestly, that’s peanuts. My boy Blake is still with Doc Lindsey, slowly getting better. He’s still out cold, but at least for the moment, he’s stable and getting better. Lindsey obtained some good info the other day as well some medical trinkets when a team of our folks hit the downtown clinic and pharmacy.

Late last night she inserted a small tube into Blake’s nose and all the way down into his stomach so he could eat. She says the tube will work for a few weeks, but after that we need to reassess his situation again. I don’t like that thought at all. Reassessing a friend’s life bothers me. I don’t like that one bit. In fact, I’m not sleeping well at all as a result. I had to pay a small visit to my friend Ambien last night to get to sleep, and that also irritates me.

If you hadn’t caught the drift yet, I am feeling irritated.

I am happy the tube bought us a couple weeks. I just hope Blake wakes up in time before we reassess him, and give up hope on him. If for any reason, for Kimberly and Adrian. Kim will be a wreck, and I don’t want one more kid to grow up without a parent. The world has plenty of those kinds of kids running around it in I’m sure.

So as I said, we hit the clinic downtown as well as the pharmacy to get some left behind medical supplies. Mainly blood type test kits, which are OTC kits you can buy. I didn’t know that. Kind of cool. We wound up getting I think eight kits from the pharmacy back room, and another ten or so kits from the clinic. Lindsey is trying to find out who knows their blood type already, who can donate blood, and then figure out who needs to take the test so we can get a good idea of what our blood situation is. I’m just pleased as fuck Caleb and I are O neg.

Celebrate the little things I suppose.

Downtown here had a small smattering of undead, but nothing of note. I’m starting to think we’ve finally cleared the fucking town out. I realize that’s inviting a huge stick in my eye courtesy of that winged whore, but really, I am starting to think that way. Mike is reporting that MGR can’t see much of anything moving around, and we haven’t seen anything up Auburn Lake road in over a month. I think we might’ve turned the corner.

Speaking of MGR, Patty has come down with a terrible cold. I’m guessing it’s from face time with twenty new folks. Mike says he still feels okay, but we’ll see. MGR is also doing well. While we were down at the clinic we swung by and restocked their water and food supplies, and they’re doing very well. Ryan has also built some sunlight powered hydro banks for them, which we delivered as well. They won’t be as efficient as the ones we’ve got here on campus, but it means MGR will have tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and some herbs all winter, and I am very happy about that.

Dwayne is doing well. I guess he and, what’s her name? Renee, right, are fucking now, which I think we all saw coming. Mike and Patty say they are a, “Cute couple,” but I don’t buy it. I think that’s just them okaying another strange relationship to make their relationship seem awesome by comparison. Not that Mike and Patty aren’t great mind you. I just don’t feel the Dwayne/Renee connection. I don’t see it. Of course they have spent a lot of time alone together at the top of that tower, so who knows. Maybe they’re soul mates by now.

That sounded mighty grumpy. I’m not even in a bad mood. Pensive perhaps over the Blake thing. Maybe even a little sad. Definitely scared of losing a friend. Generally irritated. I’m sure that’s affecting my overall demeanor here in a negative way.

What else is new here on campus, at Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy, aka Bastion?

Ollie took a small crew of folks with some trucks to his dad’s farm in Westfield earlier today. He just got back in late with a fairly large supply of fresh food. Some squash, some more ears of corn, more cukes, tomatoes, some turnips, blueberries, peaches, and a bunch of other shit I haven’t been able to sniff over yet.

I’m so stoked to see that much food show up here. I know maybe three or four folks helped us unload it and get it stored in our various food storage areas, and just the looks on their faces makes me smile. It’s like hope given physical form. Every time someone husks an ear of corn, they know they’re gonna eat. Every time they bite into one of those peaches, it’s another full belly. So many of us went a damn long time without a good meal, or cutting corners that anything we get to eat is a real blessing. Even now, when things are still pretty damn good.

We haven’t returned to the Factory yet. I’ve been in daily radio contact with the three folks who are running the place, and by all signs we’ve gotten from them, things are settling nicely. They’ve mentioned that the undead presence around the building has been a little heavier than they have been used to, but again I think we can credit the huge gun battle for that. So much loud ass gunfire had to attract something. Undead moths to the proverbial flame. To deal with the undead menace, they’ve gone back to one of their tried and true killing methods: concrete blocks off the roof. Apparently, they have gotten quite good at dropping the blocks on the heads of roaming undead.

No deaths there as of yet, though Lulu said a few folks have colds now, which I think is falling right into lockstep with my Patty cold theory. I’m not a doctor Jim, but I think we’ve had our first sharing of germs across cultures. Congratulations people, now we’re all going to be sick. Granted, as long as it isn’t too bad, we’ll come out of it fully stocked up with brand new antibodies, and that’s just cause for a massive celebration. I might masturbate.

Mike took the weapons from the Factory back to MGR where he’s got an armorer’s bench set up. He’s taking the broken ARs apart and sorting them into what we can use for spare parts. He’s also been taking the time to do more robust maintenance on the high volume weapons. I can clean them and do basic shit, but I’m not an armorer, nor do I profess to be. Mike on the other hand is far more skilled in that regard than any of the rest of us. He’s doing weapons upgrades and repairs all this week and next week for M4/AR users. We’re also seriously considering putting two or three more of the ten ARs we got from the Factory into rotation here with the better shooters, but frankly, I’m sort of apprehensive about that.

I don’t want to repeat here what happened at the Factory with their 5.56 supplies. Too many weapons firing the same ammunition means we’ll go through it that much faster. If we force other users to eat away at less used calibers, we’ll preserve our high volume ammunition for more critical incidents, and we can slowly chip away at the less used ammunitions. For example, our strangely large supply of .270 Winchester. Nothing wrong with that caliber, or the weapons that fire it, but if we’re going to shoot a zombie at distance, or go deer hunting, I’d rather use one .270 Win round, than one 5.56 round out of an AR. Less wear and tear on our more important weapons, and it conserves the ammo we use in the really dangerous situations.

Mike is making either scenario happen for us by getting those guns back into the fight. Go Mike. Once again I should take the time to profess my clearly hetero love for that guy. If it weren’t for him, I think things would be much more difficult. While I’m sucking dick here, thanks to everyone who has made my life and the lives of the others here easier, safer and better. Ollie, Melissa, Mallory, Blake, Kim, Martin, Julie, Alex, George, Renee, Dwayne, Lindsey, Doc Lindsey, Abby, Angela, Amanda, Danny Junior, James, Chris, Jeanette, Jenna, and all the kids who run around and get into frigging trouble and keep smiles on all our faces.

It’s awesome. It’s like we’re a real community, pulling together to make this happen. Speaking of making things happen, we are very near the end for the barn’s construction. I forget where I said we were building it, and I know Ollie changed his mind, so I might’ve even said where we were going to build it, but where we didn’t actually build it. Anyway, rambling and misinformation aside, we finally threw the damn thing onto the ground near the athletics fields that had been converted into our farm land. The barn is near Hall B so Ollie and Melissa are close to it. It faces due south, and can hold about eighteen head of cattle, as well as the chickens, though the chickens will be good and cramped up for the winter. We need to find a way to heat that barn too, otherwise they’ll freeze to death. We’re thinking a good old scouring of areas we haven’t been to yet might yield a few more woodstoves, and that’d be perfect.

In fact, the Factory could use a few woodstoves of their own. It’d cut down on their diesel consumption something fierce over the colder weather months. Even just one or two over there would go a long way towards alleviating their demand.

The run downtown to the clinic and pharmacy went reasonably well. We visited MGR for a brief restock and weapons swap out as well. The pharmacy had a couple of undead in the vicinity, and we were able to dispatch them with brute force as opposed to gunfire. The clinic had a couple as well, but not anything nearly like what we experienced the first time we went there. That was straight up horrifying.

What’s on the horizon for us? Lots. Lots and lots.

Lindsey, (not Doc Lindsey, just plain old Lindsey) pointed out that there is an apple orchard on the far north side of town that more than likely has apples. The apple trees there should have naturally produced a reasonable amount of fruit all by themselves, so we are planning a trip there tomorrow to pick apples. I’ve been there before, and it’s fairly rural. As I recall, there’s maybe a hundred trees, and with that kind of potential, we might be leaving there with a lot of apples. Earlier today we discussed how to store them, and what to do with them once they were here, and fortunately, we have enough canning supplies and know how to make jams and jellies, as well as preserve them in jars. We can also just plain old eat them. Yay for more fresh fruit. I’m also thinking we should straight up rip about fifteen of the trees out of the ground there, and plant them here so we have apples here. If we plant some apple seeds where we take the trees, then we might be in business for having apple trees everywhere. The more food that’s readily available for us, the better off we are.

What else is on the agenda? We’re making another return trip to the Factory to see how things are going in a few days. I’m hoping that all is well, and I finally get a chance to talk to Jason about things. Like I said, I don’t want weirdness lingering if at all possible. Last thing I want is an awkward conversation at the wrong time. No one wants awkwardness. Especially when it involves two large people who use weapons rather proficiently. Tends to end in bloodshed.

We’ve also got the health issue of the folks at the Factory. None of those folks have received any healthcare to speak of, and despite Doc Lindsey being a medical noob, she did receive a lot of hands-on first rate training from Lisa before the fire, and a ten minute physical with her will be more than welcome, and is definitely needed. How we exactly make that happen I haven’t figured out yet, but we’ll work out the details.

Finish the damn barn. Finish the work on the campus wall. It is done and roughed out well, but we need to add to the tops of the berms so we have safe firing positions, as well as a level place to walk the perimeter. Right now it can be treacherous walking the wall at night, and we can’t have folks losing their footing, and falling off the damn berm over the wood front, and marooning themselves outside the damn wall. God only knows what could happen. They might be sprayed by a skunk.

Speaking of stinky animals, Otis has been a fucking weirdo the past couple of days. Every time I try and leave the damn dorm he’s rubbing up on my leg, or scratching at something to get my attention. Sometimes that cat is so fucking needy.

We need to get back on the hunting. James professes to be an excellent hunter, and he’s done nothing but prove himself right. He’s acquired a 20 gauge bird shotgun from our stores, as well as a few boxes of birdshot, and by golly, it’s been the best investment I’ve made in years. James has managed to bring in six turkeys in just the past few days. He says early in the AM before the morning mist clears, they are gathering in some of the yards of the houses on Auburn Lake Road. It’s apparently as if they were in a barrel for him. One or two shots and he bags one or two turkeys. We’re figuring we can take two to four a week, and based on what he’s seeing, we can do that for a few months without really hitting the population hard.

We must be surrounded by turkeys.

We should ask for reinforcements.

So yeah. Food seems to be a huge issue right now, which makes sense, as the weather has gotten noticeably more cool the past ten days. Instead of the 70s and warm, it’s in the 60s and chilly. Very damp. Makes sleeping nice, but moving about in the afternoons and mornings is kind of icky.

Oh well. Layer, and drink hot fluids. Which reminds me… eventually, we are going to run out of coffee unless we find a way to grow the shit.

Damn.

-Adrian

October 7th

I have no idea what I am doing.

I don’t even know where to begin here, it’s not like he gave me fricking instructions here. I suppose I should stop writing, and go back and read what he’s already written, so I have a better idea of what I should be writing here.

Alright so if you haven’t figured it out, I am not Adrian.

Hi, I’m Abigail.

Adrian was shot in the head, and I think he is dying, and he asked me to take over for him before he slipped into unconsciousness. Well, he didn’t specifically ask me to, but I figured it out with Mallory’s help.

I’ll write more as soon as I can.

God this is fucked up. I feel like a thief looking at this stuff.

Abby

October 9th

I cannot believe he has written this much shit. It is unfrickingbelievable. There are reams and reams of files on this fricking POS laptop that he’s written all by himself. It’s astounding the meathead did all of this.

Reams. Legit. Like, fricking reams and stuff. I read all day yesterday, all night last night, and all day today, and I am less than halfway through what he’s written. I can’t believe he’s been doing this the whole damn time.

Unbelievable!

I still feel like a bit of a skank for reading it all though. Although I must admit, it is kind of fun to read through someone’s diary like this. It’s dirty. Fun.

Of course, if Adrian dies, this all stops in a rush. This becomes the last words of a dead man trying to atone for his past mistakes, and trying to do the right thing when so many of us choose over and over to do the wrong thing. This epitaph won’t fit on any headstone. From what Doc Lindsey says, he does not look good.

I wasn’t sure what to say, or where to start, but based on how Adrian has been writing in this diary, I am going to start with what just happened, and fill it in from there.

Chris Sunderman shot Adrian in the head in the apple orchard the other day. It was four days ago I think. Maybe five. To be completely honest, I don’t remember. Things have been such a whirlwind here trying to make everything happen with Adrian down. I haven’t been sleeping good when I do sleep, and it is getting harder and harder to distinguish when I’m awake from when I’m asleep. I need to string maybe 5 or 6 fricking hours of sleep together to get my fricking brain back in one piece again.

Here’s the story as I can remember it from the orchard:

We’d arrived with a huge crew of dudes and chicks to pick apples and make the place safe. I remember Adrian saying the place would be safe because it was out in the middle of nowhere, and he said that the majority of the folks we’d brought were just going to be picking apples all day. I don’t think he had any idea what was going to happen. I don’t see how he could’ve known.

There was fruit everywhere. Apples on the ground, in the trees, you name it. Fruit everywhere. It was like the Garden of Eden 2k11. Sweetness everywhere. I nearly ate myself sick on sweet little red apples that were as yummy as could be.

A few hours into our visit after we’d dropped a few zeds that were wandering in the area, Adrian was off on his own on the fringe of the orchard pulling security as he says when I realized I had a question for him. I needed to ask him how we wanted to sort the storage of the fruit on the trucks and stuff. I came around the end of a row of trees and saw Chris walking towards Adrian, calm as can be. Normal. Adrian had his back turned to the two of us, and before I could do anything about it, Chris raised his rifle, and shot Adrian in the back. Adrian went face down in the tall grass far too hard for my comfort. I remember screaming bloody murder at Chris.

At first I thought he shot Adrian by mistake. I thought holy shit, he thought Adrian was a zombie. That had to be it, right? Only way it could’ve happened.

But Chris turned towards me, and when I saw the look in his eyes, I knew something was wrong. He was vacant. His eyes were like, not focused on the real world or something. Not quite there, like he was sleepwalking or something. I know he lifted his gun towards me, and I just did what Adrian always told me to do. It was like, total reflex. I know I dropped down low, on one knee, and flicked the safety to fire. I think I yelled one more time for him to either like, drop his gun, or maybe freeze or something. He didn’t do whatever it was I asked him to, and I pulled the trigger. I fricked up though, because I thought I flicked the switch once, and instead did it twice. That’s the three round burst option, which I know Adrian hates most of the time. I guess it worked out, because I hit him in the guts with all three shots. Well, two in the guts, and one went into his ribs.

Chris went down, and I grabbed my radio and freaked my shit for help. I don’t think I even said words. Just screaming over and over as I knelt in the grass next to Adrian. The next hour or two was a blur. I can only remember a few things to be perfectly honest.

Adrian was shot in the back of the head, right at the base of the skull, from what I saw. The bullet didn’t come out either, so it is still inside his head or neck right now. I think at least. I wasn’t digging my fingers around in the hole, if you know what I mean. There was so much blood. I remember so clearly how he was on the green grass in the middle of the orchard, surrounded by red apples. They surrounded him like huge drops of blood. Surreal. Adrian kept coughing up blood as his eyes rolled up into his head over and over. His face and throat were almost black from bruising. He was in and out of it the entire ride back to school. At one point, with Mallory clutching his hand and sobbing like I was, he rolled his head over to me, and in complete seriousness, totally in control of himself, he said two sentences to me:

“Otis is my homeboy Abby. Keep writing…” He laid his head down on the little pillow on the stretcher in the HRT, and that was it. He hasn’t said anything else or opened his eyes since then. He’s been out of it. Not gone, but going.

His words made no sense. None whatsoever. No idea what the hell he was talking about. We both thought he was delirious with pain, or whatever. It wasn’t until late that night sitting around his little bed with Caleb Sophie Mallory and tiny Adam in Doc Lindsey’s little clinic in that fricking administration building I hate so much that Mallory turned to me and was like, “Abby, I think I know what he meant.”

We got up and left everyone behind, which was a lot of folks. People were clustered around outside waiting to see if he’d make it. It seemed at the time that everyone was either crying, or holding on to someone who was. Almost like one of those vigils for the dying or something. It was weird. Almost religious. I dunno how to describe it. I think you just had to be there.

Mallory and I booked it to Hall E, and we went into their room. Sitting on the small bed stand on Adrian’s side of the bed was a laptop. This laptop. Perched on top of the damn computer was Otis, and I swear he was waiting for us. As soon as we both walked in he perked up, and his tail started swishing back and forth. Now I knew he’d been writing in it off and on for a long time, which was all good and all, but this is silly. Oh shit yeah so we open the computer, and it’s locked, and I type in Otis is my homeboy, and viola, the shit unlocks. It took me a bit to look through the files to make heads or tails of this, and once I did, it hit me like a ton of bricks. There are like 200+ files on here just from his diary!

He’s got spreadsheets and shit too. Maps he’s drawn and scanned in, plus just random files of notes and notes and notes he’s been making. I never gave him the credit he was due. He’s such a smart guy, always thinking. It’s funny to say that though, because he still has a huge temper. Hard to think that a guy with such a rage issue can be so smart and calculating.

Horrifying when I think about it. I can’t imagine anything more frightening than Adrian mad at me. I’ve been reading about all the crap that went down with the Westfield folks at the school. I never really put that Sean guy’s face on it until reading Adrian’s writings. Funny that Adrian was so focused on taking that one guy out. It scares me to think what Adrian could be like when he wants blood. I’ll never forget his face the day we were attacked by the people at the farm.

When the Devil has bad dreams, he’s dreaming of Adrian.

Reading all this stuff makes me miss Gilbert. Like, a lot. He was like dad #2 for me after my real dad died. I haven’t gotten to that part of his diary yet. I’m about to read it. I just know I’ll be a wreck when I read it. Sobby and shit like a little girl. Gotta be strong Abigail. Gotta be strong. For Adrian. For everyone that relies on Adrian. Gotta do this. Positive mental attitude.

Oh, the second big thing I can clearly remember is when we were loading and dealing with Adrian in the orchard, Chris was bleeding out right nearby. I went over to him, and the only thing that stopped me from caving his fricking head in was Martin. Martin grabbed my arm as gently as he could and calmed me for a second. Good thing too.

Martin went to Chris and knelt on the grass so he could talk to him. Chris was bleeding a really dark red blood out of his side onto the grass, and had coughed up a thick clot of blood on his own cheek. Not gonna lie, but it felt good to know he was getting what he deserved after shooting Adrian.

Martin asked him one question, and the answer Chris gave will sit with me until I am old and gray. Martin asked him, “Chris, why the hell did you shoot Adrian?”

Chris coughed again, and launched another thick wad of mucous and blood onto his chest. He cracked a creepy smile, and stuttered his answer, “Ha. Heh heh. You said it Martin, fucking fools. (he coughed again) The Devil’s won already, we’re just slowing down the after party. I did it for the Devil you fucks. Adrian was one of the last things preventing the Lacuna from taking everything over.” (this is about what he said, I don’t remember the exact words)

Martin looked back to me like he’d heard the rantings of a madman. I think the expression on my face told him what I’d also heard didn’t seem like fiction. We’ve known Adrian was special for a long time. Gavin, my man, my love, died to make sure Adrian didn’t, and I swore to Adrian I’d do the same. Gavin knew Adrian was special, and now Martin did.

Martin looked back to Chris, and without missing a beat, punched him in the face so hard I heard his jaw break. Sounded like sticks of celery being snapped. Chris’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he was dead within seconds. Martin stood, and we all left the orchard.

Some of us have returned there already to retrieve the fruit we left behind that day, but I didn’t go. Adrian was right. Well, Adrian was mostly right:

The garden was safe for the rest of us. I’m sorry. Orchard. The orchard was safe for the rest of us.

I plan on writing here in his journal until he takes back over from me, or he dies. If he dies, I will take over permanently, and write until I die. Hopefully he doesn’t die, because I love him so much, and we need him so badly. People are already starting to unravel without his presence here. No one has his charisma, his pull, his authority. Mike is close… but it isn’t the same.

Mike is coming back from Gavin’s tower tomorrow. He will hopefully keep things on track while we figure out whether or not we are going to lose our beloved leader.

After reading all of Adrian’s writings, I felt like it was important that I share things about him he hasn’t shared about himself here. I don’t want to get into the slightly creepy habit of writing to this fictional “Mr. Journal” character, but I do feel like it is easier when I think that I am writing to someone. Who exactly I am writing to I haven’t figured out yet, but when I do, I will let you know.

So here’s an amusing fact about Adrian: he says “huh?” a lot. His hearing is fucked from concerts and gunfire, so unless you speak clearly to him, he is always asking folks to repeat themselves. Sometimes I think he asks us to repeat ourselves to give himself extra time to think before he answers, which is something he’d do.

He’s clever like that.

I miss him.

Abby

October 11th

Christ. He’s fricking observant.

I hate how he pretty much knows most of what I’m thinking, most of the time. Sometimes he’s off a little, but really, when I start to think about what I was really thinking when he was writing some stuff down, he’s pretty much right. I always thought men were idiots.

Well they are. But some are less of an idiot than others. I don’t get it with Adrian. I really don’t. How is it he can know so much of how my mom and I are feeling at any given time, but he was entirely fricking senseless with how into him Mallory was?

Strange fella. I’m also really weirded out reading about his dreams. It’s like, validation and stuff. I can envision a crazy person telling us crap to convince us that they are hearing and seeing things, but when I read in this diary, and he talks about his dreams, and all his doubts about them, and how he questions them, and how confused and scared he is, it’s like reading the truth. I don’t know how else to say it. He might lie to us to our faces, but his vulnerability here in the diary about it tells me he’s been honest and truthful.

That kinda scares me. It scares me to think that he’s really a conduit to the dead. They speak to him. They really do. Reading about how Gavin wanted me to know that he loved me and still wanted me to move on really shook me. Like, sobbing like a little girl shook me. I felt like my own special brand of dildo to be honest. A cute little vibrating pink one. Perhaps with a cute Hello Kitty on the side of it.

An adorable dildo that’s occasionally awkward, and sometimes really useful to have around. I’d like to think of myself as just that. Kind of cute, occasionally awkward, but useful to have around for the most part. I’d like that to go on my headstone when I’m dead:

“Here lies Abigail Williams, an adorable pink Hello Kitty dildo of a girl, that was only occasionally awkward, and mostly useful.”

I’d like that. Remind me to leave a note for someone to have that put on my headstone.

One thing about Adrian that I never realized was how on top of things he really is. I can’t tell you how little I knew about what was going on here on a daily basis until I read this diary. How he found the time to get all his own stuff done, then keep tabs on all of us and all our projects, as well as all the issues that come from just being alive here, as well as get sleep, write in this fricking diary and get laid periodically is just crazy! How he slept is a mystery to me. I wish I could hire a private detective to figure it all out. I need a van, a lesbian with glasses, a large dog, a stoner, a poindexter with a neckerchief, and a stuck up college chick to get it done.

It’s just silly to think he got all this done on a daily basis.

How is he not crazy? He’s visited so much violence on so many people you’d think he’d be sitting on a mountain of guilt. I mean, I know he has expressed feelings of worry, and stuff like did I do the right thing and all that jazz, but you read about so many like, war veterans and stuff going crazy over it all, and I would just expect him to be the same way. I know for awhile he was acting a little kooky, which was probably him working out some issues, but he should be hella crazy by now. Like, ”stirring pudding in the tub with his junk while wearing a leopard print leotard," crazy. I know I’ve lost a lot of sleep over shooting people, even the dead ones, but it doesn’t seem to bother him like it did my mom and I. I guess you get used to it.

Now there’s a scary thought. I am not cool with being okay to hurt and murder. I think if that happens, I’d just be a different kind of monster, just like the zeds we’re dealing with.

Alright. Enough small talk. I wanted to talk about the things that I think Adrian would want documented here other than just my feelings and whatnot. He seems to have spent a lot of time and resources keeping this Mr. Journal character in the know on all the different projects everyone has going on, and how things were going on all the fronts. Lots of irons in the fire, if you get my drift.

First item on the agenda is the whore factory. The club on the other side of the city is doing reasonably well. They are still tits deep in skanks, and surrounded by a lot of zeds, according to the update Mike got from them last night over the radio. We’ve had some early morning rain most days so they are doing good on water, which I know Adrian was super worried about. I remember back when the guys at Westfield were getting water from us and how much Adrian bitched about that. As soon as I heard about skanktown’s water sitch, I just knew Adrian would be bitching up a storm. I guess it’ll be another sitch where we need to get them in h2o or they’ll go dry on us.

And let’s face it, no one likes a dry skank. Have I mentioned that I don't like strippers at all? That they debase the female form for monetary gain, all the while tantalizing men with a product they can never have?

So yeah they are still putting zeds down there after our huge cowboy and Indian gunfight when we went in for Mike and Blake. Too much noise I’d bet. Whenever we make a lot of noise it always seems to draw them in. They must walk for miles to collapse in on us. They’re like the little sands inside an hourglass, constantly moving towards the center, trying to bury us. It blows.

I checked in with Mike after the radio from whoreville and he says we have no plan to visit them any time soon. They are still safe, and can manage the number of zeds quietly without our assistance for the moment. They kind of said that they were in a good spot, and they’ve got food and water for the meantime, so they don’t need us making a trip there. Who knows, if we went there to help, we’d probably make so much noise helping we’d bring even more in on top of them after we left. It’s better to let them swim on their own for the moment. We’re only like an hour and a half away or so, so if things get really bad for the sluts, we can make it there to help them pretty quick.

Second item on the agenda is how things are at MGR. Mike and mom came back the other day to help shore up everyone here. Things are kinda sketchy with Adrian laid up in the clinic with Blake. Lots of folks are… what’s the word? Lethargic? Things aren’t the same without the big guy roving around making sure all the crap that needs to get done, gets done. Folks just listen him. They don’t listen to me, or Martin, or Caleb, or Ollie, or anyone else like they did him. Folks just… toe his line.

Enough of the folks here listen to Mike that he can fill in for Adrian. Within an hour things were more back to normal with him on campus. People were doing what they had to be doing, instead of sulking outside the damn clinic, waiting for Adrian to sit up alive like the second fricking coming. Which frankly, wouldn’t surprise me in the least. If anyone is going to shake off getting shot in the neck, it’s him.

So with Mike and Mom here, Alex and George have relocated to Gavin’s tower for the meantime. Both of them are decent shots, and they were more than willing to get out and experience life in a different place, even if only for a little bit. They’ll be there for a week, then come back here and switch out with Martin and his wife. Their little boy Chester will stay back here while they are gone for a few days. Hopefully things will go back to normal, and Mike and Mom will be able to return to Gavin’s tower quickly. It’s weird that I want them to leave after freaking my shit when Mom moved there with Mike. I’m glad Mom is happy, I just wish she’d spent more time talking with me about it. I know it’s her life and stuff, but I just wish she’d talked to me earlier about it. I kinda felt like the only girl sitting alone at the dance that day. Talk about a shitty feeling.

Third item on the agenda is the man himself. I am not a doctor, nor do I play one in this diary. I know pretty much dick about medicine. I can put a band aid on if I have to. I know how to use hydrogen peroxide. So please be aware that what I write here is possibly wrong.

After talking with Lindsey, she’s saying that Adrian has a bullet in his neck, and it is lodged somewhere bad. She’s not entirely sure what to do at this point, but she says she’s fairly sure that if they leave him be for a few more days, his wound will heal up some and he’ll stabilize enough that she can go in and remove the bullet. She’s fairly sure that the bullet is restricting the blood flow to his brain, and is part of why he’s still in a coma. Some of us said that if his brain is not getting enough blood, we’re risking he’ll turn into a vegetable, but I guess Lindsey has some kind of machine that tests brainwaves or something, and she’s saying his brain is fully functional, or what passes for fully functional for Adrian. So for now, Adrian is not turning slowly into a turnip.

If she can operate and get that bullet out, his chances for a full recovery are very good. So she says. I think the phrase is “famous last words.”

I said already that folks are very put out by Adrian’s condition. His entire family has remained at his side since we got back from the orchard, and most of the folks here are lethargic (there’s that word again), worried about him. Hell, I know I spend almost all of my day thinking about him, wishing he’d get back up and be a smart assed dick again.

I don’t think we appreciated him and all he did enough. Wow. I don’t like the tone of that sentence. Far too post-mortem for my tastes. I don’t think we appreciate him, and all he does enough. He makes us realize what we need to do to survive, he does what we can’t or won't do, and at the end of the day, he has always put his life on the line for the people here. Now that he isn’t up and about doing all those things, it seems like we’ve lost our crutch. Now we’re struggling to figure out how to do all this without him motivating us, and making us feel safer.

What’s the quote Adrian says? We sleep well at night because rough men stand ready to do harm on those who would hurt us? Or something to that effect. I really understand that now. The only reason I’ve slept many a night is because I knew Adrian was there for me, and that if anything did happen, he was there to protect me. I know this sounds clichéd, but he is our guardian angel in almost every sense of the word. I think his halo is a little rusty, and crooked, but it’s there.

The barn is done, I think. I know Adrian was sweating bullets over heating it during the winter, but Ollie says it’ll be just fine with the body heat of the animals and stuff. That’s one less thing we need to worry about.

I checked on food and water, and we’re fine. I don’t know why I checked on water. We live next to a fricking lake. Not the brightest cookie in the shed, am I?

Oh, James was kind enough to shoot a deer today. Huge one too. I forget how much he thought it weighed, but the penis party on campus said it was a ten or twelve pointer, or some nonsense. Before all this I wouldn’t touch deer meat with a ten foot pole, but now, I attack it like a cake. Who knew Bambi was so delicious? Why do I sound like Adrian? I guess I'm trying to write like he wrote. Keep it consistent. He’s such a shit influence.

James has also been bringing in turkeys here and there too, which has been good for our overall sleeping habits. Bad for our gas though. Lots of farting all over school, which really isn’t all that different from when there were just us kids here. I’m used to it. Boys being boys and all that jazz.

Oh, and I haven’t done it yet, but I have decided that I talking to you Dad. Mr. Journal is Adrian’s buddy, but I think this will be a good chance for me to get some things off my chest to you, so congratulations Dad, I’m talking to you.

I miss you! And Randy too! I wish I knew what happened that night when the factory blew up. I still remember the sound of the explosion that night. The look of the light in the sky as it burned. I’m so happy Mom lived. Sad you two died though. If Randy is there, tell him I love him. I love you too.

So before I go, I said I’d share a little thing about Adrian every time I write in here, so now would be the time to do that. I’m fricking exhausted.

Sooooo… Now I draw a blank on what to say about him. Oh, here’s a juicy one.

He frequently walks to the bedroom at the end of our hall butt nekkid. He has zero qualms about being entirely unclothed in front of people. It wasn’t until his Nephew Adam arrived in our Hall that he started putting on his underwear to take a piss.

Fucking guy. Not that I’m complaining about the view. The dude is put together in the right ways, in the right places, but he’s like my uncle or something, and having to look at his junk when I’m half asleep has been a strange experience to say the least.

Take that Adrian. A shot across the bow!

Abby

October 14th

I’m finding it really difficult to find time to write in this fricking diary Dad. In fact, the only reason I am sitting here with Adrian’s cat curled up in my lap writing at all on my bed is because I wanted to make sure I took the time to check in with you.

Does that sound as crazy to you as it does to me? Like, a few chicken wings short of a Hooters basket crazy? I’m telling my deceased father that I wanted to talk to him in a diary that belongs to someone else, and all this is happening after the undead have sat back up, and eaten our world nearly empty.

Yep, that sounds crazy. All real, but still loony.

Hope things are well in the afterlife, whatever that means. As someone who spent a good amount of time believing that religion was a bunch of hokey nonsense, I am kind of amused by the fact that I sincerely believe there is life after death. I don’t buy into the whole religion thing though. Not yet. I haven’t found one I am into yet.

Maybe I should make my own. Abbyism. Where we worship B-Grade horror movies, milkshakes, and smarmy comments to people that are stupid. We could even do it in an Abby, which is awesome. That is so cash.

Things here are a soup sandwich as Adrian has said many a time. Not sure what soup sandwich means, but when I visualize a sandwich made with soup in it, I conjure the general image of a mess, and if that’s what it means, then that is what we have on our hands right now.

Disarray. I like that word. It is what we have here, but I still like the word. I’ve also really enjoyed the word discombobulated. It’s fun to say. Like flabbergasted, or shenanigan. Just good times.

Right, shit show. I honestly think we’re all going to kill each other before Adrian has a chance to get fixed. I don’t think we have long to wait, perhaps a few more days before Lindsey goes in and tries to remove the bullet that is preventing his wakeup.

Where do I even start? This is like cleaning my room at home. What do I pick up first? Underwear? Socks? Shirts? It’s just easier to sit in the pile and let it grow than figure out where to start sometimes. Yes, that’s lazy and a bad habit to get into, but let’s be honest Dad, sometimes it is the easiest route.

Okay so folks do NOT listen to me. I apparently am too young, and too inexperienced to make any kinds of fricking decisions here. Despite being the longest resident of school, and one of the people closest to Adrian, people almost immediately dismiss my ideas. If it wasn’t for Mom and Mike, nothing I say to anyone would be listened to at all. I know you’re probably pissed that mom is hooking up with another guy, but dad, I think you’d like him. He was in the National Guard, and he’s kind of handsome for an older guy, and he takes really good care of Mom. Try and understand for her happiness if you can. Someone is taking care of her.

I have been trying to help Mike get things done and steer folks along here, but I am pretty much either ignored, or flat out told to go find something useful to do. I think these assholes are blind. I have a machine gun. I can easily go postal on them at any point in time. If it is the wrong time of the month, I am really apt to do just that, and here’s warning people: we’re not that far away from Aunt Flo’s visit.

Lock your doors, wear your bulletproof vests.

Mike has been great at listening to me, and agreeing with me on a lot of my ideas. I’m not stupid. I’m really not. I may be young, but I listen, and I am educated beyond my years. Remember how you sent me to ALPA in the first place Dad? A school for gifted over-achievers? Yep, that’s me. Your studious and mildly brilliant daughter, Abigail, at your service.

I shudder to think how much tuition you and Mom sent to these people only to have the world come crashing down around us before I was able to graduate. Now I carry around a 9mm pistol and an assault rifle, and shoot zeds in the head. So much for British Literature, calculus, and studying the classics. I now wish ALPA had offered a shooting class for a phys ed. choice. It would’ve made the first few months of this nightmare a lot more manageable. Remember those times Dad? Back in the house in Westfield with all of us hunkered down? The trash bags over the windows, and the paint covering everything so the zombies couldn’t see us? Ha, Randy being such a dick.

We were SO STUPID. One loud noise and our ticket would’ve been punched. How we didn’t get the windows broken is beyond me. We were so lucky.

I am super off track tonight. ADHD for the loss.

Melissa is huge. Lindsey has her hands full with keeping Blake, Adrian, and Melissa all in good health, and that doesn’t even cover the little things that have come up here and there. Splinters, sprains, broken fingers and toes (which are amazingly common when you’re doing hard labor all the time, who knew?!?), as well as the sudden increase in stomach bugs. Adrian’s brother Caleb is still on the mend from his wounds the day we reunited with them too. I think Mom brought back whatever bug she got at the skank factory. I feel icky just thinking I might catch a cold a stripper had. No standards on these women. It sucks they were put through hell at the hands of those heathens… but they were still strippers. Arguable they had souls.

Yep, going to hell.

Lindsey is fairly sure Melissa is due sometime next month. I think she could pop at any time. Like, spork out a little redheaded screaming turd at any moment. I can’t wait. I am super excited for us to have another baby here. I like the idea that we are back to making babies.

Speaking of making babies, or never making babies as the case may be, Alex and George are asking to move back from Gavin’s tower. I guess Dwayne is being an asshole to them because they are gay, which is gay. I mean it’s stupid. It’s dumb of me to complain about slurs of sexual orientation, and then use one. That's very hypocritical of me.

They radioed the other day and made a pretty clear case that Dwayne told them he, and this is a direct quote I heard with my own ears, “Had no interest in living with fags.”

Since then Alex and George have ignored him and Renee as best they can, and I think tomorrow we’re figuring out what to do. If Mike leaves here with Mom, I think we’re bent. If it wasn’t for Mike doing like, 16 hour days, nothing would get done here. If he goes back to relieve Alex and George, then I think things are going to unravel on campus even faster.

Ollie and Martin are working their asses off. Amanda and Angela are too. It’s the folks from Westfield that seem to be struggling. I think some of them came here because they wanted to live with Adrian, aka the second coming, and now that he’s down for the moment, they’ve lost their interest in staying here, and doing their part. They’ve had it so good with us, and will continue to because we are really well stocked, that they just don’t feel that sense of urgency Adrian always seems to have. He always has us looking at tomorrow, and next week now. These people can’t quite seem to think about anything past their next meal, or bowel movement.

Turds away!

Another really alarming thing that’s going on is the amount of new undead in town, and right here on Auburn Lake. Alex and George said that they’ve taken about ten or so shots at some random zeds the past couple days, which is the first time that I can recall we’ve actually shot anything from Gavin’s tower. All we’ve done is look at stuff from the roof. Which by the way, is getting harder and harder to do as we get into colder weather. Eventually we’ll be looking out of the windows of the apartments there, which I guess isn’t all that bad.

James was out hunting again this morning, and said he saw and shot two zeds making their steady and retarded way up the road. We haven’t seen any zeds up here in forfrickingever. I know Adrian right before he got shot was saying that he was starting to think we’d finally killed them all. Oh well, the Jinx Fairy must have been listening eh?

Oh yeah Dad, Adrian says that a lot. The Jinx Fairy. It’s the skank-ho that always comes around when you jinx yourself to make sure you take it in the crapper. Adrian’s always cursing at her. Of course he frequently jinxes himself, so I guess that’s a natural consequence.

Not sure what else to write here, Dad. Hope all is well with you and Randy and Gavin. I don’t know what’s up with Gavin, but I hope you’ve gotten to meet him. I really loved him, and I was hoping to spend the rest of my life with him. I know you’d like him. I hope you two can meet each other sometime if you haven’t already.

Um, so a tidbit about our friend, right? I said I’d do this every time I wrote here. Not sure what to write again though. He’s pretty good at writing about himself. Weird how that works. Although it’s weird that I’m telling this to you Dad. It made more sense when I was just sending this out into the aether, and hoping someone was listening that didn’t know any of us.

Okay so he has written a lot in this diary about guns. About how good he is with them, and how he cleans them all the time, and his inventory counts of them, and how many years he’s been shooting, and all that silly boy-stuff. Here’s something he hasn’t said: I don’t think he likes guns. I think he looks at them as tools, not something to enjoy using. I know it pisses him off having to carry a gun all the time, and I know he hates the fact that there are so many inexperienced people carrying guns around him. He’s like a cat on a porch filled with old people and rocking chairs.

I do not blame him one bit. Imagine if a gun got into the hands of a kid that didn’t know what he was doing? God it could be horrible.

I’m out. Sleeping is looking good, and Otis is like, planking on me.

Abby

October 16th

So I wasn’t going to write anything tonight, but the weirdest thing just happened in the clinic, and I really think I should write it down.

Lindsey just sent out a radio about like, an hour ago or whatever, and said that a few of us should come to the clinic really fast. I grabbed all my stuff, and ran over in the dark. It’s cold out at night now Dad, you’d freeze your butt off if you were here.

So a whole bunch of us run down there and let ourselves in, and in the two beds in the clinic are Blake and Adrian, and the two of them are like, twitching and stuff. They’re moving their feet, and making fists, and even their faces are making expressions, like when guys play video games and they think no one is looking. Randy used to do it all the time.

Anyway, I get there, and we’re watching them kibby and stuff, and it goes on for at least ten minutes, then all of a sudden, Adrian’s sheets turn bright red near his neck, and Lindsey straight up goes mental. Her and Caleb rush up, and after like, ten minutes of freaking out and bandages and some metal tool that looked like huge tweezers they got him to stop bleeding again, but Dad there was blood everywhere.

I have never been so scared. I thought that was it. I guess Adrian twitching and whatever caused him to tear something open. Lindsey thought it was an artery, or a big vein or something, but it turned out to be less severe, although still pretty scary stuff.

After that, Caleb wound up rolling up his shirt, and Lindsey did a transfusion or whatever. Adrian lost a fair amount of blood she said, and Caleb’s blood is the same as Adrian’s or something. I left after a bit, because I was being all freaked out, and emotional and stuff, and I hate being emotional in front of anyone other than family, or Adrian. Wow, never thought I’d say I’d be okay with being emotional in front of Adrian. I hated being emotional in front of any guy.

Introspection. It’s what the cool kids are doing.

So yeah, that just happened. No one knows why they were freaking out at the same time, or why they stopped at the same time. It was creepy, like they were in sync or something. Not the boy band. Moving in unison Dad. I didn’t want to confuse you, I know you were a big 'N Sync fan when they were big. Hehe.

I’m tired as hell, there’s more to talk about, but I can’t straighten my thoughts out enough to get it out. I just wanted to write something before I fell asleep.

Oh, and Adrian shoots snot rockets. In front of people. He says it allows him to clear his nostrils, and still keep his trigger hand on his gun. Says he learned it in the Army.

The man has no class.

Abby

October 19th

Hey Dad!

Tired. Little sad.

Mostly tired. Also some worried mixed in for good measure. Adrian is still asleep, and so is Blake. Neither have done their little seizure routine since the other night, and I think everyone is happy for that. It wasn’t a pretty scene at all watching the big guy bleed out of the neck as if he’d been tapped like a maple tree.

The routine here has been filled with stress, and drama. I can safely say Dad that without Adrian, things suck. Mike is really good at motivating people, and with him here rattling cages and getting folks to work to do whatever it is we need done things are better than they would be, but the simple fact is, people are freaked out without Adrian, and they are either frozen up with worry, or they’re sitting around taking it easy because they know Adrian isn’t watching.

It really blows Dad. I mean it like, sucks.

So the good news on the health front is that Blake seems to be getting better. I was in the clinic last night relaxing with Adrian’s family and Mallory, and Lindsey said Blake’s been a little more alive than he has the past few days. I guess his temperature is up a bit to a better level, and he’s been showing more signs of being in his own head. Eyes moving, fingers twitching, that kind of stuff. Lindsey thinks he could sit up alive and well at any time.

We could use it. Blake was really really popular here at school, and we could use his knowledge of cars and trucks, that’s for sure. Martin is kind of good at fixing things, but Blake was really good. Plus his girlfriend Kim and little boy could really use him. Kim is doing okay, but you can see the worry on her. It’s like she’s always standing under a storm cloud, no matter how sunny it really is.

Adrian is unchanged. Lindsey is thinking after his rupture or whatever he had the other day that made him bleed out big time, she needs to wait for a few more days before attempting to remove that bullet. I am almost ready to start gathering support from Mom and Mike to tell her to just do it. It isn’t doing any of us any favors to have Adrian like this, and even if he died, at least we could move on.

Callous bitch aren’t I Dad? You now know why Randy and I fought like cats and dogs our entire childhood. I was a bit of bitch to him. I also was really good at playing innocent, and he clearly was really good at acting guilty. It didn’t help that he flipped out whenever he got angry.

Man I miss my little brother. Crazy as he was, I loved him so much Dad. I miss you both.

So I have been spending my time on the walls here. Well, mostly at the gate pulling security as Adrian says. I’ve been using one of the rifles Adrian said we had a lot of ammo for. It’s a .270 Winchester bolt action, and I like it. Although it does kick like a drunk chick trying to get her underwear off. Did that sound like something Adrian would say? I thought hard on how to add an "Adrian-ism" in. The gun is also very accurate. Why am I at the gate so much?

Zeds. Not a lot Dad, but enough that I don’t dare leave the gate for too long. I’ve been shooting one or two an hour pretty much all day. Normally I’d just skip along merrily up to them and smack 'em up side the nugget with a bat or a fireman’s tool, but with the double gates we’ve got built on the bridge it is far too much work to leave and come back. It doesn't make much sense to open the gate we built for security purposes every time there's a small threat to us. Besides, I found ten boxes of .270 ammunition in the armory in the Hall’s basement, so I feel like I’m justified in doing this slowly and safely from the safe side of the gate.

Oh, jeezum it’s cold. During the day it’s not too bad, but as soon as that silly sun goes down, that night chill hits. I wear like, three layers when I’m out there, and I still shiver. I can see my breath almost the entire evening I spend out there until whoever is coming out to relieve me arrives. The night watch doesn’t shoot during the night unless they have to. They just sit around and make sure no one tries to ram the gate in a truck, or like, fifty zeds don’t all show up at once and start smashing together.

Stranger things have happened here, so it totally makes sense for us to have a guard posted 24/7. We haven’t had a real scary issue here in a long time, but the worry right now is Gavin’s tower.

Remember how I said Alex and George were having words with Dwayne? Well that got kind of awkward, and a little dangerous yesterday. Mike freaked his shit. I guess Alex or George were in the hallway and Dwayne walked by, and he said something rude to them, and they said something rude back, and I guess it escalated to the point where hands were put on weapons, and that was when Renee flipped the hell out on everyone, and sent them all to their rooms. She called here on the radio and told us to send new folks here to split everyone up.

Dwayne hates gay people, and Alex and George predictably hate him. So yesterday afternoon we had to send a team out to the tower to retrieve Alex and George, and drop off Angela and her son Danny to take their place. Angela was not excited to pull that duty, but Danny sure was. He was excited to live in a new place, even if it was just for a day or two. I think he was also excited because we had been getting reports from them that the zeds had been pretty active in town, and he really wanted to get some shooting practice in. That kid is a crack shot! Plus he’s adorable, and kind of huge, like an awkward, growing teddy bear. The younger girls here at school eyeball him like he’s the quarterback of the team. Some things never change. Luckily for them, Angela has raised an excellent young man, and he’ll make someone a very good boyfriend when she allows it.

Mike said the roads down to the tower were much thicker than normal with zeds. He said the ambulance was hitting them left and right the entire way down, and they had to do some serious shooting around to clear the area so they could get out. He made it sound like it was horrible, but when I talked to James about it, James said it wasn’t that bad. Maybe we’re just spoiled with how few zeds we’ve had to kill lately? Makes some sense right? You get used to things.

Speaking of James, he’s been hunting pretty consistently on the back side of campus, far from the road. He’s switched to using that bow Adrian was teaching himself how to use, so he hasn’t gotten anything the past few days. He says he needs a few days of archery practice, and then he’s going to put out something called a “salt lick” to draw in the deer. He said something about there being moose in this neck of the woods too, which would be cool. Those things are huge! I saw one once when we all vacationed up north? You remember that thing Dad? We went out late at night with those flashlights and looked out the car windows to see them? There was that one huge one on the side of the road just chilling that I swear was tall enough for me to walk under. Of course I was ten at the time and I probably could’ve walked under it, but you remember right? I remember Randy screaming bloody murder when we drove past that thing too.

That seems so long ago.

Kinda sad.

So, as I was saying, James is going to put out whatever a salt lick is, and he claims it will get us at least a deer or two. He’s also thinking once the zeds calm down again, he should take a hummer and another person out to another spot somewhere in town so he can hunt in a different area. He’s worried that he’ll hunt all the deer to death, and then we’ll be out until more move into the area. I don’t know anything about deer migration patterns, and that’s assuming they migrate at all, but he does seem to make sense.

No one wants him to go anywhere though until the zeds are back on the downswing, and who knows how long that’ll be.

Mallory pointed out a really strange (or appropriate, depending on how you look at it) coincidence the other day when we were sitting next to Adrian in the hospital. She was holding his hand, and rubbing it as I talked to Caleb about how I’d shot like, five zombies that night at the gate, and that we’d have to go out there with a truck in the morning to pick up the bodies again. Mallory just stops, and looks over at the rest of the people there, and has this strange look on her face.

Caleb, Adrian’s brother is like, “Mal, what’s up, you okay?”

And Mallory, just like she normally is, just kind of smiles funny, and says like, “Isn’t it weird how all these zombies just started showing up when Adrian got hurt? Ten times as many come every day now. It’s almost like he was keeping them away with his presence.”

And every one of us just knew she was right.

It makes all the sense in the world. I know I haven’t talked much about this dad, but the reality is; Adrian is special. Very special. We all know he has these dreams where he talks to the dead, and I will never forget the day all those zeds appeared outside holding up all those books. Heck, the books are still stacked up in the library, wall to wall. Coloring books, dictionaries, Twilight, you name it, they are there.

It was so obviously a message to us. To Adrian more likely, but you get the point.

I also can’t help but think about the night Gilbert killed himself. I struggle a lot Dad with how that went down. I knew I pulled the trigger, but it was him killing himself. I sat up late in bed many a night crying myself to sleep as quiet as I could telling myself over and over it wasn’t my fault. That there was nothing I could’ve done. That at least it was me, a friend, a loved one that was the one to make sure Gilbert died how he wanted to, and made sure that he didn’t sit back up and try to eat us.

I’ll never forget what Gilbert said to me that night. One of the last things he said alive was about Adrian, and I dream about what he said. More than how he told me it was my responsibility to take care of Adrian. This is what I remember:

“The Devil’s out to get him, but he’s got bigger friends in bigger places rooting for him.  He’s chosen Abigail.  Chosen.  Plucked from the masses like a shining jewel of what we can be, and not what we have been.”

Gilbert also said two more like him were coming. He didn’t know who they were, or when they’d get here, but I know as sure as I love Gavin, and I love you and Randy and Mom, he was right. There ARE two more people coming. They WILL help Adrian.

I just hope they hurry.

Factoid about my buddy: he hates Sudoku, but loves word searches. He can crank 'em out super fast. It’s hilarious late at night when he can’t sleep. He’s managed to accumulate about thirty word search books from our house looting, and he’s got them squirreled away in his and Mallory’s room for safekeeping. When he can’t sleep, he often sits in the kitchen with a pencil or pen, doing his word search, waiting for his brain to shut off.

Also, an easy way to piss Adrian off, is to circle words on a search he hasn’t found yet. Instant anger. He’s so silly.

Abby

October 21st

Normally I’m not a really superstitious kind of person, but right now, I’m freaking the heck out. Not cool at all man, not cool at all.

Dad, I just had the strangest dream. I know Adrian had lots of dreams, and I know Gavin had a dream that made him think that Adrian was the most important person ever, so I’m like, super super sensitive about what I dream about. Like, to the point of me writing down all my dreams when I wake up and things are weird in said dream.

Tonight, I woke up, and I wrote some stuff down. And that is just NEVER good Dad. Never. It’s like being late for your period. Well, I can’t actually say that, because I was never late for my period. I kept my legs shut for the vast majority of my life. Well, the part of it where I could theoretically be sexually active.

Relieved? Yep, you should be. I could’ve been the high school whore here at Auburn Lake Prep, but nope, I was the good daughter, eschewing boys for books and nerdy pursuits like trolling anime forums, and cosplay picture galleries.

Yep, nerd and proud of it. Call me the Geek Gunfighter.

Now I can’t fully say that I didn’t get my good share Dad, that’d be a real lie, and with you being dead and all, I feel like being fully open and honest about things is really important. Full disclosure. So yeah, I am not a virgin, and I’ve done well for myself, but I am not a skank. I have morals and stuff.

Not many granted, and I rarely use the morals lately, but I have them. Thanks for being a good parent.

So I had this really messed up dream last night. It was messed up for two huge reasons.

Reason #1: I usually only barely remember my dreams. Even when I wake up, and they’re still pretty like, fresh in my head, I often have to like, recollect them to really remember them. This dream was vivid, like something that had JUST happened a few minutes ago in the real world.

Reason #2: I dreamt of the dead. And they had things to say.

I took pretty good notes before I fired up the laptop here so I should be able to make some solid sense of this. Hopefully it all translates. I am so tired.

In the dream I was sitting in our house back in Westfield, upstairs in my room. I was like, on my bed with the television on and running, and I think there was just an endless stream of commercials running or something forgettable. So I’m sitting there, zoning out, reading some comic or magazine, or maybe a school textbook, and I look up for no reason I can remember, and standing in the doorway of my bedroom is Gavin, my boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend really. He’s dead. Once I saw him leaning up against the doorway, all tall, and awkward and handsome and yummy, I just knew something was up. I knew this wasn’t just a regular dream. I haven’t dreamt of Gavin once, and I knew from Adrian and everyone else’s dreams (including my own) that we just don’t dream about the living. The only people who show up in our dreams now are dead folks.

So I was sitting cross legged on my bed, and he walks in slowly and looks around, taking it all in. He’d never been to my room at the house before, so it was his first visit. It makes sense now that he took the time to check it out before he started talking to me. I waited until he was ready, just looking at him, knowing it was a dream, and he wasn’t really there. It sucked.

Gavin turns to me, and says, “Hey baby. Sorry I couldn’t come around before this. Things have been kind of hectic here. Doing what we can to make things better for everyone.”

I just nodded, I was still pretty much in awe that he was in my dream.

“It is so hard to talk to people that are still around. Adrian is so much easier for us, and it takes us weeks to build up the ability to talk to him, and even then it doesn’t always work. It is taking a bunch of us working together for me to talk to you right now, and I don’t have long.”

“Okay. I miss you. I love you,” I said. Priorities, right Dad?

He smiled in that silly way where his little dimples pop up, and he got all rosy. So adorable. “I miss you too. I love you so much. Did Adrian tell you to move on yet? I mean it. You have a lot of time left I think, and if you find someone, go for it. There’s no guarantee we’ll see each other again, and even if we do, I understand. I want you to be happy.”

I started crying, and I blabbed on about how I could never, and how he didn’t understand, and he just shot me down in the sweetest way. I don’t remember exactly what he said, and my notes are all messy from the crying I did, but he basically told me to be happy, and that made him happy. Jury’s still out. Showing up in my dreams doesn’t make me want to move on at all.

Then he gets all serious on me. “Adrian is hurt, and so is Blake. They are stuck. It’s like they are ghosts. They wander in between our world, and yours, and we are working to help them get back. We’re still trying to figure it out.”

“They’re both in comas,” I said.

“That makes sense. Gilbert is working on it. We’re not sure what’s up, but there’s something different between the two of them. It’s almost like they’re stuck for different reasons. I think we can fix one on our end, but the other might need to be fixed on your end. We’re hoping to fix one or the other within a few days.”

“What can we do? How can we help?” I asked him.

“That’s why I’m here. Gilbert said you guys need to get them in the best health you can, as fast as you can. Anything that makes them worse, sends them a little further to our side, and we really can’t afford to have Adrian die. He’s the Scribe you know. The Soul. One of The Trinity.”

I nodded. I knew enough about that to not need a full explanation. Right about then Gavin sat down on the edge of my bed, and rested his cool hand on top of my knee. God it felt so good to feel that familiar touch again Dad. I know it probably creeps you out to hear about a boy touching me, but it felt so good. Comfortable. I’ve missed him so much.

“You guys need to be very careful. Evil has been plotting this moment for a very fucking long time, and shooting Adrian wasn’t the killing blow. Expect something terrible to happen soon. Like, very soon. Be on guard. Gilbert is sure there’s a storm coming.” He squeezed my hand again, and stood up from the bed. I wanted him to kiss me so bad, just one last time, but I knew he wouldn’t. I just knew it.

“Remember, I’ll always love you. But be happy. If you can fall in love again do it. Do it in a heartbeat. I will never forgive you if you don’t take that opportunity. Be safe, send everyone my love.”

And I woke up.

Now, I am sad, and paranoid. I need to sleep. I need to rest. I don’t know how Adrian dealt with all these messed up dreams. They sit in your head like a fricking cancer, thumping, pounding, rotting away your goodness.

Oh wait. I know how he dealt with it. Sleeping pills. I’m gonna sneak into Mal’s room and grab the bottle I know Adrian has in his bed stand. Tomorrow, I will tell the others about this dream, and see how crazy they think I am.

Well, they already know I’m crazy, I guess we’ll find out how much crazier they think I’ve gotten.

Abby

October 23rd

Adrian used to call them, “Come to Jesus,” meetings. In his case, I can kind of see that making a lot of literal sense. He seems to be our modern equivalent of a religious figure here, which is really fricking weird when I type it. Or say it. Or think it.

Sometimes I think about how he used to be night staff at the school here, and how he was just another guy that helped out the sick kids, or broke up fights, or caught kids smoking, or helped us fix broken things in our rooms, or helped the homesick kids get through the night with a good joke, or a hot cup of cocoa. Now look at him.

We have a MOUND of unlit candles in the clinic that folks have left for him, as a way to send him their best. No one wants to light them now. It’d be a waste of a candle in Adrian’s eyes, and the last thing they want to do is send a message to him, by doing something they know he’d frown upon. Not that he wouldn’t frown on them paying him all this attention anyway, but I hope you get the point Dad.

I called a, “Come to Abby,” meeting early this morning. It took me some time to puff up the ovaries to do it, but I’m glad I did, because what we talked about wound up being pretty relevant this evening.

I brought in all the usual suspects. Mike, Mom, Angela, Amanda, Lindsey, Doc Lindsey, James, Ryan, heck, pretty much everyone. We had to relocate the meeting to the cafeteria because we ran out of space in Hall A. It was weird, everyone watching me, listening to me, and just living every breath for what I said. I guess I was convincing when I said I had a dream, and wanted to talk about it.

Today was the first time that people listened to me Dad. I mean really, really listened to me. I’ve always been the girl in the back, or the tomboy, or the nerdy chick that everyone can’t stand because I’m smart, and geeky. I really was super nervous when I started to talk, and everyone sat there, respectfully listening. I guess I was expecting high school pricks.

But, I am not in high school anymore.

I told them about my dream. I glossed over all the mushy boy/girl agenda Gavin and I exchanged, and pretty much just focused on what he said about Blake and Adrian, and how Gilbert was saying that the shit is going to hit the fan. What’s odd, is I used the words “storm is coming” and not an hour later, the weather turned on us, and it started to rain pretty heavily, foiling our plans for the day, which I’ll get to in a bit.

Alright so the mixed reactions were just what I expected. Some of the people here just laughed, and got up to leave, and some of the folks sat there, fully listening and accepting what I said as the full on truth. There are some folks here that KNOW Adrian’s dreams were legit, and the fact that I had one so vivid, was just too much to ignore.

Arguments ensued. Ugly ones. Many of them were made at my expense, and that got Mom and Mike riled up. Say what you want about Adrian, but God forbid you say anything nasty about me. Mom will straight up gut you. Mike had my back too. You would've been proud of them Dad.

So things got animated. A few folks were yelling, and finally I’d had enough. People had been shouting over each other for like a half an hour, and the couple kids that were there were taken out because the language had gotten ugly. Finally I’d had enough. As loud as I could, I just yelled out, “Who have you all dreamed of since this ended?”

And everyone for whatever reason, shut the hell up. So I rolled with it.

“Have you dreamt of anyone sitting in this room? Have you dreamt of doing any work with anyone here on campus? Have you dreamt of anyone you KNOW to be alive, since last June??

Not one person spoke up.

“How many of you have dreamt about people you left behind? How many dead family members regularly show up in your dreams? How many of you dream of your old houses, and doing things years ago, instead of dreams of the present, with those still here?”

Everyone had that look like they sort of were starting to figure this out. I kept on running with it.

“You ALL know the dead are sitting back up, and killing us. There is NOTHING normal about that. Not one thing natural, or normal. How much of a stretch is it really that we are only dreaming of the dead, and that Adrian and Blake are stuck somewhere between alive and dead, and Heaven and Hell? Come on people!” I was like, livid and shit by that point.

Mom was tearing up. I don’t know if she was scared by me and my craziness, or proud, or what, but she was definitely crying.

Then came the confessions. The first batch was obviously from the people who were supporting me, and my weird dream. But they were the majority, and they had a ton of details of their dreams that just piled on the evidence. It also made no sense to anyone why NONE of us had any dreams of the people that we lived with here at school. Hell, everyone could remember dreaming of new people they’d met before all this started, but no one could remember having a single dream about anyone they had met since June that was still alive.

Everyone was on board with the possibility of a weird dream. Mike and Mom did a great job too of pointing out that even if I was stark raving mad, and a lunatic teenager, the simple fact that we have been shooting fresh zeds at Gavin’s tower as well here at the gates is a terrible sign, especially when you think about how we haven’t been leaving much, or making loud noises to draw them in! There’s no reason for them to just wander like, five miles to a dead end road directly at us.

If we have learned anything, it’s that the zombies are either dumb as fricking posts, and wander about, moving towards movement and noise as they see or hear it. The other thing that we’ve noticed, is that occasionally, rarely, they do really, really weird shit en masse. Like back in March, when they all showed up with books, and just occupied campus like hippies at a smoke shop sale.

Unfortunately, lots of people here now weren’t here for those long days and nights here during March. They didn’t see it firsthand, and they haven’t seen anything truly bizarre with their own eyes. It’s hard to explain it to folks who can’t see it. I guess it’s a lot like faith. Either you believe, or you don’t. Convincing someone is work, and it’s often work they want no part of.

I think at that point it was lunchtime, and we took a short break, and some of us strategized for the future. When we reconvened, things were far more sedate, and people more willing to listen. Even the few real skeptics were back, and they listened, if only to be part of the conversation. No one wants to be left out I guess. That doesn’t explain why so few folks voted though. Oh well!

So our plan going forward is to seriously look at what we can do medically to treat Adrian. Blake is on the mend, and Doc Lindsey says there is little she can do, or little there is to do to make him any better. Adrian on the other hand still has a bullet lodged in his neck, and she’s still very, very afraid to take it out. We are going to have serious discussions about hitting area clinics to get more medical texts to speed up the learning curve so we can really try and do something to fix him up.

The idea of going into the city to one of the three hospitals was also tossed out, but it was not received well.

Everyone remembers what the hospitals were like when this all started.

Adrian called them charnel pits once. I thought that was really apt. The hospitals were the worst places to be when this all happened, and I can’t imagine that they have cleared themselves out and gotten safer. I would, on any given moment of any given day, bet a trip to a hospital would be a death sentence for a few of us.

Clinics first. See how that goes.

I said our plans were ruined. We are planning a trip back to Westfield here to get hay from Lenny. We knew from a trip Ollie made that Lenny was gathering hay for us for the cows, and he has a barn full of hay for us. We have been pretty bad about supporting him too, what with all the bull happening here. Ollie was planning on taking the tractor trailer over to his Dad’s place, with maybe a humvee or two, and getting the hay. We need to feed the cows all winter off that hay, so it’s kind of important that we get it here. I just hope we have enough.

Let’s hope the change in weather isn’t a sign of things to come.

No cool fact about Adrian. I feel like it’d be out of place.

Abby

Dreams of a Dying Man

“Hey man, you need to wake up,” a voice spoke to Adrian from the darkness beyond his closed eyes.

Adrian struggled mightily to lift his eyelids. They felt like they were made out of pure lead. With a creak he felt all the way to the back of his skull, the lids parted, and Adrian took in the face standing above him. It was his friend Blake. Adrian was on his back, lying in cool, wet grass, a gray overcast sky hung sad above, surrounded by trees filled with tiny, bright red apples. He was in the orchard where he and his group of survivors had just been picking the bounty of red fruit.

But Blake hadn’t been there with them earlier. He’d been back at their home, in a bed, laid up with a terrible wound and in a deep coma as his body struggled to heal. But here he was anyway, alive, quite conscious, and standing over Adrian, who presently had no idea how he had gotten into the position he was in.

“What the hell is going on?” Adrian asked Blake. Speaking did him no favors. The words poured off his tongue like wet concrete, and it started a pounding in the back of his head that felt like he was being hit over and over with a blunt, heavy object. He let out a soft groan when the pain hit him.

“I’m not sure man. I was wandering in this dark, cold place for a few hours, then I managed to find my way to the interstate to make my way home. All of a sudden I poofed here, and saw you in the grass. There’s blood all around you, but you’re not hurt. I’m confused as shit.” Blake sat back on his heels and raised his hand to look at it. His palm was covered in a red slick of blood.

Adrian sat up with assistance from Blake. He blinked his eyes and focused his vision as best he could, but things were still fuzzy, indistinct. The further away he looked, the worse it got. It seemed like his vision had degraded drastically.

“Oh, the vision. Yeah that threw me too. There's nothing wrong with your eyes. You get used to it,” Blake said as Adrian was finally able to sit up on his own.

Adrian shook his muddled head. That was a pain and nausea inducing mistake. “What is happening? Last I knew you were in a coma back at the clinic on campus, and a bunch of us were picking apples at the orchard outside town. Are we dead?”

“I'm in a coma? Fucked if I know brother. I’ve been wandering my way back to home to try and find everyone. Last thing I remember was getting jumped outside that strip club Mike and I was searching out in the city. I remember some gunshots, then bam, I’m standing in a world where there’s no one else. Not even the dead people are here as best as I can tell.”

Adrian looked out over the apple trees at the distant hills. The fall foliage was absent on the horizon. He knew the distinct trees were there, but he couldn’t force his eyes to bring the trees and hills into focus. He knew all the world should be vibrant whirls of color as the leaves changed, but as best as he could see, it was bright green, the color of midsummer. The closer he looked at his immediate surroundings, the better it got, but things were still… foggy. It was almost as if he was standing in a fine, nearly imperceptible mist.

“And you say you’ve seen no one here? No one living, or dead? Just emptiness?” Adrian asked, his painful skull dulling to a throb. He felt his sore neck, searching for a wound. He found none.

“Yeah. Here’s another weird thing. Everything is just like it was back before all this went to hell, but nothing works. There’s no electricity, or gasoline, or anything. Cars won’t start no matter what I do to them. Everything is like, preserved just as it was. Like the world was stopped cold. I mean look at these apples, they’re tiny, like summer baby apples.” Blake looked around the orchard, pointing out the tiny red fruit. In truth, they were mostly apple blossoms.

Adrian saw them and immediately knew something was amiss. Just moments ago before he’d blacked out, the apples were ripe. The fruit was fat and juicy, ready for the picking. It was like he’d gone back in time from October to June again. June of 2010.

“I don’t think we’re dead, but something is definitely not right,” Adrian said quietly.

Blake snickered and sat down outside of the phantom pool of blood that surrounded Adrian. “No shit, Sherlock. How did I go from walking down the interstate about ten miles away to right here when I blinked? I haven’t eaten, or drank since I came to in that dark place. I’m stupid but I’m not that stupid. People don’t just teleport and not eat for days. This ain’t Star Trek.”

Adrian nodded, sending a dagger of pain down his spine from an injury he didn’t have. He sighed and looked down at his gear. He was still wearing his body armor, and his weapon was still slung on his chest where it always was. At least if anything attacked them, he’d be armed and ready to defend himself.

“Adrian.”

“Yeah Blake?”

“How is Kim? How is my boy?”

Adrian smiled at the young father, his pain forgotten. “They’re fine. Kim is worried sick about you, but the kid is good. Great really.”

Blake breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s great. Man I been sweating that. Little A.G. is the only thing I can think of. Oh, there’s one more thing.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Blake stood up and shook the blood off his hands. “I’ve been hearing voices. Sometimes just on the edge of my vision, you know? I think I can see things too. But when I look in the corner of my eye at what I thought I saw, there’s nothing there. Voices of people who I think are dead. I think I can hear the ghosts of the dead now.”

Adrian looked at the seriousness on his friend’s face. He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment and nodded. “Well Blake, I can’t say that’s the weirdest thing that I’ve heard lately. I’m starting to wonder if I got shot too. Are you in any pain?”

“Oh hells yes. My gut is killing me right here. Thought my appendix had burst or something.” Blake cupped his side with a wince right where Adrian knew he’d been shot a week or so earlier.

Adrian looked at the gray sky and laughed. “And I think that finishes the puzzle. You were shot right there, and it hurts even though you have no wound. My neck is killing me, and I bet you anything I got shot there too. I bet we’re stuck in the fucking clinic with Doc Lindsey fretting over us. I bet we’re both in comas. I wonder who the fuck shot me?” Adrian shook his head in frustration. His mind raced, ratcheting through all the possible perpetrators.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’d be willing to bet one of my precious balls we’re halfway between dead and alive, and if we want, or don’t want to go one way or the other, we need to figure this bitch out.” Adrian got to his feet, and put his hands on Blake’s widening shoulders. The young man had grown and thickened in the months they’d shared surviving the end of the world. Against all odds, Blake had become a dad, and Adrian had become a capable leader of men in that time.

“What do we do?” Blake asked.

Adrian’s eyes tightened as his mind kicked into overdrive. Finally he cracked a small smile. “Well if you appeared where you went down, and I appeared where I went down, then I think we go to where some of our friends went down before, because if I had to guess, I bet if we make enough noise, we could scare up some reinforcements. People who might know a little more about what’s going on as well.”

“Who?”

Adrian smiled again. “I think there’s an old man that owes me a big fucking pile of favors.”

Blake grinned. He knew the old man.

*****

Days passed. Well, what passed as days wherever the hell they were. Time seemed to have very little meaning in the dreamlike world the two men wandered in. Frequently when they weren’t paying close attention the sky would darken, and it would be night without notice. Then when they least expected it, it was day again, and that cloudy sky returned, keeping the colors of the world in muted tones. Sometimes it felt to the men that they would walk for days on end and make little to no progress, seeing the same houses and streets three, or four times over. The two men were not transported over vast distances in the blink of an eye like Blake had  been before either. There was simply putting one foot in front of the other, and the sore feet that accompany long walks.

Geography held little meaning. Road signs were frequently blank, and there were streets heading off into directions neither man had ever seen before. They only seemed to make real progress when both men focused intently on their goal, and refrained from talking, or looking around. Willpower and the desire to be somewhere new seemed to be more important than physical effort here. Once the two men figured that out, things improved.

Adrian was unsure how much time had passed when he started to hear the voices as well. It might’ve been a day, or three or four days. It was hard to say.

“Hey, can you hear me?” A whisper came to Adrian as he passed what he thought to be the road that turned onto the industrial park where STIG was. He froze, turning an ear to the desolate road that went off into the dark. He couldn’t be sure if it was a man or woman’s voice.

“Did you hear that?” Adrian asked Blake quietly. Instinctively he flicked the safety of his rifle to semi, though he felt the gesture was a wasted one.

“I heard nothing. You hearing voices now too?” Blake asked quietly, turning his attention to the air for sounds. He was scared, but he wanted to hear too.

The whisper came again. It sounded to Adrian as if were just on the fringe of his perception. Almost like the whispered words of someone in a memory, instead of in the moment. “Adrian, can you hear me? I’m right here," the voice said.

Adrian closed his eyes and focused every bit of his concentration on the words he heard. He took a deep breath and set his feet in the road, grounding his being, trying intently to pluck the voice from the ether. “I heard you. Talk to me. Tell me who you are.”

A breeze blew through the abandoned streets, rustling up phantom leaves that weren’t really there. The voice came on its heels, “It’s hard to talk like this. You’re the first people we’ve seen like you. You’re not really here. You're like a ghost.”

Adrian’s eyes darted around as he tried to figure out the mysterious statement. “Not really here? Like how I can hear you, but not see you?” Adrian was now sure the voice belonged to a man.

Another breeze, this one warmer and more summerlike caressed Adrian across the face as the voice returned. “You can’t see me? I can see you. I can see right through you.”

“Like a ghost,” Adrian said.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Blake interjected. He couldn’t hear the voice Adrian was conversing with.

Adrian held a single finger up, urging Blake to be quiet.

“Yes. Like you’re a ghost. But we know better here. We’re the dead ones,” the voice said. There was a distant sadness in the words. A realization spoken aloud.

“Holy shit I heard that,” Blake said breathlessly. The words scared him, and he felt regret over trying to hear them so ardently.

“Did you die in the explosion at STIG? We’re very close to there,” Adrian asked the gray world softly, his eyes closed once more.

“Oh, yeah. A lot of us died that day. Hey I wanted to apologize for being an asshole. I kind of treated you like shit, and I never thought I’d be able to say I was sorry. I’m sorry Adrian. So very sorry for all my failings. More than you know,” the voice said, trailing off into further sadness. The world around them seemed to dim with the emotion, mimicking the soul of the invisible speaker.

Adrian’s mind raced, putting it all together. “Charles?”

There was a moment of quiet before the voice returned again with a single word, “Yes.”

Adrian had mixed emotions suddenly as he opened his eyes to look at Blake. Blake looked at Adrian and shrugged. Blake had never met Charles or Randy. “He’s Abby’s dad. He died in the big STIG explosion.”

Blake mouthed the words, “Holy shit,” and went back to listening.

Adrian spoke again, “Charles I’m so sorry about you and Randy. Abby is still with me, doing well, and we were able to rescue Patty too.”

The light surrounding the two men picked up again as Charles’ heart soared with the good news of his wife's survival. “I’d wondered why she wasn’t here with the rest of us. We’re all stuck here Adrian, sad, angry, stranded. There’s no moving on here. Just waiting. Waiting forever.”

“No heaven, no hell?” Adrian asked.

“No. Just this. Just a world stuck on a day like any other. No joy to be found, just purgatory.” Charles’ voice was filled with despair again.

“How can we help you?”

“Adrian when you came near the sky lightened, and everyone knew something good was about to happen. We could hear your footsteps as you came. The breeze came and went as you breathed in and out. The unbearable burden of being here was lightened Adrian. Just being here helps us.”

Adrian winced at the string of strange compliments. Then he shared the worst thought he could imagine with the disembodied voice of Charles, “Chuck I can’t stay. I need to get home. I don’t know exactly how I am going to do that, but I know we need to make it back to campus. Back to Bastion.”

Adrian couldn’t see Charles think about the name he’d called the campus, but he knew Charles was mulling it over. “Bastion eh? I’ve heard that before. Sometimes others come through. People not fettered to a place like we are. We’re like those shadows at Hiroshima, burned here forever. Heh, we're our own monuments. Our own headstones. But some, the lucky ones, mostly those that died before all this began, they can come and go. They’ve talked about you. Talked about Bastion. It’s a fitting name Adrian. More apt than you know.”

“What else do these wanderers say? I’m curious to hear what’s being said about the living,” Adrian asked Charles as he looked around at the vague surroundings. He suddenly felt very far from home.

“Adrian you’ve got to go. There isn't enough time. Maybe there's too much time. It's hard to say. Tell my wife and daughter that Randy and I love them very much. You’ll figure this all out for us. You know what Adrian? This is going to sound funny coming from me, but I’ve finally found faith. Believe it or not, I’ve got faith in you. Ha. Of all the things to be faithful of, I have faith in you. It took dying to understand it, but here I am. Go. Take care of this.”

“Charles, don’t be a dick. Talk to me, you can share things with us, please man,” Adrian pleaded into the void as the sky darkened suddenly into full night. His pleas were for naught. Charles had either left, or was ignoring him. Adrian kept his temper in check long enough to calm down, and put one foot in front of the other once more.

He and Blake were silent as they started down the road towards home.

*****

Prospect Circle.

It was a lonely cul de sac at the far end of a long country road that few people lived on, and only a few more ever visited. Unlike Prospect Circle, the country road leading to it saw considerable traffic over the years. You could tell because the pavement was still smooth, and fresh. A road traveled heavily is maintained often. A road traveled heavily by rich parents and their children while on the way to or from Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy was taken care of especially. ALPA was known now as frequently as Bastion, home of Adrian and Blake, and the rag-tag band of survivors that Adrian had taken in.

Prospect Circle was a side note in the days before June 23rd. It was plowed late when it snowed, and the residents there never saw a police cruiser unless they called for one. It had a handful of nice homes, and decent cars, but otherwise was just another small loop of pavement surrounded by houses that anyone working a decent job could’ve lived in. But Prospect Circle was special to Adrian. The last home; the nicest home, the one at the far end of the large round circle of pavement was the home of Gilbert Donohue, his aged mentor, and trusted advisor. Gilbert had killed himself last June. More accurately, Gilbert had asked young Abigail, one of the survivors at ALPA to shoot him for treason, and to give him peace. All the time Adrian had known the elderly man Gilbert had been under the sway of pure evil, trying to turn all events against Adrian in an attempt to thwart him, and his supposed task to right humanity once more. Gilbert had taken a .45 slug to the face rather than continue to work against his friend.

Adrian had long since forgiven Gilbert, but he had a dream of Gilbert after his death, and in it, Gilbert had told Adrian that he was still a part of the plan, and that he was now free of the tethers of the darkness that was overwhelming the world with a flood of the undead. Adrian felt Gilbert was in this dream world, and he knew Gilbert would be close to where he died.

Prospect Circle.

Adrian and Blake turned down the street, and kept walking. They had a house call on a friend to make.

*****

Adrian walked up on the porch of Gilbert’s home and knocked loudly on the screen door. The door had the original wooden barricades on it that Gilbert had built two Junes ago to ward off the dead. As Adrian remembered it, the house had only fended off a scant number of dead. Gilbert was rarely the target of the undead wrath. Adrian supposed that was just the Devil taking care of his own.

From the steps in front of the porch Adrian closed his eyes and concentrated on his best memories of Gilbert. He remembered sitting quietly in folding lawn chairs on the shore of Auburn Lake nearby, sipping a bottle of expensive whiskey they had looted from a deserted home. Adrian remembered Gilbert’s long war stories of his time as a Green Beret in Vietnam. Adrian’s lips quivered when the emotions came to him.

“Don’t be a little bitch. You need to be stronger than that. Don’t spill a tear over me. Save it for something that matters,” the voice of an older man said quietly from the porch.

Adrian’s eyes popped open to take in the speaker. It was Gilbert, standing on the porch with his skinny old arms folded, smiling.

“Hey old man,” Adrian said softly.

“Son,” Gilbert said warmly with a wry smile.

Blake was behind Adrian, and while not as close to Gilbert as Adrian was, Blake had formed an intense friendship with the old man as well. He stepped up beside Adrian, tears already in his eyes. “Gilbert. I named my son after you two. Adrian Gilbert Miller.”

“I heard. Mighty fine gesture of you. I don’t think I deserve to have any child named after me, but Adrian certainly is a good name to give him. I certainly hope your son isn’t as much of a pain in the ass to you as I was to my folks when I was growing up.” Gilbert smiled mischievously, his thin white hair swaying gently in the soft breeze of the faux summer day.

“He’s a prince. Couldn’t ask for a better kid,” Blake beamed.

Gilbert nodded in that way old people do. Blake felt Gilbert’s approval, and the tears of happiness came running down his face.

“You know why we’re here?” Adrian asked Gilbert through the thin screen of the door.

Gilbert nodded again, in that way worried people do. “Yep. You need intelligence from behind enemy lines eh? Time to get the real skinny.”

Adrian exhaled and nodded. He was barely holding it together in the presence of the old man he loved and missed so. “Yeah. I’m starting to make sense of some of it, but I need to confirm some things. I knew I could find you here.”

Gilbert’s mouth spread into a wide and proud grin. “Son, what you don’t understand yet, is you probably have the power to find anyone, wherever you damn well please in this place. You’re a king among men here more so than in the real world, and you’re something special there.”

Adrian was confused. “I don’t get what you’re getting at.”

Gilbert nodded once more, in that way a parent nods at a child that doesn’t quite understand something. “Well, I’d invite you in for coffee, but there ain’t nothing to eat or drink here. How about a long talk at the kitchen table? I’ll spell as much out as we’ve been able to decipher.”

Gilbert pushed the screen door open and stepped aside as the two younger men came in, happy to be with their friend and ally.

*****

Gilbert folded his liver spotted fingers into each other and started talking in a low, somber tone to the two men, “It seems like whoever runs the show has gotten awfully fed up with us. Somewhere else, probably Africa, or Europe, this all started. I haven’t met a soul yet that knows for sure, but I’d bet it was Africa. You saw how it spread. It was biblical wild fire straight from the Old Testament, and I do mean exactly that.

We’re being judged Adrian. One last pass or fail test for us to get our shit right, or God, or Allah, or Buddha, or Mother Earth punches our pink slip, and sends us off into oblivion forever. No more people on this blue and green ball floating in space. The great cosmic mulligan, and we’re the score getting wiped off the card.”

“So God is behind this? He’s the one manipulating everything behind the scenes? What a shit God. Seriously. Who would do this?” Adrian said bitterly.

“It’s not that simple, you’re glossing things over, missing some of the trees in the middle of that big forest. I’m not saying God is doing this. That’s far too simple an explanation. This is so much bigger than just that. It’s hard to explain. Complicated. There are a lot of rules, and some stuff I can’t tell you, because I think I’ll break the rules, and throw the whole judgment into disarray.”

“Now you’re just fucking with me. Cut to the stuff Gilbert. Make this all make some sense to me before this pain in my neck kills me.” Adrian rested his forehead in his hands and calmed himself. He rubbed at the spot that gave him the most concern. It was like scratching at a scab, but he couldn't quite find it for the satisfaction.

“Let’s assume God is doing this, because that’s one word we can all understand. God gives us free will, and lets us do as we wish. Instead of being good people, and helping one another, and being responsible with this world, we do the exact opposite, almost running the joint into the ground, being complete asses to each other the whole time to boot. God sits up one day, scratches his ass a few times, realizes we’re worthless mistakes and decides that we need a wakeup call. One last chance to redeem ourselves and prove that we are worthy of this world.

It’s in the bible as well as the Koran. Hell, I’d bet if you dig far enough, almost every religion in the world has some kind of judgment day myth. Except there’s one problem. This ain’t no damn myth, it’s really happening.

So God sits up in his big bed in the sky, and says, 'I’ve had enough of this shit,' and says, 'if they don’t get their crap together right now, I’m wiping this slate clean, and starting again.' So to do this, he sets evil free on the world. Call it the Devil, or Evil, or the Lacuna, or whatever, but he NEEDS a force to run this Armageddon. He can’t do it on his own. If he did, he’d immediately just wipe up the floor with us. Part of being infallible I suppose. That or he just wants someone else to do the dirty work while he sits back and keeps a good eye on the players in the game.

So God creates a force that exists solely to kill us all, and tempt those that survive into ruin. A foe, a nemesis, a big old bad guy. The darkness. You know what I’m talking about don’t you Adrian? You can feel it. It's here now, muddling it all up. And all those dead folks up and walking around eating other people, they’re under the sway of the dark one. They are powered by pure evil, preserved by pure evil, and they seek to eliminate us all, with no regard to who you are. He can send them to and fro to do his bidding. A whole planet full of evil minions that it can control as needed.”

Adrian nodded as Gilbert continued.

“So God makes this great arch enemy for mankind. One incredibly powerful force whose single motivation is to decimate mankind’s redeeming qualities, kill us all, or force us down the road to moral ruin. Except there’s a catch. For whatever reason, God believes there is power in numbers, and he also believes that it would be impossible for evil to turn every single person over to being what he wants out of us. So God says the deal is that evil has to turn just a few people, a small number of people. A sample size. Three people to be exact. If evil can turn those three people, if evil can make them into bad folk, and force them to give up their redeeming qualities, then evil wins, and God gives up all hope for mankind.

Adrian, you are one of the three people. You are one of the Trinity.”

Adrian snorted, “Horseshit. What’s so goddamn special about me that I get to be the one who decides if mankind lives or dies? Gilbert I am not strong enough. I’m not smart enough, and I didn’t ask for this.” Adrian’s fists balled angrily.

“That’s the exact point. Adrian you’re every man. You’re flawed. You are not perfect. You're arrogant. You have made mistakes. You have regrets, but most importantly, you can change. And you have. More than you understand, Son. You care. You are willing to die for your fellow man, especially those you care for, and if you can be broken, then all of humanity can be broken, and there’s no hope for the rest of us.

But you can’t understand who you are as well yet. Turns out you are stronger than most. Smarter than most. Tougher than most. Just enough. I have faith in you Adrian, and I didn’t have faith in God. And just because you didn’t ask for it, doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of getting this damn job done. Son, there is no one else I’d rather have the whole of humanity riding on than you. I know that’s a big, bitter pill to swallow, but you gotta cowboy up and get this shit done. I know there’s no quit in you. It’s time to do the impossible.”

Adrian and Blake sat there quietly for a good long time.

Adrian cried.

*****

“Who is the Trinity? I’m one of them, who are the other two?” Adrian asked as the men walked around in the freshly trimmed grass in Gilbert’s backyard. The smell of the clippings was a familiar scent of summer. None of the men could recall how they got outside.

“One is a girl. I don’t know who the other one is yet. She’s pretty. She seems smart too. I think you’d like her,” Gilbert said with a smile and a wink as he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. His pants were at least one size too large, and held up only by the salvaged suspenders he wore.

Adrian smiled. “I’m involved Gilbert.”

“I wish you the best, but all good things come to an end Son. I’m just saying you’d like her.”

“Thanks for the heads up I guess. What’s her name, what does she look like? What's her story?”

“She’s tallish, blonde I think. Pretty. I can’t say her name, that’s against the rules,” Gilbert said as they walked.

“These are shitty rules,” Adrian said.

“Agreed, but they are meant to keep things fair. Or fair-ish,” Gilbert said dismissively. He had the wisdom to know not to fight a battle that couldn't be won.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Gilbert smiled at the young man he cared for so much. His burden was tremendous, and he knew Adrian would struggle with it. “She’s called the Savior. Sort of a title of what she’s meant to do in the role of the Trinity. The other person is called the Warden. He’s the protector. You’re the Soul, or the Scribe. Your little diary there, that’s an important part of this. When this is all said and done, it’ll be important that you recorded all this for others to read.”

“Um, yeah not sharing that with anyone. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Too late kiddo. You already have. Abby has read it all, every dirty secret in it already. And she’s writing for you right now. She’s taken the mantle of Scribe while you’re here, hurt. We need to get you back though. The fact that she’s taken on even just a little of your job in this might mean evil will focus on her. She’s in great danger Adrian. More than any of us can realize. She isn’t ready to handle it like you are. She’s still just a kid.”

The pit of Adrian’s stomach dropped as he turned and looked over the trees towards the private school where Abby was in the real world. He thought of her tiny eighteen year old frame, sitting on her bed, typing away on his laptop, writing her thoughts in the project he’d only started to maintain his sanity. He had flashes of violence in his mind as he envisioned the campus being surrounded by another mob of undead, biting, scratching, and clawing their way past the gates they’d built.

“How do I get home? How do we get Blake home? I’d feel better about all this if Blake was back there to help protect her. Bring news of what’s going on back as well.” Adrian stopped walking, and the other two men stopped with him.

“Yeah, how can we get back? Even just one of us,” Blake asked almost pleadingly.

“Well, I think you two are in very different places, even though you’re both right here, right now. Adrian your body is still messed up, and until it is fixed, I think you’re stuck here. I think the powers-that-be have you in a holding pattern until your body is ready to take your soul back, or whatever. Blake though, your body should be fine enough. Something else is keeping you here. What happened when you first arrived here?”

“I was in this weird, cold, dark place. Everything was gray, and it felt like I was walking in sand or something. I kept walking until finally I was on the streets. I don’t even remember how I got onto the street. It was weird,” Blake said with a distant fear in his eyes.

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. “That makes some sense. That’s the dark. That’s the Lacuna. That’s where evil drags you to manipulate you. I’d bet a dollar he was ready to make a run at you to go after Adrian. Not sure how you slipped out first. I bet a little bit of you is still there. I bet that sumbitch marked you, tagged you and has a leash on you to keep you from getting away again. You might have to fight that bastard or one of his minions to get your bits back. Put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

“Fight the Devil, on his own turf? Are you fucking insane?” Adrian blurted.

Gilbert faced the man with the Mohawk. “Adrian you don’t get it. That’s your damn job. You are here to make that stand for all of us. You and the Trinity, you’re meant to take the fight to evil, and show that motherfucker we are not to be abandoned by God. Show him we will stand up to what’s wrong in this world, and what’s wrong with us. If anyone, anywhere CAN take the fight to that prick on his home turf, it’s you. Besides, I’d bet if you challenged that conniving bitch, he’d just send someone out to take the fall for you anyway.

Adrian, he’s scared of you. Petrified. Why do you think evil has gone to such great lengths to ensure your failure? Your struggles are no accident.”

“Alright. So be it then. I don’t want to walk all the goddamn way back to where we met. It took us weeks to get to here. Maybe a fucking month. I don’t think we have that kind of time. Blake's body was in pretty bad shape when I went down,” Adrian said, a small amount of frustration and fear in his voice.

“Son. Oh kid. You still don’t get it. This ain’t the real world. If you want to be in Paris right now, dream it. If you want to walk on the sun, dream it. It takes a dozen of us to dream some simple things, but you’re the fucking Soul kid. The keystone. The sparkplug. The Dick Clark of the Bandstand. The single most important person in the scheme of things. If you want to dream something, it will happen. Dream of the Lacuna, and you’ll be in the Lacuna. Dream it. Dream big.”

“Go big or go home, eh?” Adrian mused.

“Now you’re getting it,” Gilbert said proudly.

“What about people? Can I dream of people and they’ll show up like you did?” Adrian suddenly had hope spring to mind.

“Yep, but be mighty careful. Some folks you just shouldn’t dream of. Some folks are just bad dreams Adrian. And remember, you can’t dream of the living. I shudder to think what might happen if you dreamt of someone still alive. It might be a real bad dream for them, if you get my drift.”

“I want to dream of Cassie.”

Gilbert winced visibly. “I knew you were going to say that. Son, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I think that dream is best left for a long time from now,” Gilbert said sadly.

“Why? Is she still alive? Tell me she’s still alive.”

Gilbert looked at Adrian with serious and sad eyes, and slowly shook his head. “Adrian, she’s gone. She died on that day. One of the first to go in fact. The Devil took that playing piece for himself early.”

“The Devil has her?” Adrian’s tone suddenly changed. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He was suddenly very angry.

“He’s got her I think. As much as he can. I imagine it’s a lot like what’s happening with our dear Blake. He has her off the playing board. Trapped. He’s got something planned special for her. He’s keeping her from you. Keeping her from helping you. I’m sorry Son. I think the only way to set her free is to see this to the end. If you can take the fight to him now, and free up Blake so he can go home, that’s one more step on the path to getting this damn ordeal over with.”

Adrian turned to Blake, a steel quality in his posture and voice. “Are you coming with me? I could use a Ranger buddy. Looks like I’ve got some business to deal with.”

Blake watched as Adrian’s powerful sense of purpose filled his eyes. For a moment Blake felt it was rage boiling over, but Adrian seemed to be fully in control. Blake wasn’t sure what was more frightening; Adrian’s uncontrolled rage, or the fact that Adrian now seemed to be able to harness it.

“I’m ready,” Blake said with confidence, but he couldn’t be sure that was the truth.

“Gilbert, anything else?” Adrian asked as he dropped the magazine on the rifle hanging across his chest. He slapped it back in when he saw it was full. Old habits.

“Yeah. That rifle won’t matter in the Lacuna. You are the weapon, not the things you bring here. Might as well dream you have a slingshot. Remember, your force of will is the most powerful weapon you can bring to bear here. Remember that. Nothing can stand in your way if that’s what you want. You can move mountains if you choose to, but you need to have faith in yourself. God has faith in you Adrian. Remember that.”

Adrian nodded, and closed his eyes. He was going to dream of righteous fury.

*****

It was cold in his dream. Cold enough that even before he opened his eyes he knew he’d be able to see his breath. Cold enough that he could feel the warmth coming from where he knew Blake was standing beside him. Adrian opened his eyes and took in the dull, featureless gray expanse of the Lacuna. He’d named this place. That gave him power.

Blake’s breathing was hard, labored. Adrian turned to make sure he was okay. Blake looked Adrian in the eye once he realized his leader was assessing him. “This is the place. I can almost tell this is exactly where I came to when I arrived here.”

“Good. I can’t imagine Old Scratch would have you pop into the boondocks. I’d imagine he’d want you gift wrapped on his front porch.”

“Thanks for the comforting talk. You’re a real peach, you know that, right?” Blake said with a smirk.

Adrian laughed and the sound of it made the cold dim. “Yeah. People can’t get enough of my overwhelming positivity and cheer. I’m like a fucking walking holiday of happiness. After this I’m going to beat on some puppies,” Adrian said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Gilbert said it was useless, and he believed him.

“You know the idea that you might actually be the savior of mankind horrifies me when you talk.”

“I totally understand that,” Adrian said with a grin. He took a few steps on the spongy gray earth, testing the footing. It was like walking on nothing. He felt as if he was simultaneously lighter than air, and yet still pressed down by some all encompassing weight. He felt held. It was a strange sensation.

“Ready to do this? I’m not sure exactly what’s gonna happen, but I feel like the longer we wait, the worse off we’re going to be,” Adrian said as he made fists at his side.

“Yeah that sounds about right. Adrian I feel weird man, kinda sick. Like I’m about to puke. Something is wrong.” Blake’s hands sunk to his stomach where he used them to rub at his guts. Adrian saw his discomfort.

“That’s evil. Trying to fuck with you. Let’s turn the tables and get you freed up” Adrian said flatly. The fear was gone in his voice.

“Okay,” Blake said meekly as he clutched his roiling insides.

Adrian closed his eyes and started to shout into the haze of The Lacuna, “Hey you! Can you fucking hear me?! I’m here! I’m here and I’m pissed, and I’m ready, and I'm done playing this fucking game! Send me your fucking best! Step the fuck up and test me!”

His challenge failed to echo, and was met with damp, cold silence. Adrian focused behind his closed eyes and thought of what the Devil would do to answer his challenge. Flashes of evil creatures, monsters, and villains passed through his vision like a late night horror movie montage. It was like spinning the rolodex of bad dreams.

“Well, well. Thought I’d seen enough of you and your bullshit. How’d you wind up here?” A man's voice said in the darkness not too far away. Adrian knew exactly who it was. He’d never forget that voice.

“Hey Sean. Blow me.” Adrian opened his eyes and took the man in. He looked the same, only pale, saturated in the gray that pervaded everything here. His small round glasses were nearly luminescent, preventing Adrian and Blake from seeing his eyes. It was eerie and fitting. The round discs were obscuring where his soul should've been.

“Thanks but no thanks. What’re you doing here, disturbing my relative peace? Pissing in my backyard after ruining my fucking life?” Sean spat.

Adrian smiled, relishing the change to confront the villain he'd struggled against for so long. “Normally I am not the type of person to celebrate the bad fortune of others, but Sean, I did not ruin your life. You ruined it yourself. I just gave those people in that school a better chance at a better life, and you didn’t take the easy out and walk out. You got what you deserved, straight up. If that doesn’t sit well with you, then that’s something you need to square away with your damn self.”

“Fuck you Ring. “ Sean’s soulless glasses almost flared with white light at the statement. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m here to spring my good friend Blake here. I’m under the impression he’s sort of tied to this place, and we need to visit a little bit of justice on this neighborhood. I challenged the dark one, and it looks like he sent you to fight instead of stepping up on his own. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you sir, have been sold down the river, and are about to catch an ass whipping that will be fucking LEGENDARY.” Adrian smiled, and Blake felt a wave of power come off him like heat rising off the pavement. For the first time Blake saw and felt what others believed.

“Ha. You can’t kill me here. I’m already dead, and this is where I am king. Gimme your best shot you cocky asshole. See how tough you are without that fucking gun.” Sean lowered his head and started walking towards Adrian, malice in his motion.

“Watch this,” Adrian said softly to Blake as he took off his M4 and handed it to him. Adrian turned towards Sean, and started walking straight at him. In Blake’s mind’s eye he watched as the gray haze parted for Adrian like he was cooking English fog off with nothing more than his body heat. The horrible pain in Blake’s stomach started to settle as the two foes closed on one another. Two eternal forces opposed, representations of good and evil, about to do battle.

Sean’s first blow came at Adrian’s face much faster than Blake was expecting. It still wasn’t fast enough. Adrian’s instincts were sharpened over years and years, and his training far exceeded that of a normal person. He was expecting the strike. Adrian ducked down and to the right as Sean’s fist sailed high. Adrian’s right hand cocked back and hammered multiple times upwards into Sean’s side, cracking a handful of ribs with a series of sickening crunches. Adrian straightened out and slammed an elbow into the dead politician's face, sending him reeling backward. Sean doubled over and spat red blood onto the gray earth as Adrian circled him. Blake was watching a cat toy with a mouse.

“Sean why the bullshit? Why turn yourself into this petty king in Westfield? Why use people like slaves?” Adrian asked him, genuinely intrigued.

“Why do you care? People are idiots Adrian, they’re cattle. They want to be fed out of a trough, without worries, and put away at night into a barn where they think it’s safe. Sooner or later we take them to market when they aren’t useful anymore and we get what they're worth and no more. It’s no different. I’d just rather be the man holding the prod, and not the cow getting brained in the slaughterhouse.” Sean launched his body at Adrian suddenly, slamming into the larger man, sending them both sprawling into the soft, cold ground.

Sean landed on top and immediately began to rain blows down on Adrian's face and shoulders. Each small fist struck down with a Cobra's venom, almost taking bites out of the warmth that Adrian had projected so confidently moments ago. Adrian reached up with his big hands and deflected several of the blows, but many made it past. His lip split, spilling blood, and one eye was threatening to fuse shut from swelling.

Adrian reached down along the gray ground and yanked hard on the inside of Sean’s knees, pulling him off balance. With the other hand he shoved down and away on the opposite knee, twisting Sean’s whole body to the side, mitigating his power. Adrian’s hips twisted like a shark twisting in the open sea, and before Blake even realized what was happening Adrian went from being pummeled by Evil's champion, to sitting astride Sean’s stomach, pinning his back to the ground. Adrian sat up tall as Sean hit his thighs ineffectively, his fists bouncing off of the cords of muscle under Adrian’s khaki pants.

“Sean you stupid prick,” Adrian said as the dead politician squirmed underneath him. The big man spat out a wad of his own blood. “You aren’t the man holding the fucking prod. You never were. You were used just like you used them. You thought you had the prod but you were just the last fucking cow in line. Look at where you are now. You think this is a reward? You wander aimlessly in the cold, with no warmth, or love or friendship. You have nothing.” Adrian brought his right fist back and sent it downward into Sean’s jaw like a jackhammer as Sean tried to fend the punch off. Adrian’s power was too much for the pinned man, and the fist split Sean’s meager defenses like an axe splitting wood. The fist cracked Sean’s jaw and sent broken teeth down his throat. Adrian sat there for a moment as the man under him went limp with pain. Sean’s arms drifted out to the side and he was still, moving only to cough, and spit his ruined teeth out on the cold ground.

Adrian leaned over and grabbed Sean’s collar, lifting him slightly, letting his head turn so his ear was nearer to his lips. Adrian whispered not to Sean, but to the puppeteer that had been pulling his strings when he had been alive. “Listen to me, and listen good. I’m not afraid of you anymore. I won’t fail at this. I will not give up, and you will not tempt with your bullshit. Right now, you will let go of Blake, and we are walking out of here, free and clear. But don’t forget; I’ll be ready when you come calling again. Mark my words. I am not afraid, and I am waiting.” Adrian let Sean’s head go, and when it thudded into the monotone earth, Sean’s entire body disintegrated into nothingness.

“Adrian, something is different. I think that worked,” Blake said as Adrian got to his feet. Blake’s stomach felt like he’d purged a terrible presence.

“Good. Let’s get out of here. Hopefully you’ll wake up soon, and go home.” Adrian said as he walked towards Blake.

“Hey Adrian.”

“Yeah?” Adrian said as he felt his mangled lower lip.

“Remind me to never, ever piss you off.”

“Noted.”

*****

“Why have I not woken up yet? It feels like it’s been days,” Blake asked Gilbert and Adrian, clearly worried.

The three men were gathered on the porch of Gilbert’s home. Gilbert was rocking gently in an old rocking chair as Adrian sat, his eyes glazed over, staring off into the indistinct distance of the dreamy world. His lip had already mended itself. Blake slowly rocked back and forth in his own chair, almost nervously.

“Son, time doesn’t matter here. Only events,” Gilbert said. Both younger men turned to him, looking for an explanation. Gilbert felt their eyes on him, and he continued, “We are stuck somewhere. Not in Heaven, or Hell, or wherever we should be going when we croak. We exist outside of the normal flow of things. Only when something important happens do we feel the impending moment. Like seeing a storm on the horizon, and knowing the rain is coming. It might be that your body still needs a bit of healing before you’re ready to wake up. Hard telling not knowing.”

Blake nodded, apparently happy with that explanation. “Alright I guess. I just wish I was with Kim and little Adrian back at home.”

The two older men nodded, and Adrian suddenly turned to Blake, something on his mind. “When you get back, when you wake up, you tell them what it is like here, and that I am okay. I’m with Gilbert, and I think I’m going to see some other folks here before I come back. You tell them to fix me up as soon as they can, and you make damn sure Abby and everyone else there is taken good care of. While I am out of the game Blake I am putting you in charge of keeping them safe. You understand me?”

Blake didn’t respond. He was gone. His chair was still rocking.

“Hm. Look at that. Guess he had to hear your message before going home,” Gilbert said, not surprised at the sudden turn of events.

“This place messes with my head something fierce Gilbert. I don’t know how you deal with it,” Adrian said, watching the rocking chair Blake had just been in come slowly to a halt.

“You wanna see how I deal with it?” Gilbert asked, mischief in his voice.

Adrian turned, intrigued by the old man’s tone. “Yeah.”

“As I said Son, we are behind enemy lines. And it is long since overdue for you and I to raise a little hell. I suspect it will be a whole hell of a lot easier for me to wreak havoc with you kicking around. You know I’ve always wanted a sidekick. A trusty sidekick. With a cape, and a mask. I suppose you’ll do just fine.”

“Ha. If anyone is the sidekick here, it’s you. Remember who God has faith in buddy, words directly from your mouth,” Adrian said with a grin.

“Remember who you have faith in, kiddo. Let’s get our hands a little dirty.” Gilbert got to his feet with more energy than he’d had in decades, and the two men left the porch, walking with purpose down Jones Road, towards a little bit of work that had to be done.

October 26th

Holy shit Blake woke up today, and he was all kinds of loony tunes.

I’ve spent almost the entire day listening to his ranting and raving, and I tell you what, he’s seen some serious stuff while he was down and out. He didn’t even know where to start, and I don’t even know where to start in recording it all for here.

Um, okay so they weren’t dead, and they weren’t alive. Both of the dudes were in like this, weird place where the dead go. Blake had a hard time describing it, but as best as I can tell, it’s like being in a dream you can’t wake up from. He also said that it was always June 23rd. Like the afterlife was frozen solid on the day this all began, and when you die, you just go back to that day, and sit there on the sidelines waiting this all out. Blake said he was wandering around, and found Adrian in the orchard, knocked out cold, surrounded by a pool of blood. He also said the orchard was stuck in the summer. Small apples. Weird stuff right?

I think that’s just about what he said. He also said that Adrian and him were like, hunting down evil and shit in the place where evil lurks. Adrian has mentioned it a few times in passing randomly. He calls it the Lacuna. I looked it up in one of the old dictionaries around here, and Lacuna means:

'A gap, or missing part.'

Like in a story, or like an argument, or even more weirdly, like a hiatus, or break. I don’t know where he dug that word up Dad, but for some reason, it creeps me the hell out. I don’t even like thinking that word now. I always dug that Italian rock band Lacuna Coil, but now fuck that. I can’t even listen to those guys again. Adrian has them on this laptop too. I’ve got half a mind to just delete them off the hard drive just for safety’s sake. I feel like we’re inviting badness.

That’s silly, but I’m kinda freaking out here. Blake had a lot to share.

So in this dream world, not the Lacuna mind you, Adrian and Blake find Gilbert, and he’s like chilling at his house down the street. He’s got all this good info, and he lays it all on our two heroes like they’re visiting the Oracle at Delphi, and Adrian kinda shits a brick, but he hikes up his skirt anyway, and when they go to the Lacuna to get Blake all freed up from the reins of evil so he can come back alive and stuff, Adrian challenges the DEVIL to a fight, and the DEVIL pussies out and sends Sean. Remember that douche nozzle from Westfield? The d-bag that ran the show and made all those people miserable? I guess the evil or whatever sends him to fight Adrian, and Adrian straight up smashes that guy’s face. Then he like, grabs him, and threatens the DEVIL.

How large do your testicles need to be to threaten evil? Or, alternately, how small does your brain have to be? Either way, Adrian has it covered. Giant brass gonads, and a teeny-weeny brain. He’s double qualified.

So yeah. Adrian beats this Sean dude’s ass yet again, and then like, after a few days, he talks to Blake and poof, Blake wakes up like he’s been asleep all this time.

Blake said it was so amazing watching Adrian in the Lacuna. I can only imagine. Blake said it was like watching some magical knight, or a superhero, or like, someone really powerful.

I’m wondering what the hell we have to do to get him to wake up, and if he does wake up, will he be able to shoot fireballs out of his weiner, and with a wave of his hand turn water into wine, and make vaginas get all lubricated. That’d be perfect. I bet that made you feel awkward Dad. Sorry.

I’m so nervous.

Blake said that Gilbert was sure that we’d be getting into some serious trouble here soon. He said that because I was writing in this diary, just like Adrian did, I might draw trouble onto us. Gilbert thought that because Adrian was down and out, we were vulnerable. And you know what, I feel vulnerable. I’m scared Dad. Scared big time.

I wish you were here to help, but even if you were, you weren’t all that good a shot. I guess it’d be nice just to see you again.

Blake said that you talked to him and Adrian while he was wandering in the wastes of the dream world, or whatever you want to call it. I’m kind of comforted to know that you’re sort of okay, wherever you are. Not in pain or anything. Blake said Adrian said you sounded sad. I hope you’re not sad and worried about us. Mom and I are doing well, and you can rest.

You’ve earned it. Dying is a real combo breaker.

So impending doom. Yep. Heard it here first. If Gilbert is sure we’re up the creek without that fricking paddle, then we are up that creek. He didn’t make many mistakes about stuff, and that worries me a lot. What I wonder now is, what is Adrian up to on the other side? And apparently as Gavin told me in the dream, Adrian’s body needs to be repaired lickety-split, or we may have to deal with whatever is coming without him.

Not cool. Not sure what else to say here. The Factory is doing well. I guess the undead over that way just up and left a few days ago, which really makes me wonder where they went. You want to place a bet on “right here?” Gavin’s tower is okay. No fighting over sexual preferences, which is a huge improvement.

The rain went away, so we were able to get most of the hay moved here. We need another full day according to Ollie to get it stored properly. We’re storing it all over the place too. There’s a LOT of frigging hay for these cows. I almost want to accidentally shoot one so we can have a hamburger, and so we don’t need all this damn hay. Also, the chickens are doing great.

The weather has been crappy like I said, but it’s clear right now. Nights are super cold though. Nipples into diamonds cold, and that’s pretty cold. If I had boobs, I’d want to tuck a couple of those hand warmer things inside the cups of my bra to keep them snuggly. Sadly, I don’t have boobs, and I just layer to keep my chest warm.

TMI Dad? I mean, you knew I had no boobs. You brought me up, and if you hadn’t seen my lack of chesticles, you’re just blind. Still love you.

I’m off. I’m tired, and I am so scared. I'm making jokes to escape how I feel. I think I just figured out a lot about Adrian with that sentence. Adrian’s sleeping pills are great by the way! I take one at bedtime, and within maybe half an hour I am light’s out. I am going to try and sleep without one tonight to make sure I don’t get hooked, and to stay a little more coherent in the very likely event we get pwned by a horde of the Devil’s minions.

Good times.

Adrian is an obsessive folder. If he has a napkin on the table, he’ll fold it three or four times to make it neat. His laundry is folded perfectly and stored away perfectly. His socks are bunched perfectly. His bed is made perfectly. Every day. It drives Mallory nuts.

Kinda funny that a guy that swears, farts, and makes dick and pussy jokes all day and night spends that much time and effort on the little things.

Or is it exactly as you’d expect? Funny guy.

Abby

October 28th

It’s been strange here with Blake up and about. Well, as up and about as he can get. He’s still pretty messed up, having taken a shot to the midsection at point blank range from a shotgun. Honestly, it’s really impressive that he even recovered. Miracles do happen I suppose. I guess there’s hope for Adrian yet.

Adrian’s health is stable I should add before I forget. He hasn’t had any twitching episodes or seizures like before, but Lindsey and Sophie are saying that he occasionally cracks a tiny smile on the corner of his lips. Up to no good with Gilbert I imagine. If I know those two… they are flipping over tables, blowing stuff up and trying to pick up chicks wherever they are.

How are things with Blake you ask Dad? Pretty good. He’s definitely a little quieter now, and a lot more serious about our plight(s). He’s certain that we are about to have something terrible happen to us, and I for one am fully on his side. With the dream I had, and the description of events he shared from the time he was down, I’m sure we’ve got something bad coming.

You know how I said we had a bunch of non believers around here? Well, when Blake’s story circulated here at school, lots of folks changed their tune. Or at least started to change their tune. It was like, such a huge deal that the guy woke up, and immediately had this intensely detailed story to share with us. It’s almost like, too true to be a lie, if that makes any sense. Like, if it were a lie, it’d be less strange and weird.

Mike is so happy Blake made it. I know he was sweating the guilt of Blake’s injury, and I think had Blake not made it, Mike would’ve been pretty messed up over it. I talked to Mom a lot about it, and she said that Mike spent a lot of time going over things, and wondering how he could’ve done things differently. He swears up and down that Blake getting shot was wholly his fault, but I don’t buy it. To be honest Dad, I really think that Blake getting shot was part of the plan.

You know. THE PLAN. The thing that nags at me, is which plan was he a part of? The good guy plan, or the bad guy plan?

So Blake is back in Hall B with Ollie and Melissa. Melissa is such an awesome mom to-be too. She’s taking care of little Adrian while Kim takes care of Blake. Ollie is taking care of the livestock and Melissa too, which is cute. He’s such a cute dad to-be. I can’t wait to see the kids when they’re all grown up. They’re going to be such good kids. The parenting here is amazing. You know that line about it taking a village to raise a kid?

It’s TRUE! With so many of us right here all the time the kids are always engaged, and interested, and there’s almost always something for them to do, or someone always watching them to keep them on the right track. I think we might be on to a whole new version of society here. It’s something to see. Randy would’ve been so successful here Dad. No strange outbursts I bet, and his whole ADHD thing would be an asset. Now if he could just stop fighting with other kids when he got uncomfortable or anxious or said something really fricking weird…

Spilled milk as Adrian would say. Randy doesn’t really need to worry about getting into fights anymore. And we don’t need to worry about him being successful anywhere. Man that sucks. I hate thinking about stuff like that.

Speaking of a village, we are still preparing some small Halloween event for the kids in a couple days. We didn’t do anything last year, because we didn’t have any kind of society last year at this time, and being that this is our first Halloween as a community, we’re doing something. We have been hoarding candy for months now to give to the kids who can dress up. It won’t be much, maybe 5 small pieces of candy at a few of the places on campus they can walk to, but it WILL be fun for them to make simple costumes, and eat that candy. Some sense of normalcy returning is a good thing.

We’re going to do it on Halloween itself, right before dark. Now that campus is fully walled off, it is basically safe and sound from anything but an incident inside the walls itself. Sooo… hello Jinx Fairy, have a field day with that mess up.

I hate it when I do that. I wish I could keep my rather stupid mouth shut more effectively. Adrian would smack me right now if he wasn’t off in la-la-land traipsing around with Gilbert, causing hate and discontent. I’m jealous Dad, just to be clear. It’s been very quiet here.

Well not that quiet really, there has been steady activity at the gate. I’d say we’re dropping one or two undead an hour, and waking up in the morning to maybe three or four waiting for us. It’s a nuisance, especially seeing how long we’d gone without seeing a single undead. Ollie said on the trip to Westfield to see his Dad and get all the hay they had to drive around or hit something like two or three dozen zeds, which is a lot compared to what we’ve seen the past few months. I remember Adrian talking shit about how he thought we’d taken care of them all.

Spoke too soon big guy! Even the potential savior of mankind opens his pie hole at the wrong time I guess.

I’ve been taking the majority of the watches on the gates and walls. It can be boring as hell, but I feel safer knowing that I am one of the people who is making it safer. Does that make sense Dad? I guess this goes back to how Adrian talks about how he feels safer going on the tough trips. He’s afraid someone with less experience will make mistakes, and if that he’s there, he can help make sure that those mistakes are either negated, or minimized. He’s a good leader. Always leads from the front, and always by example. I am here, send me.

Maybe that’s why we’re struggling so hard to stay positive and hard working. Without him out there busting butt most of the time, and making things happen, folks don’t have that spark plug to motivate them. I think there’s also an element of folks just being scared shitless of making him unhappy too, but to be honest, that’s got to be a minor part of it.

I don’t want to leave out the fact that the past couple of days things have gotten better here with things getting done. Ollie’s hay trip and runs to Westfield motivated people well, and now with Blake up and about, there are a dozen projects he needs help on, and being that he’s kind of an original ALPA’r, people look up to him somewhat. He’s got a few followers that love helping him out, and it’s nice that he’s here and talking again to get them engaged in the work that needs to be done. You know the saying as well as I do Dad; idle hands are the Devil’s plaything.

I don’t know what else to talk about right now. Mike and Mom are doing well and that should make you happy. Caleb and Sophie are also doing well. Caleb’s wounds are healing very nicely, and he has inserted himself into the rotation of watches. Caleb’s not quite as nice as Adrian is, I should add. He seems to have more of a temper. But, he also seems like he’s super protective and affectionate to those he cares about, which is cool. Their kid is cute.

Ryan is doing really good on the hydroponics. Becca, Adrian’s little sister has been spending a lot of time with him, which I knew was pissing Adrian off. I don’t know if there’s like, romance in the air between them, but they do spend an awful awful lot of time in that gym with each other.

I am sick of apples. Oh, and Blake is now making moonshine cider with some of them. Should be good stuff. Even if it is terrible, we’ll still drink it, as our liquor and beer reserves are basically running on fumes. I think a few trips out to empty or search houses are in order. Might be a good idea if only for us to find more booze. Pacify the locals, as it were.

Things at Gavin’s tower are still good. Things at the Factory are still good. They have talked about having a rather large amount of scuffles there over who is in charge, blah blah blah, but everything seems to be settled. I guess the majority of the undead are gone or dead there, so they seem to be doing well. The rain lately has given them a nice supply of h2o, so that’s good. One less thing for us to worry about I guess.

Passing out here. I need to get some rest. We’re doing some extra construction on the barn tomorrow that I told Ollie I’d help with, and I also promised Becca and Melissa I’d help with making the big breakfast tomorrow for the folks who are helping do it.

The things I do.

Here’s a funny fact about Adrian: he isn’t ticklish. How weird is that?

Abby

October 31st

I think it’s beginning.

Two very strange events happened today. One here at school, and the other off-campus.

Second story is easier to tell than the first, so I’ll share that one now.

We have lost radio contact with Gavin’s Tower. No one there made their proper radio checks the last two check ins, and they haven’t responded to our last two attempts to radio them. It definitely cast a huge shadow this afternoon when we were doing the Halloween stuff for the kids. I think the adults did a good job hiding it from the kids, but I know there were a lot of pained glances exchanged. Definitely not frigging cool.

We spent most of this evening after the trick-or-treating talking about the plan to go there tomorrow, which I am a part of. I am hoping it goes well, and just turns out to be a busted generator, or a loose wire on the radio equipment we put on the roof there. That’d be swell.

Of course, that ain’t gonna happen, and we both know it Dad. I’m so worried something has happened. Dwayne has been a shithead lately, and there’s always the chance that they are surrounded by more zeds, or another band of roving dickfaces have attacked them. The door Martin welded/made down there is sturdy, but any person with a brain and a chain can easily open that door. It wouldn’t take much for someone with a vehicle to tug it right off the side of the building.

The other thing that happened today will keep me up tonight. I’ve already got a movie to watch in my room, because I know I am not sleeping. I’m kind of afraid to sleep, and I desperately want to take something to make me sleep, but I know if I dream, it’ll be messed up, and if I take a pill to dream, I won’t wake up if something bad happens, and I don’t know what’s worse right now.

During the hour or so that we had kids going from building to building getting candy, I took on the role of roving security. Alex and George were on gate duty with James, and everyone with a kid was taking them around to get the candy, and sort of lead them along like good parents do. I simply hung around centrally on campus, and made sure nothing was happening that was odd, or weird, or whatever. Granted, it was a non-job, but I felt good watching the bulk of the little folks in their costumes wander about and I felt good that if something were to happen, I was there.

Plus I felt like I was shafting Adrian's Jinx Fairy. After my slip up the other night I felt like I had to go the extra mile to ensure we didn’t have an incident. Adrian would never forgive me.

Here’s where it gets weird. I am sitting on one of the small stone benches that’s sort of near Hall E, sort of in the middle of campus, and I swear to you I saw a kid making a beeline around the back of the building and towards the wall facing the river. Now none of our kids have any business over there, so I hop up, and trot over to check whoever it was out. As memory serves, the kid was wearing a sheet, and was trying to look like a ghost or something.

I run around the end of the building towards the wall, and the kid is just gone. Like, poof gone. So my heart drops hardcore, and I get this sick feeling that the kid ran to the top of the… the berm, that’s the word, and he’s gone over the top and fallen down near the river, where there may or may not be any zombies.

I get my AR off my shoulder and get to the top of the wall as fast as I can. I get to the top, where the logs are kind of sticking up, and there’s no kid on the other side of the wall, just six zombies.

Right off the bat I’m really confused and weirded out that there are any zombies at that spot in the first place. They were easily like a hundred yards away from the bridge, and there is like, no reason at all for them to have walked from the bridge to here. The other messed up thing about it, is that they would have had to cross the river in the water, or walked across the bridge, and fallen off, then climbed up the embankment on our side of the river, and THEN walked all the way to a random spot on the school wall.

That’s like, a LOT of weird coincidences.

So I lift my gun up and flick the safety switch, and I am about to start shooting when it occurs to me that the kids are maybe fifty yards from me. If I start shooting without telling them that I am about to shoot, there will be panic. Also, if I start shooting, it’ll attract more attention to the school, and that’s bad.

So I grab my walkie, and radio to the gate for James. Alex says he’ll send him when he sees him, which should be like fifteen minutes or so. To kill the time, I stand near the top of the berm wall behind the logs, and I watch the six zombies kind of mill about, and scratch at the logs. I notice maybe five minutes in that the logs are entirely scratched to shit where they are standing. Also, the fingers of the zeds are raw, and some are worn straight down to the finger bones, like they had been scratching at those very logs for days…

These folks had been there for awhile. A few minutes later, as I’m starting to get the heebie-jeebies standing there just a few feet from them thinking about it, James comes waltzing down the top of the berm, and asks what’s up. He sees the zombies just as he gets to me, and does like a “oh holy shit” face, and he proceeds to get his rifle free.

I stopped him, and we have the discussion about the kids being right nearby, and how the undead got to this remarkably strange place. It’s like, strange for him to think about too.

Remember how I said a long ways back that James was using Adrian’s bow? Practicing and stuff? I remembered that, and told him to go get it, and drop these guys with that. He takes off at a run, and I remain all alone in the woods, near the river, with six zombies scratching at the wall at my feet. Some of them finally look up, and then they go MENTAL. One of them starts gnashing his teeth so hard that I can hear them snapping together, and I even heard a few of them crack and splinter right in his face. Icky.

I can almost feel their fingers gouging into the wood below my feet right now. It was the worst feeling then, and the memory of it now bothers me. I can feel the shuddering of the wood as the bones and nails dig out inches long splinters. Like I said Dad, no sleep for me.

As James is coming back, I look over my shoulder at the back of Hall E, and I realize in like, a split second that it makes a lot of sense where these things are scratching. If you drew a straight line from where they were scratching into campus, like as if the wall wasn’t there and they could walk straight…

They’d be scratching right where my bedroom window is. That can’t be a coincidence. No way, no how.

Neither can be what happened when James arrived with the bow. At point blank range, James couldn’t miss the headshots. When he saw how nutty they were being when he returned he was creeped out too, and we had a nice what the hell moment as he started putting arrows in their faces. Sadly, some of his arrows missed the gray matter, so he had to shoot a couple of them twice.

Here’s the straw that broke the camel’s back: as James is dropping the zeds, I’m watching the ones at the end of the line to make sure they don’t do anything like, insane or anything, and there’s this dead girl at the end, and she’s looks an awful lot like me, except she’s all messed up. Well, all messed up except for her eyes, which were all milky, and cancerous, and strange. And I am not kidding one bit, but that chick looked up at me with those messed up eyes, and she lifts her arms up, and slowly taps her tiny, dirty Mickey Mouse watch three times directly at me. One. Two. Three.

My mouth hits the ground, and about two seconds later, as I’m reeling from what I realized I just saw, James slides an arrow into her right eye with the bow, and she tumbles backwards over the embankment, and she lands in the rocks near the edge of the river.

I haven’t told anyone about the scratches or the watch tapping yet. I’m far too frigging paranoid and worried they’ll string me up or burn me at the stake if I do anything like that. I feel like I’ve already pushed my luck with the X-Files factor here at school lately and any more weirdness will be my undoing.

Gilbert buddy I hope you were wrong. I hope you were very damn wrong.

I’m really wishing Lindsey would figure out how to operate on Adrian’s neck so we can get him at least awake and back with us. I feel like things would be better if he could just sit up and say a few words again. If he could even type his name in this damn diary the world would be improved. But she’s super scared, and afraid she’s going to nick an artery or main vein or whatever and kill him, and we really don’t want that. She’s studying more and more to try and build up the knowledge and courage, but I’m scared. Scared she won’t get there fast enough.

Oh, and adding insult to injury, Blake burst a few of his stitches this morning moving around too much. Moron couldn’t take it slow. He bled all over the place, but will be fine. That’s what he gets for trying to oversee the hard cider manufacture.

Not excited about tomorrow.

Abby

November 2011

November 3rd

You’ve heard the old saying hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? I think the person who made that crap up had never actually watched hell’s fury first hand. It’s a terribly short sighted statement.

Gilbert was right. The storm was coming, and now it is upon us. I think it is also going to get worse as time goes on. I’m so dang tired of running around trying to plug holes in problems. I can’t even fathom what it was like for poor Adrian when things were bad like they are right now. At least today we have more people and resources to deal with these issues unlike the majority of the stuff he had to deal with.

More and more respect for that guy’s resilience.

More and more worry that we may need him in a frigging hurry.

Yesterday and today things have been a real quagmire (no giggity, fyi). Problems have cropped up in almost every direction you can imagine, and trying to sort out how to deal with it, when to deal with it, and who can deal with it, has started to wear our patience as thin as can be. As you can imagine, I’ve got a lot to write about, Dad.

Driving to Gavin’s Tower the other day was a real bitch, let alone the fiasco we encountered when we got there. Like, Mom when Aunt Flo is visiting bitch, as she says. The drive there was like the way things were a year ago. Zombies everywhere. We couldn’t go a hundred feet without hitting two or three, and that meant driving fairly slow, and being very careful. We had to stop once when the plow truck blew out a tire driving over a body, and that got hairy in a hurry. We were swapping out the blown tire on main street pretty much right across the street from the little pharmacy in town, and slowly but surely more and more zeds keep coming around buildings, and down the street at us.

Fortunately we’d brought a large enough group to get the tire changed and still cover all our bases. I took up a spot leaning on the hood of one of the Army trucks, and Amanda took up a spot leaning on the bumper of the ambulance. Between the two of us, we kept things pretty safe, except for one moment where two or three zeds came sort of stumbling at us kinda fast when Amanda was reloading her rifle. That was close. Alex and George were also helping, but they haven’t had to deal with so many scary things at the same time before I don’t think. They shot a lot of bullets.

We chewed through too many bullets in that scene though. Every time I heard a gun go off I kept thinking that we were taking too long, and that we were wasting too much ammo. I can just think of how Adrian would’ve chewed our asses off. Too many nervous folks taking too many shots. I think a lot of it came from how the Army guys had to change the tire (or at least do most of the work for us), while us non-Army people were shooting. It was a personnel issue. Looking back on it, yeah, we should’ve swapped out at least one or two people.

We moved on, and from the frying pan, we went into the fire. I want to say it was perhaps five minutes after we left the spot where we changed out the truck’s flat that we heard immediate radio contact from Gavin’s Tower. It was Renee, and she was hooting and hollering that we needed to be on the watch for people who had been attacking the tower for the past night and a half. Later on when I was talking to Mike he said that because the generator went dry on gas during their gunfight, the repeater tower wasn’t amplifying their signal, so we had to get close for them to reach us. I think it also was us getting close enough for them to hear our gunshots too. We’re still piecing together everything now, and it doesn’t make a ton of sense to anyone just yet. It’s hard to think straight after people die.

Immediately we slowed ourselves down even more. Guns went out windows, and we were prepared for an assault by more marauders. I started to wonder if it was people from the Factory, you know the people Adrian started calling “outsiders” but that made no sense. I don’t think we left them with enough guns to really mount a powerful assault on us. Of course now we have confirmed it (more on that in a bit Dad) so it’s a moot point.

Alright so like maybe five minutes later we turned onto the street where the tower is, and we saw a huge part of why they couldn’t radio us. The huge metal gate/door thingy Martin made was crushed into the side of the building like the Hulk had punched it. About a car length or two away from it, was a beat up old pickup that was all messed up. From what we saw, it looked like the truck rammed the gate, smashing it in so the people (read: marauders) could access the tower.

Renee told us that they heard the smash and felt the building shake at about six o’clock the other day, and the whole group of folks ran down or out to balconies to see what was happening. At first they thought it was an earthquake, but when Angela got shot at looking out a balcony, they knew things were bad.

They never found out how many people were involved. I guess when we were there the other day our folks counted eight bodies, which is a lot, and Renee and Angela said there were at least two cars leaving too, and they guessed that there were as many as six more folks who escaped. The people attacking came up the stairs of the building, shooting their way up as fast as they could go, and Dwayne, Renee, and Angela all held firm in a stairway landing where they had good cover. Amen to Mike and Mom for setting up some fallback points in the building. If it weren’t for those, they said they would’ve lost the building in less than an hour.

Because the fighting was so intense, and the generator that powered the whole upper floor area we use regularly was low on gas anyway, things went south. They didn’t have time to get to the radio to tell us what was happening because the shooting was so intense. And because the generator was low on gas to boot, when they DID get to the radio, the repeater tower was out, and they couldn’t get to the spare cans either. It was a total crap situation, and it meant they couldn’t get in touch with us to ask for help.

I guess they held them off for a really long time, and judging by the amount of bullet shells on the floor of the landing, they shot almost every single bullet they had. James said when he took an inventory of their ammunition, they had just 18 bullets left.

That’s like, nothing. That’s like, when we first arrived at school low Dad. If those strange people attacked them with one more big push, they would’ve probably just walked up the stairs, and killed everyone.

Dwayne died. I know many folks won’t complain about this, least of all Alex and George as they caught a lot of his homophobic bullshit, but Dwayne did a really good job at everything he was asked. The Westfield school people were all pretty shook up when news got around that he had been shot during the attack. Not good at all. Renee was all broken up over it, and a bunch of us spent a lot of time consoling her, and trying to make her at least a little better. I don't think we helped.

I guess an hour or two before we headed downtown to “rescue” them, Dwayne was shooting at them from a balcony ledge, and his face in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he got a bullet right through the neck. I saw his body, and it wasn’t pretty at all. Most of his neck was gone entirely, and his head was flopping around like a chunk of meat. His ear was all the way down on his chest.

Gross.

A few of us dragged the bodies out while we refueled the generator and got it started again. Once the tower was up and fully powered, we sent out a quick radio to the Factory to see if they were alright too.

They aren’t doing all that bad, but they are still dealing with a rather large handful of dead folk. Remember how I said they all disappeared from there the other day? I guess a huge group of them passed through last night around dinnertime, and stopped cold, and started trashing everything around the club, trying to get inside. I guess the folks there, skanks and all have been working overtime to keep them from breaking into the windows there. Luckily for them the windows are strong, and have either steel over them, or really thick iron bars. I guess they also pissed through a lot of their bullets, and one of the first things they asked for was more ammo.

Yeah we’ll get right on that. Once we get through all the other crap we’ve got to sort out.

So we’re talking to them, and everyone is kinda staring at each other, wondering what the holy hell is going on, when we get a radio from Hector, who went up on the roof to check on the tower to make sure it was fine. All he says is something like, “Hey, you all better get the fuck up here pronto.”

So a bunch of us run up to the roof, and the moment I see the skyline, I can see what he’s freaking out about. There’s this super black plume of smoke rising into the sky about two or three miles away. At the base of it is a raging inferno at a building. The building was on the far side of town towards where you died Dad, towards STIG.

Mom pointed it out first. Pointed out that it was the last gas station we hadn’t hit yet. The last large reserve of fuel in town other than the gas station Blake pretty much emptied the other day. Well, maybe a month ago now. When he went there with the old Westfield water truck and just filled the damn thing up with high octane. I know I don’t say many nice things about people, but thank God Blake had the smarts and good fricking luck to get all that gas when he did. You know why Dad?

When we looked the other way towards where the second gas station in town was, it was on fire as well. Clear and obvious sabotage. Immediately we figured it was whoever just got done attacking the tower. We figured maybe they had been living in town, or maybe they were a splinter group from the Factory, but the Factory people said everyone was accounted for. So either they are lying to us, or it was a completely random group of people that attacked the tower for no good reason other than to try and take it for their own.

Let’s go over all the bullshit that needs to be done: The tower’s hardened gate/door on the first floor was trashed by that truck, so it needs to be replaced, and Martin says he needs more metal to work with to make that happen.

We need more metal to make that happen.

The tower needed more ammo, so we left Angela, Danny Jr., Hector, and Alex and George there with a large amount of guns and ammo. The folks there right now, the folks I just mentioned, are all armed with AR rifles like mine and Adrian’s so they can shoot a lot of bullets really well if they have to. Hopefully that’ll be enough firepower to dissuade anyone else from trying to attack them. Plus, they are going to radio for help like, immediately if anything sketchy happens.

The Factory needs more ammunition.

Both of the remaining gas stations with any gas left in them were set on fire, and we need to check it out to see if any fuel is still available. If there’s no gasoline, then our generators will be running dry a lot sooner into winter than we are expecting. This could make for a crap winter.

Never mind that our vehicles that run on gasoline will be bent over. I guess the fuel that runs your furnace is diesel, according to Adrian’s writings here, so if we need to, then we’ve got a boatload of that just laying around in the fuel tanks in all the homes across town here. I am going to say that’s awesome news, because it’s the only goodish news we’ve had since all this bullcrap started.

Okay so we like, left all those folks at the tower to hold down the fort, and we started to head home to school. I recall thinking that we’d seen a lot of undead on the roads, and I mention that to mom, and she mentions that to Mike, and we radio back to campus to get Lindsey and Andrea and Jenna and Andrea’s daughter out of the farm on Jones Road and into the campus somewhere. At least inside the new wall we all broke our backs building, they’d be safe, at least until we knew this had all blown over. They were moved into campus when we arrived.

It took us a good long trip back, because when we made it close to Auburn Lake Road, it was THICK with zeds. They must’ve come from the west, from the general direction of Westfield, because we would’ve seen them when we were driving earlier otherwise. It’s like they just… appeared.

This gets more and more strange with every passing hour.

That was two days ago. The… 1st. Yesterday we hunkered down and listened and watched to see if anything would happen. Hector said the gas station fires burned out last that night in town, which sadly tells us there probably is no more gasoline.

The gate on the bridge stood up well to the huge herd of zeds that have been pressing against it since late yesterday afternoon. We are now struggling with a decent strategy on what to do about that. If we start shooting, or if we walk up to the gate and start poking holes in heads, we’re going to be literally waist deep in bodies blocking the single entrance out of here. We’d have to plow them out of the way, and that might wreck the bridge or the outer gate, which would fricking blow. We’re thinking about crossing the river maybe, and luring a whole bunch of them away just to thin it out some.

Not sure yet.

Ollie and Melissa are freaking out over what the heck might be happening to Lenny and the few folks back at Lenny’s farm. If the tower was attacked, and the Factory as well, then there’s no reason to think Lenny escaped the attention of the Devil. Why not right? Evil with intent should be as thorough as anything else, right?

So that’s on our agenda, once we figure out how to get out of here. I know I’m forgetting stuff here Dad, and I’m sorry. I can barely remember what happened yesterday. This is crazy.

Otis is being an asshole too. He keeps jumping on my legs when I am walking around, and he’s managed to scrape a few nice diggers into my legs. Mallory is starting to get angry that the cat is spending all his time with me, but oh well. He likes who he likes. It sucks it’s more me than her, but oh well.

No facts about Adrian. Other than I bet he’d handle this.

Abby

November 6th

I wish I could find more ambition to sit down with this frigging computer and write down bad news. I don’t mind it as much when I have good things to share, but I’ve put off writing for a couple days now mostly because I just don’t want to relive the events of the past few days.

I’m not sure how Adrian has stayed sane so long doing this. I understand that getting things off your chest does help you, but experiencing horrible things, then taking the time to remember them and write them down seems like it’d do more harm than good. Dad, I’m scared that if I keep writing these scary things down, I’ll go crazy. Or at least get angry. I don’t want to be angry again. I spent so many years angry at kids at school, kids in the neighborhood, you and Mom for being good parents, and Randy for being my fucked up little brother. So much useless anger that I feel is past me is coming back because I have so little good to experience and write about. I’m far too young to be this angry. I’m old enough to appreciate that though.

Oh man. I hate this. I have to do this though don’t I? Adrian wants me to carry his torch until he’s back at this, and I can’t NOT do this. I hate being reliable.

The day after I last sat down here to write Dad, we had a huge argument in the morning. Ollie was beside himself talking about how he was scared for his dad back in Westfield. Poor Lenny was back there at the farm, with just Rachael, Kylie, William and Wendy to keep him safe. I know this sounds stupid coming from me Dad, but Will, Wendy, and Kylie are all my age, and they’re not like me, if you get my drift. They’re good people, likeable and stuff, but if it gets dangerous, they didn’t have the benefit of months of working with Adrian to get their skills up to par. Lenny was a veteran, and a lifelong hunter too, so he clearly could take care of things, but…

Ollie, rightfully so I sort of imagine, said that if we didn’t send some kind of group to go at least check on his Dad, he’d stop working. We can’t afford Ollie not working, nor could we deal with an Ollie forced to work and angry at us all, so we mounted up like cowboys and cowgirls in the cars, and we headed out to Westfield. I kinda knew it would suck, but what has to be done, has to be done.

Ever do something and immediately regret it? Like say something and as you’re closing your mouth you realize what you said was bad, and you immediately realize you should NOT have said that? Leaving on this trip felt like that. It took us the better part of an hour to shoot or stab the collected undead at the gate and then clear their bodies out of the way, so that sucked right off the bat.

The roads on the way to Westfield though were clear, all things considered. I mean we had to hit or drive around a little more than usual, but it wasn’t that bad. Compare it to how downtown was the past week or so, it was like a stroll on the beach.

When we arrived near Lenny’s farm though, it didn’t take long for us to realize something horrible had happened there. Lenny’s farm is long. The land runs along a road on the outskirts of town dad. We’ve driven by it at least ten times over the years. On the right side of the property is the long chicken building, and a field, and in the middle is the barn and farmhouse, and on the left are the hay fields, and gardens. In the back is the pasture for the cows that are now all at school.

The farm buildings are all set back from the road about… I dunno, the length of our property was wide at the house. Maybe the length of like, two school buses or so. A good distance off the road. When we turned down the road the farm was on, and drove down past all that fence running along the road to the gate Lenny had at the road’s edge, all we could see was the slow, shambling mass of undead milling about in his yard, and banging on the doors and windows.

I was in the passenger seat of the ambulance with Ollie driving, and he just came to a stop. Everyone behind us stopped as well, and we just sat there. Ollie’s hands were tight enough on the steering wheel that they went white, and you know I’m awful at the whole emotional thing Dad, so I kind of awkwardly leaned over and patted his hand. He smiled at me like his dog had just died and a little girl handed him a lollipop expecting that to be enough to undo the pain. I guess that’s a pretty apt summation of it.

Mike came over the radio right after that, and we made a plan. Make loud noises with guns from where we were, and draw them away from the house. Oh and Lenny never responded to our radio calls, so we had no better idea.

I climbed up on the roof of the ambulance with that .270 I was talking about after Ollie backed us up to the end of the road. We were still plenty close to the zeds for me to hit them consistently, especially with that nice scope. I laid down on the roof of the ambulance started shooting, and everyone else started after I did. It was a huge bloodbath. Dead bodies everywhere. Well, fully dead bodies everywhere. The ones that stay still.

Ollie and I were far enough out that we never had to move the ambulance but the others in the humvees had to back up several times to give them room so as not to get overwhelmed by the dead folks. Like we’ve done over and over and over once the dead had been trimmed down good, we switched over to blunt objects, and finished the remainders off to try and save ammo. I can’t say I am liking the amount of bullets we are using lately. It seems like we’re walking into situations over and over and over where we just pull our triggers until we’re blue in the face. Or purple in the shoulder. As it turns out Dad shooting a .270 for the better part of an hour leaves one HECK of a bruise. No heavy lifting for me for a few days. Better now obviously, but still crap.

After the undead outside the farm were put down, we slowly moved onto the property, and began to yell into the house. Let’s put it this way before I forget: the fences that managed to keep the cows in, couldn’t keep all the zeds out. Many of the wooden beams and wires were broken or knocked over, and the metal swinging gate was busted free too. There were so many zeds, Dad. It was such a bad scene.

We heard some frantic yelling from inside the home, and William and Wendy came running out of the back entrance off the porch that faced the woods and the small pasture. I remember hearing the story of how Gilbert and Adrian met Lenny and Mike for the first time on that porch. Seemed strange to watch our people come running out of it like madmen so long after that. I dunno, weird Dad, just weird.

They had been overrun since the day before around dinner time. I guess the zeds just showed up like a tidal wave right after dark, and they couldn’t deal with the numbers. Lenny and the others used their guns as best they could, but there were just too many. They wound up falling back into the house, and barricading themselves in the basement, which was pretty fortified. Lenny kept his guns down there, and the door was sturdy.

Speaking of Lenny… Lenny was bitten in the rush to get downstairs. A few of the zeds had busted windows and gotten inside, and as they were trying to get into the basement, Lenny was bitten on the arm. It wasn’t a bad bite, but as we know, any bite from a zed is a death sentence. You remember how weird the bites were though? Some people lived for just minutes, others hours, and some days before the bite became infected, or lethal, or whatever you want to call it.

Rachel and Kylie were bitten at the same time, with the same kind of superficial wounds, and both of them went down for the count within a few hours. Lenny was still kicking when we got there, and even managed to keep this wits about him enough to plug the two of them when it needed to be done, then ask Will and Wendy to tie him up so he couldn’t bite them if he turned.

He was still very much alive, and very much tied up when we got there. Only Ollie and Mike went down into the basement to see him. From what Mike said yesterday, all shaken up, Lenny looked really bad. He was gray, and sweating, and his eyes were turning that creepy white color, but he held on until he could say goodbye to his son, and wish his nearly arrived grandchild well wishes. I guess he and Ollie sat there talking for maybe ten minutes while the rest of us either pulled security, or searched the house and barns for danger. I was in the kitchen when Ollie came back up, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. Ollie made it to the kitchen table and collapsed into the heavy chair, sobbing.

I went to him. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, but I stood with him, my hand on his shoulders, and we were quiet until the gunshot came up the stairs from the basement. Mike did what needed to be done. Ollie stopped crying immediately, wiped his eyes clear, took a deep breath, and walked out the door. Mike came back up and just looked at me with red, tear filled eyes and walked out after Ollie. Mike’s eyes were so filled with pain Dad. I can’t even explain it. Those three went through a lot together when Westfield was just Westfield.

I can watch a movie with sadness, death, destruction, and I feel zilch. I get the emotion they are conveying, I am just never moved by it. I can watch my girlfriends cry and cry, and I don’t crack. I just stay strong, and be the person who listens. But seeing him cry like that, right after Ollie had lost it, sent me into a tailspin. Watching such strong men, such strong friends of mine deal with such amazingly close and powerful loss hit me like a train. It probably didn’t help that I liked Lenny too. I sat down in Ollie’s chair and had myself a real good cry. Biggest cry since Gavin died and Adrian walked in on me in his room.

When I got my shit back together, I went out and helped everyone get everything ready. Ollie and Mike said the farm was to be abandoned. Everything had been relocated to school, and with the snow spitting at night already, there was little the land could offer us that required us to be there for. We all cleaned the place out of things that were usable, and things that Ollie wanted, and within eight hours, we were gone. I left with Ollie in the ambulance and after we left the rest of the folks took the bodies out and burnt them in one of the small sheds. It served as a… what’d Adrian call them? Oh yeah. It served as a good pyre.

Sad stuff. We got back late that night, the… 4th I think. Yesterday we spent here on campus patrolling the walls a LOT more diligently, and posting two guards on the gate because if we don’t, the incoming zeds stack up too fast. We’ve had the fires burning out at staff housing for days now, keeping the bodies off the bridge, and this is getting silly. We are opening the gate every three or four hours during daylight to remove the bodies so we have a clear means of escape, and the zeds keep coming. We’re now thinking about posting advanced shooting people down the road so we can thin them out away from school.

We’re also all worried about the living people who attacked the tower the other day. Hector and Angela said there were no signs of anyone moving anywhere near them since that day, but who knows when and if they’ll be back. Mike says he hopes they got their noses bloodied enough to stay the hell away, and I hope that’s the case. I’m really hoping that is the case. It’d be nice if they took their shot, failed, and then disappeared into oblivion.

If there’s a wish fairy out there, now would be the OPTIMUM TIME to pay attention to us.

Speaking of wishes, Adrian is still down and out, though stable. One thing I am worried about is Mallory. She’s not spending nearly as much time near him as she was before, and I am wondering why. I get that it is boring, but you’d think with the man in her life on his “deathbed” she’d want to be near him all the time. I guess it might be that she’s out doing stuff to keep busy and keep her mind off things, but I dunno. I got a weird feeling about it. I might talk to her in a day or two to see what’s up.

Speaking of our intrepid first author here, Adrian is a big fan of video games that aren’t violent. He loves stuff like Mario Brothers, and Tetris, and Prince of Persia. He claims it is because he has so much violence in his day to day life, but if you saw his face when he played Tetris, it’s clearly because he is a simpleton.

I have more I can write about yesterday, but I volunteered to take the early morning shift on the gate, and there’s always a huge pile of bodies they’ve bludgeoned to death overnight now, and I’ve been at this for two hours already. I need to crash. Love you Dad.

Abby

November 8th

I have a headache. It is sitting right below my eyes like I’ve got a pair of knitting needles pressing against my cheekbones. It hurts so bad, and I’ve already taken some Tylenol, and it hasn’t done anything at all for the pain.

Having taken a large amount of medication already, I am leaning towards the idea that this headache might be caused by stress, and worry, and fear. Dad don’t worry, it won’t kill me. It might drive me up a wall before the night is out, but I will be alive up that wall, complaining about things going on in the world. Or more accurately, complaining about things going on here at school.

And let me tell you Dad, there are a lot of things still going on here. Whoever came up with the saying “no rest for the wicked” had that crap on lock down. They knew what was up. I’m saying we’re wicked as well. We are clearly not the kind of people that should make it to heaven, if heaven even exists anymore.

Gavin’s tower was attacked again, though it was a half hearted attack by a group of people smaller than the first time. Hector and Angela saw them coming because they’ve been posting much more attentive guard, and as soon as Angela recognized the car from the first attack, she started shooting. Angela is a damn good shot, and I guess within a minute or two of her putting bullets into the windshield of the first car coming their way, they stopped, bailed out of the car bleeding, and left in the second car they brought.

Angela said she saw two men get up and leave in the rear car. About five minutes after they left, she saw two more men get out of the first car too, but they were dead, and she had to shoot them in the head. I guess her first few shots weren’t head shots. Can’t all be winners.

Unlike last time Hector radioed us to let us know they were under attack, and we all got ready to go to their aid if things got even slightly hairy. We would’ve had to kill a few undead at the gate to get out, but it could’ve been achieved fairly quickly if push came to shove. We weren’t about to wait a moment longer than we needed to if they needed help.

No one has any good theories on who the hell these random jerks are. If they were locals, I’d imagine we would have come across them before now. We’re also not sure how they found the tower, and decided to attack it. We’ve got tons of theories, but no proof or evidence for anything. I’m wondering if they simply saw the lights on the top floor some night, and were desperate enough to make a run at it. Food is certainly getting short out there, and with the cold weather coming in hard right now, I’d imagine a lot of people are in the whole “oh sweet Britney Spears, what do I do?” I’m really scared to think of other reasons why a small group of survivors would suddenly make a big rush at us.

Desperation is a scary thing. It’ll make people do a lot of things they wouldn’t otherwise.

It’s been quiet since then down there. Not as quiet here, though for different reasons.

Lindsey has been going loopy since yesterday after the tower attack, which was right before dinner. We were sitting at the dinner table in Hall B, where I’ve been eating lately, and Melissa gets this funny face like she’s choking on something. Since Ollie’s Dad died Ollie has been sort of out of it, staring off into space, but when he looked over at her, he immediately turned to her and put his hand on her huge ass belly. Somehow he knew.

It was Melissa’s first contraction. I guess that’s the sign she’s about to pop. She’s had a couple more since then, but they’ve been spaced out over large blocks of hours, which I also guess is normal. Having never been knocked up before, I can’t attest to the accuracy of Lindsey’s pregnancy assertions, but I’d wager she’s more educated than I am. Doesn’t take much to know more than someone who doesn’t know anything.

Melissa took it all in stride, as did Ollie. I’m starting to think Ollie’s time as a farm boy will be a huge asset when his woman gives birth. I’m betting Ollie has been around more than one birthing, and as different as a calf being born might seem, I’m wager that he has some pretty applicable skills. Like not freaking out, for one. Lindsey is laying eggs wherever she goes over this.

I do believe, verily so, that she’s also super worried about Adrian. He’s still pretty much unchanged, smiles now and then and all, and that if something happens to him while we’re doing Melissa’s labor, she’s probably worried we’ll lose something, or someone. Not sure though, that’s me just speculating.

Some of the kids here at school have started to argue and fight a lot, and it has taken one or two adults out of the work schedule to keep a better eye on them. We’re doing the best we can to keep them sort of out of the loop on the danger we seem to be in, but there are conversations happening everywhere, and it’s not like they haven’t seen us carry loads of bodies to the back of campus to staff housing lately. They aren’t stupid, and I’m sure the stress of this is getting to them.

It’s scary to watch a kid freak out. I’m starting to see and feel how you and Mom were when Randy threw one of his tantrums when he was pissed at something or someone. It’s hard to watch a kid struggle with life, especially when you want so badly for them to be happy, and successful. You want them to feel safe, and protected, and loved, and sometimes when you can’t give that to them, it’s heartbreaking. Tough stuff. I need to give you and Mom far more credit.

What else? Oh yeah. The big one. So remember how I said I was talking about how Mallory had been different lately? How she’d been spending less and less time by Adrian’s side, and out and about doing stuff. Despite being a bit of a social outcast, I’m super nosy, and frequently I can’t stay out of interesting business, so this morning when she was making a small breakfast for herself downstairs here in Hall E, I turned to her and just asked her how she was doing.

She thought about it, and said she was okay. I called her bluff and said I thought she might be doing sort of crappy, and I was wondering how she felt about Adrian, and if it was getting to her and all that. I actually said a lot more than that, but I really don’t feel like writing it all down because I’m tired, and most of what I’d write is girl talk. You know, the kind of meaningless banter you exchange while you’re warming the conversation up for the good stuff. There might be a few feelings involved too. You heard Mom and I exchange quite a bit of it I’d imagine Dad. It's a girl thing.

Needless to say after my "skilled" manipulation, we sat down for some scrambled eggs and pancakes and some of our dwindling supply of orange juice, and she shared something that I found a little surprising. Well, she didn’t share so much as she talked and thought out loud and I listened.

She isn’t sure she loves Adrian. In fact, after listening to her, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t. She also doesn’t want to sit here trying to be the good girlfriend to make his family feel better knowing that soon after he wakes up, she’ll probably be wanting to talk to him about ending their relationship. The sex is good, and he’s a good guy, but he’s intense, and busy, and we all know that he will be putting himself into harm’s way on a regular basis, and that’s a LOT to have on your plate. I know I struggled with the danger Gavin put himself in, and he had NOTHING on what Adrian does on a regular basis. Mallory’s stress must be crazy.

Add in the whole “dreaming of the dead” and “possible savior of mankind” and “target of pure evil” stuff, and the guy is practically undateable. Granted, he’s good looking, smart, in great shape, loyal, funny, and one of the few men left in the world (biggest selling point for him frankly), but that’s a lot of baggage to carry despite all the good things he puts on the table.

I can’t blame her. God help me Dad for kind of agreeing with her, but I can see where she is coming from. She’s cool, and I think they are a decent enough couple, but I think being with him scares her, and keeps her awake late. I mean hell Dad, when he’s not out there killing and almost being killed, he sits on this damn laptop writing for hours and hours updating it on our activities regularly. It’s a strange life to lead being his woman.

I didn’t have good advice for her. I stuck by Gavin, and dealt with it, and it got me a dead boyfriend, and more heartbreak than I can describe. She can’t put her foot down to Adrian though. She can’t say; choose me. He is quite literally a man on a mission, and I know if she gives him an ultimatum, she’ll be the one that gets the door, not doing what he does for all of us. He will almost always look at the greater good. He’s consistent like that.

I think when we left the conversation off this morning she was trying to figure out if it would be better to “dump” him while he was still out, and talk to his family about it, or just wait until he wakes up and tell him in person.

The choice could be very important in the long run. We’ll see I guess.

A team of folks is headed to the gas stations in the next day or so to see if we can put together what happened with the explosions. I’m betting it was the people who attacked the towers.

Abby

November 10th

I’m really surprised at how cold it’s gotten the past week or two. Maybe I’m spoiled by being outside so much all this summer, but dang Dad, it’s chilly out there. Adrian has this big red thermometer mounted on a tree outside the dorm here and it’s holding steady at about 50 to 55 degrees during the day, and at night, it’s halves. Frost everywhere in the morning. It’s also making the night watches tough, but we need to adapt. It’s only going to get worse.

I got a nice big scratch on my forearm earlier today when we went downtown to check out the gas stations. I’m overdue for injury really. I should’ve suspected it. Everyone else around here is always breaking fingers and toes, or cutting themselves, or getting burnt on something, and other than the missing finger I have, I always seem to skate through. Heck, even Adrian has been shot twice.

That probably wasn’t the best thing to say eh? Dad I miss that guy. Doc Lindsey said he’s stable, and she thinks that she’ll be ready to operate on him within a couple days. We’re talking over whether or not we should move him down to the clinic downtown there the facilities are more appropriate, but moving him is enough of a problem as it is. The little clinic here might not be perfect, but it’ll do. Besides, what do we have to lose? He’s just the leader of our group, and an all around super duper fella that might end all this nonsense.

I’m jaded because my arm hurts. I can’t make this a long entry because my wrist where the cut is has been rubbing on the edge of the laptop, and it’s starting to get all stingy and raw. No fun.

A large group of us went downtown today to swing by the three gas stations. What we found was really quite surprising. Actually, that’s horsepucky. What we found was pretty standard.

Zombies. Zeds fricking everywhere. Each of the gas stations had a mob surrounding the smoldering wreckage of the pumps at least ten deep, and entirely encircling the whole place. It was like a free cocaine table at a rave. When we drove around the few building to approach the gas station we were shocked to see the huge mob of zeds there. It was crazy. We hadn’t seen that many undead anywhere in a really long time, and I think we all kinda sorta froze up trying to pick our jaws up from our laps. Luckily, Martin and I were in the ambulance in the front of the pack, and after a few seconds of making a plan, we drove straight into the crowd and started bulldozing.

I’m really impressed by Martin. He’s a pretty cool cucumber now when it gets a little dicey, and the dude just KNOWS stuff. Like, how to fix things, and make things, and break things. If it weren’t for him and Blake, we’d be struggling so much harder. It’s funny how the jobs that made tons of money before are useless, and the jobs that paid kinda crappy are super important. The investment banker? He's useless. That housewife that knows how to bake bread? She's priceless.

Needless to say, we spent an hour or two driving around and through the gas station running zeds over, and shooting a few, and then getting out to bash heads in. It was just too large a group to leave, and we wanted to get out to investigate. I’m displeased to announce that we discovered no real evidence of anything. No bomb parts, no smoking gun, nada!

The remaining gas stations that were on fire the other night had exactly the same thing going on. A hundred walking dead pawing at them like they were fresh meat factories. I think we left school here at like, maybe 9am? Maybe 8am? I forget now, but we didn’t get back here until after dark, sometime around 6 or 7. We were out there putting down zeds until we were blue in the face from exhaustion and cold. Quite a few of us will be sipping on hot cups of bad canned soup tonight to warm up and get some nutrients into our bodies. I know I am, sore wrist and all.

The trip into town tonight was not only dangerous, but discouraging. We were looking for answers, and got none. We were hoping town would be mostly clear of the dead, and it was surprisingly full of them. We were hoping for an injury free day, and a few of us came back dinged up. We were hoping for something good to happen, and the only thing good that did happen, was us killing all those zombies.

Blech! What a crap day.

I’m tired and cranky, and I want to go to bed. Adrian is a stickler for taking good care of ourselves when we’re hurt. He’s a freak when it comes to infection, and whenever any of us gets a cut or scrape, he’s all up in our faces about making sure we clean it out properly, and put antibiotic ointment on it and bandages and stuff. I’ve picked up the habit as well, and it is time for me to take care of this scratch before it gets infected. I’m sure it’ll be enough of a bitch without getting infected to boot.

You know what I just remembered from earlier?

Hm. Bothering.

I can remember seeing a lot of zeds dead on the ground, burnt to a crisp. More than just a handful at each gas station, I remember seeing them. Clear as day now that I think about it.

That means… That means the zeds were there when the places exploded.

Why would a zombie be hanging out at an abandoned gas station?

Hm.

Abby

November 13th

Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote anything Dad. My arm has gotten a little infected, and it’s really sore right now. Doc Lindsey said I’ll be fine, but it’s puffy, red, and it hurts like hell to use at the moment. Typing is the worst too. It’s like resting my arm on a row of tacks that are dipped in lemon juice. Super stingy and sore.

Having said that, I will keep this short.

Melissa’s contractions are tightening, and Lindsey is now thinking she’s gonna pop within a day or two. I’m super duper excited for the two of them! It’s so cool to see them all happy and excited, and scared, and getting the last little bits of Hall B ready for the baby. Blake and Kim are also super happy too to have another set of parents in the same building. I bet they are NOT excited to have another crying baby though.

BABIES! Fun!

Of course I am NOT the one taking care of them, so babies are fun for me. I bet the whole “raising a kid” thing is far more work and pain than I could possibly realize, and I’m okay with that. Currently I am not in the position to start squirting little Williams babies out, which I’m sure pleases you to no end Dad. Although, you would probably have loved a grandkid. Especially seeing as how I know you and Mom thought I was a lesbian for a few years there. Can’t say that I blame you. I didn’t like boys and the crap they bring for a very long time.

Um so yeah, off topic much?

Not much new here. Gavin’s tower is doing okay, though they are pretty much always surrounded by a few zeds. They’ve taken to dropping large bricks like the Factory does, and with a few day’s practice, they are now hitting pretty accurately. I guess Danny is a great shot with concrete blocks, and he’s managed to kill something around 20 zeds that way. Talented kid. We should invent a professional block dropping league just for him. Where did he get the concrete blocks from? Did he carry them all the way up all those flights of stairs, or were they already on the roof?

The gas stations are history, but I already said that. Blake is pretty sure we’ll be okay for gas for the generators for some time, but we’re working with some pretty harsh electricity conservation here. We run the generators for two hours a night ONLY, and only overnight to power the furnaces when it drops below 40 degrees. Otherwise, we’re screwed.

Well that’s not true. We’ve got a LOT of wood stoves now, and with all the logging we did to build the wall that surrounds school now, we’ve got a huge stockpile of dry wood to burn. Blake and Martin are still saying it isn’t enough for the winter, but I can’t see how they’re right. There’s so much wood. They’re now working on a plan to head into the woods near here to chop down trees solely for the purpose of heating. It seems like so much work.

Blake is doing well by the way. He still winces with pain from his gut shot near the factory, and it's still pink and healing, but he seems well. Taking it easy most of the time, and for him, that's good.

Adrian is also stable. He’s isn’t bleeding, and he’s got a feeding tube now because we couldn’t keep using all the IV bags. We’re down to something like 20 bags, which sounds like a lot, but apparently isn’t. I guess Lindsey put the same kind of tube in Adrian that she put in Blake, so she had experience, and I guess it went well. Supposedly the tube will be okay for a week or maybe two, so that’s kind of a good thing.

The kind of bad thing, is what do we do in two weeks when the tube has to go? Use the rest of our IV bags on Adrian, or do we stop feeding him, or do we operate? Lindsey is still getting closer, but I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever be ready.

So we’ll be outside of the school walls for the next few days as we cut down trees for wood. I think the zeds will be manageable, as the influx has slowed to a trickle. I think the gas station explosions, and our huge purge at those gas stations cut into the new surge we’ve been dealing with. Scary stuff.

Tired now. Gonna nap with Otis.

Oh crap, I almost forgot. Mallory decided to tough it out, and stay “with” Adrian until he wakes up. She figured the alternative was shitty, and she also figured she’d wait until he was up and about to see if her feelings changed about the whole affair. Smart I think.

I’m out. See you later Dad.

Abby

November 16th

Alright. I don’t know what is happening, but things are definitely getting ramped up at every place we have people. Earlier today around dinner time the gate radioed to everyone that about forty undead had shuffled their way down the road, and were pressing themselves against the gate. By the time we all gathered at the gate to start to make a plan about what to do about it, at least a hundred more had started to fill the road and bridge.

What makes that situation worse, is that many of them walked directly into the water, and disappeared under the surface. I thought dead bodies floated. These ones do NOT. About two hours after they disappeared under the surface of the water, some of them started to walk ashore on this side of the bridge, and now they’re scratching at the log wall, trying to get inside. Olllie’s gate is holding strong still, but it’s only a matter of time before it gives. More and more zeds are coming down the road, and literally coming out of the woods as well. They’ve never come from anywhere but the road.

This is a whole new ballgame , Dad. Not cool.

Gavin’s tower is starting to be surrounded as well. Angela just radioed and said there are about thirty or forty of the bastards scraping at the bottom floor trying to get inside. They’re out of bricks and stones at the moment too, and they’re low enough on ammo that they can’t really shoot their way out. We need to find a way out of here to help them, but we aren’t sure how we’re going to kill 150+ zeds right now.

The Factory is also surrounded, though not that bad yet. We’re afraid to ask them to come to our aid though, because how bad is it where we can’t see? Plus, we have little faith in their combat ability as Mike says. We already killed most of their decent shooters.

Not frigging cool.

We’re freaking out. I’m freaking out. Oh and to make matters worse, Adrian’s feed tube is all fucked up, and Lindsey had to take it out. He’s back on IV bags, but like we said, we don’t have many left. It’s do or die time for him.

Literally.

I’ll write more when I know more. I’m headed out to the gate to figure out a plan.

Abby

The Road to Bastion

“I don’t fucking believe this. Every single approach to the city is ruined. Who the fuck made the calls on where to bomb? This is a joke. Look at the goddamn cars trying to get out of the city. What the hell?” Kevin said in smoldering anger. They’d spent the last three days skirting Boston, trying to find a way to get to where his mother lived, but every path heading into the east coast city was destroyed by bombs, or blocked completely by massive roadblocks.

Fitz was standing next to Kevin, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Kevin had been furious for days as they struggled to find a way to get to his mother in the ruined city. “Kev brother I’m sorry. But we can’t stay here. This is not gonna work for us. The zeds are crawling everywhere. Look over the side of the damn bridge. We gotta move and soon or we’ll be so surrounded we’ll need every bullet to shoot our way off this bridge.”

Kevin looked around. The entire team was parked and standing on what remained of the Leonard P. Zakim Bridge just north of downtown Boston. The center of the bridge had enormous holes blasted through it straight down to the surface streets and water below. The holes had been created by massive bombs that could only have been dropped by American forces. Bombs that had probably been dropped to stop the spreading of the undead menace. Bombs that had stopped nothing but the ability of the living to escape from the city center.

Kevin looked over at the Bunker Hill Monument off in the distance in Charlestown and took a deep breath. The thin stone spike rose high above the neighborhood that grew around it. It was a memorial of the American Revolution and stood as a reminder that this had once been a place where a great battle had been fought. Few people knew the monument was actually built on the wrong hill. Kevin wondered silently if the monument would soon stand as a memorial to a dead city, and a dead nation. He thought about all the other important historical places around the world that marked locations that would never matter again. The battle of Bunker Hill didn't matter anymore. Would never matter again.

“What’s the plan Caucasians?” Harold, the British Marine asked as he walked up beside the two older men. Harold’s dark skin shined in the pale November sun. He looked like he was sweating despite the cool chill in the afternoon air.

Kevin took off his well-worn white baseball cap and ran his fingers through his lengthening hair. He desperately needed a shave, but they had been moving constantly for days, and hadn’t made the time for hygiene beyond wiping themselves down with salvaged baby wipes. He looked over at Harold after seating his cap back on. “Well Hal, the way Fitz sees it, we need to move right now, or we’re fucked. I guess he’s right. I can’t imagine my mother is still alive anyway, and I’ve spent far too damn long with us driving around trying to find a dead body. Selfish prick aren’t I? Sorry guys. Where the hell do we head from here?”

Neither of the men had a good answer, and after a minute of silence, they followed Kevin as he headed back to the ramshackle convoy of vehicles the group had been using since they arrived back in the States. Kevin would consult the others, and the group would make a plan for at least the night. Much beyond that was beyond their ken.

*****

People were unhappy.

“Where is this Gavin guy Michelle? The guy from your dream that is supposed to lead us to this damn promised land? The frigging Soul, or whatever? We’ve been here for months now. It’s almost halfway through November and nothing. We aren’t going to be able to move on the roads once the snow really starts to fall. There are no plows anywhere, and we’ve got to start settling down somewhere. We need to start making a real frigging plan soon.” Jaden, the leader of the Air Force para-rescue team said over the small fire they had lit in the small office they’d taken over for the night. They were on the second floor of a small office building half an hour outside of Boston. It was still incredibly urban there, but the zombies were spread out acceptably thin, and they’d been able to get into the building without attracting too much attention. It helped that the men had suppressed firearms to kill quietly.

Michelle sat on the floor with her knees tucked under her chin, trying to conserve her warmth as best she could. “Jaden I wish I knew. All I know is the old man Gilbert and the young man Gavin said they would find us somewhere near the east coast. It could be any day, or next year for all we know.” Michelle pulled the small military blanket up over her knees and huddled underneath it. It would be another cold night. The cold always made people unhappy.

Becky and her daughter Shelby sat beside Michelle, huddled up with Kevin. Michelle smiled at the three people who she’d grown close to. They were a very impromptu family, but a loving one nonetheless. Sometimes great things can grow out of tragedy.

Joel, one of Jaden’s special operations men screwed a long pipe-like suppressor onto his pistol and sat it down on a rag. He’d just cleaned and reassembled it for the umpteenth time. The weapon had seen heavy use lately. “Well we need to assume that we aren’t going to be contacted by anyone, so we need to start thinking about a safe place we can secure that’s near water, and can sustain us. Food is a major concern right now. We’ve only got maybe two more weeks of MREs and that’s assuming we stay on two a day. We could go to one a day soon but that’s gonna suck.”

Everyone agreed with his reasoning.

Quan, the Vietnamese operator that had worked for Kevin before the end of the world, spoke up with his heavy accent. “What if we go into the mountains? Or to the lakes? Drive very far. A few days of driving at least. Some small town. Less people means less dead people. More animals to hunt, more land to farm.”

Everyone also agreed with his reasoning.

After thinking, Kevin finally added his two cents, “The highways seem fairly clear near here. We can make good time heading out. Maybe find a town off the interstate. A few towns off the interstate. We find a place large enough for us to all live in with land nearby. Something industrial maybe like an old grocery store, or a school. Maybe not a grocery store. Too much glass to protect. Something sturdy and large. We can build some walls fairly fast, or maybe even just relocate some fencing. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Once the snow falls the undead will be hamstrung and it’ll likely be a lot safer for us.”

“That’s all true Kevin, but don’t forget, that snow also means we can’t run for shit either. We need to get our hands on a plow. One of the big state operated ones if possible. You and I both know that the vehicles we are driving by now are total shit. All the batteries are dead. Half the gas tanks are water logged, and the rest are drained dry. There’s dry rot to contend with, and most of the tires are flat as fuck,” Jaden said, his hands rubbing at the stump of his missing leg. He'd just taken off his prosthetic and after a long day of being on his feet, he was always uncomfortable. It was a testament to his strength that he was even able to move now with just the single leg and the ramshackle false leg he used.

“Doesn’t change the fact that we need a plow does it? We’ll make it happen. Bitching about it won’t change shit. Tomorrow I think we should head out, maybe west so we can stay near the coast, but also head more towards the center of the country. I know some of you guys have been talking about maybe leaving the group to head home to find your families. Maybe that’ll help you if you decide to do that.”

Several of the men present nodded. Each had loved ones they desperately wanted to find, but they also didn’t want to leave their friends and fellow servicemen behind. If anything, the bond they shared here was still quite firm, and quite tangible. Leaving this group might be more painful than they realized.

Kevin tested his idea again. “So if everyone is cool with that, we head out at first light and start moving. When we get a day or so out of the city, we’ll start looking for towns to set up in.”

No one argued, and so it was settled.

*****

Joel calmly walked from window to window in the upstairs offices of the building the group had fortified hastily earlier that night. It was far from perfect, but still better than some of the places they’d had to stay at since they arrived in the States. They'd stayed at abandoned factories, strip malls, a ransacked hotel on the side of a state route, and more than one pillaged restaurant. Anyplace they thought would be safe enough for a night. They had been traveling like that for months now, since the end of June, and it had been tough on the group.

The roads were a mess. There were innumerable accidents in the streets and on the highways. Undead were spread across the land so thick in some places it was easier to turn their vehicles around than drive into the mass and risk injury or damage to their vehicles. Almost every single living person they came across was the shoot first, ask questions later type as well. It didn't help them that they were in military-issued humvees either. They’d found no friends on their journey thus far.

To transport all the contents of the MC-130 they’d flown from the Azores to the suburbs of Boston where they were, the group had to commandeer a pair of small box trucks from a beer distribution facility in Maine. Fortunately, the beer was still on site at the warehouse, and most of it was still in date, and drinkable. A day or two spent there celebrating their successful landing at the Bangor airport, and they moved out. Travel was slow. In addition to the undead, and terrible roads, both box trucks broke down on separate occasions, and they had to hit nearly every single town on the way to scour for fuel. Diesel was gone from almost every station, and the men took to siphoning fuel from home heating oil tanks. Their fuel needs became so consistent with the four vehicles that two weeks ago, when they found an abandoned and empty fuel truck at a gas station, they took the time to fix it, and get it running again. After they spent the entirety of three days filling it, they were now the proud owners of a truck filled with almost 7,000 gallons of Diesel. Aside from being a rolling bomb, it made their lives much easier.

Joel cradled his rifle and walked as silently as he could from window to window, watching for threats on the ground outside their sanctuary. He checked his watch and noted that the time was half past three in the morning. Another half hour and he’d be waking Roger up to take watch. Joel padded over to the smooth glass window that faced east and looked down at the parking lot, searching out for anything that was dangerous. He took a sharp breath when saw that there were a handful of undead that hadn't been there on his last pass. He flipped down his night optics off the front of his helmet and did a quick scan. Nine upright dead bodies, all standing out in the open area of a parking lot. Joel continued to watch as he gauged the threat, and tried to formulate a plan to deal with them. As he did so, they began to move in a peculiar way.

Joel’s mouth opened in amazement when he saw them gather into three groups of three, and come to a perfect stillness, looking directly up at him. Joel turned and bolted for the room the others were sleeping in. Three groups of three. This was clearly a message from on-high.

*****

Some time later the group gathered in the upstairs office to look at the spectacle outside.

“And they just stopped moving when they grouped up into three groups of three like this? And then they all looked right up here at you?” Kevin asked as he looked out the window at the nine frozen undead.

“Yeah. Just like I said. I remember the three fires, and the whole three thing. It was far too creepy and weird to be a coincidence. Shit guys they are still there. Look, they are still looking at us right now. And they aren’t doing anything. Hell, it’s been almost an hour. That seem normal to you?” Joel said back somewhat frustrated.

Michelle spoke, “This is not normal. This is clearly a sign for us. To what end, I don’t know. We’re supposed to see this. Maybe this is a sign that we are on the right track?”

“That’d be a pleasant change of pace. This wandering bullshit is getting dangerous and old,” Jaden said from his spot leaning against the window. His crude prosthetic leg was still causing him soreness.

Far off in the distance on the streets of the large town they were in the group picked up on the glow of artificial lights. It was the first sign of living people they’d seen in weeks. Michelle flinched as every weapon safety in the room clicked off simultaneously. It was a sound she dreaded.

“Cover and firing positions,” Kevin said as he dropped slowly to a knee. He fully expected the approaching vehicle to be hostile. Every other vehicle had been.

As the headlights grew closer and more intense Kevin watched as the nine undead stood firm. Normally the undead would turn and immediately move towards light and noise but instead these nine held their footing, and paid no attention to the vehicle. Kevin looked over to Michelle and saw that she saw the same. This vehicle was also no coincidence. They were meant to see it. They had been drawn to this window, at precisely this time to see it.

“It’s a humvee. No turret. Looks like guard maybe,” Roger, one of Jaden’s para-rescue men said. He was looking through the night optics on his bolt-action rifle.

“Someone grab a fucking radio fast. Let’s try and get them on the horn,” Kevin said. Fitz, his older right hand man was already on it.

Fit got the radio turned on and hit the transmit button on his collar. He spoke with urgency. “Unidentified military humvee, please identify yourself immediately. You have come in to our perimeter and are in our line of fire. Please respond immediately.” He avoided normal protocol for fear that the vehicle might be driven by someone who wasn’t even in the military. This far along, who knew who was driving what.

In the distance the vehicle slowed to a crawl, and came to a stop a few seconds later. The headlamps turned off and the streets went black again. Only the men in the office with night vision could see the truck as it sat there, strangely menacing in the center of a narrow street. The lights going out was a bad sign.

The radio cackled to life with a response. It was a female voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. We aren’t here to shoot anyone or steal anything. We’re looking for a few people. We thought they’d be near here.”

Fitz looked around at the group but most of them had their eyes fixed behind the sights of their weapons. Kevin looked over his shoulder at Fitz and reached out to take the small handset off Fitz’s shoulder. The older operator leaned to his friend so the cord didn't yank him.

“Who are you looking for ma'am? Are friends of yours lost?” Kevin was intrigued by the woman’s statement, but also wondered if this was a ploy to get them off their guard.

“I don’t think you’d believe me,” she said calmly, almost with half a laugh in her voice.

“I think you’d be surprised what we would believe ma'am. We’ve been around and seen some stuff of late.” Kevin smirked.

“Well, we’re here at the request of a dead man, and a man that’s almost dead. They thought we’d be able to find the two people that could complete a trinity of people. We’ve been looking for weeks in this area, and we haven’t found them yet. “

Michelle perked up visibly as she turned to Kevin. Kevin smiled at her as felt a wave of relief come over him. Finally they had found their messenger.

“Ma'am what’s your name? My name is Kevin, I’m what passes for a leader with my group.”

“My name is Angie, and my boyfriend here, while he’s here, is Raef. This may sound strange, but is there any chance you know where two people are that might be calling themselves members of The Trinity? It's important that we get a message to them.”

“Angie I have been called the Warden. One of my associates here has been called the Savior. We are the people you are looking for. Now if you give us a few minutes to sort out the nine zombies that are arranged in three groups of three outside our door, we’d be happy to set up a meeting with you. Wait…” Kevin paused, “What do you mean when you say your boyfriend while he’s here? He leaving shortly? Does he have a flight to catch?

“It’s very complicated. His health is… well, lacking. Be careful with those dead people. If you start making noise, you’ll bring an army of them down on us.”

Kevin smiled as he watched several of his men screw suppressors onto their pistols. “I don’t think noise will be too much of a concern Angie. Sit tight. As much as I want to trust you, we’ve had some issues with unfriendly people of late, so if you start moving about being sketchy, we will light you up. We’ll find another messenger if we have to. Nothing personal.”

“Roger that. You know, you remind me a lot of the guy that’s looking for you. That’s funny,” Angie said.

Kevin couldn’t resist, “What’s his name?”

“Adrian Ring.”

Kevin was at a loss for words. He laughed out loud in the office and all of his friends looked at him. The potential savior of mankind, and the person they'd traveled halfway around the world to try and find was an old Army buddy, and great friend of his.

It was a day of conspicuous coincidences.

*****

After dispatching the nine zombies in the parking lot with suppressed weapons the group summoned the humvee to the same spot. They asked for Angie and her boyfriend Raef to step out of the truck with only side arms. They came out unarmed entirely, which spoke to their genuine cause.

Michelle greeted them with large, warm hugs. She embraced Angie first, and Raef second. As soon as she took Raef into her arms, she recoiled, surprised. “You’re deathly cold," she said to him. "Are you ill?”

Raef smiled warmly, and Michelle felt a small surge of life come from him. “Oh no ma'am. I’m dead.”

Now that she was closer she could see that Raef was indeed not alive, but not like the zombies that infested the world. He was sunken with dark circles under his equally dark eyes, and his skin was as gray as ash. His hair was short, cut like a military man's and his scalp looked almost like bone. He stared with an intensity that came from seeing things people were never meant to see. He was a wraith. Michelle backed away as most of the men standing quietly in the rising light of dawn drew their weapons once more and aimed them directly at Raef’s head. They all knew where to shoot if they had to.

Kevin talked to the young man over the sights of his handgun. “Dead? Perhaps you could be more elaborate young man. We’ve had a lot of experience with the dead walking around, and you don’t seem to fit the bill.”

Raef smiled once more, expecting the reaction he was getting. “I imagine you’re quite nervous. Despite what I look like I assure you though I’m no harm. I’ve been sort of drafted to run errands for someone I think she knows.” Raef pointed to Michelle.

“Who?” Michelle asked.

“Gilbert? I believe you know him. He’s dead. You already knew that. Originally his plan was to have Gavin meet you, but his girlfriend is really busy right now, and he couldn’t get her attention to make this happen. It was a bit of strange fucked-up luck that I died and Angie didn’t. I didn’t believe any of this. I thought it was all bullshit but here I am," Raef said, shrugging. "I died. And now I’m back. Sent back down the tunnel of light to get some stuff done I guess you could say. Of course now that we’ve found you, I think my time here is almost up.” Raef looked to his young girlfriend with those dark, deep eyes. He saw that his words cut her, but it was wasn’t news for them. His time on Earth again was borrowed.

“So you’re an intelligent zombie?” Kevin said as some of the men put their guns away. Others kept their weapons at the ready.

“No. I’m more of what I’d call a ghost. We can muster enough strength for me to be here for a few hours a day, but it takes a whole lot of effort. I don’t think we could do it without Adrian helping too. Mixed blessing that he got shot like he did.”

“Shot? What’re you talking about shot? Is he dead?” Michelle asked in a panic.

“Not dead. He’s in a coma. We think he got shot in the neck. He’s been down for… weeks now. Time is getting short for him though. Every day he slips a little further towards never coming back. They need you, and fast.”

"Who is 'they?'" Kevin asked.

"I'll get to that. Well, Angie will get to that. I suspect she'll have to fill you in on a lot of the details," Raef said.

“Well let’s go. Kevin get the men to pack up, we can leave right now,” Michelle said almost dismissively, as if it would be work at all.

“Hold on blondie," Kevin said laughing at her. "There’s a lot more we need to learn before we just go traipsing off into the dark. We need distances, roads, expected enemy forces, supplies, etc. Lots of stuff to go over. Raef, how far away are they?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe three hundred miles? I know the straight routes on the interstate are fucked, because we had to skirt all over the place to avoid massive accidents, and huge herds of undead. It could take us three or four days to get there. I have no idea. Angie can lead you when I’m gone.”

“Let’s get inside the building. Get the rest of the skinny, then we can move out after. Angie, Raef, I’m glad you made it to us,” Kevin said.

“Us too.” Angie reached over and took the hand of her dead boyfriend. Michelle smiled at the strange young couple as they walked towards the entrance to the office building. The meaning of death had once again changed for her. Perhaps the meaning of love too.

*****

Days had passed. Raef was gone, faded away when the dawn's light chased him back to whatever passed for an afterlife now. Angie had sobbed, but he had accomplished what needed to be done.

“We do NOT have time for this,” Fitz said in his gruff manner to Kate as he hopped out of the driver’s seat of the box truck. It was a shorter fall to the ground than he was accustomed to. The truck had yet another flat tire. The light of the afternoon was fading fast and the temperature was going with it. They needed to find shelter soon, or spend another night sleeping in their vehicles on some side road, hoping nothing saw them.

“Ah shit," Kate said as she looked at the blown tire. She turned and scanned the area around the truck, fully expecting a dozen undead to be there.

“Fitzy how long to swap it out? Hour like last time?” Kevin asked his friend over the radio. They’d had multiple flat tires over the past few months and they were getting very good at changing them. In another time, they’d be shoe-ins as NASCAR pit crew members.

“Looks like a boring ass flat. You keep anything moving off our backs, and we’ll have it done in forty-five.” Fitz was already walking to the back of the truck where they kept the spares. Near every time they drove by a truck with the same kind of tire they tried to stop and take one. There were precious few tire shops still open, and they were going through tires faster than they could've imagined.

Kevin walked around the front of his humvee as Roger, one of the PJs sat in the turret seat above. They had mounted their SAWs in the turrets, and he was panning left to cover one side of the street in the small country town they were in. Rows of small white buildings housed mom and pop shops, mingling in with large multi-family homes. Everything was clustered too close together for Kevin's liking, leaving too few open spaces to use as buffers against attack. Kevin estimated there might’ve been five hundred souls in the small blip of a town when there were still souls around.

Kevin hoped the souls had set sail, and weren’t still in harbor.

*****

“Fitzy, how long? This is taking way longer than it should. There are multiple tangos closing in on us. I’d rather not open fire if need be,” Kevin asked he leaned over the hood of the humvee, putting the tiny red dot of his AimPoint sight on the head of a shambling zombie. There were maybe twenty undead within eyesight, and they were closing in. The group had less than five minutes before they had to do something.

“Kev brother, I’m sorry. The damn jack broke on this truck and we had to switch to the other one. We’re still ten minutes out. Buy us some time.”

“Roger that. One man per vehicle, engage on foot as you can. Try and conserve ammo. Use the pistols and suppressors if we have to. Less noise is always good.” Kevin issued his commands flat as he dug a crowbar out of the front seat of the humvee. He looked over his shoulder at Roger up in the turret as he walked away towards the closest undead. “Cover me please.”

“Like stink on shit Kev,” Roger said flatly, never taking his eyes off the undead Kevin headed towards.

Kevin hefted the sturdy weight of the crowbar as he walked directly through the parking lot of a small corner convenience store. He’d already checked the pumps and they were long since dry. Shuffling around the corner of the small brick store was a woman with half her face destroyed. She was still wearing a pretty pink blouse that had been torn open, revealing a pale, swaying breast. Kevin wondered where her bra had gone off to. She opened her mouth and snapped her teeth at him as he brought the heavy crowbar down into the very top of her forehead. She twisted awkwardly and went down at his feet, the crowbar caught in her skull. Kevin looked over at Roger and pointed that the weapon was stuck. Roger gave him the thumbs up and Kevin began to pry it out.

No more than two seconds later Roger hollered out urgently, “Kevin down, down!” Kevin had a millisecond to register Roger’s instructions before he heard the machine gun’s ripping burst of fire. Even in the hands of a skilled shooter like Roger occasionally a few extra rounds slip out.

Kevin rolled and looked up at the corner of the store. From out of nowhere beyond the main drag a group of undead nearly ten deep had appeared. Kevin was on his back and less than six feet from them. He felt like a turtle, flipped on its back. He abandoned the stuck pry bar and angled the M4 on his chest up at his targets. As he flipped the selector to semi he heard another burst of fire from Roger’s gun. Several of the zombies, all of them just feet away from where he was were cut down from the heavy fire. Kevin shot fast from the hip as he crawled backwards, taking a pair of shots to kill his first target. Roger held his fire for a moment as Kevin got some distance and cleared the line of fire somewhat.

“Light ‘em up Rog! Go!” Kevin hollered. Roger responded with a burst of 5.56 that lasted for a few seconds. Kevin watched, his stomach revolting as head after head exploded in a rain of black and gray gore. The blood of the dead was vile indeed.

Down low on the ground two of the undead that had been torn almost in half from the initial large burst were pulling their upper torsos and ragged legs towards Kevin. The persistence of the zombies was single minded, resolute. Murder. Kevin didn’t mess around with the crowbar, and just put a single round from his rifle into their skulls, ripping them apart and sending skull and brain across the leaf covered pavement.

“Clear!” Kevin hollered. He looked over at Roger and gave him the thumbs up. Roger responded in kind and turned the turret away, searching for more targets. From the far rear of the convoy, thirty yards away, fresh gunfire erupted.

*****

Quan and Harold had weapons up and firing, picking their targets carefully, professionally. Even with all their experience it was difficult to hit the head of a moving target, and every few shots one of them would let slip a “fuck” or “shit” as a round sailed high, or wide to the side. Their accuracy was still far above normal for the lay person with a firearm, and they were still disappointed in every miss. Train for excellence, not adequacy.

A river of undead had vomited from the buildings on the sides of the street in the small town. Hal and Quan had no idea how many were now approaching them from all sides, but the number was alarming. It didn’t help that the undead were getting closer, and fast.

Hal dropped the magazine on his M4 and slapped in a fresh one. He took a second to thumb his radio, “Hey if you pricks aren’t busy, we need a few more guns back here. We’re bollocks deep in these fuckers.”

From the turret of the rear humvee Jaden sent out a burst of fire from his SAW. Jaden was more skilled than Roger, and only a few rounds belched out of the light machine gun. Several bodies dropped, their heads eradicated by the precise gunfire. Hal spared a fast look over his shoulder at the leader of the Air Force operators to thank him. He looked back just in time to see that one of the undead had managed to climb up onto the truck, and was collapsing down onto Jaden from behind, teeth clenching on him in silent fury.

“JADEN!” Hal screamed but it was too late. The zombie had done its deed. Jaden screamed out in pain as he punched it in the face with a gloved fist, dislodging it from his bleeding shoulder. Jaden twisted in the turret and pulled out his service pistol, shooting the zombie still clutching to the top of the truck with a mouthful of his own flesh in the face. The zombie tumbled backwards over the edge of the roof of the humvee, impacting on the pavement with a crunch. Jaden’s face was twisted in pain and frustration as he threw the pistol into the truck, and returned to the bigger SAW. Without missing a beat, the bitten man started to fire once more, mowing down the encroaching horde that threatened his friends. Hal turned back to the same threat, and started shooting again. They’d deal with Jaden and his bite as soon they were all out of the frying pan. For now, his gun was needed.

*****

Jaden sat in the front passenger doorway of the truck, his one leg on the ground. His prosthetic sat on the seat beside him. He had stripped out of his body armor and fatigues and was wearing only his underwear now. The purple bite wound on his shoulder was ugly. Red blood was dried all down his chest and every breath brought a brief twinge of pain to his face. The entire group of men and women in the convoy was gathered around, watching as the tired man said his final peace to those he’d lived with, and was about to die for. Everyone was gathered around him.

“Joel, Roger, Ethan, you guys take good care of each other. It’s been an honor to have you as my team. You take good care of these knuckleheads too. Don’t drink too much beer either. It’ll give you the shits, and that’s a tactical disadvantage. Can’t have you copping a squat when we’re being beared down on.”

Ethan wiped his eyes and turned away. He couldn’t handle it anymore. The men were far too close to each other and this was pain he could endure no longer.

“Kevin, Quan, Fitz, Hal, Kate, Logan, and the rest of ya... Y’all are a bunch of worthless shits.” Jaden grinned painfully. Streams of cold sweat ran down his temple, then his cheek as the bite's effect sat in deeper. “Just playing. It’s been real. You’ve had my back many a time, and this was just due. Losing the leg was a warning shot. I have made my peace with my fate. Don’t let me dying slow down what needs to be done. I get that.”

Jaden turned to Michelle. “Miss, I know I’ve been harsh on you more than a few times. I’m sorry. Sometimes the story you sell seems real far-fetched, and I am a man rooted in the mundane and real. If I can't see it, I don't believe it. I sincerely hope you find this Adrian fella, and fix whatever it is that’s wrong with him and this God-forsaken world. You tell Becky and little Shelby I said goodbye please. You tell little Shelby I didn’t suffer, and that everything will be alright."

The group fell silent as Jaden slung his head low. The full curse of the bite was setting in hard now, and it took effort for him to quite literally stay alive. When Jaden lifted his head once more his eyes were hazy, and milky. Clouded over with the taint of murder. Tell-tale proof he’d be one of the walking deceased soon. He focused powerfully on his fake leg, and slid it onto the stump. Like a drunk, he fumbled with the feel of it.

“Jaden how do you want to go?” Joel asked him quietly. "I don’t want you to turn into one of them.”

Jaden looked up at the scarred, ragged face of his man. Joel had been wounded on the day Jaden had lost his leg, and the two men shared a strange bond. “I’d like to go for a walk down this street. If one of you were to shoot me in the back of the head while I was walking, I would appreciate it a great deal. I don’t wanna know who. Just get it done. Don’t feel like you have to bury me. I’m just crow food at this point. I’ll miss you guys.” Jaden finished his request as he stood up, hobbling heavily on the prosthetic leg they’d commandeered for him in a medical supply shop. It didn’t fit him right, it was too short, but he’d learned to use it well enough. Jaden patted Kevin and Joel on the shoulder, and shook Roger’s hand. He nodded at Michelle and slowly walked away, past the end of the humvee, and straight down the yellow line of the street.

A single gunshot ended Jaden’s life a dozen paces later.

The group took shelter in that small town that night after they buried his body in the cold November earth. Their friend would not feed the crows.

*****

It fell to Angie to tell them about where they were headed. “Alright so the last time any of us was there, it was just a private school with some vans parked on a bridge to block the way in. I guess now they’ve got it fortified. Some big wall and shit. Gates and stuff on the bridge that approach it. Raef said that they had guards posted too, and if we roll in like the Army, I’d bet they’d think they were getting attacked. We need to find a way to get up the road to them, without them freaking the hell out. We might try the radio. I know they listen.” Angie shared her thoughts with the group as they stopped for the night beside a large row of businesses just off the interstate. A plumbing store and an import warehouse were among the businesses in it. Vehicles parked all around showed signs of a major gun battle, and for some reason, that made Kevin feel more comfortable about staying there.

“We’re not even in the town yet Angie. We need to recon the area first. Once it’s safe to move through, we’ll worry about making contact with the folks at Bastion,” Kevin said as they cooked fresh venison over a fire. They’d taken a deer on the move earlier that day as they drove down the highway. The deer were rampant now, especially near the city where the living were gone, and the dead slow. The fresh meat was a welcome addition to their diet of MREs and the occasionally scrounged food from abandoned homes.

“Why are we not moving now? It seems like with the Soul so close we should be pushing on?” Michelle asked softly.

Kevin tried to explain it to her, “Well Michelle, you of all of us should recognize that the closer we get to the Soul, the more likely we are to run into the worst possible circumstances. Gathering information is a good thing. I think rushing in tonight without info would be asking for serious trouble.”

Michelle nodded quietly.

Suddenly the radio crackled to life from the inside of one of the trucks a few feet away. It was a young girl’s voice. Kevin felt it was impossibly young. “I am starting to get scared here people. There are at least a hundred fifty or hundred sixty of them at the gate now. We need to figure this out. That gate won’t last forever. Not to mention a whole shitload of them are now on this side of the water.”

The group jumped up and walked over to the truck’s radio to listen. The concern on their faces was alarming. Another female voice responded to the first. This one was older.

“Abby honey, we’re surrounded just as bad as you are. If we start shooting down at the crowd here, we’ll be running awfully thin on bullets if something else happens. Things aren’t getting better on their own. I don’t know what the hell is happening, but something stirred up the locals. The dead ones at least.”

Kevin thought the older woman’s voice was husky, and attractive. He looked over at Becky with sudden feelings of guilt. It’d been a damn long time since they’d met another woman. Kevin thought it was perfectly normal to get a little rise out of a new voice. He also figured it was perfectly normal to feel like an ass about getting that rise.

“Factory people. Can you hear this conversation? Are you able to send any kind of assistance to anywhere? Maybe a few drive-by runs at the tower to help them out?” This new voice was male. Strong, older, and clear. Kevin thought it sounded like a cop, or maybe a veteran.

It took a minute for another voice to respond. This one was also female, but much older than both prior girl voices. It also had a faint accent that Kevin couldn’t place. Italian maybe? Spanish? “We ain’t doing well ourselves Mike. There are a few too many here for us to make it to our vehicles to get anywhere. It wouldn’t be safe. Plus we aren’t exactly an armory, you know? If we start shooting to help you, we’ll be up shit’s creek should anything bad happen here again. It’ll be six hours at least before we could even think about heading your way.”

“Alright Lulu. We’ll get this figured out on our end somehow. I hate to piss through as much ammo as it’s gonna take though. We’ll be shooting for hours going deaf getting that goddamn bridge clear, let alone taking care of MGR,” the man voice responded with a frustrated tone.

The group surrounding the humvee exchanged worried looks. The situation sounded bad for the new voices, and they all knew they could help. Kevin looked to Michelle, and her face told him exactly what she wanted to happen. Kevin took the handset, breathed deeply, and spoke. This was a moment they had been thinking about for a very long and very difficult time.

“Unidentified speakers, this is Kevin Whitten, we are new to this area and are overhearing your radio traffic and are wondering if we can lend some kind of assistance. We are a combat effective group, and I also think, we might be looking for you.”

No one answered for a good long time. When the radio silence broke it was the older man again. “Kevin this is Mike McCarthy. I’m currently the leader of the group of survivors you’re eavesdropping on. How is it exactly that you think you’re looking for us?”

“Well Mike. I don’t know if you know him, but we’ve traveled a terrible long ways to find an old friend of mine named Adrian. He and I served together in the sandbox quite a few years ago, and as it turns out, he’s kind of important in the whole big scheme of things now. Savior of mankind if you believe that bullshit.” Kevin couldn’t believe he was saying this crap over the radio to someone he didn’t even know. It felt like lunacy.

More silence.

“What’s his last name?” Mike asked tentatively over the radio.

“Adrian MacArthur Ring. He’s got three brothers and a sister I think. Becca is his little sister. She looks just like him. He’s tall, ugly, covered in tattoos. She isn’t though. Thinks he’s funny. Usually is just a rude prick.”

The radio cackled to life half into the other man's laughter. “Well you certainly know him. I’m just wondering if you are here to say hi to him, or shoot him in the face because he’s slighted you?” Mike asked. “He’s got this magical gift for pissing people off.”

“Well, if he slighted me I’d just punch him in the dick. But, we’ve got the skinny from two of your folks that he’s currently laid up with some kind of injury, and punching a hurt man in the dick is just low, low stuff.” Kevin heard a few of the PJs laugh behind him.

“Who have you gotten this info from? We’ve been tight lipped on that.”

“A couple going by the name of Raef and Angie. They caught up with us a few days ago when we left Boston after looking for my mother. They led us here so we could unite this mythical Trinity. Save mankind. Brew beer. You know, the big stuff the world needs right now.”

Mike was thoughtful enough to laugh again while the radio was transmitting. Suddenly he got more serious. “You know we haven’t seen Raef and Angie in a damn long time. I’m not sure they’d even have that info. Are you sure you’re not blowing smoke up our ass? Do you know about the whole Trinity thing? Some of us are still on the fence about it. Seems real enough as long as you don't think too much about it, but some days it seems like it is all bullshit. I guess we’ve got enough proof, but nagging doubt is a real bitch.”

Kevin thought hard about his answer before responding. “Raef is dead. Been dead awhile from what we were made to understand. He’s been going back and forth talking to some old guy named Gilbert. That’s how they knew. That’s how we know. Mike, I’m told I’m the Warden. And there’s a woman in our group that calls herself the Savior. We know Adrian as the Soul, and with the three of us together, that completes this Trinity thing. I tell you what Mike. We’ve come a damn far way, and if we can help you, let us know. We’ve got a lot of highly skilled trigger pullers looking to put our feet somewhere warm, and looking to score a hot meal. We’ll invade New Jersey if we have to.”

“Fuck New Jersey,” Ethan said quietly in the background.

“Well Kevin, we could use a lot of help here. On many levels and in many places. Adrian is hurt pretty good, he’s been down and getting worse for some time now, and we’re getting surrounded and blocked off by more undead than we’ve seen in almost a year. It’s like vultures circling a carcass. Something is very damn wrong. Bad news bears my friend.”

“Well we’ve got special operations medics here Mike. I’m sure with the supplies we have, and the brains they’ve got we can fix our fallen hero. We’ve also got a powerful urge to get some light machine guns into a fight somewhere, and it sounds like you’ve got yourself a target rich environment for us.”

“Adrian says that a lot. Target rich environment. That’s funny,” Mike said.

“Yeah well, spend a lot of time with a person, you start talking and thinking like them. Sadly, I used to be a hell of a lot smarter,” Kevin said smiling. He watched as Michelle shuffled her feet and rubbed her hands anxiously. She was excited.

“I hear that. Alright. Let’s make a plan. If you’ve got firepower like you’re saying you’ve got, this could be a damn easy fix for us. Turn a five day problem into a five hour problem. All that’ll be left is the burning of the bodies, and the drinking of the beer. And sir, we still have some beer,” Kevin said.

“Hey if you need another reason to let us in, we actually stole two beer trucks on the way here. Necessities, right? We’ve got pallets of just about every kind of brew you can think of. Even the expensive stuff.”

“No shit. Alright shut up. I’m all distracted by this. Let’s make this happen.”

*****

The M249 SAW light machine gun is capable of firing nearly a thousand 5.56 millimeter rounds every minute. If you break that down, it means that every second the trigger is held down in full auto, 12 to 15 high velocity bullets are screaming out of the barrel at something that is likely to be dead or destroyed in short order. Normally the SAW is used to suppress an intelligent enemy that knows they need to duck when 12 to 15 bullets every second is headed their way, and that any of those bullets will abruptly change either the length of their life, or the quality of it should they survive being hit by those bullets.

Zombies have no concept of quality of life. They walk, they lunge, and they eat the living. If you throw a rock at them, and your aim is good enough, you will hit them with that rock. Ducking is not a part of their very limited skill set. If you aim a M249 SAW at a large group of them, and hold the trigger down until an entire belt of ammunition has been expended, you will hit them with every single bullet you fire out of that gun.

If you’re really good at shooting the SAW, and you can walk the tracers right along a path that follows the head level of all those undead, you can blow those heads off with an alarming and satisfying regularity. Even if you miss the head, you’re ripping arms off, cutting torsos in half, and blowing legs apart, rendering the remnants of the undead horde almost entirely neutered.

Mike was almost completely correct. It took Ethan and Roger less than ten minutes with their SAWs on the humvee turrets to put every single walking undead standing on the bridge leading to Bastion down. It helped that the people inside the wall carried a stereo outside and were blasting loud, obnoxious pop music. It took the remaining members of Kevin and Michelle’s group an hour to wander into the enormous pile of bodies and smash skulls apart, killing those that didn’t die from the gunfire. It was the better part of another hour for them to walk along the wall that encircled Bastion and put down all the walkers that had turned into swimmers.

Mike was not correct in that once the undead were put down, all that was left was the burning of the bodies, and the drinking of the beer.

Not everyone drank the beer. Roger and Ethan left the group and asked to be led to the makeshift clinic on the abandoned and repurposed school campus. After watching Jaden lose his leg in a terrible vehicle rollover in Morocco almost a year ago, and being unable to save that leg, both men had a powerful need to fix hurt people. Knowing that someone was hurt nearby, neither man was able to enjoy anything until they dealt with the injury, or at least had a better idea of what was going on.

“How long has the bullet been lodged where it is?" Roger asked Lindsey, the older woman who was the most adept medical practitioner the folks at Bastion had.

“Well, he was shot early in October. Shot in the back of the neck. He had some settling issues with the bullet, and boys I am not trained to do surgery. I’m learning as much as I can as fast as I can, but I’m afraid I’ll kill him. That bullet is just a millimeter from very important bits,” Lindsey said. She was sipping a tea and looking at the powerful man all this fuss was over. Ethan and Roger thought the man in the bed with the untrimmed Mohawk hooked up to the medical equipment looked a little odd, but very normal. They were expecting a much different person. Someone with fewer tattoos. Someone more remarkable maybe.

“Good news is we can operate as soon as tomorrow. You have blood or plasma if he tanks? We have a little bit of plasma if need be,” Ethan offered.

Lindsey had good news for the two new men. “Yeah, we’ve got quite a bit. We did blood type testing right before he went down and now we’re really ready to take donations if we need to. He is O negative. We’ve been gearing up to do the surgery, so we’re pretty ready.”

“Tomorrow then,” Roger said.

“Yeah, let’s see if the big guy is ready to sit back up, and get this show on the road. We didn’t come all this way to not meet the guy. Guess we can save his life while we’re at it,” Ethan joked.

“Of course, we could kill him while we’re at it too,” Roger said blandly.

“Occupational hazard,” Ethan said.

The two men left the clinic to prepare for what would be the biggest day of their life.

Outside, new friends drank in celebration, unaware of the challenges and sorrow that was to be their future. Their very near future.

November 19th

I know this sounds really clichéd right now, but I kinda feel like I am either dreaming, or like, waking up from a dream, or that my dreams are kind of coming true. We have not died, and not only that, we have taken in a group of people here on campus that have a man and woman among them who claim to be the other two members of the Trinity.

All three are here now. I really think they are telling the truth. It’s almost like you can sense how right it is. It’s weird.

The guy calling himself the Warden is an old Army buddy of Adrian’s. His name is Kevin Whitten, and I know he’s legit, because Adrian wrote about him right here in the diary. Woot! He did private mercenary stuff when the world went belly up, and he and his team of mercenaries basically fought their way out of Jerusalem, through London, out of a huge military base in England, stole a plane, landed in Morocco, killed a ton of zeds, and rescued the chick named Michelle who happens to be the other member of the Trinity. Oh, and he picked up a handful of smoking hot military guys on the way.

Sorry Dad. Probably didn’t need to hear me use the words “smoking hot” ever.

Michelle is awesome. She reminds me of this like, super introspective and smart woman who is also super pretty. She’s like smart, and gorgeous, and has golden blonde hair that I am really jealous of, and she’s funny, and caring and it’s weird. I get how she can be the third. She’s amazing. I haven’t talked to her enough yet, but so far, those two seem cool.

I haven’t counted how many new folks they brought with them, but there are a lot, and they have a huge crap ton of stuff. They have an entire old semi gas truck filled with diesel. We are set on diesel for a hella long time. They have a ton of beer, which means Blake’s cider project is now a distant thought. Blake is still making it by the way.

They brought two more humvee trucks, and theirs have turrets on the top with fricking machine guns. They have MACHINE GUNS! Several! And boxes and boxes of ammunition and medical supplies and parts, and body armor, and just wow. Bigger boxes like crates actually.

They have two large trucks that I know Adrian calls box trucks. They’re like tractor trailers, but they are all one piece not two. They don't hinge in the middle. Inside of them is most of that beer, and all their supplies. It’s so awesome. Did I mention they brought a huge truck of diesel yet? It’s so awesome.

Two of the Army guys, woops, Air Force guys are like, super soldier medics, and yesterday they operated on Adrian’s neck with Lindsey. They made the operation out to be serious, but attainable, and I image they have done similar procedures in the field. I was talking to them briefly, and they are trained to do complete internal surgery in the field. Like, remove your gall bladder in a field. It was a confidence booster to hear them talk about the surgery in such a matter-of-fact way. I waited and waited in the clinic area for the surgery to end with almost all the new folks and most of the old folks, and after about two hours, they emerged victorious. The bullet was removed! Adrian will survive.

Here’s the weird part: Ethan and Roger, the two Air Force guys, said that the bullet had been pushed away from the artery or vein as Adrian healed. It was also away from his spinal cord as well. As it turns out... there was no good reason for Adrian to be in a frigging coma. It’s like he’s been sedated all this time. I think everyone there sent some strange looks at Lindsey out of the corner of their eyes, but Michelle started talking about how he’s been doing work, "On the other side,” and how, “God works in mysterious ways,” and stuff. I know I don’t like the religious mumbo jumbo, but the chick has a point. Weird stuff has been happening for a damn long time, and it makes a whole lotta sense for the big power in the sky (or the Devil down below) to keep Adrian knocked out so they could make a huge run at us.

I just hope Adrian has been able to do something productive with Gilbert and Gavin while he’s down. I also hope that he wakes up shortly. He was already better today, moving about a bit more, and his color was also much better. Less pale gray, and more reddish. He has lost a lot of weight while he’s been down, so when he wakes up, he’ll be tired and sore I’m sure. Poor dude.

What else… Um.

Tomorrow we are heading to Gavin’s tower to clear it out. They’re still pretty surrounded, and they need some help. Luckily, the new people are like, really good at shooting and whatnot, and they’re all about helping. I’m stoked.

I forgot to mention they helped clear all the zeds at the gate, and on the road, and around the wall, and all that. Machine guns for the win! And they didn't even need them! We are still dealing with a slow trickle of undead down the road, but it isn’t anything like it was before. Almost like they gave up or something.

Oh, the new people are going to be in Hall C. There’s no lights or power or a wood stove yet, but they have decided to get a generator, get a wood stove, and get it fixed up in short order. I have complete faith they will make it happen. Until Hall C is good to go, as Adrian might say, they are staying all over the place in the other buildings. Some of them have expressed an interest in helping to staff Gavin’s tower too, which is great. We could use the help.

Wow, too cool.

I am now starting to worry about Adrian when he wakes up. I wonder when Mallory will talk to him about everything, and I hope he takes it well.

We’ll see. I’m still really excited. I feel like I’m like, missing tons of stuff!

Abby

November 20th

I am profoundly tired. It has been a very long, and strange month for me.

I’ll write more when I have more strength, and I’ve eaten something. A day or two. I have quite a few tales to share.

I hope you haven’t missed me too much Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

November 22nd

As much as I love Abby, she has done a kind of shit job staying detailed here. I can’t fault her. I didn’t even really ask her to do this, so when I told her my password to the laptop, I’m surprised she was able to put two and two together to figure it out.

Well, she’s a smart one. I shouldn’t be too surprised. From what I’ve gathered, Mallory tipped her off and they worked it out together. Yay for smart chicks.

There is an enormous amount of information to cover. I will not be able to cover it all in this entry, so don’t get your expectations up too high. Since I came to the other day, all I’ve done is request people to come to me in this fucking bed in the clinic room nonstop. I am starving for information. Absolutely fucking starving. I’ve been doing so much on the other side with Gilbert that I lost sight of all the things that were going on here. Not that I would’ve been able to see what was happening anyway. Mr. Journal, the world on the other side is a frustrating place. It’s like living on the other side of a two way mirror that you KNOW things are happening on the other side of, but no matter how hard you try and look, you can never quite make things out on the other side.

It’s fucking infuriating. Made me want to smash bricks with my face.

Sigh.

I can tell the tales of the other side another day. Frankly, what I learned there won’t be relevant for at least a week or two, probably more, so there’s no rush on my part to spill those beans. Most of what I think I remember is disjointed, and dream-like, and I don't quite remember which is coalesced hope in my memory, and which is an actual event that happened. Mr. Journal, you’re just going to have to wait. Patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait, etc.

What I do want to talk about is the sudden arrival while I was unconscious of a large group of men and women that have apparently turned back a new tide for us. I feel like this is it. The culmination. The beginning of the endgame. I feel that way because two of the people who arrived in that group are the other two members of this Trinity.

It’s weird to write that after all this time. I’ve been hearing about it, dreaming about it, seeing it, I dunno. Just thinking about the fact that I am not insane, and that Gilbert was correct all this time about it, makes my skin fucking crawl. I feel like I saw a UFO. Saw something that was previously only talked about as a myth and now suddenly made very real.

What stops my skin crawling, and puts a smile back on my face, is that the man who is the Warden is my good friend Kevin. Kevin Whitten, from my Army days. Kevin that I threw myself on a stake for Kevin. The guy I’d die for Kevin.

When I woke up and saw his face, and realized that I was awake and not dead, I knew immediately that he was involved. There’s just no way in hell that he would be HERE, NOW, and not have something special going on. The world is too big, and we were too far and too long apart for him to just randomly appear.

The other person who is supposedly (read: actually) in the Trinity with he and I is a really pretty blonde woman named Michelle Lewis. I haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she has a PhD. In religion or some shit. I really fucking hope she isn’t one of those preachy twats. If she starts going on and on about Jesus or Buddha or forest spirits I’m gonna snap and punch a bitch.

Deep, calming breaths. I’m not actually going to punch her. I might get snippy with her and be rude, but I won’t actually punch her. Falcon punch her perhaps, but not in the face.

She really is pretty.

From what I’ve been able to gather from Kevin and his group, they were in Jerusalem June 23rd, doing PSD work for some dickface Senator. During a speech shit went south, and they extracted to an airport where they were put on a plane to England. They landed in London, choppered towards another base, but one of the people on the helo was bitten, and they had to put down. Kev made it sound like a soft landing, but the look on his guy’s faces as he told the story didn’t agree with that. Not many folks survive helo crashes though, so I imagine it wasn’t all that bad.

They fought on foot, got onto the other bird, and went to Mildenhall in the countryside for a few months. Kev and his team made buddy-buddy with some of the SO guys there, as well as one of the flight crews of a special operations Hercules, and when Mildenhall was overrun by an army of blade wielding undead (revisit: undead showing up here with books) about a year ago, they took the fuck off. Their original plan had to be scrapped in the air I think, and they landed in southern Morocco where a Green Beret base was supposed to be. I guess when they were on approach there, Kevin saw three fires in the desert, and because he’d had dreams of the White Room like I had, he knew they had to check it out.

The fires were Michelle. She’d lit them with some dead kid that was acting as her guide in Africa. When Kevin and his special operations guys got out to her, she was almost surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands of the dead. They scooped her up, and despite some injuries (I guess one of the guys that didn’t make it here lost a leg in a truck rollover) they got back on the bird after refueling and nearly dying repeatedly.

Bunny hop to the Azores, and when they did a maintenance check after landing, they realized they had some engine damage/required maintenance, and fixing that turned into this huge, drawn out debacle. At that point I guess they were stranded there, marooned with the locals for months on end. They left sometime around the end of June or early July after things got hot with the locals. From what Kevin said, some of the locals had raided the hangars for parts before they landed, and were actively trying to keep them from leaving because the people on his bird had food, medicine, and pretty advanced medical training.

Speaking of which, the SO guys Kevin teamed up with are Air Force Para Rescue. They’re the behind enemy lines 911 for downed pilots. They get tons of medical training to stabilize and occasionally operate on injured people in the field, and they really know their shit. I should also add, they get the same ass kicking training that guys like Green Berets, or Rangers, or SEALs get, so they are hardcore. Not as much direct action training, but they are not to be fucked with people. They can fuck your shit up, fix you, and fuck you up again just to prove a point. I am so happy they are here. They are a gift.

Ethan, Roger, and Joel are the three remaining Air Force SO guys. Ethan and Roger operated on my neck. More details about that later.

Kevin’s team was decimated over the past year and a half. He started out with quite a few people, but a few were bitten, some died here and there… etc. Kevin had his second in command with him, an older ex SF guy named Fitz, and a Vietnamese Army guy who used to specialize in explosives I think. His name is Quan. Kevin also had a kid named Kyle, and one British Marine that has tagged along with them named Harold. Hal is black, which isn’t meant to be a racist remark, just a clarification on what he looks like.

Does that mean I’m racist Mr. Journal? The fact that I feel compelled to point out skin color when I write about people? Shouldn’t it be enough that I simply say who they are, and what their qualities are?

Hm. Maybe I’m a bigot, racist, misogynist. Sucks to be me. Sucks to think I’m supposed to be this guiding light for humanity. L fucking O fucking L.

The remnant of the flight team is made up of the pilot, a woman named Kate (who is a lesbian btw. It’s possible my gaydar is off, but I am telling you, she’s into women. It could also be that she introduced herself as, “Kate, I’m the dyke pilot who landed these pricks here successfully”) Kate’s co-pilot Nick seems like a solid guy.

When they were in England Kev and the crew managed to go off base and rescue the wife and daughter of one of his men. The wife is a forty-ish woman named Becky, and the five or six year old girl is Shelby. Things have changed since that day, as Kevin is now pretty seriously involved with Becky, as best as I can tell. The two of them were friends through Kevin’s friend (one of the men on his team, which puts him in an awkward position as they dude who sniped his buddy's widow), and it looks like all the bull shit going on brought them together. The end of the world makes for strange bedfellows, I guess.

After getting their replacement parts after months in the Azores, and nearly wiping out the entire population of an island in the process, they left for America after making repairs. I guess fuel was a concern, and they had to put down at the small international airport in Bangor. They knew they had to stick to the east coast area because of the dreams Kevin and Michelle were having, so they headed south through Maine to Boston, and while there, they tried to get into the city to find Kevin’s mom.

I already told Kevin that was an enormously stupid fucking idea, and he agreed. I can see how he’d try anyway. With no dad in his life when he was growing up, his mother was everything to him. I can see the pain in his face the couple of times it has come up the past few days. It’s slowly killing him realizing that his mother is gone. Kevin did everything to repay his mother back for all the work she did when he was a kid. The woman worked her fingers to the bone to make his life better than it was, and when he was a grown man, he made it his mission to help her. To have the world end, and to have her fate thrown into the wind has got to be painful. I imagine it’s a lot like the pain I feel when I think about Cassie.

I feel for him. He’s like my brother. It stirs up a lot of memories and emotions just having him here. He is strong though. Stronger than he should be. Inside I'm sure he's torn up, but we won't see it unless he breaks down. And sometimes, you need to be broken down to be rebuilt.

The trip through Maine was a joke. If you’ve ever been to northern Maine, I’m sorry. There is NOTHING there. Lots of moose, some snow, and a lot of inbreds. Now, there are more of the former, and less of the latter, and to be fair, many of the folks up there are the salt of the earth types. They drove on abandoned highways for some time, and when they got onto the turnpike heading south it was slow going due to roaming undead on the roads, and car accidents they had to go around constantly. I guess their need for diesel for their trucks was a bitch too, so they had to stop obsessively to search for fuel to keep moving. Fortunately, they aren’t dumb, and after only a little while started siphoning fuel out of home heating oil tanks. I guess not too long ago, they found and repaired a full sized fuel semi, which is now parked in the back of campus, and has… 7,000 gallons of diesel still inside it. I guess they took a three or four day detour in the Augusta area of Maine just going house to house draining fuel tank after fuel tank to fill it. The larger vehicle increased their profile, but allowed them to move further without stops, which netted them more safety in the long run.

Just like my experience, Kevin and Michelle’s group ran into undead, and several small groups of survivors that for the most part were hostile. Fortunately for them they have some pretty motherfucking superior firepower, and were able to end every conflict dramatically well. Throwing a few dozen accurate rounds out of a team of M4s has a certain suggestive power to it. It’ll take the wind out of just about everyone’s sails. Never mind the fact that they have SAWs and a small handful of AT4s as well. In a perfect world, they’d have Javelins, but who am I to be greedy?

After leaving Boston they encountered three trios of undead. They’d held up in an old office building on the second floor and the zombies were arranged too perfectly to be a random coincidence. When they were all looking out the windows, trying to figure out what was happening, they saw Angie and Lafrenz’s humvee approach. It’s funny how things come together.

Gilbert and I had been working on the other side for weeks trying to figure out a way to get a message to Michelle and Kevin. Of course we didn’t know it was them at the time, but we knew the other two were together, and that they’d be arriving on the eastern seaboard somewhere. For whatever reason it is far easier to get messages to the living when they have a strong conduit to the dead to use as a tether. Love seems to be the best route to take. Gilbert originally had thought of using Abby and Gavin, but I shot that down. Abby had enough on her plate as it was, and we really needed to leave her be.

This is a great story. Enter LaFrenz. Not too long after leaving Westfield to head north, Angie and LaFrenz were attacked by a large herd of zombies and he was bitten. He managed to hold on for a day or two (which is a pretty epic hold-out after being bitten, so kudos to him), but Angie had to shoot him. Gilbert caught wind of LaFrenz dying on the other side, and he knew where my sister was (roughly), and that’s how Becca managed to find her way to us. It’s funny now to think that the entire conversation she and my brother had with him, he was dead the whole time, and he didn’t say anything. Neither did Angie.

After leaving my sister and brother and sending them on their way to find us, Angie continued on her journey primarily alone, trying to find her own family. LaFrenz was gone again for some time, but with my help, we were able to get him to the real world in that weird ghostly form for a few hours a day again to get messages to her so she could move in the right direction. I do kind of feel like we were using them, but I suppose it was us giving two young lovers more time that they would not have had otherwise together. Use the tools you have, I guess. I hope they didn't experience it as painful.

With the strange trio of zombies there, they saw Angie, made radio contact, and she led them back here. The trip wasn’t great. Amongst minor hostilities from the dead, they blew a tire, and were surrounded by undead about eight towns over or so, and lost Jaden in the process. I guess he was in one of the humvee turrets, and somehow a zombie managed to crawl its way onto the roof behind him and bite him. Not sure how that happens in a group as experienced as these guys are, but shot DOES happen. Delta, SEAL, Rangers, MARSOC… they all lose guys regularly. It’s an occupational hazard when you are exposed to that much risk. Nowadays, everyone is exposed to that much risk. Anyway, I'm told he was a real stand up guy, and it sucks he didn’t make it. Not many folks can lose a leg, and still kick ass at will.

From there they had a lot of trouble finding open roads. The highway is a rough mess, and I guess based on their descriptions the roads have somehow gotten worse since when Lindsey returned from up north with Doug. It took them two or three days, and that was closer than where Kevin and Michelle were, and it took them four or five days.

My timing might be off too. I’m still taking pain meds. Forgive any errors in these next few entries Mr. Journal. I’ve got a mean incision in my neck, and the original gunshot wound is still quite painful.

Speaking of which. Chris fucking Sunderland shot me in the back. That weight losing, socially inept, power hungry prick. I’m hearing now that he was doing it all for the dark. The Lacuna. We were in the orchard, and I was on the perimeter in the trees, wandering about, and he came up behind me, and did me in the back of the neck. Fucker tried to blow my head off.

Don’t laugh, but Gilbert once again comes to the rescue. Remember all those reloads we were using for awhile? The ones that were messing with the feeds on the M4s? The reloads Gilbert did? We passed them down to a few folks that were using same caliber rifles, and as luck would have it that day, Chris was using them. I guess the one he shot me with was half dud, which is most of why I still have a head.

As it turns out, the bullet became lodged in my neck, and cut off blood flow, sending me into a coma. I guess Lindsey also medicated me into a coma as well to give the neck time to heal, and to let me remain still. At one point I was thrashing around with Blake next to me, and I busted something, and nearly bled out. I’m betting anything that was when I was kicking the fuck out of Sean on the other side. Prick.

Ethan and Roger took the bullet out of my neck the other day. The surgery was easy for them, because the bullet wasn’t actually blocking the blood flow anymore. Their best guess for why I was down and out for so long was twofold. Lindsey had been medicating the piss out of me, and maybe, just maybe, my time on the other side wasn’t quite up yet. Once the bullet was out, cursed as it was, and the meds Doc Lindsey were pumping into me were toned down, it was just hours before I was starting to come to.

And here I am now. I’ve had nothing but visitors and information since I was able to have them, and I’m overloaded with faces, and decisions to make. I’ve made it perfectly clear that until I’m able to be more coherent and engaged, Mike and Abby are in charge. Patty and Mallory seemed put off by this, but the two of them are far more aware of what is going on here. Mallory also seemed off as well, which I suppose has a lot to do with the fact that she wants to break up with me.

I’ve already read Abby’s entries, so it’s not like I’m in the dark. As for her leaving me… I don’t even know if I can care right now. I like her, I really do, but I totally understand how bad it must suck to be with me. I don’t even know if it is fair to expect anyone to be with me. I’m a walking broken heart waiting to happen.

Plus, I don’t know if I want one more person I can fail to be in my life. I failed when Cassie needed it most, and I don’t know if I want to fail Mallory, or anyone else for that matter.

Sigh. Fucking emotions.

Kevin and his team with our help cleared MGR the other day, and even made a swing past the Factory to help them. Kevin brought so much ammunition it isn’t funny. Military issue 5.56 and 9mm out the ass, never mind crates of the other less-used calibers. We’ve got 7.62 as well as other calibers now as well stacked to the ceiling in the armory as well as a few other places. We were able to resupply our locations with a fair amount of ammunitions and weapons, so if something bad should happen, we are far more capable of defending ourselves.

As for the group of living assholes who attacked MGR the other day. Well. Let’s just say I’m feeling a little vindictive. I don't know who they are yet either. But for the moment, many other things must be addressed.

We have so many plans…

I have so many plans… That I will talk about another day. Right now, I need sleep, and food. It’s good to be back Mr. Journal. I’m excited for what the future holds now. Less scared of things. More excited than anything.

Oh, and Gilbert buddy. It was good to see you again.

-Adrian

November 25th

In the past few days I have managed the following: I was moved back to my room in Hall E to my bed, and I had an awkward, relationship ending discussion with Mallory regarding how I knew she wanted to break up with me. I didn't give her an out for it, I just confronted her politely. She tried to play it off, tried to act like it wasn’t what it was, or that she didn’t say what she said to Abby. I told her no further explanations were needed, no hard feelings, that I was a big boy, and I understood. I don’t have the energy to fight anymore about it, not that we've fought. I don’t care. Sex will be a distant goal of mine at best. Right now I need to heal fast, and get my ducks in a row. Mallory moved her things out of my room as if were no more than a chore, and now she's out of Hall E entirely. She’s staying in Hall D I think.

I’m trying not to think about it. I act tough, but it still stings. As much as I don’t want to admit it, this will bother me for awhile. Chalk another loss up for me.

So yeah, I achieved two things, more or less.

The rest of the group was able to achieve far, far more.

We have an agenda that seems insane to me. A year ago I was struggling with clearing the houses on Auburn Lake Road by myself, and now we cover as much area in a single day, and do it far safer. Because of the sudden addition of all these bodies, we’ve had to open up Hall C. Sadly, there has been no electric supplied to that dorm yet, nor have we found or installed a suitable wood stove to assist with the heating there as the weather turns colder.

The new folks decided that they deserved heat and electricity, which they’ve gone without already for an unreasonable amount of time. I can’t blame them. I also want my man Kev to have everything that's coming to him, and the least of that is electricity and heat. As a result, we spent the last two solid days searching neighborhoods we haven’t gone to yet for gas generators, solar panels, wood stoves, and other usable supplies.

Not surprisingly (thanks to yours truly, more details on that later Mr. Journal), they turned up quite a bit of goodies. I am sick with myself over the fact that I was not there to help, and to share in the joy of finding such spoils. Sigh. Such is the life of the maimed and healing. I suspect there will be a few weeks of this bullshit before I am up and running at full capacity. Maybe I can score a job as wheel man on a run outside the wall soon. That’d be so exciting. Of course that’s me being optimistic. I am having a hard time standing up and pissing on my own at a urinal right now. I have to lean against the wall with one shoulder and bank it off the side of the pisser and hope my feet don't slip. That happened once and I sprayed the entire wall of the bathroom. Had to ask Abby to help clean it up. If pissing is that difficult for me at the moment, driving a vehicle in a combat situation would be… a challenge to say the least.

Anyway, jealousy, urination accidents and bitching aside, we managed to score not one, but two usable wood stoves. I guess the crew keeps finding these shitty pellet stoves, and no pellets to go with them, so finding actual wood stoves was the hotness. They got them yanked with just a minor series of fights, and today they’re all working on getting the stoves and small gas generator they found in a garage installed. Sadly, there were no solar panels found anywhere (but I kind of expected that already, so no skin off our teeth). Some of the guys are working on some ideas to make life a little easier around here too. These dudes really know how to get shit done. Kevin is the balls.

No injuries, and only one real news item health wise to report. Melissa apparently had a few days where she had contractions, but those subsided. Of course she started having them about an hour ago again, so we’re thinking this is the real labor coming on. We don’t know the exact moment of conception, nor did she get exceptional prenatal care… But she’s gotta be close. She looks like she’s going to give birth to a full size replica of Ollie.

I feel better myself as it involves pain, but my body is very weak. I lost an alarming amount of muscle tissue being in bed that long, and I’ve got a few bed sores to boot. Nothing major really, but they are stingy as hell, and Lindsey and Roger have me on some antibiotics to make sure they don’t get infected. It hurts to roll over when they put the cream on. I’m hoping the antibiotics help to prevent the neck from getting infected too. See: Adrian’s fear of infection overwhelming him.

So the real thing I wanted to write about tonight was twofold. Firstly, we all blanked on the fact that yesterday was Thanksgiving, so this morning when I realized yesterday was the damn holiday, I got on the walkie, and summoned Abby and Patty to remind them, and to see if we could get something nice going. I think I’m the only person with a fucking calendar here, and as a result we missed the holiday. Preparations are being made now for a sweet luncheon to celebrate the holiday. I’m also told by my tiny blonde backup that many folks are celebrating the arrival of the others, as well as my sitting back up alive. I guess the odds in Vegas that I’d sit back up dead were at least 60/40.

Fuck odds. The Jinx Fairy can blow me and chug it.

Whore.

Anyway. Cheery holiday chatter aside, we’re planning a shindig tomorrow to end all shindigs. James has been outside the wall with my bow hunting turkey, and he’s been pretty successful for a few weeks. He’s got one on ice right now, and he’s double timing trying to get a second out the back gate in the woods. We’re still getting straggler undead down the road, but since the crew started doing runs for loot, we’ve kept it a lot more manageable. Trying to explain to the SO kids that we will piss through our ammo is a good time. They love their rifles. I’m trying to start a love affair for them with halligans. Truthfully, they’re the shit, and don’t run out of ammo either. To be frank, I’d settle on a love affair with a fire axe, sledgehammer, crowbar, or even a concrete block. Anything that doesn’t make a lot of noise and run out of ammo. These guys aren’t used to the idea of being in one place for long. They’ve been sticking and moving for months now, and after they’re gone, they don’t give a shit about how much noise they just made. Here, it’s a concern. Things FIND us if we make noise. Did I mention these guys have military grade suppressors? You think they'd use them more.

Alright, second big issue of the day is what I’ve got planned for us for the near future. Part of why the guys were so able to find stoves and a generator was due to information Gilbert and I gathered from the other side.

Let me try and explain what it was like. Have you ever had a dream where things seemed very real, but you knew you were still in a dream? Vivid experiences that sat on the edge of your mind just out of reach, just beyond the real? Most of the time when I realized I was having one of those dreams, I became too aware of it, and I wound up waking up, losing the whole experience.

Not so, on the other side. The other side is like a massive theme park set in a dream, one where the whole damn world froze solid on June 23rd, 2010. The bad part of that is that nothing works there. Cars don’t start, water doesn’t run, you don’t eat or drink and everything is hazy and indistinct the further it gets from you, and that includes relationships. Much like a dream, the more you concentrate on what is happening, the more control you have over it, and the more “real” it becomes for you.

If I thought about a person who I knew was dead with enough will and desire, I could muster them to my presence or sometimes, I could go to them. As a result, once I got good at it, I was able to bring quite a few people to me, to chat. Of course, that only worked on people who died on that day, or since then. You see, the door was open before then, but now it’s shut solid until we sort this bullshit out. Most of the people who died before June 23rd, and by most, I mean the VAST MAJORITY, got to move on to where they're supposed to be. The only people we were able to contact that died before that day were the folks who were probably lingering, haunting somewhere.

I’ll talk more about who I spoke with, and what they had to say another day. Maybe. Really, it doesn’t matter for today’s entry. What I can say, is that I was told NOT to try and talk to Cassie by Gilbert because somehow, she’s wrapped up in this. I’m not sure exactly how yet, but I’ll figure it out. Also, I was unable to summon my brothers after trying carefully, so I think both of them are still alive. That’s awesome news.

What does matter, is that the world on the other side is frozen in time, the same as it was June 23rd when everything went off the tracks and shit the bed. If I went to a house and looked through it, everything that was there that day, appeared before me. So I realized right off the bat that if I needed to find something, all I had to do was spend the time wandering about, searching for items, and viola, when I awoke, I could go to those places, and unless the items I needed had been taken since June of last year, the items were still there (theoretically of course). This should work best for large items like stoves, generators, cars, etc. They’re less likely to have been removed. It’s why the guys and gals so easily found the wood stoves and generators the past few days.

They’re amazed, I’m exhausted. It was fucking WORK to wander around and search all those houses with Gilbert and Gavin while I was “out of commission.” I don’t think my reputation here as a “normal guy” was helped by having supernatural information. Some of the folks here that found out I was giving out spot-on intel about local houses and businesses were literally dumbfounded. I didn’t explain how, just made it out to be no big deal, but some folks are clearly seeing me as some kind of modern day messiah. I don’t like that at all. I’m just a regular fucking guy, dragged into some pretty irregular bullshit.

Anyway, because I know of where some awesome shit MIGHT be, I’ve got to get the crew set up on some raids to houses and businesses that are likely to still be intact. There are some houses on the edge of town that I found that should have reloading supplies for ammunition, medical supplies, as well as gas generators, stoves, vehicles, tools, building supplies, and much more.

My first concern is traveling to, and making those places safe so we can gather what’s left of what we saw. My second concern is getting a plane in the air. I know that sounds like a huge reach, but hear me out. We have a pilot, multiple pilots actually, and people who can repair small planes now. Nick and Kate are both capable, and there is a small training airport maybe ten miles away that has Cessnas, and planes of the such that they claim to be able to repair and fly. If we can get a plane in the air, even a small one, an eye in the sky as well as the ability to travel long distances will be incredible for us. I’d like to get that done before the snow falls. Again. We got about six inches of heavy wet snow a couple days ago, and it sucked. Fortunately we have the plow, and lots of kids that have energy and shovels.

We’ll see if the plane thing happens. I suspect bullshit will get in the way. Until then, we soldier on, getting shit done.

Incidentally, food supplies are much lower than I thought they’d be by this point. I’m not sure why, but it appears that folks were indulging while I was out. Going into winter, we really can’t afford to eat too much. Especially now that we are plus thirteen mouths to feed.

Thirteen hungry mouths I might add. I’m going to have to investigate the missing food problem, and find out who is eating us literally out of house and home. Of course the more I think about it, it could be someone storing food in locations across campus to hoard it. Maybe someone in Hall D, or Hall C is moving food there for their own uses later on this winter. Makes sense as a survival plan, doesn’t it? I guess we’ll get to the bottom of it.

Maybe tomorrow. I just took a vike, and the world is getting swimmy. Catch ya on the flip side Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

November 27th

I am amazingly fucking sore. I feel like I’ve been ridden hard, and put up wet. I am doing exercises to the best of my ability here to reconstitute my withered body, and I tell you what Mr. Journal, I am so out of shape it isn’t funny. I tried sit ups early in the morning the other day and not only did my gut kill me for the remainder of the day, but I nearly blew out the stitches in my neck. Roger, Ethan, and Doc Lindsey were not pleased in the least. I haven't been scolded like that in some time.

Rest has been the order of the day today.

Our holiday shindig was a smashing success. I consumed an entire can of cranberry sauce, all on my own. One thing I haven’t talked about is my ravenous appetite. I was bitching the last time I wrote that we were going through food too fast, and I’m wondering if it's because I am now awake, and eating calories like they’re going out of style.

Shrug.

I feel better, though sore. The pain in the neck is getting manageable, and I haven’t had to take anything more powerful than Tylenol for the pain in a day. Of course I took four Tylenol for the soreness in the rest of my body, but the neck is doing much better. With any luck, I’ll be up and around doing things outside in another week.

Anyway, our shindig was held in the cafeteria which needed to be cleared out some as we’ve been using it for storage. We made enough space to pull out some old cafeteria tables, and we decorated it with some old leftover Thanksgiving decorations Abby found in the admissions building. I think it was that girl Amy’s office.

James and Joel have been out hunting for the past couple days out in the woods far behind campus, and they’ve reported in that there have been a few roaming undead. That’s new, and worrisome. Luckily, they also dropped two turkeys, and a small deer. Therefore, we had a very old school meal of roast turkey, and grilled venison with carrots, apples, onions, small potatoes, cabbage, and an assortment of sweets we’ve been holding on to.

We don’t have many sweet things left. Sugar is getting low as a general supply item, and when that’s out I'm not sure exactly how we’re going to sweeten things. Maple syrup? I’m not sure to be honest. That is a really shitty thought when I put effort into thinking about it. How will I sweeten my coffee? For that matter, where will I get coffee when we run out? We’ve got a LOT stashed away… but when that’s gone, what will we do?

Damn.

Happy thoughts Adrian. Happy thoughts. This bullshit will depress you.

So across three or four large tables, everyone sat down and shared food, drink, and a good time. We rotated the guys and gals on watch, and had the MGR people just come back to eat for a few hours, and it was great. Just an awesome time. Oh, and people got fucking wrecked. Blake’s cider is getting there, but the new guys brought several pallets of beer and liquor with them from when they landed in Maine, and as everyone smart knows, beer is awesome shit.

It was nice to watch everyone let go and enjoy themselves. It was also nice to spend some time with Blake. He and I have a kind of bond now that’s weird, and also very cool. He was with me on the other side for some time, and he knows what it’s like to live in that space between life and death. He stood there as I challenged (stupidly, one might argue) evil itself, and dealt with the minion it sent my way. Fuck Sean, that dumb bitch.

Shindig was good, no one died, lots of gas and naps, and campus wasn’t attacked during our meal to ruin the good times. I kept finding myself watching the new people and trying to gauge them. The PJ guys are all stand up dudes. Very intense though. Alpha males in almost every sense of the word. No quit in them at all. Ask them to achieve the impossible, and either they’ll do it, or die trying. Kevin and his people are the same, though they’re older, wiser, and more family oriented. I fit in better with them. Becky and Shelby, the British woman and kid are both warm and sweet. Becky has bonded strongly with Melissa, who is still having contractions by the way. They’ve slowed, but they’re still hitting her. Not sure what to make of Michelle. I think I’m intimidated by her. She’s tall, pretty, and smart. She also has this gift for catching my eye and just… staring. Not in the “I’m crazy” way, but in that, “I’m not afraid to make eye contact” way, which is weird. She’s hard to not look at too, which means I have had plenty of those awkward moments. I’m now fairly sure she thinks I am a weirdo. Or a creepy perv, and to be honest, both assessments are probably true.

That was… yesterday. Today I am resting, and I believe the rest of the folks around here are doing the same. We’re working out a more detailed shift schedule for watches, and also working out a rotation for who will staff MGR. Some folks want to live there permanently, which is fine, but some folks want to rotate out there for fresh eyes, and a change of pace. The tower allows us a great view of the town, and it’s also a great resource with the repeater tower on the roof.

Oh, the biggest thing that happened today was a delivery of two turkeys and veggies to the Factory by Kevin and a few of our old schoolers. I wanted Kevin and Martin to visit there and assess their security, and see if the nerdy dude there… what’s his name? Shit I forget. Lemme look it up real quick… Andy. The nerdy dude in the control room there.

Anyway, I wanted them to talk to Andy and get an idea if their security system could be duplicated here, and at the tower downtown. I really liked how he had it set up.

Kevin and Martin checked the place out, and despite a handful of undead outside of the building that had to be put down mostly with melee weapons, it was a productive trip. Andy is coming our way in a couple days to get the area checked out and start working on collecting gear to get a camera control room dealio working.

Kevin tried to explain it, but sadly, Kevin is an uneducated cunt, and failed miserably. Apparently Andy can set up a wireless network that transmits the video from remote cameras. The range is good, and apparently he said the cameras can be a mile away or more. We’re now thinking cameras at the end of Auburn Lake Road as well as in strategic places around campus and in town will be an enormous asset.

I can’t wait to talk to Andy to see how this will work out. Being able to maintain security from a central location and cut down on the number of people we’re committing to gate and wall posts will be nice. We’ve got three on duty 24 hours a day right now, and we’re stretching that job into some people that don’t have what I’d describe as tier one combat skills. If we get attacked at the wrong time right now, especially if it is by people and not zombies, we could be in serious trouble.

Speaking of security, Kevin brought Fitz to our meeting earlier, and the two of them asked if they could get the okay to build some guard towers. Old school, perimeter towers for elevated observation. They suggested that one tower near the gate would be built to house a mounted SAW to provide heavy fire to anything at the bridge or gate. I told them to go right the fuck ahead. They are taking a few bodies into the woods on the other side of the bridge tomorrow to start cutting trees to make the towers. Kevin wants to build at least four, Fitz is thinking six is the more correct number. I told them to build as many as they wanted. Even if we don’t staff all of them, all of the time, they’ll be great for observation, and if we HAVE to mount a SAW somewhere, we can.

What else? Um… The plane thing is on hold. We’re still getting snow, and I’m thinking our aspirations to fly are going to have to wait until spring now. We’re kind of behind the ball now, and I don’t want to waste time plowing runways, and hangar lots and whatever else we’d have to do to get it done. I’m sure Kate and Nick will be pissed about it, but such is life. Deal with it.

Hall C is now electrified, and has a wood stove to provide heat. The gas generator I directed the group to the other day was a pretty big one, and the whole building has power like Halls A, B, and D. Did I mention we’re rationing gas and electricity yet?

With the gas stations and all the gasoline up in flames due to the attacks while I was out, we don’t have a single new source for gasoline anywhere. I found some gas cans while I was out on the other side, but honestly, that might amount to maybe fifty gallons, assuming they’re still where I saw them, and the gas inside them is still good.

So yeah, we’re only running the generators when necessary. Heat is to be provided by wood stoves, and electricity is only to be used for hot water, laundry, and for movie time in each dorm during the evenings. No more running them overnight until we NEED the furnaces on to heat these buildings. We need more wood stoves too. Some of these buildings are ginormous, and really need two or three stoves to maintain their heat. They weren’t designed for central heat sources, they were designed for forced hot air furnaces, or floorboard radiators. Something to keep in mind if we start new constructions.

Soooo…. What’s next? Andy is visiting to assess our security system viability. After that, we need to assemble components for the system, which the more I think about, scares me. Where are we going to find the right kinds of cameras? My bet is the city, and that I do not like thinking about that.

We need to hit some of the tiny towns between here and Westfield, then hit some of the small towns that are “suburbs” of Westfield. Mostly to try and find some small gas stations that with any luck escaped ravaging by survivors.

I had this quasi epiphany the other day. If you lived in the urban areas when shit went down, you had the negative of being utterly and completely surrounded on all sides by hordes of the dead. The positive is, if you survived the initial rush you were living in a resource rich area. Theoretically, you were also competing for those resources with a larger amount of survivors, but hey, if you were fast enough, you could accumulate a lot of stuff.

If you lived in rural areas, similar to town or Westfield, you had less dead to deal with, but also far fewer resources left over. Smaller populations means less dead to deal with, but also likely larger amounts of survivors. Smaller populations also means more survivors, so there are likely to be more people competing for those smaller resource amounts.

Does that makes sense? I’m wondering if life is actually harder now because all of our resources have been depleted due to lower starting amounts, and more survivors eating and consuming them.

It probably doesn't matter. Food for thought.

So yeah, Andy and the cameras, gasoline, more wood stoves (or solar panels etc), building 4 to 6 guard towers, healing, and a general push for progress all over.

And I get to sit and do nothing while everyone else goes out and gets shit done. Man that’s infuriating.

-Adrian

November 28th

Woot! Lunchtime earlier today Melissa went into labor, and she just gave birth. It’s... 11pm.

It’s a GIRL! Our first baby girl. Pretty intense shit. She’s massive. I guess Doc Lindsey and Roger said she weighed in at nine pounds even. Melissa is sleeping now, and if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay that way while her lady bits repair themselves.

Ollie and Melissa named the little girl Martha, after his mother. I didn’t hear a middle name, but I’m sure it’s fitting and appropriate. The kid has dark hair like Melissa’s. I was really hoping for a little redheaded baby, because that would’ve been cute.

I’m really happy for them. I’m really happy for everyone here too. The news spread fast, and folks are absolutely beaming. The new guys especially are humbled by this. It's the best thing they've experienced in a real long time. This is the latest we’ve been up for a good reason in a long ass time. It’s nice.

I’m off to bed. Shit to do tomorrow.

-Adrian

December 2011

December 1st

I’m so frigging beat Mr. Journal. I’ve been super active the past few days, and my body is feeling it. Even though I haven’t been doing anything heavy duty, my muscles are such mush now, just walking around has been a challenge for me. At the end of pretty much every single day lately, I feel closer to being a pile of walking mashed potatoes, than a human.

It sucks. I am seriously thinking it’ll be another week before I am anywhere close to being back to anything resembling normal for me. But, even though I say that here, I did get to fire my weapon the other day, and despite it being kind of fucked up for me, looking back on it now, I’m very glad it happened.

Melissa is doing very well. She’s recovering from the surgery admirably, and despite being very sore, and having a little bit of bleeding after the birth, she’s doing terrific. Ollie is doing great as well. Little Martha screams like there is no tomorrow. Ollie is still smiling, but Blake and Kim are pulling their hair out. Their little guy was just starting to sleep good at night, and now Martha is fucking that all up. Hopefully she settles down and starts sleeping better. I just got back from visiting them in Hall B, so that news is fresh.

The day after Martha was born I grabbed Jenna to lend me a hand with the food inventory in the cafeteria. I think I mentioned that we’ve been using it as a central repository for the entire campus for large supplies, and I really wanted to take a day or two and get a much closer idea of where we were in terms of supplies for the upcoming winter. I am pleased to say, we have quite a bit of vegetable stores still on hand, but we are missing a rather alarming amount of “good stuff.”

What’s good stuff you ask Mr. Journal? Well, pretty much anything sugary, or canned and is marginally healthy for you. Ravioli, canned spaghetti, etc. We’re also missing multiple boxes of candy bars as well as snack cakes, fruit roll up thingies, gummy fruity thingies, and all other manner of less than healthy, but thoroughly delicious foods.

It’s so clearly been cherry picked that both Jenna and I came to a pretty universal conclusion that someone with a sweet tooth has been taking what they want on the sly. Either they are sneaking in somehow when the door is unlocked, or they have access with a key, and they’re simply helping themselves as they see fit. I was not frigging pleased. I like candy bars. I love cupcakes. Which prick out there is eating our good snacks?

Oh, and did I mention we’re missing somewhere around 30 or 40 cans of soda? Where the hell did that shit go? Soda quite literally doesn’t grow on trees, and replacing it is pretty frigging dangerous. This is very greedy, and borderline reckless. This is the kind of dilemma that makes me wonder where do we draw the line? I’m sitting here wondering to myself that if I find the asshat stealing food from us, are we within our rights to line them up against a wall and put one in the back of their heads?

That lack of food might mean someone starves in the next four or five months. I’m seriously debating in the back of my head that we need to make an example out of this person. Assuming we can even pin the tail on the fucktard. I asked Jenna to search campus for folks who have porked up, and she found no one. Everyone is holding on pretty much to the same weight. Of course that tells me that whoever is stealing the food is not eating it, they’re simply hoarding it somewhere. Maybe someone is planning on leaving?

Hm. Disturbing thought there. I wonder if someone is planning on leaving here with a giant truck filled with all our most delicious foods.

Ooooh… that gets my shit ALL riled up. Makes me want to punch babies, and God save me, we have babies here to punch now.

Funny how small a thing can disrupt life now. I’m pissed over missing Root Beer and cookies. Ready to put barrel to forehead with the intent to kill…

I need to reevaluate this. Murder can’t be the solution, even to prove a point. I can see something dangerous like if someone were to kill one of us, that would be worth killing over I think. But stealing food… Nope, not yet. I’m not that angry, or that desperate.

Yet.

Andy arrived late this morning with a small group of folks from the Factory. That marked the first time they’d ever visited here, and they were suitably impressed. Mike and Patty gave them the nickel tour, and showed them the basic layout of the place but didn’t give them a huge intel filled tour. On the outside chance they are devious, dastardly people, we didn’t want them knowing where all the honey holes were here. Give them no idea where the big folks sleep at night, or where we store our food or guns, or gasoline.

None of us had the impression they were scouting. Andy did a pretty thorough security screening for us though, and marked a few spots where we NEEDED cameras. (according to his fears, I’d imagine) Of course he also said we could move the cameras as needed.

Apparently he can set them up to be powered with solar cells, and/or rechargeable batteries that we’ll need to swap out every so often. He said periodically we'd need to climb up with a ladder and clean the lenses and make sure the spider webs weren't gunking shit up, but that's cake. Nothing much required for maintenance. The toughest part of all of this is actually coming up with the gear. Where are we going to find all the necessary cameras and wiring, and batteries, etc?

Andy said our two best bets were the town municipal station, and the grocery store. Large retailers have tons of cameras, and he can just yank them if we can supply him with some security while he’s doing it. We can also check the pharmacy, and possibly even the atm machines and banks. We’re planning on doing that within days so we can get that ball rolling.

Most of our labor force has been directed towards building the guard towers inside the wall. We spent an entire day cutting down trees and getting fresh lumber made up, and right now the same labor force is working on getting it all cut to size, and put upright. We're running out of dry lumber to use though, so there's bound to be a slowing down in our near future. So far so good. No injuries of note, and we’ve got one tower just about up and ready to go. It is about three stories tall, and right now it only has a ladder for getting to the top, but we’ll be putting stairs and doors on them for faster ascension in the event of an attack on us. Too hard to carry a box of 5.56mm up the ladder while carrying a SAW, as you're getting shot at, or worrying about a massive siege of the dead.

What else? Seems like there should be way more to talk about. I’ve been nose deep in this food inventory thing as well as following Andy around. I like the guy, but let’s be honest, letting anyone new into your home turf is nerve wracking. I just hope he’s on the level with us. I also hope he hasn’t been reached out to by the forces arrayed against us. That’d suck balls.

My brother Caleb and his wife and son are doing well. He had a pretty rough time of it when I was hurt, sitting there watching me slowly waste away, and he's still dealing with that. Sophie said he's been kind of an asshole of late, and I took him to task on that. He got angry at me, and I think when he started to raise his voice, all that was said was said. He shut up, and nodded. Becca is doing great. She struggled to watch me while I was hurt too, but she took it better for whatever reason. She's also working really hard in the gymnasium with Ryan, keeping the hydro operation running at full tilt, which is indispensable, especially in the face of the food shortage we're likely to have.

Did I mention I was super tired? We’re going to do a more thorough search of outlying buildings in a day or two to try and find where this food is being stashed. Despite us still bringing down the occasional deer and turkey, losing all the processed yummies will be a real bitch as we move along. If only for the kids who want a nice sweet snack. I also asked Jenna in the next few days to try and get an assessment of our needs for clothing and bedding as we move into winter. We’re carrying thirteen extra bodies, and even though I know they brought stuff, I want to make sure everyone has blankets and jackets and whatnot.

Headed to bed for the moment. I’m hoping all of the irons in our collective fires develop well. It’d suck balls if it didn’t.

If you’re listening Jinx Fairy… you can go fuck yourself.

-Adrian

December 3rd

Mr. Journal do you remember when I said way back when how amazing it was the amount of work we got done we had all those new extra bodies? I feel like saying the exact same things today. We’re plus thirteen bodies right now, and they’re all hard workers with agendas to get shit done. It is so helpful to have people around that understand the concept of having a “sense of urgency.”

We do not have a lot of time before the serious snow comes, and we have a LOT to accomplish between now and then. For example, we need to get the security system installed, and to do that, we need to accumulate batteries, solar cells, mounts, cameras, computers, wifi gear, laptops, and more. We also need to fabricate boxes to mount them in so the weather doesn’t get to them. Lots to do! That’s just one project.

So Jenna and I did some room searches yesterday, and we found nothing in the dorms that indicated the food had been taken and stashed there. We even checked the outlying buildings fairly well and found nothing. As a side note, the pile or human wreckage out near the old staff housing portion of campus is gross. So many people have been put to rest on that pyre area it makes me queasy. It doesn’t smell bad, and there aren’t like, body parts or anything, but the pile of ash is far too large to be acceptable. It bothers me on a fundamental level.

I just dislike the idea that we’ve had to put that many people to rest.

I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. When the dead are beating down doors to eat you alive, and the living are beating down doors to eat your food or take you as a prisoner, we are going to stack the bodies up. I think in all reality, we’ve been very fortunate that we haven’t lost more.

I found myself very uncomfortable the other day when I had to use my rifle for the first time in since I came out of the coma. I started to tell the story here to you, then immediately let myself get sidetracked because quite honestly, I didn’t want to talk about it. It was easier to just walk away from writing about it than it was to sit there and admit it was shitty for me.

I don’t want to go into all the details, but at one point the other day, I think it was… two days ago, maybe three, Wendy was pulling security at the back gate and she radioed that we had some roamers back there. Kevin and Mike, and all the others were working on the towers, and I was nearby doing shit with Jenna. I said I’d head over because I was close, so I did.

We had five zombies slowly milling about at the rear gate, trying to get inside the facility. They weren’t massed up, or doing anything out of the ordinary, they were just there. Granted, it was odd that they were there in the first place, but honestly, it’s been a weird few years, and I am just running out of give-a-fuck.

So long story short, I line up my first shot, and without thinking too much about it, I squeeze off the round, and I swear to you it was like I was teleported right back to the moment when I was shot. I could feel the air in the orchard, and the entire experience was relived. I felt my neck turn red hot as the bullet hit me, and I felt the swelling, and the bleeding, and everything. Vividly I remembered becoming weak in the knees, unable to stand, and then hitting the grass, and going limp as I went into this catatonic… shock or whatever. I felt like I was already dead. Like I was watching it happen from above. Fucked up shit.

I froze up at the gate, and it took me a few seconds to shake the bullshit clean to drop the others and even then each shot was a process. I felt… lost, scared, and very new. I could feel Wendy's eyes boring into me, judging me, realizing how weak I was in that moment. Very uncool in many ways Mr. Journal. I haven’t slept well since either. I keep having these weird dreams where I relive the event, and when I go down, clutching at my bleeding neck, I turn around and I watch Chris get shot. It’d be normal, but of course I can’t dream of the living, so I don’t see Abby, or Martin, or any of the people who came to my aid. I see Chris standing there, holding the rifle he shot me with, and then I see him go down. I'm all alone in the dream. No one comes. I stare up at the cold blue sky and wait for the darkness to come.

It’s weird. Not good. Last night was decent, but now I am developing a complex I fear. The next time I need to pull the trigger, will I freeze up? Will I see that moment flash before my eyes again? Will I feel that stabbing pain in the back of my neck once more? Will I pull the trigger in time?

I feel like a liability. I am not sure how to deal with this just yet. Hopefully I have time to sort my head out before I am put to the test. Jinx Fairy, eat my ass.

Sigh. Where was I?

I think Jenna is hitting on me. She flirted with me way back when I was at Westfield trying to meet a girl, and she’s pretty, and kinda funny. Hard worker too. I like working with her. Spending time around her. I haven’t returned any of her advances, and I don’t plan on it. I’ve got to sort me out before I do anything stupid and drag anyone into my drama. I’ve got plenty of that, don’t you know.

Speaking of drama, Mallory is moving to MGR. She didn’t tell me that, I heard it through Abby, who heard it through Doc Lindsey who heard it through… you get the drift. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know if I care what to make of it. I know Otis is happier with the bed all to ourselves at night. He’s been snuggling right up to me like the good old days, and he’s sleeping better. I think I am too for that matter. I wonder if I was carrying guilt over being with her? Unconsciously feeling like shit simply because I was with her? More of my drama right there for you.

Hopefully she does well there, and is happy. Happier than I made her at least.

Tomorrow and the next day we are sending out a large crew of people to start searching for and accumulating the supplies to get our camera systems installed. Kevin and Fitz are taking a small group of our better shooters and “operators” out for the run with Andy. We’re going to keep everyone else not already committed to a job on the construction of the towers. We want to get them done fairly quickly. Kevin and Fitz settled on a total of five towers, and as of right now, we’ve got two towers just about finished. The frames are erected, and the floor is installed. We need to finish those first, then we will move on the others. One of the cameras we are planning on installing will be on the underside of the floor on the tower near the main gate, so that was important to get done first. The tower will be right near the back side of Hall A and will have a nice line of sight all the way up the hill on the other side of the bridge. Should be a savage firing position should we need it.

It didn’t take us all that long to get those two towers (Tolkien reference ftw) more or less built, and I think we might need another ten days to get the other three built. With any luck, we’ll have some of the parts for the cameras in hand and assembled within 4 or 5 days, and we’ll be able to watch stuff.

Andy maintains the system he is designing for us will be state of the art, despite the fact that Radio Shack is long since closed. Incidentally, that’s one of the places they are hitting tomorrow. Andy is pretty sure the small Radio Shack here in town will still have all the wiring and many of the parts he needs. Imagine that.

That’d be nice, because I’d love to get this shit done quickly, and with minimal injury, and zero loss of life. This is a nice project, but not one I want to lose people over. Sick of people dying. See: giant funeral pyre.

I have this feeling that things are going to get bad. I don’t know exactly how, or when, but I think this lull in the noise is very much intentional on someone’s part. I think the good guy, or the bad guy is pulling strings for unknown reasons, and that is almost never good. I think when the good guy pulls strings he’s just buying us time to get our shit together for when the bad guy has his shit rallied and on point.

And well, we already know what happens when the bad guy gets his shit together. Let us not forget that all three of us are here now, and even though we have no idea what we’re doing, or what to do next, we know badness is not far away. I suspect we're nearing the endgame.

So yeah, major trips downtown the next few days. Not much here. I am doing more food inventory crap with Jenna, and she’s searching for clothes and blankets like I said. Ollie and Melissa are well, as is their baby. Fairly quiet, which I don’t like one bit.

I want to get to the bottom of this missing food. I want to find out what’s up.

I want to stop being scared.

-Adrian

December 5th

I hate being cooped up here on campus waiting for my friends to return from dangerous outside the walls missions. It bugs the fuck out of me. Makes my anxiety considerably worse.

I have been exercising and healing and doing all the things Ethan and Roger have been telling me to, but I feel like the healing is taking forever. I know it isn’t, but every time I watch all these guys and gals slap a fresh magazine into their weapons, and chamber a round, my heart skips a beat. I feel the anxiety of the danger they might be going into, and I feel the worry that I can’t be there with them, that I am failing them and worst of all, I am jealous.

Yeah I said it. Jealous. Jealous like a 15 year old girl watching her 16 year old friend walk away with the starting quarterback. I so desperately want that adrenaline rush with my friends. My days are filled with tedium, and soreness, and sweat, and frustration over not being able to help as much as I want, and not being able to track down the missing food or whoever the fuck stole it. Plus I feel like we have so much happening here on campus, and we’re all struggling desperately to get things done, we’re skipping out on conversations we should be having, and cutting corners to get through this coming winter. I’m feeling a lot of frustration at this moment.

We got a little bit of cold, damp rain today too, and the bite wound on my leg, the three scars on my arm, as well as the incision in my neck are sore. I hope those wounds aren’t going to hurt every time weather like this happens, because that would blow. Sick of this shit.

Enough bitching. If I don’t drop my sack I’ll get pushed down the drain by a giant cosmic fucking toe.

What’s new? Ah, yes. Runs downtown. The ones I wish I was going on. So far, so good. I don’t have all the details because they have been out the gate early, and arriving back very late. In fact, the first night they were out they simply stayed at the Factory and never returned at all. It left us fairly low here on bodies for security, but in all actuality, we had more folks than we ever used to, so it was a wash. We’re just spoiled by how many available bodies we have on hand now.

I had about ten minutes with Fitz this evening as he drank a cup of coffee with me outside. Fitz is Kevin's right hand man. Fitz takes evening walks very regularly, and I think I can check in with him if I want to. I just need to time it right. I like chatting with him. He’s like an older brother. Well, another older brother. Caleb has been busy with the towers the past week or so, and I haven’t seen him aside from bumping into him in the hallway here in the Hall. Funny how that works. He moves here, almost dies, kind of saves my life, and now I never see the guy.

I also never see Becca. She’s always busy working the hydroponics shit with Ryan. She looks happy when I see her, and I know Ryan is cranking out the veggies for us, so once again that’s just me feeling butthurt. I’m such a pussy.

Fitz said that the first night’s progress was stellar. The Radio Shack they hit had been basically left untouched, and the undead in the area were thin enough that they were able to handle them with the suppressed M9s, and with halligans. At no point were they in any real danger, other than the occasional shambling dead moron.

Amusing to me how different my accounts of danger are now. Remember back when dealing with a single zombie was like, an epic occurrence? I’d write an entire page on how I dealt with it, like I was a martial artist detailing the necessary moves to win a trophy or something. Now it takes a half dozen undead in a weird place doing strange things to even warrant a sentence or two. Priorities.

Anesthetized to the situation are we? I’m sure part of it is the fact that we are so proficient at killing them now we aren’t getting into such nasty situations. It also helps that we do nothing alone, unlike my first months. I had to do everything with no backup, and that’s so much more frightening and nerve wracking. Now we’ve got a minimum of six bodies moving at any given time, plenty of medical expertise all over the group, and a theoretical abundance of ammunition and weapons.

It’s like a walk in the park.

Fitz said we have enough wiring, laptops, and wifi shit to set up all the cameras. They hit the police station today as well as the pharmacy and the bank, and with all that in hand we are pretty much set. He said we are still a few cameras short of our basic needs for Bastion here, and we still need the cameras for MGR as well. Tomorrow they are going to the grocery store to remove the cameras there, and if they can salvage all of them, we should be all set. After that it’ll just be building the boxes and getting them mounted as needed. Martin got yanked from tower work today to start on the boxes, and I guess he’ll be done with that in a couple days at most.

Amazing how fast we can get shit done.

One other really important thing that has been happening here is school. Does that sound stupid? We are at a school. Everything here could be described as being “school.”

Not what I meant clearly.

Michelle has taken on the job of becoming the first teacher at Bastion. She’s got that PhD. burning a hole in her back pocket, and she doesn’t have a lot of other usable skills. From what Kevin and Joel told me a week or so ago in conversation, she has no interest in taking up arms to help fight, and while useful with the agricultural side of things her brain is her biggest asset. Well, she’s pretty good looking too, but that doesn’t really "help" us at all. Makes it easier to talk to her for sure.

Sidetrack aside, she’s started to clean and clear the main school building to use for its original intended purpose. It’s far too cold right now to use it through the winter, and it also makes zero fucking sense to heat that building strictly for use as a classroom, but she’s still getting that ready to go. During the few days at the end of the world as we know it, the place got jacked up big time when I was clearing it of undead, and honestly, I didn’t go back and really give it a once over to clean it thoroughly.

The upstairs classrooms are still filled with .22 brass from my shooting position. There is busted drywall from gunfire on the floor, and there are some old stains of blood as well. I also know there are pieces of person on the wall as well in several places. Little bits of gray matter from head shots, more than likely. She grabbed a few of the teenage kids who could stomach it, and they’ve gotten the place in remarkably good order the past three or four days, but he has used a lot of bleach supply. She also went through all of the dorms and collected the textbooks kids had in their rooms so she could start a curriculum for every kid.

Wanna hear a really impressive fact? We have managed to accumulate ELEVEN school aged kids. I forget all the names right at this moment, but we have eleven kids here now that should be in school. Kids that are not getting any education right now whatsoever. Not acceptable, and I am stoked that Michelle is all over getting that taken care of. She’s going to need a teaching aide too, so someone will have to step up and volunteer to help. Education is an investment in our future. If this place doesn't have a future beyond us, what's the point right?

In the winter Michelle is thinking of using the common room in Hall B. It’s large enough, and there are already newborns in that building anyway, so having a teacher, a teacher’s aide, plus Melissa and Kim with their kids will turn Hall B into a daycare/school building of sorts. I couldn’t think of a better alternative, and it does sound good at the moment. Michelle said she was thinking she’d be able to start classes within ten days, give or take.

Huzzah for not raising idiots. Michelle is going around asking people what they know and could possibly teach the kids. Ollie and Ryan are sort of clear cut choices to teach agriculture. That’s a must for a course. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE needs to know how to grow a garden at the very least, and should know how to help in our fields. Martin and Blake can teach wood/metal working, as well as diesel and small engine repair.

Firearms instruction could be taught by a handful of people here now, and we have enough folks that can teach melee combat to get it done right. We also have a few folks good at math and English as subjects, and Michelle can teach history and religion. That pretty much covers everything but science, so that’s her first serious teaching dilemma. Find a science teacher, or learn how to teach it herself.

Reminds me of my brother talking about SMEE school as a SEAL. Every SEAL has to become a “subject matter expert” before they can go to the teams. Basically they need to pick up a usable language, or learn comms tech, engine repair, or get medically trained, etc. Everyone here needs to be the same. Learn something useful. Or you aren’t. Earn your food. Or don’t eat. Pretty straightforward.

Speaking of food… that reminds me I’m still pissed over the missing food. Tired now. Otis beckons. I’m hoping all goes well the next couple of days.

-Adrian

December 7th

I am sporting epic wood right now.

Major league chubber.

Why do you ask? Did I get to see some of my female acquaintances naked? Was I watching some big screen pornography? Well, no actually. I just got back from a short training session with Andy about the first few cameras that are now up and operational.

You heard it here Mr. Journal, we now have a broadcasted security system that is now somewhat operational.

Motherfucking yeah.

Alright so technologically speaking I am an enormous, useless dildo, so my explanation of how this works will suck. Bear with me. The basic idea is that we have cameras placed strategically all over the place that are all linked to laptops, that are set up somehow to broadcast their video feeds via a powerful wifi network that Andy set up. He described it essentially as a powerful LAN party, which as a bit of a gaming nerd, I can wrap my head around.

Each of the wifi transmitters broadcasts generally, and any laptop can pick up the signal if you have the proper password, just like if you had internet access before that day. Pretty slick shit. Adding even more amazing capability to this, Andy has a super powerful transmitter at the Factory that he somehow managed to link to MGR’s repeater tower or something, and I guess the signal from there bounces along a couple of wifi hot spots they put up between here and there. Long story short, we can access their video feed on their cameras, and they can access ours as well. I can watch what is happening at the Factory, right fucking now.

Andy has two central servers set up to record the streams. One here at Bastion in my room on a desktop computer he built, and one in the security room at the Factory he also built. We’ll have to purge the files every so often because they are pretty much useless, but we’ll keep the recording for awhile to make sure they aren’t needed.

As of right this second, we only have the front gate camera, the rear gate camera, and the camera mounted on the corner of Route 18, and Auburn Lake Road. It is on a phone pole, about fifteen feet up and has a great view of the intersection. Anyone walking or driving up this road will be visible on the camera. It should give us a solid five minutes of warning if we’re attacked that way by the living, and far more time if by the dead.

So Andy said any laptop capable of connecting to the internet can connect to his network, and as I write this, I’ve got a browser window open in the background, and I can see all the camera feeds. You can set up the page he made to have four cameras running in the view, or you can set it up to cycle through all of them. Right now I’m watching the feeds from the Factory because quite frankly, I’m fucking nosy.

Incidentally, they are fairly boring people. None of the cameras are in bedrooms, so thus far, I have not seen any sex with ex-strippers. No fun for me, and certainly not the cause for my epic erection.

How does this change life for us here at Bastion? Excellent fucking question Mr. Journal.

We no longer need to have people outside pulling security. We will still post guards regularly, especially when we can expect attack or disruption, but we can now monitor all of these locations from any laptop. What we will change to is a dedicated security person whose job is to sit up and watch the cameras for a shift. I’m thinking we’ll do three eight hour shifts a day for that. We will also have an “on call” rotation of people expected to respond immediately to anything seen on the cameras. During their shift those people are expected to remain armed at all times, and able to respond immediately to any walkies sent by the person watching the cameras. If whatever incident is more serious than what they can handle, then they will “sound the alarm” and wake up or mobilize the rest of us. Right now we’re thinking the “on call” will be three people, plus the person dedicated to the cameras.

Obviously, we’ll adjust as needed.

Right now because of the human attack on MGR, I’m asking that we have at least one person still pulling security 24 hours a day. I want someone with a weapon walking the wall to open fire if someone gets sneaky. Imagine if you will a person or persons walking the long way through the woods to get our backside. They theoretically could get all the way to the back side of campus without being seen or heard by anything, and as terrific as our wall is, if they have time and some rope, they can get right over it. The wall was not built to keep sneaky living people out. We need more barbed or concertina wire for that. And guns. More guns would be nice.

What else is new? I feel like the addition of the cameras completely dominated my day. Oh shit, so the amazing news is that the men and women managed to get all the gear for all the camera installations by mid day today, without death or injury. Kevin said there was a bit of a hairy moment when they were inside the grocery store yesterday. I guess Andy was on a ladder getting a camera down off a ceiling beam or something, and a few of the guys were moving through the store floor, looking for anything worth taking, and somehow a zombie got into the building and started to claw at the ladder with Andy at the top of it.

Joel was nearest, and when Andy started to yell for help, he had Andy grab onto the beam for his life, and Joel ran over and smashed the zombie in the head. The ladder almost tipped over in the process, which would’ve left poor Andy dangling from the ceiling of the grocery store for a few seconds, but it didn’t tip, and everything came out okay. As you might imagine, the work to finish the camera installations is still ongoing.

I want two or three more cameras here inside Bastion, as well as at least two more on the walls. I’d like one camera pointing towards the woods on our blind side, and as dumb as it sounds, I want one more pointing towards Auburn Lake itself, on the off chance a group of crazy assholes tries to attack us from that side. Honestly, it’d be how I’d do it. Andy and Martin need to assemble something like ten more boxes/mounts for cameras to get the whole project “done for the moment” so that’s a few more days or so. I’m stoked Andy is a nerd of epic proportions. Clearly he has some serious nerd skills.

I wonder if he could teach science for Michelle at the school? I need to try and remember to get in touch with her and let her know.

What is new? No new evidence of theft. No more food has been stolen either, especially since I dropped the “Adrian is pissed” talk on folks about leaving the fucking cafeteria unlocked. Ever since that talk a few days ago, it seems as if the food is being consumed at a normal rate. I also made sure to ask Ryan to keep the gym/hydroponics building locked as well, as we don’t need anyone breaking into there to steal our shit, or to break or steal our hydroponics set up.

Something I’ve totally forgotten to mention is that while I was out, Ollie managed to prep and plant garlic for us for next year! I guess it needs to grow over the winter or whatever, and needed to be planted sometime in mid to late October. He put about ten rows of it into a nice new garden on the grounds of campus. I cannot explain to you how fucking excited I am for garlic in the spring. Fresh cloves of garlic for cooking. Oh hells yes. We’ve got so much fresh produce here from the fields as well as the stuff Ryan and Becca are churning out in the hydro set up… I think we are growing far ahead of the consumption rate, but again, with all these new mouths to feed…

We still need to figure out how to get fresh water to the folks at the Factory. We haven’t had to run them any water yet… Rain has been plentiful thankfully, and it looks like we’ll have a fair amount of snow for them to melt. I am still worried though. I don’t like having people in places where they can’t access fresh water regularly. Another downside to urban life in the apocalypse.

I am starting to simmer the stolen food thing. My rage has subsided somewhat, and with all the clear evidence of food growing plentifully all over the place, I feel like I’m getting angry over nothing. I am still bothered by the dishonesty aspect of it, but I think I’m just taking it personally because so much of the work that went into accumulating all that food was mine. Abby and Patty helped a lot too, but I feel like that was mostly my burden.

In good news, the neck feels great, and my overall level of soreness after activity is dropping dramatically. I should be able to move about without any kind of pain in a few days, barring injury, so that’s very exciting. I’d love to go out myself and see parts of town I haven’t been able to in a long time. I’m getting cabin fever hardcore. Oh well, it’ll happen when it happens. Until then, I will get my need to get out satisfied by watching these cameras.

Exciting!

-Adrian

December 10th

So the strangest thing happened the other night. As you might suspect, I’ve been spending a lot of my time looking at the security feeds. I got real nosy and focused more or less completely on the Factory for awhile, but as it turns out, they aren’t terribly exciting. They just get their shit done, and that’s about it. I mentioned this already, but it bore repeating.

So when I go to bed since the system was installed, I check the feeds on my laptop. The main computer recording everything is in my bedroom, so if I don’t feel like turning the monitor on, I just check it on my laptop. I’m rambling.

Anyway, so I was about to crash last night and I was looking at our feeds just to help me sleep better, and I swore to God I saw something move on the feed for the rear gate camera. I can’t quite describe it, but it looked an awful lot like a blur, or an animal running by or something. I’m sure it was nothing, maybe a deer or a bear or something, but man, I was mostly asleep, and it kinda freaked me out. I spent a good amount of time just staring at the camera trying to get whatever it was that moved to reappear, but nothing did. I was half asleep anyway, and to be honest, I’m now positive that it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

We put Hal on the job for watching the cameras on third shift. He said he was a natural night owl, and he’s ex service, and Kevin vouched for him big time, so it was a no brainer. I tracked Hal down at lunch today to ask him if he saw anything on any of the feeds last night, and he said it was all clear. That made me feel a little less crazy, and I’m thinking I’ll sleep much better tonight.

So yeah. Weirded out a bit, but overall, pretty good.

I’m fucking tired as balls right now. I feel like I was ran over by a defensive line wearing cleats. I started doing some jogging around campus the other day, and as it turns out, I’m soft again. What a pisser. I also realized that going anywhere near the rear gate makes me feel weird. I was jogging by the gate area and looked over at the top of the berm wall where I shot those five undead the other day and the pit of my stomach went to my shoes. I sped up the run for as long as I could, trying to get the fuck away. I changed the course of my lap to stay away from the gate.

PTSD much?

Fuck me, right? Last thing I need is hesitation when it counts. I think tomorrow or the next day I’ll FORCE myself to go there and get it over with. Maybe I’ll go shooting too just to get used to hearing the M4 fire again. I think I’ll talk to Kevin too. It always helps to talk to people who have been through the same shit. Folks just don’t understand what it’s like to almost die, or have your friends die unless they’ve been there, and lived it just like you.

Mm.

Headed to bed. I’ll write more in the morning when I get some rest. I’m sore as hell.

-Adrian

December 13th

Something… wrong is happening here at night, and I thought I was seeing something, but now I know for sure.

Remember how I said we had put Hal in charge of monitoring the feeds for the cameras on the late night shift? Turns out that was a good idea, because he pays attention. Remember also how I thought my mind was playing tricks on me? It wasn’t. I had seen something, and I talked myself out of checking it out because I was tired, and I think a little scared. I think the whole PTSD malarkey is affecting me. I think I was avoiding a fight, or the chance of a fight because I was scared.

Pussy.

Anyway late last night, or early this morning depending on if you’re a dick or not, Hal comes knocking on my bedroom door. I forget exactly when it was, but it was late as hell, and I was asleep. At first I was paranoid that someone was waking me up to shoot me and take over or something, but I put two and two together after I saw the look on poor Hal’s face. He literally looked like he’d seen a ghost.

We checked the server recording, and after a bit, I saw what he saw. It was a small figure, maybe a boy, or a girl, and it was like… indistinct and gray, and weird. It literally appeared out of nowhere directly at the back gate. Immediately I thought I was seeing a ghost, and so did Hal. It only made it worse when we saw the thing run off into the woods. It… glided over the grass. Not so much running, but gliding. After holding hands and consoling one another, we went back to bed, where I didn’t sleep a fucking wink, and first thing in the morning I started to get the message out I wanted an executive all hands meeting.

I forget all the folks that were there, but you already know the lineup. Kevin, Michelle, Abby, Patty, Mike, Fitz, Hal, and I wanted Caleb there too. I pretty much wanted our combat contingent represented, our family and home people represented, and I wanted folks I trusted. I wanted witnesses to see what was on the video, and to formulate a plan on what the hell we should do.

I played the video. Most folks just straight up were like what the fuck. Some of the other folks thought Hal and I were fucking with them. Abby was the one who made it solid, and real. She immediately identified the figure in the video as the same figure she saw on Halloween when I was out. She saw this same figure running over behind Hall E, and that figure led her around the back of the Hall to the berm wall, where she saw the undead standing there.

Now put two and two together here Mr. Journal. I saw undead at the wall where this figure was seen twice now, and Abby and James saw undead in the spot where they saw this figure run before.

Major League creepy, right?

No one knew exactly what the fuck it was. Ghost? Youngster? Recon from a nearby settlement? You know we still haven’t gotten to the root of the group of people that attacked MGR while I was out… I sit here writing this just after dinner time and all I can think about is people standing silently deep in the woods, watching our buildings, and the walls at night. I can see them hiding just far enough into the trees so that we can’t see them, and they can still see everything. Some of them have camo face paint on, and others have sunken, hungry faces. Sometimes when I sit here and think about it, they are armed better than we are, and they’re just waiting for a good time to strike.

I think my imagination is just getting the better of me. I can’t think of how any group could be better armed than we are right now. I mean, I guess there are military bases all over the world that are still surviving this with their ammo stockpiles and stuff, but for civvie groups, we’ve got out shit together pretty tight right now. We’re past the soup sandwich phase, and moving into the “right as rain” portion of organization.

Anyway, enough patting myself on the back. Our plan to figure out who the fuck or what the fuck this thing on the camera feed is pretty simple. Observe, and keep a crew of people right in the vicinity of the rear gate to respond the moment she shows up on camera. I can’t recall if I ever clarified or not, but the rear gate is actually down the hill a bit near where the maintenance shit is. It was the most sensible place to put it at the time, and it also conveniently gives up a place to hide for this project. We’re also building a tower there right now, so that area will be under heavy observation during the daylight hours.

If we see this person, we are going to attempt to capture them. Assuming of course they’re alive, and not actually a creature of the night that can walk through walls. Let me tell you this Mr. Journal, from looking at that video, it certainly looks like whatever it was just walked through the back gate like it wasn’t even there.

Major League creepy. Uncool as well. Major League uncool.

If we have to, we’ll chase it down and shoot it. Assuming it can be killed.

I don’t like all the variables here. There are far too many moving pieces for my liking. I have a shit feeling about this, and I find myself finding more and more reasons to just… ignore this, and I know that’s not right. I haven’t vocalized this level of discomfort to anyone yet, because I know they’ll look at me like I’m growing a tail or something, but I really feel on many levels we should just… let this bullshit fly.

And then I think about how this could be our food thief, and I get all riled up again. It doesn’t matter. I committed us to this course of action, and we’ve already started our watches. Kevin and Joel are down at the garage tonight pulling security when and if it ever comes back. Kevin also dug into his endless bags of goodies, and issued out a handful of new comms sets for those of us who are likely to get into a fight. He has throat microphones, and higher power military transmitters that operate on frequencies only available to the same gear. Now we can communicate while outside (or inside) the wall, and not tie up radio traffic between MGR or the factory, or non combat communications. Besides, it always seems to start a panic when folks hear that things are going bad on the radios somewhere. It’s better this way. Incidentally, I got a radio. Kevin also said when I was feeling up to it, he’d hook me up with more gear that would, and I quote, “Give me a 110% chubber.”

I got three quarter wood just thinking about what that might be. Two whole inches. The man had access to SF unit armories and gear tanks, and I bet he’s got some pretty fucking nifty gadgets. Knowing that we’ve got three Air Force para rescue guys here too makes me sleep better at night. It’s a good feeling.

Not sure what else matters to talk about right now. Two towers are completed, the third is almost done, maybe another day or two. That’s the one down in the maintenance area, near the rear gate. Food is stable, not really changed. Locking that set of doors vigilantly has been a real game changer. I asked the other folks in the dorms to keep close eyes on their food stores as well, and they are reporting back with no changes.

Our clothing and blanket situation is good. We’ve got adequate supplies on hand to deal with major cold weather, which is a relief. We had it all on hand too, which was nice. No wasted effort.

MGR is well. Stable. Right now it is being staffed by Renee, Mallory, Quan, and Ethan. Ethan is the most skilled shooter/spotter Air Force guy, and having him on watch there helps dramatically. He is also sharing his skill set to anyone who listens, and that is a tremendous boon.

The Factory seems to be stable. We had to make a water run to them this morning, and to be honest, we probably didn’t have to if it wasn’t for the weather. It’s been brutally cold the past few days and they weren’t prepared for it. Most of the water they had collected on the roof froze solid, and with no snow and just huge blocks of ice, they were a little worried they wouldn’t be able to melt it all in time for their needs. Some of the guys made a quick three vehicle run over there to drop off about twenty gallons of h2o.

Michelle will have the school’s first day in Hall B in three days, a day behind her schedule. For the moment, the kids are super fucking excited. They want to be social, and they want to learn things that are exciting, which is the majority of what we’ll be teaching now. Many of our previous school subjects are just not important anymore. Plus we’re having a class dedicated to shooting, and that’s just terrific. The kids love guns, even the girls.

For now though, the majority of our attention is focused solely on the phantom at the back gate. Whatever it is, it bothers the fuck out of me.

-Adrian

December 15th

Three of the five towers we’re trying to build for security purposes are finished. Earlier today the work crew down near the maintenance area/rear gate completed that tower. Like the other towers the stairs aren’t finished, and we have a roughed out ladder so we can climb to the top. Once the full five towers are done being roughed, we’ll go back and install the stairs.

I got the call over the radio by Martin to come check the brand new tower out. I was out and about doing some jogging to build my stamina back up, so I just headed right over. I forgot how satisfying it was to run with my rifle across my chest. I used to hate running, but moving along at a good clip in the cool air and bright sunshine while feeling… tactical was nice. I felt like I was back in Iraq when Kevin and I did laps around our bases. Granted, it was hot as a hooker with Chlamydia there, and it’s cold here, but you get the association.

I’ve been pushing myself hard too. Lots of pushups, lots of sit ups, and a lot of jogging. When I crawl into bed at night it’s all I can do lately to swing my legs up and under the fucking sheets. The soreness is good though. It is the feeling of withered muscles making their comeback. I forget my age though. I’m not 21 anymore, and my body does not recuperate like it used to. I mean shit, even in the shape I was in before I went down I was still a slower healer than I was when I was a kid.

Old age is a motherfucker. I wonder how long I’ll live? Will I fade away into old age, sitting on the porch of Gilbert’s home, sipping some home brewed cider, telling the kids about how we fought back the waves and waves of the dead? More likely I’ll die soon of violent means. This world is not a world for the old, or the weak. Only the strong survive, and as strong as I am, luck will eventually run out.

Morbid? Yeah. But at least I am a realist.

Anyway, my imminent death aside, right after Martin radioed, I jogged down the hill to maintenance and congratulated everyone on their hard work, and how great the tower was. Like the others, it is about three stories tall, and has a platform on the top with a slanted roof. We are cannibalizing shingle supplies we have accumulated over the past year to cover these new roofs, which is a nice use of re-tasked supplies. It’s not like there are fucking shingle factories still in operation.

I climbed right to the top of the tower where Kevin, Blake, Kyle, and Martin were taking in the surroundings, and I gotta say, the view is pretty awesome. You can see the hills all around at the back base of campus, and the angle to the rear gate is perfect. You can also see the entire large parking lot area where the maintenance buildings are, and there’s no easy way to sneak up on the tower.

I did notice, and did not approve of how frigging close the trees are to the rear wall. We have perhaps ten feet between the wall and the first few trees, and any sneaky motherfucker could move from tree to tree and get ridiculously close before anyone knew it. While talking to the guys, we all decided that one of our next courses of action would be to cut those trees down. We need the lumber anyway if we can keep roughing it out.

Our next and immediate course of action though was to figure out who the fucking hell or what the fucking hell is on the video cameras. Cutting down the trees might send a message to a living trespasser that we are on to them, so we really didn’t think that was a good idea at the moment.

Hal and Abby are burning the midnight oil to stay awake all night with eyes on the cameras. I also know multiple people got laptops so they can monitor the feeds as well, which means the overall level of sleep here on campus is shit. I’ve been up late, sore and unable to do anything but fall asleep with the feeds in my face, and I know others have been there with me, across campus.

So far, we’ve seen shit. Kevin and his crew have been stationing someone in the maintenance garages at night in the event something is seen. They are skulking down there carefully, trying to be unseen so that whoever it was we saw doesn’t know we have two armed men waiting.

No luck yet. Not much else new here. Ideally, Michelle starts school tomorrow right after lunch. She is going to host a small luncheon at Hall B for the kids, and their parents or guardians, or whatever the fuck you want to call the folks here that take care of the kids that have no more parents. After the food, they’ll get what amounts to an introduction to what the school will be, and what they’ll learn. It’s a big deal, and many of us are super excited.

Huzzah for not raising morons. Our world did a shit job of doing that the past few millennia. Hopefully we can break that fucking cycle.

Off to bed. School tomorrow.

-Adrian

December 16th

I recall vaguely saying the other day that the gift of communications equipment from Kevin gave me serious wood, or something to that extent. His gift today put semen on the ceiling. Never mind having an erection, I put Adrian chowder through pants, and into the ceiling.

Kevin gave me an M4A1, with SOPMOD.

Mr. Journal, if you’re the kind of person that doesn’t know shit, the M4A1 is superior to my current weapon in one huge way; instead of the three round burst option on the fire selector, it goes from semi, straight to full auto.

Boo yah!

My man Kevin came through in the clutch! I guess when he was back in England at that base with the PJ guys, they more or less raided the hell out of whatever they could find for when they had to leave. That’s why they have MREs and crates of ammo, and gun oil, and spare parts, and anti tank weapons, and etc etc. They’re loaded for bear, bigtime.

Now because the PJs are technically special operations guys, they had access to the SOPMOD kits, which are for all intents and purposes, Legos for military guys. You can modify your M4A1 to have lights, grips, grenade launchers, new stocks, suppressors, scopes, Aimpoints, etc. Basically, you take a high quality weapon, and customize it to your liking, or needs.

Of course Kevin kitted it out the way he thought I’d like it, and shit, he did it perfectly, but when he gave me the rest of the gear in the kit, he clearly omitted the M203 grenade launcher. Now I felt this was a huge oversight on his part, and I brought that to his attention while he was drinking a tea (of all drinks), and told me in not so many words, that I simply didn’t need it.

Like it’s about NEED at this point. The fucker has grenade launchers in a case somewhere, and I want one. I don’t NEED it. I just WANT it.

He did bring up the point that with my body still coming back from my gunshot wound I was probably too weak to carry around a handful of 40mm fragmentation on me all the time. They aren’t that heavy, but a handful of them does add up. As they say, ounces make pounds, and pounds make pain. The less we can carry the faster we move, and the less energy we expend, and blah blah.

It pisses me off that he makes sense. I hate it when people make sense and I take it in the pooper as a result. Oh well. He and I basically agreed that perhaps shortly down the road, I could get the M203 and some 40mm to go along with it. I’ll just have to be patient, and continue to work on getting back into shape. My constant running and workouts are paying off already, and I’m almost back to a fully capable condition. Sore all the time, but getting better.

I think I spent twenty minutes breaking that thing down and putting it back together again before I realized that I had to go to the grand opening of the school.

I got there right as the last bits of food were being eaten, and Michelle was doing her two penny song and dance for the kids and families, and parents, and gathered folks. Pretty much every person who wasn’t NEEDED somewhere else was there, as it was a goddamn exciting moment.

The various “teachers” went over what they would be teaching, and where they’d be teaching it, and the small group of teaching aides announced who they were too. Michelle and Kim and Melissa did a great job rearranging everything in the bottom floor, moving some classroom desks in, and some of the furniture out. It looks an awful lot like one of those old home on the prairie school houses. Everyone seemed really pleased. Legitimately really pleased.

I congratulated her after all the people left, and she seemed incredibly nervous, even after the whole presentation. She feels the weight of restarting the education system fully on her shoulders. Funny that someone with a PhD that has done speeches at conferences, and traveled the world can feel so much pressure to succeed in so small a venture. I think she’s making a mountain out of a molehill. Right now, we need basic education that’s age appropriate, and life skills for a world these kids were thrust into. We can work out the details as we go, the best we can.

My short pep talk seemed to brighten her up. It was nice to see her smile. She hasn’t smiled a whole lot since she arrived here. At least not around me. As I said once, I am fairly sure she thinks I am a weirdo. It was nice to get some positive time with her. We’re supposed to be in this whole Trinity thing together, and I suspect we’ll need to work together very closely to “save mankind.”

The more I think about it, the more I think doing stuff like this, is what was meant when the burden of saving humanity was pressed upon us. Not just some epic battle with the Devil, but a prolonged restarting of humanity. Pulling us out of the darkness of despair and greed, and moving us into a new generation of a better civilization.

Reinventing the human condition might be our way of saving mankind.

No sign of our trespassing… thing. No footprints, no video footage, nothing stolen, and no signs of anything at all. We’re still posting sentries nightly at the maintenance garage, and we’ve still got two eyes on the video feeds 24 hours a day. More than that really. I know folks are up late with me.

Not much else new really. We’re still working on the new towers as of tomorrow. Nothing has been happening outside the walls lately, as we’ve had enough supplies to get all of our current projects up and running. Cold weather lately too has been a bit of a hurdle, and as we watch the ice spread on the lake, the feeling of that wall across the back end of campus makes me very happy.

We’re going to have to build some roads here soon. Hm. Anyway, Otis is bopping me in the arm with his head, and that means I need to get to bed. I also need to strip my new weapon and put it back together again, for no reason. Adios amigo.

-Adrian

December 18th

I received the green light a few minutes ago from Kevin to join him on a night sentry shift. I am SO EXCITED!

Nothing else really matters, to be honest. I’d talk about the school, or the events here on campus, but to be honest, they are boring as fuck, and I am getting to stand watch with one of my best friends of all time, Kevin motherfucking Whitten. Warden of the Trinity, and epic asskicker.

I really am speechless. We’d been running through guys pretty heavily on the night shifts out at maintenance and we were about to look and ask for volunteers when I mentioned my own name. I’ve been working out, running, doing exercise and all that bullshit, and Kevin and Roger both agreed I’d be fit for a short operation right here on campus. The likelihood I’ll have to show any real stamina should anything happen is fairly low, and I more or less just need to stay vigilant. If the shit really hits the fan, I can always tap out and one of our other folks can come running over.

However, I am not a quitter, and there is no way I am tapping out of shit.

God, so stoked! I’m excited to have uninterrupted hours with Kevin too. He and I haven’t sat down and shot the shit for some time. Like, years and shit. It’ll be great to reminisce and such.

I gotta get my shit ready. New rifle needs to be touched in a loving manner, and I need to get my tactical gear ready. I haven’t had to do that since… Well.

Since I got shot. Suddenly… really quite nervous. I hope nothing happens tonight. I’d like a few nights of just relaxing with my friend to get back into the swing of things.

Wish me luck Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

A Stranger Among Us

“Push Melissa. Push. Almost there.”

Melissa’s strained face focused intently on Ethan, the young medic gently handling her baby as it came into the world. The sweat ran off her in rivers as the father of her baby, Ollie, held her hand firmly. Melissa grunted powerfully, contracting her entire body like a cable straining to hold up a thousand pounds of weight. Ethan’s smile widened again, and Melissa felt a sudden burst of relief as her child's body came into the world.

“It’s a girl! It’s a girl. It’s little Martha!” Ollie exclaimed from her side, tears running down his face.

Ethan scooped the baby into his arms, cradling it against the blue medical smock he was wearing. The older woman Lindsey standing at Ethan’s side offered the medical scissors to Ollie, who quickly cut the umbilical cord, freeing his daughter from her mother. A tiny wail came out of his infant’s mouth as she started to shake from the cold air. Ethan and Lindsey stepped away to address the needs of the newborn, and Ollie took Melissa’s hand again, embracing her, showering her with praise and love.

In the bedroom near the door was Patty, one of Melissa’s close friends at the sanctuary. The dark haired friend caressed the new mother’s forehead, kissed it gently, congratulating her. She hugged Ollie warmly and excused herself from the room to share the news with all the others who were eagerly awaiting news downstairs.

*****

Adrian sat quietly at the same kitchen table he had worked at the night the world as they knew it ended. Adrian had watched the news unfold on his laptop as he sat alone, keeping watch over a dorm of sleeping girls. That’s what this building was back then. It was one of the dormitories on a private school campus. Now it was a home to several survivors of the apocalypse.

“I heard a door shut,” Adrian said quietly to his friend Kevin. The two men sat together at that kitchen table, chatting about the plan for tomorrow. Kevin was taking the majority of the labor force they had on hand and was going to start building the guard towers across campus. Despite being encircled by a twelve foot tall berm and log wall, the place didn’t seem safe enough. Towers with mounts for the new light machine guns Kevin’s group brought would give them far better visibility, and elevated firing positions. While Kevin was doing that, Adrian planned on taking a few of the less skilled residents and taking a thorough inventory of food on hand at Bastion. Adrian felt from the complaints of the people living at the repurposed school that they were going through food far too fast. That was a scary idea especially seeing as how the snow had already begun to fall. It could be a very long and harsh winter.

Patty walked into the crowded kitchen with a tired smile on her face. “Well, it’s a girl. Big one too. Ethan and Lindsey are weighing her right now. She’s a pudgy one. They named her Martha. Looks a lot like Melissa.”

She had no sooner finished her sentence for the gathering of 20+ people to start their whooping and cheering. The birth of a baby was always cause for celebration, but now, surrounded by a world filled with the walking dead, every new life was that much more precious. The first baby girl brought into their community was also a wondrous gift, creating smiles on every face. Adrian looked across the table at his good friend Kevin and let the warm smile spread. Both men had seen unspeakable horrors in war before the undead rose, and many more since then. A new baby born to their group meant the world was returning the tiniest bit more to normal, and that was worth a smile.

Adrian reached down to his belt and pulled the large walkie off of it. He hit the transmit button, and spoke to the two other locations where his people were fortified, “I am pleased to announce the birth of a brand new baby girl. Everyone please welcome Martha McDowell to this world.” The radio was silent for a few seconds before everyone gathered around heard collective cheers from the other places that heard the message.

She was one more person to help restart the world.

Kevin and Adrian scooped up their M4 carbines out of instinct as they left the table. Kevin slid into step with his weakened friend to make sure his tired legs didn’t fail him. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow.

*****

“I was under the impression we had a shitload of this stuff? Did you guys go on a sugar eating rampage while I was out? This seems retarded,” Adrian said scratching his head. He was frustrated because the food inventory was turning up far shorter than it should have. It was also strange what they appeared to be short of.

Jenna replied to him as she closed the large plastic container, “Adrian I don’t know. We’ve been real careful making sure none of this goes out without us knowing. I mean maybe someone has access to the cafeteria and they’re taking stuff when they’re not supposed to? Do we need to do a key inventory?” Jenna sat down on a milk crate filled with canned goods and wiped the thin film of sweat off her brow.

“It’s someone with a sweet tooth. That’s clear enough. Most of our little snack cakes, and apple sauces, and candy bars are all gone from the cafeteria here. The stashes in the halls are all where they’re supposed to be, right?” Adrian asked as he got to his feet slowly. Out of habit he gently rubbed the back of his neck where his gunshot wound was. He was still weak from his time in a coma.

Jenna watched the man that had been so strong a month before wobble. He already looked better, but he still had so far to go. He’d lost so much muscle. “I can start asking around for everyone to search the rooms and dorms that have the kids in them. We’ve got about ten kids now right? There’s plenty of perps right there.”

Adrian snickered. “Has anyone put weight on? Any new beer bellies on anyone?”

Jenna thought carefully. “I can’ think of anyone that’s plumped up. Of course we’re all wearing winter jackets and sweaters now so it’s a little harder to tell. But no, no one I can remember.”

“Alright. Tomorrow or the next day if you can, try and get some of the rooms searched. We need to get this under control or we’ll have a riot on our hands. If all our candy bars disappear, Ollie and Mike will start stabbing people. It could be worse than this whole zombie problem we’ve been toughing out.”

Jenna grinned.

Adrian’s walkie lit up with a voice from somewhere else. It was a young woman’s voice. “Hey is there anyone who can come to the back gate for a second? We’ve got some dead outside on the edge of the wall I’d like checked out.” Adrian stopped to listen to any responses. He didn't want to talk over anyone who was higher in the line of folks who should be responding.

“We’re all committed at the moment. Is it an emergency? I can free up a couple people to head over,” Kevin replied. Adrian knew he’d taken most of the people outside of the wall to cut down trees and start work on the guard towers. Adrian pulled the walkie off his belt and joined the conversation.

“I can swing by the gate. I’m not that far away, and I’m free.”

Kevin responded to him, “Adrian you sure buddy? We can free someone up, you can skip this.”

“Nah I’m good. I gotta earn my chow sooner or later here. People have been wiping my ass for plenty long enough.”

“Amen to that. Be safe. Holler if you need a hand.”

“Up for a walk?” Adrian asked Jenna.

“Sure. It’s getting cold out. The sun will be down in about an hour. Let me get our jackets.”

“Thanks.” Adrian slipped the sling of his rifle over his shoulder and chambered a round. He saw no reason for risk.

*****

“Not sure where they came from. They sort of wandered up to the gate an hour ago. They’ve been standing there ever since.” The young girl’s voice on the radio earlier was Wendy. Wendy had recently returned to Bastion from Ollie’s father’s farm. Things had not gone well there, and Ollie’s father had died. Since her return to the fortified campus Wendy had invested into the protection of the campus heavily. She volunteered for extra shifts to watch the gates, and walk about, trying to ensure a higher level of safety. Paranoia might've been the cause, but it meant everyone was a little safer.

Adrian stood carefully at the top of the berm, looking over the logs and the platform that spanned the width of the gate. The gate itself was a pair of massive wooden sets of doors that looked like they belonged in a medieval keep. The group had designed them to be wide enough to allow for a semi truck to drive out of them, and strong enough to stand up to a semi truck hitting them. This gate hadn’t been tested yet, as they hadn’t been attacked in force by the living yet, and certainly not from the direction this gate faced. This was their rear gate, and it opened up towards the forest that surrounded the school’s wall.

“I count five, is that what you got?” Adrian asked, never moving his eyes off the cluster of dead bodies shuffling around the base of the gate.

Wendy squinted to count the undead again in the fading afternoon light. “Yeah. I had five earlier, looks like still five. Same five too, which is reassuring.”

Adrian pulled his walkie again, and spoke into it, “Kevin and whoever is at Bastion and on comms: I am firing on five zombies at the rear gate. No emergency.”

“Roger that,” Kevin said. Several other voices echoed Kevin as everyone listening affirmed. Adrian didn’t want to risk anyone hearing the shots and panicking. Communication was very important. Adrian methodically put his weapon on semi and shouldered it, putting the crosshairs of his ACOG sight on the head of a zombie standing almost directly below him. The tall man steadied himself, and gently squeezed the trigger, sending a loud crack into the forest, dropping the zombie to the ground with the top of its head missing.

Adrian’s mind reeled as the body fell lifelessly to the ground. His eyes blacked over for a moment and he was brought immediately back to the moment when he was shot in the back of the neck standing in apple orchard a month and a half prior. He vividly recalled his vision going black then as he felt the bullet pierce his neck, sending him facedown on his side into the damp grass between the rows of fruit-bearing trees. He could completely recall in every iota of detail the swelling, the pain, and how hard it was to breathe as his soft tissues reacted to the foreign bullet inside him. He felt like he'd been shot again.

Adrian lowered the rifle and took a deep breath in hitches, reassuring himself that he was just re-experiencing the moment, and that he wasn’t shot again. He pulled his left hand away from the still sealing incision from where Ethan and Roger removed the bullet. He hadn’t realized he’d even put his hand there.

“You okay?” Wendy asked him.

Adrian swallowed hard and shouldered his rifle again, stifling the fear that was creeping up into the back of his mind, almost as if it were coming directly from the wound itself. He couldn't appear weak. He had to be strong for everyone. “I’m fine.” With that said he lined up his remaining shots, and killed the four undead that had staggered closer to the base of the wall that he stood atop. Each pull of the trigger hit him like a bolt of lightning, threatening the memory of his injury, and making him weak in the knees.

When he was certain they were permanently dead, he put the weapon back on safe, and walked down the berm towards Hall E, his home. He was not looking forward to his dreams later that night.

*****

Two days later Adrian met once more with Jenna. Adrian had been too busy with other tasks to follow up on the missing food on his own, so he asked her to take charge of it. She’d taken the time to search the kid’s bedrooms and dorms for the missing food. The search had turned up nothing.

“How did Andy’s visit go? We getting security cameras?” Jenna asked. She had to pause between sentences to allow someone with a power saw outside to finish cutting some wood. The construction of the guard towers was in full swing. It felt good to have all the commotion.

“Yeah. He’s making a plan with Mike and Kevin to get some bodies to accumulate some additional cameras for here and Auburn Lake Road. I guess he already has enough for MGR. They’re hitting the police station downtown as well as the grocery store. There are cameras all over the place there. He’s also going to need some solar power cells for them too, but I guess he knows where to find them. Some electronics store near the Factory has them. With any luck, we’ll have the first few installed and operational within 4 or 5 days,” Adrian said as he ate an apple. He considered it sweet justice for being shot in an orchard. The apple was grainy.

“That’s awesome. Can we get some cameras pointing into campus? Because I searched all the kid’s rooms, and I found zilch. I think we’ve got a far more clever animal on our hands. Perhaps an elusive adult.”

“Hm. I guess that’s possible. Do you think maybe we’re just allocating too much food to everyone regularly? Like, are we giving them too many sweets each week and we’re just not keeping track of it?” Adrian mused.

“I doubt it. The few of us who have been watching the food go out regularly are all pretty aware of it. Of course we don’t always lock the door of the café, especially since the wall was finished, so I guess anyone could just waltz in and take what they want. I’m telling you, this stuff is being taken by someone,” Jenna answered.

“Hm. Alright. I think I can have Andy set up a camera or two inside campus for us to fool around with. If we have those set up initially to watch the cafeteria, then we might be able to figure this out. I’ll ask him when he can get us a couple up and running. Hell, if we have to record the footage on VHS to start I’ll be happy.”

“Ha. Then maybe we could listen to Vanilla Ice, and Def Leopard on cassette tapes too. Way to date yourself,” Jenna poked fun at the man who had made all this happen. She joked, but inside she was still very thankful.

“Ha fucking ha-ha. You aren’t that much younger than me you know. I’d stow the comments unless you want me dropping some serious smart-assed comments on you. You can’t take what I bring to the table missy.” Adrian gave her the most serious face he could muster, but they both knew he was laughing.

“Yeah yeah. Heard that before. What can I do in the meantime while we’re waiting on cameras?” Jenna asked.

Adrian thought for a few seconds before responding, “Jenna is there any way you can get an idea on our clothing and bedding situation? We’re headed into winter and we need an accurate idea of whether or not we’ve got enough blankets, and jackets, and boots. Kevin and Michelle's people don't seem to be equipped for the cold weather either. I’d hate to be running around in foot deep snow in February trying to find clothing we could’ve gotten now.”

“Yeah no sweat. I’ll gladly check it out. Do you want me to put it anywhere when I find certain items?”

Adrian looked at a loss. "Um, I guess just take a quick look at it, and put it somewhere they or we can get at it easily. They can pick and choose what they need when they need it."

"Easy enough," she said. She was happy to help.

“Terrific. I’ll let you know when I hear more. Check in with me in a few days, yeah?” Adrian asked her.

“I’m on it.” Jenna smiled, and left to take on her new task.

Adrian wondered just which asshole on campus was the one stealing all the good food.

*****

The young man with the pale skin and the thick glasses looked happy as he spoke. “And that just about does it. You can’t manipulate the cameras at all, as they aren’t on swivels or anything, but you’ve got a whole shitload of them pointed in all different directions. You should be able to view just about every approach, minus the woods, but you’ve got a camera on the rear gate so even that is sort of covered. I also have an additional camera mounted on a telephone pole at the corner of the road here,” Andy said proudly. He’d just finished up the final installation of the massive security system. It had taken him and the rest of the group assigned to the task just six days since Adrian and Jenna’s conversation about it.

Adrian and Kevin looked down at the scrawny, vampiric technology wizard and were amazed. He’d set everything up so fast it seemed like someone merely half-assing it. As they hit the space bar on the laptop they were amazed that the view in the browser window switched through the cycle of all the cameras available to them. Anyone who knew the address for the system Andy had broadcasting could watch every single camera from the comfort of their own bed. Not only could they access all of their own cameras, but each camera in the Factory where Andy resided could be accessed as well. Within a few days the cameras would be installed and operational at the apartment building they had fortified in town. They’d have camera access covering almost every inch of town it seemed. To make things even more impressive, not one soul had been killed or injured while the supplies were being collected.

It was in a word: amazing.

“You can pick your jaws up boys. This kind of miracle is what I do,” Andy said. The two men clapped him firmly on the back.

“Andy I love you,” Kevin said with seriousness in his voice. And a good part of that was the truth.

*****

One downside to having 24 hour closed circuit camera security is the overwhelming need to watch the feed, as often as possible. Adrian spent hour after hour later that day and the next, obsessively going to his room, and checking the situation wherever he felt he needed to. He spent an especially large amount of time looking at the cameras that were at the Factory. The converted strip club on the fringes of the city had quite a few survivors living at it, and when Adrian realized that he could watch them live their lives right there in front of him, he felt compelled to watch.

As it turns out, they were boring people.

As Andy and the crew completed and installed cameras the list of available views increased accordingly. The day after the system was launched two more cameras were installed at the apartment tower downtown, allowing for good views to the north and south along the street it was on. Adrian spent a considerable amount of time watching the town silently age on the screen when they came alive. A quiet sadness crept into him as watched nothing happen, hour after hour. Piles of the new snow sat white and barren in the roads, and no vehicles moved where there should've been many. The trees were bereft of leaves, and were slate gray and seemed lonelier than ever. The only thing missing was the occasional tumbleweed blowing past to put the stamp on the terrible desolation mankind's departure left behind. Late in the night as he sat alone in his bedroom, computer in his lap, he sat and stared at the faint green images on the screen. It was like watching a funeral procession for the world that no one went to.

Adrian yawned powerfully and took a sip of water from the plastic cup on his nightstand. He sighed deeply, and just before he closed the browser window he caught a glimpse of something moving in the rear gate camera feed. Instantly the drowsiness disappeared and he brought the camera up closer to his face, straining to see something in the grainy grocery store camera view. He stared for sometime before realizing he’d seen nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

The young man tasked with leading the group of survivors shut his computer down, blew out the candle next to the red Solo cup filled with water, and got comfortable in the bed next to his faithful cat Otis. It would be a cool night, and both man and furry pet would need to share warmth to stay comfortable.

*****

The next day at lunch Adrian caught up with Harold, one of the men in Kevin’s group and the sole person on campus from England. Harold had been assigned the late night video monitoring shift for the week, and despite his complete confidence he had just been seeing things the night before, he wanted to double check with him to ensure his sanity.

“Hal, brother, how’d it go last night?” Adrian asked as he sat down with a plate of roasted potatoes, carrots, and some of the turkey James had taken down a few days prior. The food smelled warm and fresh, and made Adrian's stomach growl. The men were sitting in the main cafeteria where they’d started to do central meals for the school’s residents.

Hal finished chewing a bite of a nearly identical meal before answering. “Good mate, good. Nothing at all on any of the views. Seems like a tit job.”

Adrian loved hearing his British accent. It spoke of a world that was far away. Adrian had loved to travel, especially with his girlfriend Cassie. But she was gone, and so was his chance to see the rest of the world. “Good. Good. I thought I saw something on the rear gate camera last night and wanted to double check with you. Was worried my head had come undone.”

Hal shook his head as he gobbled down another large mouthful of delicious warm food. “Nah. Not at all man. I saw naught last night and your head is right fine. Tonight I’ll make double sure to keep an extra eye on the rear gate just in case. Help you sleep a little better at the very least.” Hal ate greedily. Their journey to find Adrian meant many days and nights skipping more than one meal. To have hot, good food was a luxury he couldn't afford to waste.

Adrian dug into his food after thanking the young black man. He really would sleep easier knowing that Hal was on the job. Adrian was already building a solid level of trust with the new men, and that made him feel terrific. The seasonings on the potatoes and carrots was helping as well.

*****

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Several nights later Adrian was woken by a rapping noise on his bedroom door. Always a light sleeper Adrian opened his eyes and picked the 10mm Kimber pistol up off the side of the bed right near his cat. The hammer was already drawn and with a slight movement of his thumb the safety flipped off and the gun became lethal. He watched the door as the rapping came again, this time more clearly from a living person.

Tap. Tap. Tap. “Adrian, are you awake man?” Said Hal from the other side of the closed door. It was the British marine.

“Hold on Hal.” Adrian crawled out of bed as his cat Otis rolled over onto his back, yawning wide. The tall man with his fresh Mohawk haircut got to his feet and walked to the bedroom door. Despite his growing trust with people he didn’t put the gun on safe until the door was open, and he was sure it wasn’t a strange, late night attempt on his life. Who knew exactly what was inside the hearts of the people? Adrian had been wrong before, more than once, and had a hole healing in the back of his neck as proof of it.

After Adrian got the door open, Hal’s expression told him something was amiss. “Have you been looking at the feed at all? I just saw something fucking off. You have the computer that records all this bullshit yeah?” Hal asked, a bit of confusion and fear in his eyes.

“Yeah. Come on in.” Adrian put the weapon to safe and tucked it into the waistband of his boxers. The metal was cold against his skin. The pistol tugged them down a bit but the elastic held as he sat down in the rolling office chair at the student desk the other computer was installed on. The solar panel array on the roof of Hall E kept enough power in the dorm’s batteries to keep many things in electricity at night, and this computer was one of those items. Adrian powered the monitor on, and started looking through the saved files the system generated every hour.

“When did this happen?” Adrian asked Hal as he clicked through dozens of files.

“Like, 20 minutes ago, tops,” Hal said as he had a seat on the edge of Adrian’s bed. Otis got to his four feet and plodded over to him as Adrian continued his search. Otis bonked his head affectionately against the young man from east London, seeking a scratch on the head. Despite his concern, Hal obliged the furry cat.

“It just saved ten minutes ago. Talk about lucky. Here it is. I’ll fast forward. Rear gate, right?”

“Yeah.”

Adrian clicked on the file until it opened in a video player. He clicked down the bar until it was three quarters complete, and then let it play the last fifteen minutes. At 51 minutes and 10 seconds precisely, Adrian saw what made Hal so uneasy. The image immediately brought Adrian back to his sleep soaked half glimpse the other night. He HAD seen something.

The faint green tinted image showed a downward camera angle from just above the rear gate into Bastion. In the immediate bottom of the image was the rear gate itself, a thick wooden structure that stood out against the natural ground in the upper portion of the screen. A thin, wispy figure appeared suddenly out of nowhere at the base of the gate. It appeared to be human, likely a girl, a tiny waif that wore insubstantial gray and white clothing, as if she was surrounded by fog, or a ghostly shroud. She hit the ground as if she’d appeared from the ether itself, and then took off gliding across the grass smoothly and calmly, without a care or concern for her own safety in the dark forest.

She was a wraith.

“Holy fuck,” Adrian said softly.

*****

The next day at lunch Adrian sat at the round kitchen table in Hall E, flanked by his most trusted friends and advisors. Kevin and Michelle were both there, Kevin as his friend, and Michelle as the third part of the mythical Trinity the three were members of. Caleb, Adrian’s elder brother was present, as were Abby and Mike, long trusted friends and residents of Bastion. Adrian had asked Harold to be there as his voice would be relevant in the talk. At Kevin’s request Fitz had come to the meeting, and at Mike’s request Patty, Abby’s mother, also had come.

The topic was to be the strange creature seen on the video the night prior. Adrian sat at the round table with his closed laptop directly in front of him. Once everyone gathered had finished their small talk and gone quiet Adrian addressed them in a somber tone. He sounded worried.

“The night before last I thought I saw something at the rear gate. It was really late, and I was mostly asleep, so at the time, I figured I was just seeing shit. I asked Hal to keep a close eye on the same camera feed last night, and he saw something around 3am.” Adrian looked over at Hal and nodded, passing the conversational torch to him.

His accent was thicker than normal. “So there I was sitting, watching, and pow, like a goddamn ninja this little figure appears on the monitor. I says to myself ‘holy shit Hal, that’s what Adrian saw last night,’ and I runs over, and show him. We looked it up on the main recording, and we both aren’t pissed, or crazy. We saw something fucking strange.” Hal’s face conveyed a seriousness that kept everyone intently listening. Hal looked back to Adrian.

Adrian took the conversation back. “We watched the feed for an hour after that, and checked the back gate to see if there was anything there, but we saw nothing. When we got back, I moved the file from the desktop to my laptop to show you all today. I’m looking for feedback. Ideas. The floor will be open.” Adrian opened the laptop and waited until everyone there had gathered into locations where they had a view of the small, flat computer screen. Once he was satisfied everyone could see, he hit play on the file.

It didn’t take long for the people to start their exclamations. The vast majority of the people were speaking quietly to each other, probing for what the others thought were on the screen. After a few minutes of tense conversation the insistent voices started to ask to see the video again. Then again, and again once more. Every viewing changed their opinion at least once, and sometimes more. The silent person in the corner of the room, sitting on the kitchen counter far off broke the mounting debate.

“I’ve seen that thing before,” Abby said loud enough to be heard by most of those gathered. The group slowly became silent. One by one they all turned to her, waiting for more. She waited until she had all of their attention. “Remember Halloween? Remember when I said I saw that kid running around the end of Hall E? The kid dressed as a ghost? The one that just disappeared? I wasn’t sure at first, but the more I think about it, the more positive I am of it. Whatever is on that recording, is what I saw that day. No doubt in my mind. That person, this thing has been here awhile.”

Looks of unease spread across the room like a foul odor had invaded the space. It was bad enough to have video of an unknown person in their midst. It was far worse to have video of a person or entity that seemed to have been around, right under their noses for some time. The sense of violation, the sense that things weren’t as safe as they should be was potent.

“Are you sure?” Mike asked her.

The young woman responded quickly, and confidently, “I said no doubt Mike. I’m positive. Same look to it. About the same size too.”

Adrian followed her up quickly before others could add their opinions to doubt her, “That doesn’t change the simple fact that we have an uninvited guest that apparently can pass through our rear gate like it isn’t even there. Ghost, wraith, phantom, or really nifty scout for another group… who fucking cares? One way or the other we need to get this person, or thing in our hands, and find out what’s going on. If we’re LUCKY it’ll just be a fucking ghost. We’ll be pushing shit down the drain something fierce if it’s actually a spy, or thief.”

“I agree,” Kevin said, tapping his toe on the floor for good luck. “We need to keep that back camera on at least two people’s screens 24 hours a day. I know we’ve got folks working on that third tower over near the maintenance garages for the next few days, so that’ll help during sun up hours. We stage a group in a garage as a QRF, and the second anyone sees he, she, it or whatever the fuck it is, we roll out and put hands on. If he, she, or it puts up a fight, we send some 5.56 through it and see what happens. I wonder if a ghost bleeds?”

Michelle spoke, “I hate to sound like the anti violence person every time I open my mouth around you guys, but we are going to try and talk first, right? Just snatching someone up that pretty clearly looks like it could be a young kid seems somewhat like overkill?”

Kevin answered her, “We’ll do our level best to talk them into surrendering to us, or engaging us in conversation. However, we can’t afford to let anyone escape with intel or supplies. It’s too critical for our ongoing safety and survival.”

Adrian added his own wisdom. “Michelle, I watched a sixteen year old kid blow the head off a cop not too long after this all happened. Teenagers can operate weapons too. Age isn’t really a factor when you’re fighting for your life every day. If a kid is threatening our existence, we need to treat them as if they were as dangerous as any adult.” Adrian looked to Michelle like he was accessing a memory he would’ve rather forgotten. It was one of the first times he seemed introspective, and intelligent to her. Maybe there was a conscience in there after all.

“I understand the security risks, and if we have to get violent, I get it. I just want us to give whoever or whatever that is a chance to give up before we start pumping them full of lead,” Michelle said in return. Everyone nodded, reassuring her that’d be the case. No one wanted unnecessary bloodshed, especially the blood of a potential child.

“Hal I’d like you on the camera feeds again tonight, and Abby, if possible, I’d like you on there as well. If we can swing it, I’d like you both on there until it is dealt with. I trust your eyes, especially in light of you having seen this thing before. Anyone else who can’t sleep can grab one of the kid’s laptops stored in the closets in the dorms. One of us can get you the address for the network. Hopefully this will all end with no violence.” Adrian took a deep breath, almost out of frustration before continuing, “Alrighty, the plan is in place, let’s get this moving. If anyone needs anything, I’ll be available as usual. Thanks everyone.”

The meeting took less than an hour.

*****

Multiple nights of dry, staring eyes passed. Unlike the nights, the days at Bastion were spent being productive, trying to shield the fact from the rest of the population that something was very amiss. Michelle, the settlement’s resident historian and theologian, was working on transforming the downstairs of one of the dormitories into a school for the upcoming winter. They hadn’t educated their children properly in over a year, and it was high time they invested significant effort into that task. Many of the residents had already stepped up to offer their expertise to help teach.

The third guard tower that Kevin and Fitz worked hard on building was completed. It stood over the parking lot of the maintenance area in the far rear of the school’s largely empty campus. Separated from the central campus by woods and a winding road down a hill, the tower stood above the garages and dumpsters like a lighthouse stood ominously over a treacherous coast. It was an alien structure where it sat, but it offered an excellent view of the rear gate, and the surrounding woods. When Adrian climbed the ladder to the top of the tower he immediately suggested that once they got the mysterious interloper under control, they should start cutting down the trees that ringed that area of campus to increase the space and visibility. There wasn’t enough open area to shoot or see anyone approaching.

Kevin issued sets of military grade communications gear out to the residents of Bastion that were frequently engaged in combat. Taken from the air base in England where they stayed for quite some time, the special operations style gear was small and compact, and worked on frequencies that didn’t interfere with the radios currently in use by the survivors. They used regular civilian issue or police issued radios. The cleverest part of the gear was the ingenious throat placement of the microphone. Even a whisper would be picked up on vibration with the mics, and it would make their most dangerous moments much safer. Kevin also promised extra items to Adrian, though he didn’t say exactly when he’d be able to give them to him.

Adrian continued to work his damaged body back into shape. When the cut in his neck was mostly healed, he started doing more pushups and sit ups. He ran around the campus constantly when he wasn’t needed to get his withered leg muscles and stamina back to where it had been. He pushed and pushed until every fiber of muscle from head to toe screamed at him to stop, and then he went a little further. There could be no quit in him. If he failed, he knew all of mankind could fail.

Adrian had stepped out of the second floor shower in his dormitory in the late morning shortly after returning from one of his longest runs when he heard Kevin calling up to him from the stairs. “Hey Adrian, when you get a minute can you come down here? I have a present for you.”

Adrian wondered what that might be before telling Kevin he’d be down in a bit. The tall warrior dressed himself in a pair of khakis and a flannel shirt that was at least one size too large and headed down. Kevin was sitting at the table with a rifle case in front of him. He sipped on what smelled like a cup of sweet tea.

“Can’t shake that chai shit huh Kev?” Adrian provoked as he plopped down in a chair.

“Well, too much time in the fucking mountains of Afghanistan man. This shit gets into your veins. However, if I never eat goat again, I’ll be happy as a pig in shit. Fuck goat grabs,” Kevin mused. He sipped the frothy cup of tea and closed his eyes, smiling. Some comforts soothe more than others.

“What’s this present you’ve got for me? Tell me it’s in that rifle case.”

Kevin’s smile turned to a grin. “You bet brother.” Kevin turned the bag around and pushed it across the table to his long time friend. “All yours. Got a few more too in storage, but I prepped this one straight as I thought you’d want it.”

Adrian unzipped the black nylon rifle case and flipped it open, revealing a gleaming rifle, covered in modifications and special equipment. “Holy fuck Kevin, where’d you get this?”

“I stole it.”

Adrian laughed heartily. “What is this? A SOPMOD'd M4A1? Do my eyes deceive me?” Adrian hefted the weapon and went through the motions, cycling the action, inserting and dropping the magazine, and giving the weapon a basic run through.

“That it is. I set you up with the foregrip, the Aimpoint sight, the crane stock, and in the bag are three magazines, and the suppressor. Some of the other gadgets are in there too, but I knew this was probably how you’d like it. I tried to remember how you had your weapon set up in Baghdad. Hope I did you justice.” Kevin sat his tea down and watched as Adrian rifled through the bag, evaluating all the toys that could be put on the weapon.

“Hey what the fuck Kev? Where’s the M203? What gives? You holding out on me?” Adrian asked incredulously.

“The fuck you need a grenade launcher for? Are you fucking serious?” Kevin asked, just as incredulously.

“Kiss my ass. I’d rather have it and not need it, than need and not have it,” Adrian said, sulking.

“Yeah well when you’re in better shape and you can prove you can carry the weight of the grenades we can revisit this conversation. Until then, you’ll just have to be satisfied with five hundred plus rounds per minute out of your fully automatic rifle sir,” Kevin sipped his tea.

“I wonder how many rounds it’s gonna take to drop that fucking ghost?” Adrian asked to the air, admiring his weapon.

“Just one if you aim it well enough.”

*****

Two more days had passed since Adrian had received his gift from Kevin.

“Movement,” was the single word that Hal uttered over the comms when the image appeared in the dark of night again. He’d seen the insubstantial flash of movement in almost the exact same spot as the other night. It was right at the very base of the rear gate.

Not far away at all Adrian and Kevin sat in the maintenance garage office, looking out over the parking lot through dingy glass windows. The two men had just finished reminiscing about a night in Iraq they’d spent on the roof of a home, waiting for insurgents to attack their FOB. The men’s quiet laughter died abruptly when they heard Hal.

“Rear gate?” Adrian asked quickly as the two men leapt to their feet.

“Aye. Same as before,” Hal responded.

“We’re mobile. Everyone else get moving as well. We’re headed to the back gate to follow,” Adrian said to everyone listening as he and Kevin bolted out the door, heading towards the massive wooden gate that separated their small amount of reclaimed world from the wilds filled with undead beyond.

*****

Adrian’s heart hammered in the dark as if it were trying to push its way out of his chest straight through his ribs. All of his running and working out had brought his body back from its withered state, but he was still nowhere near the man he was prior.

He took one slow step after another in the dark depths of the forest that surrounded the school. The trees here were still thicker than he wanted, and the undergrowth was the same. It required careful planting of the feet to avoid tripping, and to keep good lanes of fire. Adrian wore on his brow the standard issue night vision gear the Air Force men used when they were active duty. The light amplification technology skewed the towering trees, squat stones, and fallen timber into a visual maze of green hues. He hadn’t used night vision equipment since his days in Iraq, and he was stumbling around nervously, trying to see where he was going as well as look for danger coming from every direction.

At the rear gate they had seen nothing. No footprints, no rope, no markings on the ground to indicate the passage of the living. The camera didn’t pick up which direction the figure had moved off in, so when Kevin and Adrian exited the thick and high walls of the settlement, they stuck together out of habit, moving as a pair. Ranger buddies live together, and Ranger buddies die together. The two men moved in sync, performing a lethal task they had perfected years ago on the same battlefront they had just remembered fondly.

Kevin was twenty paces to his right at most. Adrian didn’t need to look over to find him he simply knew that would be where his friend was. The others that had joined them on their hunt under the moonlight were scattered across the forest in an approximation of a line. They were sweeping outwards to search for signs of the passage of the tiny ethereal creature that had foiled their wall and gate. After nearly an hour of searching in the frigid air of the December night, nothing had been found.

Adrian heard a miniscule noise far off to his left, towards where he believed Fitz was walking. Adrian’s hearing had been damaged by years of intense gunfire, but this noise reached him. He swept his weapon in the direction of the noise and focused on the black and green landscape of the night. He activated the microphone at his throat to tell the others of the strange noise, “Noise. Between Fitz and I. Twig breaking maybe.”

Three voices responded, acknowledging Adrian’s message. The Mohawked man pressed forward slowly, freezing when his enhanced vision picked up on Fitz’s body. He was closer than Adrian realized. The two men closed in on an area of rocky ground that appeared to be the remnants of an ancient field of boulders, long since overgrown by the trees and brush of the upstart forest. Dead space between the piled up stones created ominous hiding spots that caused Adrian’s heart to flutter hard once more. Adrian’s mind began to race wild, returning to that dark moment when the bullet impacted the back of his neck. He felt tightness in his chest, and an illogical burning in his neck. His focused mind wandered, remembering details better left in the past. His breathing was getting out of control, and his face, despite the cold air, was covered in nervous sweat. He choked down the anxiety that was moments away from paralyzing him.

“Contact,” Fitz said with ease. Fitz lifted the muzzle of his weapon and stroked the trigger smoothly, shattering the quiet of the dark wood. The fully automatic flashes barked from the tip of the barrel, sending the night vision into a flurry that made Adrian blink. He should be used to that, but wasn’t. The tremendous roar of the automatic gunfire shook the branches of the pine trees, freeing a fine white mist of snow to cascade down. It appeared like thin green speckles of fog falling from the tree cover to Adrian.

As Adrian struggled to maintain his breathing, and shove down the memories that threatened to take over, he saw another flash of movement. It came over the top of the largest stone directly in front of Adrian, and came straight at him, plunging down from above. Adrian’s muscle memory moved his new rifle up at the tiny form that had launched itself at him. As it flew, suspended almost in slow motion in mid air, Adrian’s finger was paralyzed with fear. In the green tint of his vision he saw as clear as his reflection in the morning mirror that he was aiming at a young girl, garbed in tattered, dirty clothing.

As the tiny girl’s feral face twisted up into a snarl, Adrian spun his rifle butt up, clipping her right on the jaw. Her emaciated form tumbled to the frozen ground, limp and unconscious. Adrian stood over her facedown body as his chest heaved. He licked his lips and forced his breathing to obey him.

Breathe. Breathe. It's over. It's over. It happened and is done. You are alive and well. You are safe. Focus Adrian. Focus.

Within a few seconds he felt his heart fall back into line. Kevin, Fitz, and Kyle, another of Kevin’s men surrounded him almost immediately, and took stock of the tiny form. They didn't notice Adrian's dismay in the darkness, and for that the big man was thankful. Fitz dropped to a knee and rolled her over, revealing the tiny girl’s face. She could be no more than thirteen, and looked gaunt. It was no wonder she left no footprints in the hard ground.

“Ho-ly shit that was close,” Fitz said, rubbing his cheeks nervously with his free hand. He’d nearly blown a small girl in half.

“Nice call brother. Good instincts,” Kevin patted Adrian on the shoulder, congratulating him on his restraint.

Adrian knew fear, not restraint or experience had stayed his finger. He would’ve pulled the trigger the same as Fitz were it not for the staggering cowardice and confusion that had prevented him from doing so.

Adrian smiled at his friend, keeping his secret, and his shame to himself.

*****

Adrian sat in the cool plastic school chair, watching the freshly cleaned girl sleep. She was a stranger, that much they knew. Michelle and Lindsey couldn’t place her age, but they both agreed with Adrian’s first assessment. She could be no older than 13.

The girl slept curled into the fetal position on a single bed in a central bedroom in Hall C, the dorm that the most militant of the settlement’s survivors lived in. Someone had taken the time to nail a few boards across the window, preventing her from being able to escape. In the room with Adrian and the sleeping girl was Michelle.

“How is she?” Adrian asked.

Michelle wagged her head, showing indecision. “I don’t know. She woke up in the morning, freaked out some. Didn’t say a word to anyone. I had to have Joel hold her still. She tried to bite me, and actually bit Joel on the forearm. Fortunately, she isn’t undead. Joel nearly had a heart attack.”

“I can totally empathize.”

Michelle looked over to Adrian, her eyes filled with a sincerity towards him he had yet to see from her. “I wanted to thank you for not shooting her. Fitz is beating himself up over nearly killing her. I’d hate to see you return to action and have your first incident be shooting a little girl.”

“Yeah there’s no coming back from that emotionally. I don’t need that problem. I’ve already got 99 problems. Fortunately, a plow isn’t one.”

“What?” Michelle asked, laughing.

“Never mind. Old, bad joke.” Adrian smiled at his own stupidity. “What now? Is she salvageable? Can we fix her? Is she a fully baked cookie or do we still have some dough to work with?”

“I really don’t know. She needs food, water, warmth, safety. From the looks of her, she’s been eating next to nothing for a very long time. Judging by how she didn’t speak, and tried to bite us and scratch us, it stands to reason she’s been alone a very long time. Might be weeks before we get anywhere with her. Anywhere at all.” Michelle seemed sad at the girl’s prospects.

Adrian sighed. “Well, if she becomes too much of a burden we can have a long and hard discussion. But let's avoid that as long as we can,” Adrian said, but Michelle knew from the tone of his voice that talk would probably never come.

“Adrian, we’re the Trinity formed. We’re here to save mankind. If we can’t save this one little girl, what hope do we have of saving the entire world? This little girl is one more test. One more hurdle to jump.”

Adrian looked deep into the woman’s eyes, and let the statement sink in. He feared the worst was yet to come for what remained of his friends and family.

December 19th

My heart has never pounded so hard.

I can’t go into tremendous detail right now, because I am fucking exhausted, but last night we made contact with, and apprehended the wraith on the video. Despite all the fucking weirdness, and visual shenanigans, it was just a young girl. 12 or 13 at most.

She’s dirty, skinny, and straight up feral. I left Hall C where we are keeping her about an hour ago. Michelle is sitting with her, keeping her company, and making sure she's safe. She tried to bite a few of us, and was held as a result. We’re trying to keep her safe. Michelle wants to try and rehabilitate her, and I’m all for it. I don’t know what the sense is though. I mean shit, we’ll give it a few weeks, and if she isn’t better, we can’t keep devoting resources to a crazy little girl.

But as Michelle said, maybe we HAVE to. Maybe we HAVE to try and support this kid. Maybe that’s the point in all of this. Maybe showing compassion, and dedication is part of what we need to do to reclaim this shit filled world back from the hell that was vomited onto it? Maybe that's the mark of compassion that we need to show to get out of this clusterfuck.

I don’t know. I’m thinking I might just wash my hands of this, and let Michelle deal with it. Maybe I should stick to things I understand, like firing pins, and bolts, and magazines. And porn.

Fitz nearly stitched the little girl last night when we were searching for her. She showed up on camera and we mobilized fast. Long story short, Fitz sees movement in the woods near some large rocks, and he just opens up. Luckily nothing hit the girl, and like a goddamn acrobat she jumped over a rock, and more or less right on top of me.

I had her dead to rights with my brand spanking new M4A1 too. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I froze. It was like, too much to do. I don’t know how I managed to recover in time, but I swung the butt of the rifle up, and caught the kid on the chin instead of shooting her, sending her to la-la-land by the time she hit the ground. Good luck on both our parts I suppose.

Fitz is beating himself up pretty hard over this though. He almost killed a little girl, and it is sitting hard on him. I just talked to him for a few minutes, and he’s putting his head back together again. I’m worried he’s going to start suffering like I am. Or have been.

I need to rest. I only got an hour of sleep this morning after all of last night’s hullabaloo. I’ll try and write more in a day or two. Hopefully she starts talking, and we can figure out if she’s just a lost, dirty kid, and not some kind of spy for another group that’s new to the area.

-Adrian

December 22nd

Well some things have come into focus here since I last had time to write. Not a ton of things, but a few bits that have made life make a little more sense.

I forget which day and when. I think it was the 20th? Maybe the 19th? Anyway, we mounted a pretty intense search of the woods in the back of campus to try and find out where what when why and how the fuck that little girl was able to move about so easily. The first few items discovered were key. We found a twenty foot length of rope with a small anchor attached to it. It must’ve been taken from one of the rowboats down on the school's waterfront. The anchor and rope combination were being used by the girl as a makeshift grappling hook to get over the rear gate.

This makes her strange appearance much more sensible you see. If she scaled the gate, which really isn’t all that much of a feat with some rope, when she dropped down on the outside, her body would literally just “appear” on the camera, as if she materialized. Two of the guys tested the trick the other night, and it’s spot on. She could free the rope with a fairly good tug, and she slipped away to stash the rope in that batch of rocks where we found her.

From there, the team found a path worn through the woods that ran for about three miles. Littered along the way they found wrappers and empty boxes of the food we were missing. They didn’t collect all the trash, but from what Joel and Blake were saying, it was a dead match for what I felt we were missing. Jenna was very pleased to hear that. Turns out our own people were not thieves, just some random little girl from the woods.

So anyhoo, we tracked the string of garbage back to a hunting cabin on a road to nowhere. It’s apparently an access road that leads to some power lines. Probably a road used by hunters and the utility people to get into the area where the large power lines are. They found the cabin, and breached it.

Inside were the bodies of two adults, one male, one female. Spread around the corpses were dried up flowers, and pictures of a family that the girl was a member of. I haven’t visited the cabin yet, but they say the girl is in all the pictures. Blake said the bodies were mostly skeletal, but still had some juicy bits, which means that cabin was ripe. He also said that the mother appeared to have bite marks on her, and the father had a large wound to the head that was probably done with an axe or shovel. Mom looked to have been hit in the head with same weapon.

I never worked as a CSI, but I’d say somehow Dad went ape shit, bit Mom, and Mom put him down with a garden weasel or something. That leaves our poor girl twisting in the wind after she has to brain her own fucking mom to stay alive.

The cabin did not look recently lived in. There was no available heat, though there was a woodstove (which we will be removing and transporting back here immediately) and there was no food stored there. It appeared that the girl had been visiting there, like it was some kind of memorial for her parents. The guys grabbed a few changes of clothes for the girl (which was a waste, because they are all ripped and torn to crap) and they headed out. At the cabin on exit they engaged two zombies that had shambled into the area. Drawn by noise or perhaps movement.

What that tells me is the girl was living here on campus. I wonder where? We searched the FUCK out of this place the other day looking for food, and found nothing. We are planning a search of outlying areas on campus where she might’ve been able to hide a tent or something. I think she was living inside the walls. I wonder if we trapped her inside with us when we were building?

Hard to say. Operating on some theory here.

Something that I am also wondering, is that if she is connected to the small groups of undead that we keep finding in random spots on the wall? Remember the other day Mr. Journal when I had to engage what? Five at the rear gate? I wonder if she had made noise outside the wall, and led them back here where they would just stand like dumb shits and wait for her. We see them first, take them down, and the girl is free to come and go as she pleases again. It makes a LOT of sense to me. The dead are drawn to movement, and if she was moving back there she might've drawn in the dead we had.

I don’t know if it explains the group of undead Abby found near Hall E fully, but if Abby really did see this chick round the corner of the dorm, and saw some undead at the wall at the same spot, then there is a damn good chance the two facts are connected.

Sigh. More questions I suppose.

School is up and running. Michelle has been preoccupied with dealing with our new guest, and as a result, despite her being in charge of the school, she’s spending less time there than she should. She’s handed much of the teaching off to the aides, Melissa and Kim. They’re teaching basics that are age appropriate, and they’ve enlisted the kids in fun teaching activities like cooking, and making bracelets and stuff out of the endless fucking craft supplies here on campus. I was given three bracelets today, and Melissa told me to expect much more. I’m wearing all three. I think it’s important to validate the work these kids did, and frankly, they’re pretty cool. Very colorful.

We’ve already begun the work on constructing the towers. Waiting for a few days was a good idea as it let the wood we’d been cutting down cure and dry. We were out of the good stuff anyway, and the few days of rest were nice. Good on the carpenter’s blisters, and it saved some backs from some sore nights.

We are clear cutting a dirt road/path down to the water front. We’ll need to yank up some large rocks in the woods to make it clean and smooth, but the path is a necessity. We are building a tower that overlooks the lake so we have less of a blind spot there, and we need a path/road to get to the tower easily. In addition, there is a lot of acreage that is going to be converted before long to farmland, and we might as well start clearing some of it now. I’m thinking there will be enough wood to build the tower at the end of the road by the time we clear the way. Of course, we need a few days for that wood to cure, so giving us a respite from building is a good thing.

Another problem that will crop up we are now kind of fucked over is the fact that we are not using pressure treated lumber. These towers won’t last for shit without stain or paint, and now it’s too cold to paint. It won’t dry, it’ll just fucking freeze.

Soooo… in our infinite wisdom we may have built towers that are predestined to just fall over in the spring. If they last until then, we’ll be stoked, and we’ll do something to make the wood last a hell of a lot longer. Worst case scenario we will rebuild them with salvaged phone poles, which last forever. They are toxic as fuck to handle though, and I’m sure we’ll be sacrificing some kind of long-term health to do that.

Breaking eggs to make omelets and such.

Not much else. Undead traffic at campus has been nil, and that’s nice. Since we took our guest into custody there have been no zombies at strange points on the wall, and there have been no accounts of missing food, or strange phantoms on the video feeds.

All seems to have settled. Famous last words…

Oh, and I forgot. In the cabin on the dead bodies as well as on the tables the guys found some personal information. The parents were Aaron and Charlene Shorey, and the girl we currently have in Hall C, periodically trying to bite everyone that comes near her is named Sylvia.

Now if we can just get her to remember her name, and act like the girl she was before the world took her parents from her…

I think I’m going to saddle up for some outside the wall runs. I need the adrenaline rush, and I need to shake the case of the pussies I’ve come down with. The only reason we aren’t talking about a dead girl is because I didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger when I had her dead-to-rights. I guess sometimes I’m lucky. On a normal night, that kid would’ve been stitched head to toe with 5.56 and I’d be drinking myself into oblivion trying to stop hating myself for having done it.

I’ve got a strange kind of luck.

-Adrian

- About The Author -

CHRIS PHILBROOK is the creator and author of Adrian’s Undead Diary as well as the fantasy series Elmoryn and Tesser: A Dragon Among Us.

Chris calls the wonderful state of New Hampshire his home. He is an avid reader, writer, role player, miniatures game player, video game player, and part time athlete, as well as a member of the Horror Writers Association. If you weren't impressed enough, he also works full time while writing for Elmoryn as well as the world of Adrian’s Undead Diary and his newest project, Tesser; A Dragon Among Us.

- Find More Online -

Visit adriansundeaddiary.com to access additional content. Learn more about Adrian’s world, contact the author, join discussions with other readers, view maps from the story, and receive the latest news about AUD.

Check out Chris Philbrook’s official website thechrisphilbrook.com to keep tabs on his many exciting projects. Sign up for his email newsletter to stay informed about the latest developments and special announcements, or follow Chris on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ChrisPhilbrookAuthor .

Read more by author Chris Philbrook in The Kinless Trilogy. Explore Elmoryn, a world of dark fantasy where death is not the end. The story begins in Book One: The Wrath of the Orphans, available in print, Kindle, and online. Visit elmoryn.com to learn more about Elmoryn, view concept art, and much more.

Follow Chris Philbrook’s latest epic series as it unfolds in Tesser: A Dragon Among Us. Meet Tesser, the Dragon. He who walks in any form, and flies the skies free of fear. He has slept for millennia, but now he has awoken in a world ruled by human hands, where science has overshadowed even the glory of old magic. Follow Tesser as he seeks to understand why he slept for so long, and where all the magic has gone. Visit adragonamongus.com to learn more.

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